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He noticed that Heather was eying B.J. in surprise, as if she had expected her to look different. Heather was accustomed, he imagined, to very wealthy men with sleek, ultragroomed eye-candy wives.
He didn't blame her for that expectation, of course. When he had very briefly considered casting the role of his “wife” for this trip, that was exactly the type of woman he would have selected. Someone who looked rich and pampered and a bit disconnected from the real world.
He had rejected the idea of bringing someone along because he was concerned that the situation would become too complicated. Too distracting.
He'd had no idea, of course, that fate would step in to provide a make-believe wife for him. And that fate's choice would be even more complicated and distracting than anyone else Daniel could possibly have found on his own.
Chapter Three
At Daniel's request, Heather left the clothing for B.J. to examine in private. She promised to return in an hour to collect the rack and invoice the selections.
When Heather departed, Daniel removed the cover from the wheeled rack. He motioned toward the colorful garments hanging from the top bar and neatly folded into clear plastic boxes fitted into the bottom part of the display rack. “There you are. A boutique on wheels, with everything in your size.”
Hands on her hips, she looked from the rack to his decidedly smug expression. “You enjoy snapping your fingers and having people jump to please you, don't you?”
His eyebrows lifted, as if he was surprised that she had even to ask. “Of course.”
“Just what have you been up to for the past thirteen years, Daniel?”
Displaying that annoyingly selective hearing again, he turned toward the clothing rack and plucked a hanger from the rod. “This would look good on you.”
The yellow cotton sundress clipped to the hanger was strapless and short and tailored to fit very snugly. “That's not really my style.”
“Yes, but remember, you're playing a new role here. You're wealthy, stylish and accustomed to designer fashions.”
“According to your backstory, I'm depressed and too self-absorbed to even notice that you're frittering away my money. Would a person like that really wear skimpy, brightly colored dresses?”
“Ah, but you also adore the husband who treats you like delicate and valuable glass. You would certainly want to dress to please him.”
She scowled, wondering if he was always so quick at coming up with counterarguments. Just once she would like to win one of their verbal skirmishes. “I don't like yellow.”
“In that case…” He replaced the sundress and pulled out a similar one in deep fuchsia. “Is this better?”
“Maybe I should just select a couple of things for myself,” she said, moving toward the rack.
“Since it's important that you present the image Drake is expecting, I feel compelled to assist you in your selections.”
“And when did you start talking like that? That isn't the way you used to talk when I knew you before. Back when you were Daniel Castillo,” she couldn't resist adding.
She hadn't been surprised to learn from a reliable source that he was now using his mother's maiden name, but she wanted him to know that this masquerade hadn't erased from her mind the reality of who he had once been.
For just a moment his self-satisfied smile faded. She could almost see a few painful old memories swirl in his dark eyes before he hid again behind the bland mask he donned so easily. “Yes, well, you aren't the only one playing a role.”
Changing the subject then, he pulled several garments from the rack, piling them into B.J.'s arms. “These look as though they would work for you. Why don't you take them into the bedroom and let's see how well they fit.”
&nbs
p; She peered at him over the huge pile of clothing. “You expect a fashion show?”
His faint smile back in place, he dropped onto the sofa and draped an arm over its curvy back. “I think I'd enjoy that.”
She was strongly tempted to give him a suggestion he would not enjoy quite so much, but she bit her tongue to hold it back. For one thing, she wasn't one to use such language easily. For another, she had a glum suspicion that Daniel was right.
Given her own tastes in clothing, she would probably never pass for a wealthy socialite. Her poor mother had tried for years to talk her into dressing with more of an eye for fashion than comfort.
She sighed heavily. “When this is over, you are going to owe me big-time for saving your butt.”
“Technically you're saving both our butts,” he pointed out equably. “But when this is over, I will definitely owe you whatever penalty you choose to make me pay.”
