“And what have you become?”
After only a brief hesitation he replied offhandedly, “A prosperous man. Or at least, I'm headed that way.”
She continued to look steadily at him, searching his expression for meanings behind the words. “Having a lot of money is your idea of amounting to something?”
“Of course. Maybe money can't buy happiness, but it can sure provide everything a man needs to keep himself comfortable during the pursuit.”
“Funny. It was just two days ago that you cautioned me not to confuse wealth with character and class.”
A little muscle flickered at the corner of his eye. “I said that?”
“You did. You were trying to set me at ease when I said I felt out of place among all the rich people at the resort.”
“Yes, well, I never said I felt out of place there. Or that I was someone who wanted to be admired for my character, as I'm sure you do. Living in luxury, having anything I want with a quick phone call—that's who I aspire to be.”
“You are so full of crap.”
Her cross comment startled a quizzical laugh out of him. “I beg your pardon?”
“I don't know why you're here exactly, but I think there's a lot more to it than simple greed. Maybe you want the money to take care of your aunt. Maybe you hate Drake for some reason and want to take him down. Or maybe you just enjoy the challenge of outconning a con man. But it isn't just the desire for wealth that motivates you.”
He seemed momentarily disconcerted, but then he reached for the wine bottle, breaking the visual contact between them. “Would you like some more of this?”
“No, thank you.” She stood and moved out of the shelter, walking slowly down to the beach. Shells and driftwood were scattered on the sand, begging to be explored. She carried a few crackers with her, tossing them to hovering, squawking seagulls.
She laughed when they grew bold enough to practically snatch the bites from her fingertips. “Shameless beggars.”
“Remember the day we fed the Canada geese that lived in the ponds on your uncle's ranch? The geese were so aggressive, they almost knocked us to our knees to take the bread from our hands.”
She hadn't realized Daniel had moved to stand behind her until he spoke. “I remember,” she said, turning to face him. “We laughed so hard I got hiccups.”
“It was the first time I had laughed like that in months,” he murmured. “Since the day I found my mother, actually.”
It was also the day he had cried. She could still remember the moment his laughter had turned to tears. He had been appalled by the dampness on his cheeks, perhaps expecting her to react with discomfort. Or worse, pity.
Instead she had somehow instinctively understood that he had needed to release the emotions locked inside him for so long. Emotions that had been triggered by their laughter. And even though she had been very young, only fourteen, she had held his hand and told him matter-of-factly that she understood the need to cry sometimes. She did so herself every once in a while—and she hadn't been through nearly what Daniel had.
He hadn't shed more than a few tears. He had wiped them away with the backs of his hands, leaving dirty streaks on his brown cheeks. Without his asking, she had assured him that no one would ever hear from her that he wasn't quite as tough as he wanted everyone to believe.
He had caught her arm when she'd started to turn away from him. The kiss he had given her then had been brief, awkward, unexpected. She had suspected ever since that it had been intended as a distraction of sorts. He had wanted to leave her with the memory of her first kiss rather than his momentary weakness.
She remembered both. Vividly.
Dusting cracker crumbs off her hands, she turned to face him now. “Is the money really so important to you? It's not really too late to walk away from this, is it?”
“My business here is very important to me,” he answered curtly. “And it's much too late to walk away. I'm only sorry you got tangled up in it.”
Her throat was ti
ght when she turned away again. “So am I.”
Chapter Eight
Tearing his gaze away from B.J., who sat in one of the teak lounge chairs with the paperback she had pulled out of her tote bag, Daniel glanced at his watch for the dozenth time in the past hour.
It was just after seven o'clock. Bernard should have returned for them by now.
He glanced at B.J. again. Even though there was still enough light to see the pages, she was looking at the book so fiercely that he suspected she was having to work hard to concentrate on her reading. She hadn't said much of anything to him since their talk on the beach, when she had told him she was sorry she'd gotten mixed up with him.