A Match for Celia

Without releasing her mouth so she could answer, he looked from her to the locked storage room. “Oh, hell. You’re with him, aren’t you?”

Celia tried to ask him to let her go, but the words came out only as a series of muffled grunts. She tried futilely to break away as he dragged her toward the storage room, muttering curses beneath his breath with every step. Bennett didn’t even seem to notice her efforts to resist him.

“One sound outta you and I’ll have to shut you up the hard way, you got that?” he warned as they reached the storage room.

Eyes wide, Celia nodded. It occurred to her that the words should have sounded trite, almost comical—particularly in the Hollywood “tough guy” growl Bennett had suddenly adopted. But she found nothing humorous in the warning.

She believed him.

Bennett tucked her beneath his left arm like a bundle, an inert object, and used his right hand to unlock the storage room again. And then he shoved Celia inside and closed the door firmly behind her.

Celia pitched forward on her hands and knees, landing painfully on what felt like a rough concrete floor. Her breath left her in a whoosh. At first she thought the room was filled with tiny colored lights, but then her vision cleared and she realized the room was completely dark. There wasn’t even a window for illumination.

Her breath caught painfully in her throat. It wasn’t that she was afraid of the dark, she assured herself. She just didn’t like not being able to see.

She groped around her, locating a stack of wooden crates, and another pile of smaller, cardboard boxes. She jammed her fingers painfully on something hard, and she hissed a curse and pulled them back to her lap.

She was almost afraid to reach out again. What if there were spiders in here? Or mice? But that was stupid. She had much worse to worry about, she reminded herself impatiently. Real predators.

And where was Reed?

Hesitantly, she stuck out one hand. Slowly. Cautiously.

Her fingertips touched something soft, damp. Sticky. Hair. And flesh.

“Reed?” Frantically, she scooted closer and ran her hands over him, trying to learn by feel alone if he was breathing. He groaned and stirred beneath her touch.

“Thank God,” she whispered, near tears at this evidence that he was still alive. “Reed?”

He muttered something incoherent. If only she could see him!

“God, I’m such an idiot!” she said aloud, springing to her feet so quickly she nearly fell right on top of Reed’s prone form. Surely there was a light; why hadn’t she already looked for it? After bumping painfully into another wooden crate, she located the door and ran her hands over the cool concrete wall next to it. She almost sobbed when she found the switch.

A moment later, the small, square room was flooded with light from a single bare bulb hanging overhead.

The boxes were stacked along every wall, leaving little space to spare in the center of the room. Celia didn’t even glance at them as she went back down on her knees beside Reed, who lay on his side, his back to the door. There was a dark, shiny patch at the back of his head, a small puddle of red on the gray floor beneath him. His face was pale and his breathing was shallow. But he was breathing, she reminded herself firmly.

She touched his face. “Reed. Please, answer me. Let me know you’re all right.”

His eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open.

“Reed!” She spoke more

sharply that time, needing him to look at her. To convince her that he wasn’t going to die. “Reed, please. I’ll get us out of here somehow, I promise, but first you have to let me know you’re all right. Please. Say something.”

Again, his eyelids fluttered. This time, to her great relief, they opened. He lay very still, frowning up at her. And then his clouded eyes cleared. “Celia?”

Her held breath came out in a sob. “Yes. Oh, Reed.”

He lifted his head, cautiously, looking around him. “What the hell—?”

“Don’t move,” she told him, quickly pressing a hand to his shoulder. “Bennett hit you on the back of the head. Hard. You should lie still.”

Ignoring her restraining hand, Reed pushed himself to one elbow. “Bennett?” he repeated, though he’d just gone about two shades paler.

“Damien’s bodyguard.” Celia anxiously searched his haggard face. “Reed, you really should—”

She might as well have saved her breath. Reed shoved himself to his feet, hissing a couple of rather shocking epithets beneath his breath as he did so.