A Match for Celia. GINA WILKINS

what had Celia been doing? Moping. She snorted in self-disgust and headed determinedly for the door. She was on vacation, darn it. Her first one in ages. She was going to have fun if it killed her.

      Reed Hollander was still sitting by the pool, carefully shaded from the “dangerous” sun, his nose buried in the thick book. Celia stopped and stared at him. Pathetic, she thought with a shake of her head. He was a young man, nice looking, seemed pleasant enough. Yet he was wasting this beautiful day reading a book that looked boring even from where she stood.

      Without giving herself time to think about it, Celia walked up to him, reached out, plucked the book from his hands and closed it without bothering to save his place. Later she would wonder at her actions—she never did things like this!—but for now, it seemed the right thing to do.

      He blinked owlishly at her through his horn-rimmed glasses. “Er…?”

      “How old are you, Reed Hollander?” she demanded, staring aggressively down at him.

      Looking thoroughly bewildered, he cleared his throat. “I’m thirty-three. As of yesterday, actually.”

      “Congratulations. And I’ve recently turned twenty-four. So what the hell are we doing?”

      “I’m not sure I—”

      “Look around us!” she said, warming to her subject, swinging an arm to direct his attention outward. “There must be a gazillion things to do around here. Everyone else seems to be having a great time. So why aren’t we?”

      “Well, I—”

      “I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready for a rocking chair and a shawl. I want to have fun while I’m young enough to enjoy it. And you are going to have fun, too, Reed Hollander.”

      His eyebrows rose. “I am?”

      “Yes. Your parents can thank me later. Now, come on, get up out of that chair. We’re going to play.”

      “But—”

      She lifted an admonishing finger. “No arguments,” she warned. “You’re going to have fun, even if I have to drag you screaming and kicking.”

      His firm mouth quirked into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “That should be an interesting sight.”

      “Want to bet that I won’t try it?”

      “No,” he said hastily, his smile deepening. “I’m sure you would. But it won’t be necessary. I accept your graciously extended invitation. I was only going to point out that I don’t have a car.”

      She dug into her pocket and dangled a key ring in front of him. “I do.” Damien had taken care of that, of course. “So what are we waiting for?”

      “Not a thing.” He took the book from her hands and laid it on the table. “Lead the way.”

      “Don’t you want to put your book away first?”

      He shook his head. “Anyone who would go to the trouble of stealing it will get exactly what he deserves.”

      She chuckled. “Then let’s go.”

      He made an old-fashioned “after you” gesture, then followed closely behind her when she moved toward the garage where Damien kept his cars.

      She didn’t allow herself to dwell on a nagging suspicion that she had just done something very foolish.

      Celia was a bit startled to learn that the vehicle Damien had left for her use was a sleek, glossy black Mercedes convertible. She gulped at the thought of being responsible for a car that cost more than she’d make at the bank in three or four years, but she managed to hide her trepidation from Reed.

      They were setting out to have an adventure, she reminded herself firmly. Might as well do so in style.

      “Nice car” was all Reed said as he climbed carefully into the passenger’s seat, folding his long legs in front of him.

      “It’s Damien’s,” Celia admitted.

      “I thought it might be. He won’t mind if you and I…”

      “Of course not,” Celia cut in airily. She started the engine, flinched at the resulting powerful roar, then shoved the gear-shift into Reverse.

      She nearly gave herself and her passenger whiplash.

      “You…er…always drive like this?” Reed asked mildly as they sped away from the resort. He held one hand to the back of his neck, as though checking to make sure her jolting takeoff hadn’t done any permanent damage.

      Celia gave him a rather sheepish look of apology. “Sorry. I’m not used to this car. I have a sports car back home, but it’s just a little four-cylinder. I think this one must be a six.”

      “Eight,” he corrected her, wincing as she narrowly missed a palm tree that leaned toward the road. “Quite powerful, actually. It would be rather easy to lose control.”

      “Don’t worry about it,” Celia assured him, spitting a lock of whipping dark hair out of her mouth. “I’m a great driver.”

      A spray of sand, gravel and crushed shells showered upward when the two right tires left the pavement and hit the shoulder. Celia overcorrected, swerved, cursed beneath her breath and brought the car firmly back under control on the right side of the road. She didn’t look at Reed, though she saw that his hands were clenched on his knees, the knuckles conspicuously white.

      Reed released his knees to reach for his seat belt. He fastened it with a loud snap. “Yes,” he said, just loudly enough for her to hear. “I can see that my life is in good hands.”

      Feeling a bit guilty that her restlessness had made her reckless, Celia eased up on the accelerator. “Sorry. I’ll slow down.”

      He murmured something that might have been a thank-you. He didn’t say anything else until Celia guided the car onto the Queen Isabella Causeway, the curving, two-and-a-half-mile bridge that spanned Laguna Madre Bay to provide access between South Padre Island and Port Isabel on the mainland.

      “Do you have any particular destination in mind?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder as they left the resort behind.

      “You like history, right?”

      “Yes.”

      “According to the tourist pamphlets I’ve been looking over during the past couple of days, this area’s crawling with it. The Port Isabel lighthouse. Fort Brown. A bunch of battlefields from the Mexican War and the Civil War. Lots of museums and stuff. Any of that sound interesting to you?”

      “Yes,” he admitted with a smile. “But what about you? Are you interested in history? Military history?”

      “Not particularly,” she answered candidly. “But anything’s better than sitting in my room with a dumb book. I might as well broaden my mind, since I have nothing better to do.”

      Reed chuckled.

      Realizing how ungracious she’d sounded, Celia groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead. She placed it back on the wheel quickly, to Reed’s obvious relief. Both of them were aware that the long, busy bridge was no place to start swerving again.

      “I’m sorry, Reed. I didn’t really mean that I’ve kidnapped you for the afternoon for lack of anything better to do. I just thought since we’re both here on our own, and both having trouble finding anything to do at the resort, maybe we could keep each other company for a while. I suppose I should have given you a chance to say something.”

      “I’m glad you’ve kidnapped me,” Reed assured her. “I’d like to see the local sights with you. As I said, I’m not very good at this vacation business.”

      Celia slanted him a smile. “Neither am I.”

      He smiled back at her, and she thought again that he was a very attractive