LITMIR.BIZ

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toy.” He’d spent the whole afternoon with her, damn it. His instincts about people were usually directly on target. And all his instincts told him that Celia Carson was exactly what she appeared to be. Good-natured. Restless. A bit naive. Honest.

      But—rare though it had been—he had been wrong before. “Damn,” he growled, wishing for a moment that he had become a history teacher.

      “What’s the matter, Hollander? Don’t tell me you’re starting to share Alexander’s tastes in PYTs?”

      PYTs. Kyle’s dry, uncharitable way of referring to the pretty young things that Damien Alexander had made a hobby of collecting and discarding. Pretty young women like Celia Carson.

      Innocent bystander? Eager mistress? Or calculating business associate?

      Reed found, to his self-disgust, that he wasn’t nearly as certain as he should be about which label best fit the woman he was meeting for dinner in fifteen minutes.

      “I’ve got to go,” he said abruptly. “Anything else you wanted to tell me?”

      “No. I’ll be there when Alexander arrives.”

      “Right. See you then.”

      “Have fun, Reed. But watch your back.”

      Reed growled a response and replaced the phone. He wasted another few minutes cursing himself for forgetting, even for a couple of hours, the careful objectivity he’d always prided.

      It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again during this assignment, he promised himself.

      Dressed in a royal blue silk T-shirt and a gauzy print skirt, Celia entered the restaurant lobby only five minutes later than she’d intended. She didn’t see Reed at first, though she quickly spotted the resort manager, Enrique Torres, and his wife, Helen, who were entering the restaurant at the same time as Celia.

      “Miss Carson.” Torres greeted Celia with an overbright smile probably reserved for VIP guests. “Are you enjoying your stay with us?”

      “Yes, thank you, Mr. Torres,” she replied. Oddly enough, she meant it this time. She’d had a better time today than she had since her arrival. “Your staff is very friendly and efficient,” she added, because he still looked a bit anxious. “I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend this resort to any of my friends for their vacations.”

      His smile relaxed fractionally. “That’s very kind of you. Were you on your way in to the dining room?”

      “Yes. I’ve been so busy sightseeing this afternoon that I’ve just now gotten around to dinner.”

      That, too, seemed to please him. The guest was keeping herself entertained. He nodded toward his wife, who was chatting with another guest across the lobby. “Please, won’t you join us at our table? Helen and I will enjoy your company.”

      “Thank you, but I’m meeting someone. As a matter of fact,” she added, when a hand fell lightly on her shoulder, “he’s here now.”

      She smiled up at Reed, who returned the greeting with a slight nod. “Mr. Torres, have you met Reed Hollander?”

      “Only briefly,” Torres replied, extending a hand. “Are you enjoying your stay with us, Mr. Hollander?”

      Celia thought with a stifled smile that he must automatically ask that question of all his guests.

      Reed shook the manager’s hand briefly. “I’m enjoying it more all the time,” he said.

      Celia glanced up at him, to find him smiling down at her in a way that made his words somehow directed toward her. She felt her cheeks warm a bit, and quickly looked away.

      Torres was watching them with a tiny frown between his dark eyebrows. “Er—well, enjoy your dinner. Please let me know if anything is unsatisfactory.”

      “I’m sure everything will be fine, as always,” Celia assured him.

      Torres managed another strained smile, murmured a good evening, and returned to his wife, giving them one last, worried look over his shoulder.

      “He doesn’t like it that I’ve joined you this evening,” Reed commented.

      “Don’t be silly. Why would he care?”

      “Maybe because his boss wouldn’t like it?”

      “Damien wouldn’t care, either,” Celia replied firmly, though she wasn’t as confident as she tried to sound. “Let’s go in, Reed. I’m starving.”

      She slipped a hand beneath his arm, an almost defiant gesture that earned her a quizzical look from him and another faint frown from Torres. Reed didn’t say anything, simply put a hand over hers and led her to the doorway. He kept her hand on his arm as they were escorted to a table by the rather surprised-looking maître d’, who’d become accustomed to escorting each of them to tables “for one.”

      Celia had just noticed how firm and muscular Reed’s arm was beneath his thin, white cotton shirt when they reached the table. Surprisingly muscular for an accountant, she mused as she slipped into her seat. Served her right for stereotyping.

      The table was Celia’s favorite in the beautifully decorated restaurant, which was another indication of her preferential treatment, since the restaurant was fairly crowded on this Friday evening. The table was small, private, candlelit, set cozily into a bay window overlooking the Gulf. The full moon reflected softly off the rolling waves and nearly deserted beach. A night made for romance.

      Celia glanced at Reed from beneath her lashes and tried to imagine Damien sitting across from her. Damien, with his thick, precisely-styled blond hair, his gleaming, dark-lashed blue eyes, his flashing dimples and killer smile. The image kept fading in contrast to the reality of the man sitting across from her. Reed Hollander, with his neat dark hair and grave hazel eyes, his horn-rimmed glasses and cautious smiles, his muscular arms and fact-crammed brain.

      Reed, who was becoming more intriguing to her all the time.

      She mentally shook her head. Talk about confusing situations! Here she was at this glamorous resort with tentative plans to begin an affair with a dashing, exciting man, only to find herself suddenly attracted to another man who was all too much like the men she’d left behind, the ones she’d thought too ordinary to interest her. And she was even less certain than she’d been before that she wanted to become intimately involved with Damien.

      Now this was a moral dilemma!

      “So, what’s your decision?” Reed asked from across the table.

      Celia blinked at him over her menu, wondering if the man could read her mind. “I…er…beg your pardon?”

      He nodded toward his own menu. “Have you decided what you want for dinner?”

      “Dinner. Oh, yes, of course. I’ll—um—I’ll have…” She glanced down at the menu and read off the first entrée that caught her eye. “Baked snapper.”

      “Sounds good,” Reed said, closing his own menu. “I’ll have that, too.”

      They placed their orders, selected a wine, were served salads and bread. A noticeable silence fell between them when they were alone again. Celia found her eyes turning once again toward the inviting expanse of moon-washed beach. She could so easily imagine herself walking hand in hand along that beach in that soft moonlight. Problem was, she couldn’t seem to decide whose hand she’d most like to be holding.

      “You’ve gotten very quiet,” Reed commented, reclaiming her attention. “Tired?”

      “A little,” she admitted. “I was just noticing how beautiful the beach looks tonight.”

      He followed her gaze. “It is nice. Would you like to take a walk after dinner?”

      She almost choked on a bite of bread. “Maybe,” she murmured after taking a quick sip of wine.

      “Tell

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