probably shouldn't have pressured her to go out for drinks and dancing, but he believed it had been a useful outing. It had definitely reinforced his tale that his “wife” was completely absorbed with him, so enthralled by his skillful wooing that she had no interest in anything else that went on around her.
Reassured that no one had been in to bug their suite while they were gone, he turned back to B.J. “You're exhausted. You need some sleep.”
Nodding wearily, she took a few steps toward the bedroom, then froze when he moved to follow her. “Um…where are you going to sleep? On the sofa?”
Had it only now occurred to her that their charade of marriage included sharing a bedroom?
“It's a king-size bed,” he pointed out, waving a hand in that direction. “We can both sleep in it without even bumping into each other during the night.”
She looked from him to that big bed and back again. “I don't think so.”
Reaching up to squeeze the back of his neck, he spoke with deliberate impatience. “Trust me, Brittany, you are entirely safe with me tonight. We can't risk anyone suspecting that our 'marriage' is anything other than what I've said, so we'll share the bed, but only for sleeping. I plan to crash for a couple of hours and then I have some work to do on my computer before I meet with Drake tomorrow.”
B.J. flushed, and it wasn't hard to see that she had interpreted his tone to mean that he had no interest in taking advantage of sharing a bed with her. His use of the name she had answered to as a teenager had probably reinforced the impression that he saw her only as an inconvenient reminder of his past, still just a girl in whom he had no particular romantic interest.
It hadn't been true then and it wasn't now. But he saw no reason to share that with her. Once she recovered from her embarrassment, she should be much more comfortable sharing this suite with him if she was reassured that she didn't have to worry about him making unwelcome passes.
At least, he assumed they would be unwelcome. And if they weren't—well, that created a whole new set of problems.
She lifted her chin in a proud little gesture he knew very well and pushed a hand through her short hair, making it stand in defiant spikes around her heated face. “You can sleep wherever you like. I'm so tired I won't even notice you're in the same suite. And tomorrow, after we've both rested, I expect for you to find a way to get me out of this intolerable charade and back to my life as quickly as possible.”
He nodded. “I'll wait in the sitting room until you're in bed. I'll try not to disturb you when I come in or when I get back up.”
She nodded curtly and turned toward the bathroom. “By the way,” she said over her shoulder, her voice still icy, “I really prefer to answer to B.J.”
“I'll try to remember.”
“Do that.”
The bathroom door closed with a snap that almost made him wince.
Chapter Four
B.J. hadn't expected to sleep, but her body had other plans. Dressed in the most modest pajamas that had been made available to her, she slept heavily enough that she barely roused when Daniel lay down beside her maybe an hour after she turned in and she never knew when he got back up. Though she woke early—just before seven o'clock—he was already gone, only a slight indentation in his pillow as evidence that he was ever there.
It was hard to believe she had just spent an entire night in bed with Daniel Andreas. And slept through it. Whether from stress, exhaustion or both, she had simply gone unconscious.
She took a lengthy shower in the huge, ornately elegant bathroom. Afterward she applied a minimum of makeup, then dressed in one of the new outfits—a pale green sleeveless top with green-and-white-checked capris and green flip-flops. Studying herself in the mirror, she thought glumly that she looked like a soccer mom on her way to a PTA meeting. This was so not her.
Her gaze slid to the reflection of her left hand and the gold ring on her finger. Daniel's mother's ring.
She sank slowly to the edge of the bed, still looking at that ring. A simple gold band, it bore a few scratches that showed its age. It looked like what it was—a treasured memento.
Jarringly different mental images jockeyed for a moment in her mind.
Daniel at sixteen. Thin, dark, intense. Angry. Thread-bare clothes, shaggy hair, conversation that consisted mostly of monosyllables and curse words.
Daniel at twenty-nine. Sleek, groomed, cultured. His emotions well hidden behind a blandly congenial social mask. In some ways it was hard to believe it was the same person.
And yet…
She remembered a glimpse of rarely seen dimple. A brief flash of amusement at the memory of a long-ago practical joke.
Perhaps he had changed outwardly, but he was still the boy who had broken down in front of her when he had talked about finding his mother's body. Did he remember that powerful moment as clearly as she did? She would bet that he did. Maybe that was the reason he occasionally looked at her as though he would rather be anywhere other than with her now.
He entered the room so quietly that she didn't know he was there until he cleared his throat. She had never even heard the outer door open, which didn't reassure her about her safety in this luxurious suite.
As she rose to her feet, it was unexpectedly hard to meet his eyes. She kept remembering the boredom on his face when he had reassured her that he had no intention of making a pass at her during the night. He had all but told her outright that he wasn't attracted to her and that any evidence otherwise was merely an act he put on for the benefit of observers.
Even if he had only been trying to set her at ease about sleeping in the same room with him, it had been a fairly humiliating moment for her. She couldn't help thinking about the beautiful, busty blondes who seemed to have congregated at this resort. Perhaps they were more to Daniel's taste.
Not that she wanted to get involved with him, she assured herself hastily. He could be a criminal. At the very least, he was trouble.
“Good morning.”
Pride made her force herself to meet his eyes. “Good morning.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, quite well, thank you.”
She didn't have to ask the same of him. She knew he hadn't had more than a few hours of sleep, but he looked completely rested. His hair was neatly combed, his cream-colored shirt and tan pants impeccably pressed. Even though she was freshly showered and dressed and wearing more makeup than she usually favored, he still managed to make her feel slightly grubby in contrast to him.
His dark eyes mocked her stilted tone. “You look very nice.”
She looked down at her neatly matched clothing. “I look like a sitcom mom. All I need to finish off the look is a string of pearls.”
“Or this.” He pulled a thin rectangular box from his right pants pocket and extended it toward her.
Rather than taking it, B.J. eyed it suspiciously. “What is that?”
