Three in the morning, and Daniel was lying in the dark in the suite's sitting room. Alone. B.J. had turned in soon after they'd returned from their walk, but he had told her he had some paperwork to look over first.
Even after he had procrastinated as long as possible with the paperwork and turned off the lights in the sitting room, he hadn't been able to make himself go into the bedroom. Instead he sprawled on the uncomfortable sofa, his sock-clad feet hanging over one end, eyes wide open as he stared at the ceiling.
After those kisses on the beach—kisses that had begun for the benefit of anyone who might be watching but had swiftly evolved into much more—he hadn't trusted himself to join B.J. in the bed.
He had told her there was a good chance they would be leaving tomorrow. In actuality, the odds were only about fifty-fifty that he could wrap his business up that quickly. Still, he was going to do everything he could to get this over with as quickly as possible.
Drake and his men were dangerous—but it was beginning to feel as though Brittany Jeanne Samples posed the real threat to the life Daniel had created for himself.
Too restless to wait in the suite for Daniel the next morning, B.J. donned a black two-piece bathing suit and a floral-on-black pareu, deciding it was time to try out the pool.
She hadn't actually seen Daniel since he had sent her off to bed alone the night before. She'd found a note from him when she'd woken. It lay on the pillow Daniel hadn't used last night.
“Darling,” he had written neatly, “I'll be in meetings most of the morning. I hope you'll be able to entertain yourself until I rejoin you.”
She suspected that it was as much mischief as role-playing that had made him add, “I'll carry the memory of last night with me until I have you in my arms again. Your Daniel.”
Oh, puhleeze, she had thought with a roll of her eyes. Was Daniel's idea of marital bliss really so smarmy or was this his attempt at a private joke?
Either way, she had tucked his note into her tote bag rather than tossing it into the trash, and she didn't want to spend much time examining her motives for hanging on to it.
It was while she was stashing the note away that she realized both her cell phone and her wallet were missing from the bag. Since B.J. had arrived at the resort, she hadn't needed them—so there was no telling how long they had been gone. Everything else was still in place, but no amount of digging through her usual clutter produced either of those items.
It occurred to her that there was now nothing in the bag to indicate that she was anyone other than who she had said. Daniel's wife. Anyone snooping through her things might wonder at the absence of a wallet, but they wouldn't find anything to disprove her cover story.
Maybe she should have considered that someone from outside had been through her bag already and had taken her possessions. But for some reason she had no doubt that Daniel was the pilferer. He had been so thorough in making sure she went along with this charade; he wouldn't neglect hiding any evidence that they were pulling off a scam.
Knowing she would be wasting her time searching the suite for her things, she picked up her paperback and headed out of the suite.
Even knowing Drake had designed it himself, she couldn't help but admire the pool. It was so beautiful, with its surrounding tropical plants, the natural-looking waterfalls, the curving lines of the pool itself.
She selected an umbrella-shaded poolside chair, ordered a glass of orange juice from a server who seemed to appear out of nowhere, then leaned back and opened the book she had purchased yesterday. Fifteen minutes later she closed it again. She was too restless to read. Her body ached for…something. It seemed safest to define it as exercise.
She slipped into the pool, which was still unoccupied this early in the morning. The pleasantly warm water closed around her like a lover's arms. Because the analogy made that vague ache inside her intensify, she began to swim, counting laps until she couldn't complete another one.
She most definitely burned off energy during her vigorous swim, but nothing else had changed. Her mind was still filled with thoughts of Daniel as she boosted herself out of the pool.
Water streaming off her, she reached for the towel she had left beside the pool. She swiped the towel over her hair and face and turned toward her chair-then stopped.
A man sat in the chair next to the one in which she had been trying to read earlier. He was young—probably close to her own age—and sandy-haired, with friendly blue eyes and a pleasant smile. The skin on his nose was peeling from a sunburn, and his cheeks were unnaturally pink.
He couldn't look more innocent, but still she wondered if he was yet another employee of Drake's. Had he been watching her for a reason?
“Good morning,” she said evenly, reaching for her pareu.
“Got yourself a workout this morning, didn't you?”
“I suppose so.” She wrapped the fabric around her and knotted it at her left hip.
“I just came from a run on the beach,” he confided. “I'm a morning person myself. But my wife, well, she doesn't think any vacation day really begins before noon. Sleeping in is a rare treat for her.”
Something about the way he had said “my wife” made her smile and sink into her chair. “Honeymoon?”
“Yeah. How could you tell?”
She shrugged. “Newlywed vibes.”
He laughed sheepishly. “My wife—um, Natalie— says I'm a compulsive talker. If you would rather be alone—”