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 man. She liked his smile and his nice hazel eyes. She wondered if he had anyone waiting for him back home in Cleveland. And if he did, what was he doing here alone?
Their gazes held for a moment. And then Reed cleared his throat, tapped the dash and recalled her attention to her driving. “I think we’ll enjoy ourselves more if we arrive in one piece,” he suggested teasingly.
Celia laughed and turned her full concentration to her driving. “I’m sure you’re right. Hang on, friend. We’re off to have fun—even if it kills us.”
“What a pleasant thought,” Reed remarked wryly, but he seemed to relax when she did.
Maybe this would be fun, after all, Celia mused with a faint smile.
It was always nice to make a new friend.
Chapter Three
Reed proved to be a very pleasant companion for an afternoon. Polite—almost excessively so, at first—considerate, interesting when he finally relaxed enough to carry on a conversation.
He hadn’t been kidding about his interest in history, Celia thought at one point during the afternoon. It seemed to fascinate him. Just show him a historical marker or a battered old weapon or a scrap of hundred-year-old paper covered with faded, indecipherable writing, and those nice hazel eyes of his lighted up like beacons behind his sensible glasses.
She had rather expected to be bored. She was almost surprised to find out that she wasn’t. Using a map they picked up at a visitor information booth, they scouted out several local tourist attractions. Reed seemed almost comically worried that Celia wasn’t having a good time; she assured him repeatedly, and quite sincerely, that she was having a lovely day.
“Celia,” Reed said as she drove away from the final museum late that afternoon. “We’ve been exploring sites of interest to me all afternoon. Surely there’s something you’d like to do before we go back to the resort.”
Glancing at the many tourist attractions around them, Celia nodded. “Actually, there is.”
“What is it?” he asked encouragingly.
She spun the wheel of the Mercedes, swinging into a parking lot. “I want food,” she said with a grin. “And not that elegant cuisine served in the Alexander’s restaurant. I want something greasy and fattening and totally non-nutritious. A cheeseburger, fries and a chocolate
