The Borrowed Ring. Gina Wilkins
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later when someone else knocked on the sitting room door. Since the dishes from their meal had already been cleared away, B.J. looked curiously at Daniel. “Now what?”
He shrugged and crossed the room to answer. She found herself thinking that he moved like a man braced for trouble, as if he half expected danger to lurk on the other side of the door.
She couldn't help wondering again just what he had been up to for the past thirteen years. She'd been able to find out very little about him through the usual sources.
He glanced through the peephole, relaxed visibly and opened the door. A moment later he closed the door again and turned back to face her. His arms were filled with a gigantic gift basket covered in cellophane and topped with a glittering golden bow. “It's for you.”
“For me?” Frowning, she moved toward him as he set the basket on a table.
Through the clear covering she could see that the basket was filled with beauty products. Body lotions, cleansers, moisturizers, sunscreens. An assortment of cosmetics. Dainty little soaps. Hair products, including a brush and a hand mirror.
She spotted a clear plastic case fitted with a toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, a razor and a pink can of shaving gel. Everything a woman on vacation could possibly need. She had never cared much about brand names, but she suspected that the products in this basket were top-of-the-line.
“Did you order this, too?” she asked Daniel.
He shook his head and pulled a tiny card from a fold in the cellophane. The card bore the gold-embossed name of a resort gift shop. He held it so both could see the words as he read aloud, “'Not that you need any enhancement, but perhaps these things will be of use to you during your stay. Please ask for anything else you need. Judson Drake.'”
B.J. wrinkled her nose. “Eew.”
Daniel shook his head. “You're going to have to get past that tendency to shudder every time you hear his name. He's our host, and I'm trying to very hard to take him for a large amount of money. A little kissing up would definitely be in order.”
B.J. shuddered again. “If either of us is expected to kiss Creepy Guy, it had better be you.”
Reaching out to run a fingertip across her pouting lower lip, he murmured, “He's not my type.”
Her mind flooded suddenly with memories of the kiss with which he had greeted her at the farmhouse—had that really been less than eight hours ago?; it seemed longer—and yet she could still almost feel the warmth of his lips against hers.
Dropping his hand, he glanced at the wrinkled clothes she had donned again after trying on the new outfits. “Why don't you put on one of those new dresses and we'll go out for a drink and to listen to some music. We should let ourselves be seen.”
She gave it a moment's thought. She had a choice of going out for a drink or sitting in this suite with him—just the two of them—for the remainder of the evening. “A drink sounds good,” she said—perhaps just a bit too hastily.
He flashed her a smile. “I'll freshen up after you change. It won't take me long.”
Nodding, she turned toward the bedroom, leaving him gazing out the big window toward the darkening beach beyond. It was definitely a good thing she had chosen to go out, considering the way her hands were shaking merely in response to his lethal smile.
The sun had set by the time they went out, though the temperature was still pleasantly warm. Feeling as though she were playing dress-up, B.J. wore the fuchsia dress. The garment was a much brighter color than she would have chosen for herself, the bodice too lowcut, the hem too high. While she supposed it was fairly modest compared to some of the outfits she saw when they entered the rather crowded outdoor lounge, she would have been much more comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt.
Because it had seemed almost obligatory with the dress, she had even worn makeup for the evening, forcing herself to open the gift basket Drake had sent to the suite. She'd assured herself she didn't have to like him to take advantage of his generosity—especially since he probably had ulterior motives in making the gesture—but it still felt wrong somehow.
Daniel had told her she looked very nice. As usual, she hadn't been able to read his expression to judge whether he'd really meant the compliment or if he was only being polite. Glancing from beneath her eyelashes at the sleek, beautiful women occupying the candlelit little tables around them in the outdoor lounge, she couldn't help thinking that she must stand out among them like a plain brown sparrow in an exotic aviary.
Daniel, on the other hand, fit in very well with the glamorous crowd. His black hair still slightly damp from his quick shower, he wore a thin white shirt and loose cream-colored slacks that contrasted intriguingly with his dark skin and emphasized his long, lean body.
She noticed how many of the beautiful women—and a few of the beautiful men—turned to stare at Daniel as they crossed the stone floor to a rather isolated empty table. She wondered if it was only paranoia making her think she saw surprise in their eyes that a man like Daniel was with her.
“What's wrong?” he asked as he held her chair for her.
It bugged her that he sensed her moods so easily. “Nothing.”
He pulled his chair so close to hers that their knees touched beneath the tiny table. “Appearances,” he reminded her when she looked inquiringly at him.
“I'm not sure anything is going to make it appear that I belong at a place like this,” she murmured, waving a hand around the lounge, with its smooth stone floor, low rock walls lined with waving palm trees and huge pots of tropical flowers, colorful overhead lanterns and dozens of flickering candles.
In the center of the circular lounge was a small bandstand on which a five-piece ensemble played sultry dance music. A wooden dance floor surrounded the bandstand, making it easily accessible from any table, and several bronzed, toned, bleached and designer-clad couples took advantage of the chance to show off their dancing skills. The place was a far cry from the beer-and-barbecue joints her solidly middle-class family tended to frequent back home in Texas.
Daniel frowned. “Why wouldn't you look as though you belong here?”
She shrugged self-consciously. “I would never be able to afford to stay at a resort like this on my own.”
“That doesn't make you inferior to anyone here. Don't mistake money for class, Britt—B.J.”
A pretty blonde in a sarong—which seemed to describe nearly every employee at this resort—stopped beside the table. “What would you like?”
“Darling?”
B.J. gave Daniel a look. It would serve him right— not to mention prove her point—if she ordered root beer. “Why don't you order for us, darling?”
His smile flashed, giving her just a fleeting glimpse of the shallow dimple in his left cheek. She remembered having a rather obsessive fascination with that elusive dimple when she was fourteen. “Champagne, then—since it's your favorite.”
He glanced at the server and ordered a brand B.J. didn't recognize. Probably very expensive.
“Champagne is my favorite drink?” she murmured when the server moved away.
“It seemed to fit in character.”
Because it was making her rather nervous to be sit ting so close to him, gazing into his dark eyes, she forced herself to look away, turning her attention toward the bandstand. Reflections of the tiny white lights strung above them glittered like stars on the glossy grand piano and gleaming wind instruments.
Beneath the bluesy music she could just hear the sound of the ocean. The scent of tropical blooms drifted past her on a light breeze. The slow swaying of the dancing couples was almost hypnotic.
The server returned with their champagne. B.J. took an appreciative sip before saying, “One thing I will say about Creepy Guy, he runs a nice place.”
Though