He made a tight turn, his feet meshing expertly with hers. “It’s been quite a while for me, too.”
She looked at him skeptically. “You don’t dance like you’re in need of practice.”
He gave her a slow smile and then rested his cheek against her hair. “That’s because I’m dancing with you,” he murmured.
“You don’t flirt like you’re in need of practice, either,” Celia muttered, her pulse rate fluttering like crazy.
She’d never thought herself a sucker for a corny line—but it looked as though she’d been wrong. At least, she found herself unable to resist being affected by Reed’s lines, which should have sounded silly, but somehow didn’t.
He began to hum softly along with the music.
“Unforgettable.” Her favorite song. Her knees went weak in response to his sexy tenor.
He sang, too?
It was growing increasingly obvious that she had badly misjudged Reed Hollander.
It was late when Reed walked Celia to her suite. She was wide awake this time, tingling with anticipation of the kiss she was sure would come. After a magical evening of music and candlelight and champagne and dancing, how could she expect anything else?
She was still confused, except for one thing. She knew she wanted Reed to kiss her tonight. Wanted it with an intensity that was almost frightening.
Her key in hand, she looked up at him at the door. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but before she could speak, he fulfilled her prediction by covering her mouth with his own.
There in the hallway, he kissed her with a hunger that first overshadowed, then inflamed her own. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
His arms locked around her waist, dragging her closer. His tongue surged between her parted lips, coaxing and demanding a response. His heart beat powerfully against hers. Though it seemed impossible, he was obviously as deeply affected by the embrace as Celia was.
It was a very long time before he lifted his head. Celia was trembling again—and she thought Reed was, too. His eyes glittered, and his breath was rapid and uneven.
“You can’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he muttered, pressing his lips to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.
Celia caught her breath, clinging to his shirt, drawn to his warmth, his strength. Oh, he didn’t kiss like a tax accountant, she thought inconsequentially. He kissed like…like a dream.
“Would you…” She had to stop to clear her throat to speak coherently. “Would you like to come in for a drink?”
He went very still. His eyes locked with hers. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Just…just a drink,” she whispered, her heart racing now in what felt very much like panic.
He winced, then shook his head. “I can’t promise not to touch you again if I come in.”
She bit her lip. She wasn’t sure she was ready to actually go to bed with the man, but she wouldn’t mind a few more of those delicious kisses. If Reed could be content with that…
Her fingers laced tightly in front of her, she asked hesitantly, “Can you promise to leave when—umm—if I ask you to?”
She searched his face while he considered her question. His now familiar face. The face of a man she instinctively trusted. When he nodded, she almost sighed in relief. “Yes,” he said quietly. “That I can promise.”
She smiled shakily and opened the door. “What would you like to drink?” she asked as they stepped through together. And then she stopped in her tracks. “Oh.”
It was impossible to miss seeing the flowers. The bouquet was enormous, seeming to fill the room, dwarfing the small table on which they’d been placed. The heavy scent of roses and assorted other blooms filled the air. The card had been placed on the table, propped against the crystal vase, clearly readable to both Celia and Reed from where they stood.
“Darling, I’ll be with you tomorrow. I can’t wait. Damien.”
Celia looked quickly up at Reed. His face could have been carved from granite. His eyes were dark, shadowed. Unreadable when he looked back at her.
“It’s getting late,” he said, his voice flat. “I’d better go.”
“But…”