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A Match for Celia
GINA WILKINS
A VACATION TO REMEMBERThis vacation was supposed to bring a little excitement into Celia Carson's life–so why couldn't she shake her attraction to a staid, reserved accountant? And yet, she also couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye….Federal agent Reed Hollander's undercover role was working a little too well for his liking. He'd believed Celia to be the key to bringing down a dangerous criminal organization. But he couldn't help wondering, was she the small-town innocent she seemed–or the sophisticated woman he suspected she really was?
A Match for Celia
Gina Wilkins
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
GINA WILKINS
Bestselling romance author Gina Wilkins has written more than ninety books for Harlequin and Silhouette Books. A lifelong resident of Arkansas, she is a four-time winner of the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence, presented by Georgia Romance Writers, and has won several awards from the reviewers of RT Book Reviews, including a nomination for a Lifetime Achievement Award.
For my husband’s aunts, who have made me part of their special family: Nadine Jaggers, Marene Austine, Edith Rose, Marcelle Wood and June Wilkins. With love.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Prologue
Frances Carson and her longtime friend, Lila Twining, were spending an exciting Friday evening together. Ignoring the boring diets their physicians had recommended, they had ordered a large pizza—with everything, of course—and were eating it from paper plates in Frances’s living room. They’d rented a video. It starred Mel Gibson, and for a good portion of the film, he appeared without a shirt. Though they were in their seventies, neither Frances nor Lila had lost appreciation for a fine male chest.
The telephone interrupted their avid viewing. Frances sighed and pushed the pause button on the remote control. “I’ll be right back,” she promised her friend.
Lila shrugged and helped herself to another slice of pizza. “Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”
The voice on the other end of the telephone line was young and slightly husky, instantly recognizable to Frances. The caller identified herself, anyway. “Granny Fran? It’s Celia.”
Delighted as always to hear from her youngest grandchild, Frances glanced at one of the photographs lining the top of her old upright piano, a picture of a beautiful woman in her early twenties, dark-haired, blue-eyed, dimpled. “Hello, sweetheart. How are you?”
“I’m fine. And you?”
“Never better,” Frances answered cheerily. “Lila and I were just scarfing pizza and drooling over Mel Gibson’s bare chest.”
Celia laughed. “Granny Fran, what are we going to do with you?”
“Arrange a weekend with Mel?” Frances suggested hopefully.
Celia laughed again. “You’re incorrigible. And I love you for it.”
“I love you, too, darling. So what’s wrong?”
“What makes you think anything is wrong?” Celia countered, the laughter leaving her voice.
“I know you too well. Would you like to talk about it?”
“I don’t want to interrupt your evening with Lila. I’ll call again later.”
“Nonsense. Lila doesn’t mind if you and I talk for a few minutes. Tell me what’s bothering you, Celia.”
“I, uh, I guess you could say I’m having a moral dilemma.”
Frances waited patiently for her granddaughter to elaborate. She could hear Celia draw a deep breath on the other end of the line, as though working up the courage to continue.
“Damien Alexander has asked me to be his guest for a couple of weeks at one of his exclusive resorts,” Celia finally blurted out. “He’ll pay my airfare, provide a suite, all my meals—anything I want.”
“How very generous of him,” Frances said noncommittally.
“He, uh, he promises to be a perfect gentleman if I want him to be, but I can tell he’s hoping I won’t want him to be. I’m sure he hopes that he and I will…you know.”
“Become lovers,” Frances supplied.
“Yes. Rachel is very much against this, of course. She doesn’t want me to go. She’s never trusted Damien. She tends to believe everything she reads about him in those sleazy tabloids. I’ve told her she’s just being an overprotective older sister, but she’s still opposed to it. Of course, she’s been busy with her wedding plans and everything, so we haven’t had time to really talk about it, but I know she won’t change her mind.”
“You’re twenty-four years old, Celia. You don’t need Rachel’s permission to go on a vacation.”
“I know,” Celia admitted with a faint sigh. “But I wish she wouldn’t be so adamant about her disapproval.”
“Have you spoken to your mother?”
“No. To be honest, I haven’t quite had the nerve the last few times she and I spoke on the phone. I have a feeling that she’ll feel the same way Rachel does about it. Cody’s staying out of it, but I can tell he doesn’t like it much more than Rachel does. I thought maybe you could give me a more objective opinion.”
“What do you want to do, Celia?”
“I’m not sure I know.”
Celia sounded so confused that Frances’s heart twisted in sympathy with her granddaughter.
“I’ve just been so…so bored, lately,” Celia added. “My life has become so dull, so predictable. The men here in Percy are nice, but so unexciting. Damien’s different. There’s nothing dull or predictable about him.”
“Are you in love with him?”
This time Celia’s hesitation was more pronounced. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I like him a lot. He’s charming and fun, but I really don’t know him all that well. We only go out when he’s in the area, and with his other businesses all over the world, that hasn’t been often. He said we could use this time together to get to know each other better.”
“I have to ask again—what do you want to do, Celia?”
“I think…I think I want to go.”
Frances moistened her lips, tasting pizza and deep concern. It was difficult for her to be objective, but there was only one thing she could say. “You should follow your heart, dear. No one else can make a decision like this for you, not even those who love you and want only the best for you.”
“You think I should go?”
“I didn’t say that,” Frances answered quickly. “I said you should make your own decision. But, Celia—be careful.”
“I will, Granny Fran. Thank you.”
“I love you, Celia.”
“I love you, too. Tell Lila I said hello, will you? I’ll let you get back to your dirty movie now.”
“It’s not a dirty movie. It’s only rated R,” Frances countered lightly, though her levity was forced.
She hung up the phone a few moments later and rejoined her friend. Lila looked up from a magazine she’d been leafing through. “Everything okay?”
“I hope so,” Frances answered slowly, a bit worried about what she had just done. “I sincerely hope so.”
Chapter One
A pleasantly warm breeze caressed Reed Hollander’s face as he sipped his coffee. He sat at a poolside resort table, beneath the shade of a gaily striped umbrella.
The morning couldn’t have been more beautiful, or the colors more vivid. Bright, clear blue sky. Crimson, yellow, orange and white flowers against dark, scrupulously tended greenery. Sparkling turquoise water in the pool, and in the Gulf of Mexico that stretched to the horizon. Brilliant, mostly primary colors, ones a child might have chosen to paint the scene.
Reed felt a bit out of place in his dark gray shirt and lighter gray slacks. No child would have picked such somber shades. The woman swimming laps in the pool, however, fit in beautifully with her surroundings.
Her slender, peach-toned body was encased in a sleek scarlet maillot. Reed knew that her eyes were a bright, crystal blue and that her thick shoulder-length hair, when dry, was a glossy dark brown shot through with red highlights. A potent combination with her delicately oval face and enticing dimples.
He should know. He’d been watching her for three days.
He pulled his attention away from her for a moment to glance around. They were still the only ones out this morning. It was off-season—the first week of November—so the exclusive, South Padre Island, Texas, resort wasn’t full, and the other guests generally preferred to sleep late. Reed and the pretty swimmer seemed to be the only early risers on this particular morning.
She reclaimed his attention by flipping into a turn and beginning another lap. She was obviously in very good shape. Not that he’d needed to watch her swim to know that.
He had just finished his first cup of coffee when she called it quits. He knew she was unaware that he’d been watching as she emerged from the pool by way of the steps closest to his table. Water streamed from her slender limbs, dripped from her hair. She looked young, pretty and sweetly appealing. Innocent.
Reed had reason to believe she wasn’t quite what she appeared.
He slipped on the horn-rimmed glasses that had been lying at his elbow and stood, reaching her just in time to place a towel into her outstretched hand. “Here you are.”
“Thank you,” she said, and buried her face in the luxuriously soft towel for a moment. When she looked up, her face dry and vision cleared, she saw him and her eyes widened. “Oh,” she said. “I thought you were a resort employee.”
“No. I was just sitting here having coffee and enjoying the morning. Will you join me for a cup?” He motioned to the carafe in the center of the table, and the extra cup sitting beside it.
During the past three days, he had made sure she’d seen him a time or two. He had made a point of smiling and nodding, letting her get used to seeing him as just another resort guest, but this was the first time he’d actually spoken to her. He wondered if he’d misjudged the timing.
Glancing at the table, the woman hesitated for a moment, then shrugged lightly. “Sure. Why not?”
She snatched a short, white terry-cloth kimono from the back of a chair and belted herself into it. Reed was aware of a faint sense of regret. The maillot fit her so nicely. Oddly enough, she was just as intriguing when wrapped in terry cloth, her wet hair plastered to her head, her face free of makeup and glowing from her exercise.
“I’m Reed Hollander,” he said, courteously holding a chair for her. “From Cleveland.”
“Celia Carson,” she replied, settling comfortably onto the colorful cushion of the wrought-iron chair. “From Percy. Arkansas,” she added with a smile.
“Percy, Arkansas?” he repeated, as though he hadn’t already known where she was from. “Is that anywhere near Little Rock?”
“An hour’s drive north. Have you been to Little Rock?”
“No,” he lied, thinking briefly of the two investigative trips he’d made to Arkansas in the past three months. “But I’ve heard it’s a nice place to visit.”
He was very good at that. Lying. He didn’t even have to think about it much, anymore.
“I’ve never been to Cleveland, either. I haven’t traveled much,” she said, and he wondered if she was as skilled at deception as he was.
“Are you enjoying the resort?”
“It’s a beautiful place. The staff is very nice.”
He didn’t bother to point out that she hadn’t exactly answered his question. “Quiet this morning, isn’t it?”
She glanced around them at the otherwise deserted pool area. “Very quiet. We seem to be the only ones who aren’t sleeping the morning away.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m having a hard time breaking that up-early-for-the-office routine.”
She smiled. “Yes. So am I. This is my third day here and I still feel as though I should be doing something constructive with my time.”
“I know the feeling. It must take awhile to get used to the life of the idle rich.”
