“I was…er…in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop by.” She tried to sound flippant, but she was horribly afraid she only sounded stupid. She bit her lip.
Reed looked at her a moment, then stepped back. “Come in.”
His room wasn’t nearly as luxurious as hers. It looked very much like any room in any nice hotel—king-size bed with a green and burgundy paisley spread, coordinating wood-framed prints on deep green walls, thick carpeting, glossy wood wardrobe-entertainment center, desk, table and chairs.
At least Damien had resisted the temptation to decorate in tropical colors and rattan. This was much more homelike and restful, in Celia’s opinion. Not that she cared about the decor of the room. It was the man who’d been staying in it who fascinated her.
She wasn’t surprised to discover that Reed was very neat. Not a thing was out of place in the room, no personal belongings scattered around, except for the shirt draped over the back of one of the chairs, the shoes sitting in perfect alignment beside the bed and the discarded glasses on the nightstand.
She turned to face him as he closed the door behind her. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
He made a wry face and motioned toward the empty room and the flickering television. “As you can see, I wasn’t spending a particularly eventful evening. You aren’t interrupting anything except the late news.”
She glanced at the TV. “Anything interesting going on in the rest of the world?”
“No.” He snapped the set off.
So much for that subject. Celia slid her damp palms discreetly down the sides of her skirt. “I—umm—wanted to talk to you.”
He motioned toward one of the chairs. “Have a seat.”
Reed settled onto the end of the bed, crossing his right ankle over his left knee, apparently prepared to listen. Celia perched on the very edge of the chair and wondered what the hell she should say now.
He didn’t make it any easier for her. He simply watched her, his hazel eyes intent on her flushed face.
Celia cleared her throat. “Damien was called away this evening. There’s been an altercation here at the resort and he’s trying to avert unpleasant press coverage.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Reed asked bluntly, the mention of Damien’s name making him scowl.
“Nothing. Well, not exactly. I was—I wanted—”
She stopped, shook her head in self-disgust and began again. “I had intended to talk to Damien tonight about…well, about us.”
“Us?” Reed repeated. “You and me?”
“No. Damien and me.”
Reed’s scowl deepened. “Well?”
“I wanted to tell him that I like him a great deal. As a friend. But that’s all it can ever be between us. Friends. Not—not lovers.”
Reed sat without moving for a moment, though his scowl had vanished, replaced by a faint look of confusion. “What are you trying to tell me, Celia?”
Her fingers clenched so hard in her lap that her knuckles ached. “You—you said I knew where to find you. If I wanted you.”
His eyes narrowed. Something flared in them. Heat? Surprise?
“Well?” he prodded, still without moving.
It was the hardest thing she’d ever had to say. “I want you.”
Her voice was little more than a trembling exhalation, but Reed heard it. And he moved with a speed that belied the rigid control he’d exhibited thus far. Almost before Celia knew what was happening, he had her out of the chair and in his arms, his mouth locked tightly to hers.
It was almost as though a neon sign went on inside Celia’s head. That suddenly, that clearly, that certainly…she knew. This is right. This is what I’ve been looking for.
All the excitement that had been missing in other men’s kisses, she found in this one. All the passion she’d only dreamed of experiencing before, she felt now. The feelings were almost overwhelming.
She was aware of his lips, hard and firm against hers. His tongue, wet and seeking. His chest, warm, broad, strong against her flattened breasts. His legs, long and braced, supporting both of them.