A Match for Celia. GINA WILKINS

than personal, an almost scientific assessment of the affects of ultraviolet light on her complexion. Celia thought in wry amusement that the brief time she’d spent with this man certainly hadn’t done anything to boost her ego. So far, he’d behaved rather like an indulgent uncle.

      Which, of course, was exactly the way she wanted him to behave, she assured herself hastily. Damien Alexander—her conspicuously absent host—was the only man she should be concentrating on for now, even if she should find herself suddenly, unexpectedly attracted to someone else.

      Not that she was, of course.

      Feeling her cheeks going suddenly warm, she took a hasty step away from Reed Hollander. “Enjoy your book,” she said, her tone politely dismissive.

      “Thanks. Have a nice day,” he answered cheerily.

      Blinking a bit, Celia watched him walk away.

      Have a nice day? The man was a walking cliché, for heaven’s sake. He even talked like a tax accountant. He was exactly like the men she knew back in Percy—genial, dependable, hardworking, predictable. Ordinary.

      The type of men who made Damien Alexander look so dashing, exciting and fascinating in contrast.

      Turning back to her walk, Celia told herself that the only reason she was spending any time at all thinking about Reed Hollander was because Damien wasn’t around. What other reason could there possibly be?

      Celia saw Reed again when she returned from her long walk down the beach. He was sitting by the pool, seemingly absorbed in his thick hardcover book. Celia didn’t think he even noticed when she passed within a few feet of his chair on her way to her suite.

      Not that she’d particularly wanted him to notice, of course.

      She had just stepped through the doors of her building when someone called her name. “Miss Carson! I’m glad I’ve found you.”

      She looked around with a curious, lifted eyebrow. She saw Damien’s secretary again, rushing toward her from the hallway that led to the resort offices. “Is something wrong, Evan?”

      He shook his dark head and smiled reassuringly. “No, not at all. Actually, Mr. Alexander is on the phone. He asked me to try to locate you. He wants to talk to you. I’ll transfer the call to your suite, if you like.”

      Celia agreed and hurried toward her rooms. Maybe Damien was calling to tell her that he’d be rejoining her this evening, she thought hopefully. She envisioned an evening of dinner and dancing, strolling on the beach—all the things she’d looked forward to when she’d accepted his invitation.

      “Celia?” Damien’s whiskey-smooth voice flowed through the lines between them. “I hope I haven’t called at a bad time.”

      “No,” she assured him. Since she didn’t want him to ask for details about what she’d been doing to entertain herself in his absence, she asked, “Are you still in the islands?”

      “I’m afraid so. And it looks like I’m going to be held up here for another forty-eight hours. The storm has all but devastated the resort, and I have to make sure all the repairs are underway before I can leave. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about this, darling. If there was anything at all I could do to be there with you now, I would certainly do it.”

      Though she was disappointed, Celia tried hard to be gracious about it. “I understand, Damien. You certainly had no control over the weather. I’m only sorry so much damage was done to your resort. Was anyone hurt?”

      “My manager was trapped beneath a fallen tree and suffered multiple fractures of his right leg. His injuries were the most serious anyone suffered, but he’s expected to make a full recovery. Fortunately, there was enough warning to evacuate the resort before the storm hit. Only a few staff members remained behind—by their own choice.”

      “And the buildings?”

      “Major damage,” Damien answered with a sigh. “It will be at least a couple of months before we’re able to reopen.”

      “This sounds like a terrible time for you to be away from your business, Damien. Maybe it would be better if I go back to Percy. We can try this another time.”

      “Celia, you’ve already taken two weeks vacation from your job. I’ll be there Monday morning, at the very latest. That will still give us a week to spend together. You have full run of the resort in the meantime. Please, take advantage of it. Enjoy yourself. Unless you aren’t pleased with the facilities?”

      Celia hastily assured him that the resort was beautiful. Everything anyone could want. She couldn’t possibly tell him that she’d been bored out of her mind. He would never understand. She wasn’t sure she understood.

      “Then you’ll stay?” He sounded very anxious for her to agree.

      She swallowed a sigh, and tried again to sound gracious. “I’ll stay.”

      “You won’t be sorry. I’m going to show you a great time, I promise.”

      Though she knew he couldn’t see her, she forced a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

      The problem was, she wasn’t at all sure she was looking forward to it. The more time she spent alone here, with Damien so far away, the more she was beginning to doubt the wisdom of accepting his invitation in the first place. Though she wouldn’t go so far as to say that the tropical storm had been an omen directed solely at her, it still felt oddly like a sign. She didn’t fit in here, wasn’t comfortable in Damien’s world.

      Of course, she hadn’t been particularly comfortable in her own world lately, either.

      She hung up the phone with a dejected sigh.

      This vacation definitely wasn’t turning out the way she’d hoped it would.

      Reed turned another page of what surely had to be the most boring history ever written of any battle ever fought. He glanced over the top of the book toward the building into which Celia had disappeared over half an hour earlier. She spent a lot of time in there by herself. On the phone, perhaps? Taking care of Alexander’s illicit side business while Alexander dealt with the crisis at his island resort? She certainly didn’t act like a young woman on a vacation.

      He was confident that she hadn’t seen him following her during her leisurely stroll down the beach. Nor could she have known that he’d settled into this chair behind his book less than ten minutes before she’d returned.

      Celia hadn’t talked to anyone during her stroll, hadn’t done anything except walk and look pensively out over the Gulf. She hadn’t looked particularly happy. Trouble in paradise? And, if so, was it business or personal? Was she pining for Alexander?

      Reed scowled, wondering why he hated the idea so much. If Celia Carson was involved in what he suspected, she certainly didn’t deserve his sympathy. And if she wasn’t—if her only involvement with Alexander was a personal one—then she was still off-limits, as far as he was concerned. Reed had no interest in picking up the pieces of one of Alexander’s shattered conquests. No matter how beautiful that conquest might be. No matter how appealing her sweetly dimpled smile.

      His scowl deepened and he turned his attention doggedly back to the book. He would do well to keep his distance from Celia Carson during the rest of this assignment. He’d never gotten personally involved in a case during his entire federal law enforcement career. He had no intention of doing so this time.

      The paperback hit the wall of Celia’s sitting room with a resounding splat. She shoved herself off the dainty little sofa and pushed a hand through her hair. “This,” she said aloud to the empty room, “is ridiculous.”

      It was just before noon. She’d been sitting alone for over half an hour, trying to concentrate on a glitzy saga that was just too overblown and pretentious to stomach.

      She had just turned twenty-four and she’d been acting twice her age. No, scratch that. Granny Fran was over seventy