He ran a hand through his short, dark hair in self-annoyance. Maybe it was time for a vacation, he found himself thinking. A real one.
Celia took a leisurely shower, blow-dried her shoulder-length hair, then dressed in a brightly colored, short-sleeved cotton jumpsuit with a heavy macramé belt. It felt odd to be wearing summer-weight clothing in November; back home, she’d be more comfortable in a sweater and wool slacks.
She slid her feet into leather sandals, slipped a chunky gold-link bracelet over her wrist, donned a pair of dangly gold earrings and touched her eyelids with taupe eye shadow and her lips with a deep rose gloss. And then she sat on the edge of her bed and wondered what she was supposed to do for the rest of the day.
It was just after 10:00 a.m. Between the softly billowing curtains at her Gulf-view window, she could see that the other resort guests had begun to stir. There were a few in the pool, four or five on the beach, a couple going into the restaurant for a late breakfast. Everyone seemed to be with someone else. Couples, families, friends. No one appeared to be vacationing alone. No one except her, of course, she thought with a wry sigh.
And Reed Hollander.
She thought of the man she’d met by the pool that morning. She’d seen him around the resort a couple of times during the past few days. He’d looked exactly like the accountant he’d claimed to be. His neatly pressed shirts and slacks and sober horn-rimmed glasses had looked odd in contrast to the usual resort uniform of T-shirts and baggy shorts.
He’d been attractive, in a rather ordinary way. Neat dark hair, intelligent-looking hazel eyes, a nice—if somewhat bland—smile. She’d thought at first that he was making a clumsy attempt at a pickup when he asked her to join him for coffee this morning, but he’d been nothing more than politely friendly. Just another self-proclaimed working stiff looking for a little companionship over coffee.
Another misfit among the idle rich.
The unbidden thought annoyed her. Okay, so this wasn’t her usual style, she thought, looking around the exquisitely appointed suite in which she’d been staying for the past three days. Three lonely days.
She wasn’t accustomed to bathtubs that seemed as big as a small swimming pool, or beds the size of the kitchen in her efficiency apartment. The suite Damien had provided for her consisted of the bedroom, with its huge bed, antique fainting couch, enormous old armoire converted to hold a TV, VCR and stereo, complete with a selection of popular videos and CDs; a huge, shamelessly decadent bathroom; a walk-in closet she could have parked her little red sports car in; and a sitting room furnished with antiques that looked so valuable she was almost afraid to touch them.
She certainly wasn’t accustomed to having solicitous staff hovering at her elbow to cater to her every whim, as she was sure Damien had instructed them to do. She wasn’t used to sleeping late, or waking with nothing more to do than to pamper herself. She couldn’t quite grow comfortable with ordering anything she wanted from the restaurant’s extensive menu—without even glancing at the price! Expensive little chocolates left on her pillow, fresh flowers delivered daily to her room, exotic fruits in fancy little baskets flanked by small bottles of champagne with names she couldn’t even pronounce.
Just because she’d never lived this way before didn’t mean she couldn’t learn to like it. Eventually.
If only she had something to do to occupy her time. If only Damien hadn’t been called away. Damien made quite an art of being charming and entertaining.
She was fully aware that Damien also made quite an art of seduction.
Which brought her right back to the “moral dilemma” she’d been battling ever since Damien had extended the invitation for her to be his guest at this resort.
If Damien hadn’t been called away, would she have given in by now to his enticing smiles and skillful kisses? Would she have finally decided, once and for all, whether she wanted to become intimately involved with a man who’d kept the tabloid writers in a gleeful feeding frenzy for more than a decade now?
Celia liked Damien. She really did. Despite her older sister’s reservations—based entirely on overblown tabloid gossip, since Rachel had never actually met Damien—Celia suspected that much of Damien’s reputation had been exaggerated. Not all of it, of course. One had only to look into his wicked blue eyes to know that he had more experience with women than most men dreamed of.
And Celia was well aware that he hadn’t gotten where he was by always being a “nice guy.” Damien could be ruthless in business, thoughtless and sometimes arrogant in his personal life. But he wasn’t the shameless heartbreaker or relentless debaucher he’d so often been labeled. He’d been a perfect gentleman with her from the first time he’d taken her to dinner.
Rachel might not trust Damien, but Celia did, for the most part. She never would have accepted his invitation if she hadn’t trusted him to not force her into anything she didn’t want.
She had been so bored lately, so restless, so hungry for change and adventure in her depressingly routine existence. Still, it had taken her several weeks to decide whether to accept Damien’s generous offer of a free vacation at this resort. He’d made it clear from the first that he expected to be here with her, as a companion, a guide—and a lover, if she’d agree. He hadn’t been pushy about it, but he’d let her know that was what he hoped would happen. Celia had finally accepted, on the condition that he give her time after her arrival to decide if she wanted him as anything more than a good friend.
Of course, neither of them could have known that the question would turn out to be academic, at least for the first few days of her visit. Damien could hardly seduce her from a faraway island in the Caribbean.
She remembered the discomfort she’d felt when she’d told Reed Hollander that she was Damien’s guest. She knew what he must have thought. What anyone would have thought.
She’d been foolish to immediately try to convince him that she and Damien were nothing more than friends. For one thing, it was none of the accountant’s business. For another, why should it bother her so badly for someone to think she and Damien were lovers when she’d been seriously considering making that suspicion a reality?
Really, she thought with a rueful shake of her head. Her small-town upbringing had a nasty habit of cropping up at the most inconvenient times!
Celia left her room later that morning determined to do something interesting. Here she was in a tropical paradise and she’d been sitting alone moping! How depressing.
She’d come to this resort in search of adventure. A break from a life that had become so safe and predictable that there were times she had thought she’d scream in frustration. After the weeks she’d spent working up her shaky courage to come, it was ridiculous to spend the whole time hiding in her room, just because she didn’t know how to have a good time on her own.
The first person she saw when she stepped out of her suite was a tall, well-dressed man coming out
of Damien’s rooms. He smiled when he saw her. “Miss Carson,” he greeted her. “Good morning. Is there anything you need?”
“No, thank you, Evan. I was just on my way out to find something to do. I’m rather tired of sitting in my room.” And wasn’t that an understatement?
Damien’s personal secretary’s dark face creased with a worried frown. “Aren’t you having a nice time, Miss Carson? Mr. Alexander told everyone to make sure you enjoyed yourself in his absence. Is there anything I can do to make your stay with us more pleasant?”