A Match for Celia

He covered her hand with his own. “I’m sorry, Celia. I certainly don’t mean to pry into your business. I’m just disappointed. I had hoped that you and I…well. You know.”

“Oh, Damien.” She rested her head against his arm for a moment, touched by the look in his eyes. “You know it wouldn’t have worked out. I’m much too traditional for you. Within a few weeks you’d have been off looking for much more exciting companionship. You know you don’t want to tie yourself down to one woman when there are so many waiting to go out with you.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded, a bit reluctantly. “Still, it might have been different this time. For once, I could almost understand the appeal of that old one-man, one-woman thing.”

“You can’t even say it without shuddering,” she accused him, not quite accurately. Actually, he had sounded more sincere than she’d ever heard him.

Surely Damien hadn’t really been thinking of permanence with her! She’d never even imagined that he’d wanted more from her that a lighthearted affair—which, to be honest, was all she’d ever envisioned having with him. That, of course, had been before she’d forced herself to accept that she just wasn’t the “lighthearted affair” type. Something her sister had told her all along.

“You know me very well, don’t you, love?” Damien said, more lightly now. If his feelings really were seriously injured, he hid it well. Celia was relieved that he’d made it that easy for her. She suspected that she’d bruised his ego worse than his heart. He would recover quickly, if he suffered at all.

At least, she hoped that was the case. She didn’t like the idea that she’d hurt someone she considered a friend.

He motioned her toward the overstuffed sofa against one pecan-panelled wall. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked as he stepped behind the well-stocked bar on the far wall and tossed ice cubes into a tumbler for himself.

“Just fruit juice, if you have it,” Celia said, taking a seat on the couch.

She watched as he poured bourbon for himself and the juice for her.

He carried both over to the couch, and sat beside her. “So,” he said briskly, “tell me about this guy Hollander. What do you know about him?”

“I thought we just agreed that this wasn’t your business,” she reminded him with a smile.

“Humor me. We’re friends, remember?” He gave an ironic twist to the word friends. “I’m feeling responsible. If you hadn’t come here at my invitation, and if I hadn’t stood you up for almost a week, you never would have met the guy. I’ll never forgive myself if he turns out to be a con artist or a lowlife.”

“No self-respecting con artist would run a scam on me,” Celia said with a laugh. “What would he hope to gain? I told him from the beginning that I work as an assistant loan officer in a small-town bank. He surely doesn’t think I’m rolling in money.”

“He knows you’re a friend of mine,” Damien corrected her. “And, as you pointed out, I am…er…obscenely rich. Suppose he’s using you to get to me in some way.”

“He isn’t,” Celia said flatly. “Reed isn’t interested in your money, Damien. It has bothered him very much that I’m here as your guest. Neither of us wanted to take advantage of your hospitality.

“In fact,” she added, remembering something else she’d wanted to discuss with Damien, “I insist that you have your staff bill me for the time I’ve spent here. It’s only right.”

Damien was shaking his head before she even finished speaking. “Absolutely not.”

“Now, Damien—”

“Not another word about it, Celia,” he said warningly. “I invited you here as my guest. Because I care for you, not simply to get you into my bed—though that would have been nice,” he added with an exaggerated wistfulness that made her smile. “I just hope you’ve had a nice time, despite the series of misfortunes that kept us separated during most of your visit.”

“It’s been wonderful,” she assured him. “And, Damien—it wouldn’t have made any difference if you’d been here,” she felt compelled to add. “I think I knew even when I left Percy that you and I would never be—well, you know.”

“I know,” he said glumly. “Why do you think I haven’t pushed harder for more than a good-night kiss at your door? Why do you think I’ve been working so hard to avoid this ‘little talk’? I was sort of hoping you’d change your mind after you’d had a few more days to bask in my charm.”

She giggled.

He exhaled deeply. “Would you mind changing the subject, sweetheart? My ego’s taken just about all the damage it can handle for one morning.”

Celia smiled affectionately at him. “Don’t worry, Damien. I’m sure your ego will make a full and fast recovery. If nothing else, Mark’s little friend Kimmi would just love to play nurse-maid to your wounded sensibilities.”

Damien perked up a bit at that. “He is rather ignoring her, isn’t he? Poor kid is probably feeling terribly neglected.”

“I’m sure she is. Do you think Mark would mind too badly if you stepped in for him?”

Damien grinned. “Mark is paid not to mind that sort of thing.”

Celia rolled her eyes. “What was that I said about you never abusing your power? I take it back.”

“Now, Celia—”