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“I’m sure it will. Let’s just call it an evening, shall we?”
Damien looked torn, his eyes going from Celia to Evan, who stood impatiently nearby. He exhaled deeply. “Okay. We’ll talk tomorrow—even if I have to bolt the door and disconnect the telephones to do so!”
Which meant, of course, that Damien was finally ready to have that serious talk that he’d been avoiding all evening, Celia interpreted.
She wasn’t sure whether to be more relieved or disappointed that the confrontation had been delayed. It wasn’t something she was looking forward to, even though she was sure Damien would make it as painless as possible for her. He was too nice a man to cause an unpleasant scene just because she’d decided she didn’t want to be his lover.
Still, it wouldn’t be easy for him. He was a man of considerable ego—and with some justification for being that way. He couldn’t be accustomed to being rejected.
She assured Damien that she was perfectly capable of seeing herself back to her suite. She reminded him that he was needed in his office immediately.
“Before the press descends,” she added, watching a spasm cross his face in reaction. She knew how Damien felt about the gossip sheets, though he courted them when he deemed it professionally advantageous.
Damien nodded and brushed his mouth hastily across her cheek. “Tomorrow,” he promised, and rushed away. Evan was at his employer’s side, not even sparing a backward glance for Celia.
Celia was on her way to her suite when she suddenly changed her mind. She stopped in the middle of the path, her gaze drifting to the tall building in the center of the compound, the twelve-story, multibalconied complex in which Reed was staying. She knew his room number; he’d mentioned it on one of their outings in case she ever needed to call him.
Was he in his room now? It was just after 10:00 p.m. Not late
—but rather early for a single man on vacation to turn in alone.
Or was he alone? she wondered with a hollow feeling deep inside. She pictured him on the beach with the beautiful redhead and then in his room with her in his arms.
The image made her heart ache.
She suddenly knew she couldn’t go to bed without knowing whether Reed was spending the evening with the other woman.
She could call his room. Ask if he wanted to join her for a nightcap in the lounge.
Or she could show up at his door and hope for the best.
She stood for several long, indecisive moments at the door leading into her building, her eyes locked on the lighted windows of Reed’s building. And she remembered what he’d said to her when he’d left her Sunday evening, after their romantic evening had been so abruptly interrupted by Damien’s flowers.
You’re going to have to make a choice, Celia. You know where to find me. If you want me.
She wanted him. But finding him would take more courage than anything she’d ever done in her entire life.
She took a step toward his building. And then another. And she prayed during that long, slow walk that she wasn’t making an enormous mistake.
Chapter Ten
Celia must have stood in front of Reed’s door for ten minutes trying to work up the nerve to knock on it. She knew he was inside; she could hear the television playing and the sounds of someone moving around.
But what if he wasn’t alone?
She crossed her arms in front of her and rubbed her hands up and down her goose bump-dotted forearms. Surely he was alone, she mentally argued. He wouldn’t be watching CNN during a romantic interlude, would he?
But then, again, knowing Reed, he just might, she thought with a feeble attempt at humor.
She drew a deep, shaky breath and rapped her knuckles lightly on the smooth wood door—so lightly she wasn’t even sure he could hear her over the sound of the television. If he didn’t immediately respond, she’d consider it a sign and she would leave.
Her heart jumped when the door suddenly opened. She placed a hand against her chest as though to slow its pounding.
Reed wasn’t wearing his glasses. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, either, only his usual dark slacks. His tanned chest looked even sexier than she’d remembered from the beach. Funny how she only now noticed the few intriguing scars beneath the dusting of dark hair.
Her heart beat even harder, making it difficult for her to breathe. She attempted a smile. “Hi,” she said in a voice that bore little resemblance to her own.
His eyebrows rose. “Hi.” There was a hint of a question behind the greeting.
