“Now, Damien—”
They laughed together. And, if the laughter was a bit strained now, they both pretended not to notice.
They chatted politely for another half hour. And then Celia stood, judging the time to be right. “I’ll let you get back to work. You looked quite busy when I came in.”
“I had planned on letting the rest go and spend the day with you,” he answered. “But—”
“Take care of your work, Damien,” she said gently. “I’m sure I’ll find something to do.”
“I’m sure you will,” he agreed, and his voice was a bit harder than usual. He masked it quickly with one of his bright smiles. “So, how long will you be staying? Still planning to go back to Arkansas Friday?”
Two more days, Celia thought with a quick surge of dismay. Would she and Reed be saying goodbye then? “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “My plans are rather vague at the moment.”
Damien nodded. “Stay as long as you like,” he said. “The invitation still stands for the full duration.”
She squeezed his hand. “Thank you. You’re a very sweet man, did you know that?”
He rolled his eyes. “There goes that ‘favorite uncle’ tone again. I have to tell you, Celia, I’m just not used to having beautiful young women talk to me quite that way. I can’t say that I like it.”
“I’ll work on it,” she promised with a smile.
“I’d appreciate it. So, how would you and your new friend like to join me for dinner this evening? I’d like to meet the guy.”
Celia was startled. She wasn’t at all sure how Reed would feel about having dinner with Damien. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it, herself.
“I’ll ask him,” she temporized.
Damien nodded. “I just want to talk to him. I’ve always been a good judge of character, you know. I wouldn’t be where I am if I weren’t. If I sense any reason at all to worry about this guy, if there’s the slightest chance that he’ll hurt you, I’ll—I’ll—well, I’ll do something about it,” he promised flatly.
“Now you sound like a favorite uncle,” Celia accused him in mild exasperation. “Don’t you start overprotecting me, Damien. It really just isn’t in char
acter for you.”
“You might be surprised,” he murmured, and kissed her cheek. And then he escorted her to the door with a bit too much haste.
Celia dialed Reed’s room number when she returned to her suite. She half expected the line to be busy, since he’d been so concerned about the calls he needed to make. Instead, the phone rang several times on the other end before she finally conceded he wasn’t in his room.
Now what? she wondered. Should she go looking for him? Or wait here, as he’d asked—make that, as he’d ordered her.
Because she was growing increasingly tired of taking orders, she decided to go out. She glanced in the mirror to make sure her loose, oatmeal-colored top and slacks were still neat. She decided she looked a bit colorless. Her restless night and her difficult talk with Damien had left her rather pale.
She dug in her bag for a bright scarf—a favorite silk one that her grandmother had given her for her birthday. She brushed her hair, pulled it back and tied it at the nape with the colorful strip of fabric. The patterned scarf seemed to add color to her face. Satisfied with her appearance, she headed determinedly for the door.
Reed would soon learn that she wasn’t an inanimate object to be stashed in her room until he had time to play with her.
It was past lunchtime. Perhaps Reed was in the restaurant, she thought. She wasn’t checking up on him, she assured herself somberly. She just wanted to tell him that she’d been completely honest with Damien. That he needn’t feel now as though they were slipping around behind their host’s back.
The officious maître d’ greeted Celia in the restaurant lobby. “Miss Carson. Table for one, or will Mr. Alexander be joining you?”
“No. Actually, I’m looking for Mr. Hollander. Have you seen him?”
The man’s thin eyebrows rose. “No. He hasn’t been in.”
Disappointed, she nodded. “Thank you.”
“Shall I show you to a table?”
“No, thank you.” She stepped back and allowed an elderly couple to take her place. The maître d’ greeted them by name and ushered them solicitously to a table.