B.J. whirled immediately to face Daniel, making no effort now to hide her outrage. “What the hell was that?”
“Please keep your voice down.” He had dropped the smile, and his face was an expressionless mask again as he studied her. “You have no idea how you've complicated everything.”
Her jaw almost dropped. She had complicated everything? Had she just walked into an expensive madhouse?
Because she needed a moment to collect herself or she would end up shrieking at him, she studied the man who stood in front of her, comparing him to the boy she had once briefly known. He had fascinated her when she was fourteen and he was sixteen. Even then he had been striking looking, with his thick black hair, classic features and lazy-lidded dark eyes.
Some of her cousins had been a little afraid of his flash-point temper, but B.J. never had been. There had been something about him that had drawn her into girlish daydreams and amorous fantasies. He had been her first big crush, and she had never forgotten him.
Now he was a man of almost thirty. Still handsome but seemingly more comfortable in his skin now. The jeans, T-shirt and boots of his youth had been traded for a dark jacket that must have cost a small fortune, worn over an open-necked white shirt, charcoal slacks and expensive-looking shoes.
He looked rich, powerful and more than just a little dangerous. Still, she refused to let him see that she was at all intimidated.
Lifting her chin, she placed her hands on her slim hips and spoke firmly. “Obviously there has been some mistake. I don't know who you and Bernard were expecting, but you have the wrong person. My name is—”
“Brittany Samples,” he cut in coolly. “I recognized you as soon as you walked in.”
For the second time since she arrived, he had rendered her speechless. How on earth had he identified her that quickly? It had been more than a dozen years, for crying out loud. The last time he had seen her, she had been a shy fourteen-year-old with braces and no figure at all.
Well, okay, she still didn't have much of a figure. She had long ago given up on naturally growing big breasts or voluptuous hips. But still, she was a grown woman of twenty-seven now. She wore her brown hair layered in a choppy short cut that she'd been told was flattering to her lamentably gamine face and she had applied her makeup in a way that played up her blue eyes.
The fact that she had recognized him so easily didn't lessen her surprise. After all, she had been expecting to find him. She had a fairly recent snapshot of him in her wallet. And she had carried a mental picture at the back of her mind for years. She doubted he could say the same about her.
Finally recovering, she stammered slightly when she said, “I, um, really didn't expect you to know me. How did you—”
He made a silencing movement with his right hand. “We don't have time for this now. We've got to figure out how to get you out of this mess you've created without putting either of us in any more danger.”
“The mess I've created?” she repeated incredulously. And then the rest of his words registered. “Danger?”
Daniel put a hand to the back of his neck and squeezed, his brow creased in concentration. “Maybe we should tell them…”
“The truth?” she suggested when his words faded.
“That's not going to work.”
“Look—” She took a step toward him, bringing her close enough to jab a finger of her left hand into his chest. “I don't know what's going on here, but I've had enough. All I came here to do was—”
He caught her hand in his, absently pulling it away from his chest but not releasing her. “Bernard thinks you're my wife. If he has any reason to suspect either of us is not who we've said, he'll kill us. And, by the way, he's not the only armed guard surrounding us. The house is crawling with them—and every one of them answers to him.”
She felt her stomach clench. “I don't believe you.”
“Believe it, Brittany.”
Focusing on that name rather than the fear that was suddenly trying to overtake her, she scowled. “I answer to B.J. Any husband worth his salt would know that.”
Ignoring her heavily sarcastic remark, he continued, “We don't have much time, so you must listen. How did you get here?”
“I drove from St. Louis. Why?”
“Your own car or a rental?”
“A rental. I don't—”
He seemed to be concentrating on his own thoughts rather than her attempts to turn the questioning back on him. “Do you have any luggage with you?”
“No, I left it all at my hotel. Daniel—”
He studied her left hand, which he still held. “No rings. Not married?”