A Match for Celia

After they’d placed their orders at the counter, Celia insisted she pay for the meal. “After all,” she reminded him, “I kidnapped you this afternoon. So, it’s my treat.”

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said politely.

She liked it that he didn’t argue with her. A lot of guys felt threatened when a woman bought their dinner. Celia sensed that Reed was a man who was completely comfortable with his own worth, his own masculinity. He didn’t appear to be trying to prove anything, or to impress her. He was just being himself. And she liked him all the better for it.

They found a booth at the back of the room, as far as possible from the corner in which a small child’s birthday party was in noisy progress. Celia bit into her burger with a sigh of delight. “Mmm,” she murmured. “That’s exactly what I needed.”

She looked up to find that Reed was watching her. He hadn’t even unwrapped his own burger, yet. “Reed?” she prompted. “Aren’t you hungry?”

He blinked. “Oh. Yeah.” He picked up his burger and fussed with the paper covering, seeming to avoid her eyes for a moment.

Celia thought in some amusement that he looked embarrassed. Why? Was he worried about table etiquette or something silly like that? At a place where two kids were climbing the light fixtures and another was eating french fries that had fallen on the floor?

He really was a very sweet man. A bit staid, but sweet.

Remember the job, damn it, Reed told himself angrily as he bit off a corner of his dripping burger. Remember the job.

He didn’t know what strange quirk of fate had made Celia choose him to entertain her during the afternoon; he certainly hadn’t been trying to compete with her dashing boyfriend or any of the wealthy guests currently in residence at the resort. But now that she had, instead of taking advantage of the chance to subtly find out more about her dealings with Alexander, he found himself sitting in a fast-food restaurant booth fantasizing about having her wrap her lips around him with the same frankly sensual enthusiasm she’d displayed for her hamburger!

Not smart, Hollander. Damned stupid, in fact.

He was confident that he’d carried out his role believably enough during the afternoon. Celia had no reason to think he was anything other than what he’d told her he was—an ordinary tax accountant with a passion for history. She seemed to trust him.

But she still hadn’t given him any clue as to what she was doing at Damien Alexander’s resort while Alexander was taking care of business elsewhere.

The thought of Damien Alexander made Reed strengthen his resolve to keep his distance from Celia Carson. No matter how attractive he found her, no matter how invitingly she looked at him, no matter how seductively she walked or how intriguingly she smiled—he still had no intention of making a play for Alexander’s woman.

That, he reminded himself flatly, could only lead to disaster. Professionally—and personally, if he wasn’t careful.

When they left the fast-food restaurant, Celia mentioned that there was one other thing she’d like to do.

“What is it?” Reed asked, perfectly willing to indulge her.

Celia smiled and pointed to a gaudy, colorful place across the street from the burger joint. “That.”

Reed followed the direction of her pointing finger, then frowned. “Miniature golf?”

“Yes. Looks like a great course, doesn’t it? Look at that windmill. And the castle. I bet that’s a tough one.”

Reed was still frowning. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Haven’t you ever played miniature golf?”

He seemed to consider the question for a moment. “If I have,” he said at last, “I’ve forgotten.”

“Well, that settles it, then. We have to play. You can go home and tell your parents that you tried something new on your vacation. They’ll be delighted,” she assured him.

He didn’t look convinced. “I don’t think I’d be very good at it.”

“Don’t sweat it, Reed,” she told him, tucking a companionable hand beneath his arm. “Everyone’s a little nervous the first time. But I promise, I’ll be gentle with you.”

She gave him a bland, innocent smile when he looked at her with suddenly narrowed eyes. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to the double entendre; she hadn’t been able to resist finding out.

Reed cocked his head, stroked his jaw, then nodded. “All right,” he said. “I’m yours. Take me.”

This time it was Celia who lifted an eyebrow in response to the unexpectedly sexy growl in which he’d spoken. “Er—”

“Take me to play golf,” he said, his smile wicked. “That’s what I meant, of course.”

She resisted an impulse to fan her suddenly warm cheeks with one hand. He really did have a tendency to surprise her at times, she thought.

In fact, there were moments when she wasn’t at all sure that he was quite as mild-mannered and innocuous as he’d seemed at first.

It was after eight that evening when they crossed the causeway again onto South Padre Island. Reed was behind the wheel this time, Celia having declared that she was tired of driving. As she’d expected, particularly after knowing him for a few more hours, he handled the powerful vehicle competently, confidently—and cautiously.

The same way he’d played miniature golf, she thought with a suppressed sigh. He’d slaughtered her at the game, even though he swore it had been his first time.

From beneath heavy eyelids, she studied the gleam of lights on the now blue-black waters of Laguna Madre. A mile ahead of them, the closely nestled buildings on South Padre Island gleamed brightly against the darkened Gulf horizon. “Pretty, isn’t it?” she murmured.

“In a glittery way,” he hedged. “I usually prefer a more natural landscape, myself. Moonlight on undeveloped beaches. A campfire glowing in a clearing in the middle of a forest. A fireplace burning in a cabin high up in the Rockies after a snowstorm.”

Celia lifted her head from the leather seat and stared at him. This didn’t sound like the pragmatic, history-buff accountant she’d spent the afternoon trailing at several historic sites. “Why, Reed,” she said. “You sound almost like a closet romantic.”

He shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. “Nah. I just meant I usually vacation in less luxurious surroundings. Padre’s got a lot to offer, of course, which makes it so popular. Did you know there’s evidence that the Karankawa Indians wintered here more than four hundred years ago? Which means the island has always been seen as an ideal—”

Celia interrupted him with a groan. “Please. No more historical tidbits. My brain is already on overload with all these perfectly useless facts.”

“Like what?” Reed asked, smiling.

“The Port Isabel lighthouse was constructed in the 1850s and abandoned in 1905. The construction of Fort Brown in 1844—”

“Forty-six.”

“Thanks. In 1846, then, precipitated the beginning of the U.S.–Mexican War. The last land engagement of the Civil War was fought at Palmito Ranch near Brownsville, a month after Lee’s surrender. The battle was won by Confederates who didn’t know the war was already over, and afterward the victors became the captives of their former prisoners. That was sort of interesting, actually.”

“I thought so,” Reed murmured, his voice underlaced with amusement.

“I know you did. You just ate that stuff up, didn’t you? I bet you made all As in history in school.”

“Yeah, but don’t ask about my grades in composition and literature.”

“I was good at math and sciences, but history always put me to sleep.”

“Then you had the wrong teachers.”

“Maybe I did,” she agreed, smiling at him. “You made it very interesting this afternoon. Maybe you should have been a history teacher instead of a tax accountant.”

Reed’s smile seemed to fade in the shadows. Before Celia could decide why, he shrugged and said lightly, “I thought about it. Then something more interesting came up.”