A Match for Celia

Cody was usually the most laid-back and tolerant of men, his many friends made up of a widely diverse selection, but he was uncharacteristically intolerant of Novotny and his cronies. Celia, on the other hand, had always just considered Chuck a compulsive grouch—annoying, but basically harmless.

“Chuck’s here to look over the resort,” Mark explained, breaking the brief silence that had fallen over the table as Damien took his seat again. “Perhaps you know that he’s been a bit concerned that an Alexander Resort near Percy would disturb the natural beauty of the area and destroy the peace and tranquillity the local residents have enjoyed for so many years. We want him to see several of our resorts around the country, beginning with this one, to see that we make every effort to adapt to the traditions and environment of their settings.”

Celia thought Mark sounded like one of the PR brochures some ad agency probably composed for the chain. She couldn’t imagine what comparisons Damien could make between the rural foothills of her hometown and the glittery tourist mecca of South Padre Island, but she smiled and nodded as though she understood completely.

“It’s really a lovely resort, Chuck,” she said helpfully. “The staff is all very nice.”

Chuck grunted and gave her a glare of disapproval. Because he didn’t approve of women speaking? Celia wondered flippantly. Or—more likely—because he considered her a shameless hussy for being here as Damien’s guest, without benefit of a chaperon or a marriage ring.

Chuck couldn’t know, of course, that nothing had happened between her and Damien…and the narrow-minded, judgmental man wouldn’t believe her if she tried to tell him. Not that she considered it any of Chuck’s business whether she was sleeping with Damien and all his staff, for that matter.

Mark pushed his chair away from the table and waved to indicate his empty coffee cup. “Since we’ve finished our coffee, Chuck, why don’t you and I tour the facilities now and leave Damien and Celia to their breakfast? I’m sure I can answer any questions you might have about the operations of the Alexander resorts.”

“Aren’t you having breakfast?” Celia asked, having assumed they’d be dining together.

Chuck lifted one corner of his too-heavy mouth. “I had my breakfast several hours ago. I’ve never been one to lay in bed half of a morning, even when I didn’t have to work.”

Celia choked back a reply, settling for a slight nod.

Damien shook his head in dismay when they were alone. “Cantankerous old coot, ain’t he?”

Celia giggled at Damien’s bad Southern accent. “He is that,” she agreed. “But, as I keep telling Cody, he’s harmless.”

“Cody doesn’t care for the man?” Damien asked idly.

“For some reason, he despises him. Always has.”

“I see. I’m…er…sorry if it embarrassed you for Chuck to see you here. I’d forgotten to mention that he would be here. It never occurred to me that there would be any awkwardness attached to you both being here at the same time.”

It probably hadn’t occurred to him, Celia thought wryly. The women Damien usually dated probably never worried about chaperons and reputations—in fact, their reputations were considerably enhanced because they were sleeping with Damien. She assured him breezily that Chuck’s attitudes were his own problem and didn’t bother her in the least.

Apparently she sounded convincing. Damien smiled, patted her hand, then changed the subject. “So, what would you like for breakfast? I was thinking of having the chef’s special pecan waffles.”

Their waffles had just been delivered to the table when a stunning redhead sauntered past the table, her golden-tanned, five-foot-ten body shown to perfection by a clinging, shoulder-baring sundress. Damien stopped what he was saying in midsentence, his eyes riveted to the woman who gave him a sultry smile as she passed the table, ignoring Celia completely.

Amused, Celia watched as Damien suddenly recalled his companion. “Uh—sorry,” he said. “What was I saying?”

Celia glanced after the redhead. “Old friend?”

“No,” Damien admitted with a rueful smile. “I don’t know her. She must be a newly-arrived guest.”

“She seems to be dining alone,” Celia observed, watching as the woman was seated by the usually ultra-efficient maître d’, who seemed to be making an effort to keep from falling over his own feet. “Should we ask her to join us?”

Damien laughed. “You probably would, at that.”

Celia grinned. “I love watching men make complete idiots of themselves. Even when it’s some other woman causing them to do so.”

Turning his shoulder on the other woman’s table, Damien focused his full attention on Celia. “Now, darling, that’s not fair,” he said in his patented whiskey-smooth murmur. “I’ve been making a complete idiot of myself over you for months now, and look where it’s gotten me.”

“Nowhere?” she asked sweetly.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied, smiling in satisfaction. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Hmm. You know, Damien, you were right. These waffles are heavenly.”

Damien laughed again.

Celia’s own smile faded when she saw Reed enter the restaurant. She hadn’t expected to see him this morning. He usually breakfasted earlier. She’d hoped he would do so today.