The Borrowed Ring

The overall impression was that of royalty, as though Drake and his guests were somewhat superior to the other diners. B.J. was embarrassed to be taken there.

Drake wasn't alone. He rose to greet his guests, then turned to his companion, a statuesque blonde—of course—with a flawless face and spectacular figure. “Daniel and Brittany Andreas, allow me to introduce In-grid Jorgensen.”

Without glancing at Drake, B.J. smiled politely at the other woman, who looked rather bored. “Please call me B.J.”

The woman's very thin eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “B.J.?”

“My initials. They seem to suit me better than my first name.”

Ingrid seemed to lose interest somewhere in the middle of the brief explanation. Or perhaps she'd had so many facial injections she was unable to express emotion, B.J. mused. And then chided herself for being catty as she allowed Daniel to hold her seat for her.

She wasn't usually the type to be threatened by stunningly beautiful women. Maybe Daniel was right that being in this place had triggered an insecurity response in her.

She couldn't help remembering that moment in the suite when Daniel had held her face in his hands and called her a beauty. Could he really say the same thing now that he saw her side by side with the breathtaking Ingrid?

Drake was seated at one side of the small round table with Ingrid on his left, B.J. on his right and Daniel directly opposite him. He turned to B.J. with one of his genial—host smiles. “I hope you had a pleasant day?”

“Lovely,” she replied, letting her return smile show teeth. “I had a nice long walk on the beach.” As he undoubtedly knew, she figured, since he had instructed his guard dog Bernard to follow her. “And then I relaxed for several hours with a good book.”

He probably knew she'd charged the book to her room, too. Not that she could attest to it being a good book. She hadn't been able to concentrate enough to read more than a few pages.

“I've taken the liberty of ordering our meal in advance,” Drake said when several servers arrived with trays of appetizers. “I believe my chef has prepared something for every taste.”

Daniel replied, “I'm sure we'll enjoy the meal. We aren't picky eaters, are we, darling?”

B.J. turned a saccharine-sweet smile toward him. “Unless you count your unfortunate lactose intolerance.” She turned to add chattily to Ingrid, “Poor dear walks the floor for hours after he eats dairy. Just like my grandfather used to do,” she added with a sigh.

Ingrid looked vaguely horrified by the excess of information. Daniel stopped himself from reaching for a cheese cube and plucked a stuffed mushroom from the appetizer tray instead. The look in his eyes promised B.J. retribution, but he took some revenge by saying, “And my wife is deathly allergic to chocolate. Other than that, we'll eat just about anything.”

Oh, low blow, she fumed. Especially when Drake patted her hand and said, “I'm glad to know that. I ordered chef's special chocolate lava cake for dessert. I'll have something else brought out for you, B.J. A bowl of fresh fruit, perhaps?”

Repressing a wistful sigh—chocolate lava cake sounded like the one thing that could even slightly salvage this evening—she nodded. “That sounds very nice.”

Daniel would pay for that, she promised herself. It didn't even matter that she had fired the first shot.

“Tell us about yourself, B.J.,” Drake encouraged during their second course. “Daniel and I have been doing all the talking this evening.”

B.J. and Ingrid had eaten quietly, neither paying much attention to the men's discussion of current world events. B.J. was usually an active participant in mealtime conversations, but she had no particular interest in anything Drake had to say. “I'm afraid there's nothing interesting to tell you about myself. Perhaps Ingrid would like to share something with us?”

“Actually,” Ingrid said, looking up from her barely touched food with the first sign of animation all evening, “I'm a singer. Well, I work as a runway model now, but I hope to…”

“Your husband has told me you're active in several charities,” Drake said to B.J. as if Ingrid had never spoken. Ingrid subsided into silence again when he continued, “I suppose you're on the board of several foundations back in Texas?”

Easily checked on the Internet if she claimed that she was. “I've always been rather phobic about maintaining my privacy. I prefer to make my contributions behind the scenes.”

Noting that Daniel gave her a look that approved her answer, she turned back to the sullen Ingrid. “I would like to hear more about your career as a model and a singer. That sounds so glamorous compared to my quiet life. What type of music do you sing?”

Glancing rather defiantly at Drake, Ingrid replied, “I love country music. Like Faith Hill and Shania Twain.”

A country singer named Ingrid Jorgensen would certainly be a change, B.J. thought with a stifled smile. “I would love to hear you sing. Will you be performing here at the resort?”

The look Ingrid gave Drake this time was definitely resentful. “No.”

“With all the venues available to you?” B.J. glanced at Drake in exaggerated astonishment. “I'm surprised.”

Drake looked decidedly displeased, despite his forced smile. “I'm afraid not many of my guests are fans of country music.”

“I wouldn't be so certain. Country music is quite popular with a broad range of listeners, I assure you.”