“I’m glad.” She leaned down to give him a careful hug. “You scared me half to death!” she chided him, suddenly fierce. “Don’t ever do anything like that again, you hear me?”
“I hope it won’t be necessary,” he answered. “When I think of what was going on within my own organization, right under my nose—damn it, it just makes me feel like an idiot.”
“Because you trusted your friends?” She shook her head. “Don’t feel that way, Damien. You couldn’t help it that some of your employees didn’t deserve your faith in them.”
She nodded toward Maris and Enrique and Mindi, who stood so loyally nearby, and thought of Evan, who was valiantly trying to carry on back at the resort. “You should consider yourself fortunate that you have so many good friends who would never dream of betraying you that way.”
“Like you?” he asked, taking her hand.
“Like me,” she agreed gently. “You’re my very good friend, Damien. I hope you always will be.”
He sighed, but squeezed her hand before releasing her. He glanced back toward the doorway. “Your policeman friend is beginning to look very fierce. I’m starting to get worried. One bullet’s enough for one night, don’t you think?”
“Reed’s not going to shoot you, Damien,” Celia promised with a shaky smile, but she moved a step away from him, anyway. “You need some rest—and so do I. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yeah. Have someone look at that head, you hear? And tell them to add it to my tab. This has been one hell of a vacation I’ve provided you, hasn’t it, sweetheart?”
She chuckled. “Well, it has been full of surprises.”
He looked toward the door again, then asked, “Do you think my picturesque scar will have any influence on the tall redhead?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you try finding out?”
“Maybe I’ll do that. After I’ve had some rest, of course.” He suddenly looked very worn and tired. Celia’s heart went out to him, but she only smiled and bade him good-night.
There was really nothing else left for her to say.
Celia wasn’t sure what woke her much later that same day. Bright sunlight was streaming through her bedroom window when she opened her eyes, so bright she squinted in reaction. It had to be late afternoon; she’d been sleeping for hours.
She stirred against the pillow, wincing when she remembered the bandaged lump on her forehead. She raised a tentative hand to it.
“Does it hurt?” The deep voice made her gasp and sit up in surprise.
Reed sat in a chair near the bed, looking as though he’d been there for a while. He had showered and changed into a clean shirt and jeans since she’d last seen him, when he and Kyle had brought her back to her suite and left her there, drained from exhaustion and delayed reaction. There hadn’t been any other opportunities for them to be alone, and Reed hadn’t offered to come in when he’d brought her back. They’d both been too tired to talk then—or do anything else, for that matter.
“How long have you been sitting there?” she asked him, her voice husky from sleep.
He shrugged. “Not long.”
Which didn’t answer her question, of course. “Haven’t you gotten any sleep?”
He nodded. “Enough.”
She studied him anxiously. He did look somewhat more rested. There was more color in his face, and his eyes were clearer—especially since he was no longer wearing his glasses. Had he ever really needed them?
“How’s your head?” she asked.
He shrugged again. “Okay. How’s yours?”
“Okay.” The laconic repetition was deliberate. She pushed the bedclothes aside, leaving her clad only in a soft, oversized nightshirt. “Excuse me a minute.”
He nodded. She passed his chair on the way to the bathroom. She felt him watching her, but he remained still. She closed the door between them.
She took her time in the bathroom. She washed her bruised face, brushed her teeth and her hair, rubbed antibiotic cream into her scraped palms and knees. She knew she was stalling, but still she didn’t hurry.
She needed this time to find the nerve she seemed to have misplaced sometime during the night.
Reed was still sitting in the chair when she finally rejoined him. He didn’t look as if he’d moved so much as a muscle.