Reckless in Paradise (3 page)

‘So you're not married, then?'

She blinked, the shutters coming down over deep violet-coloured eyes, a movement that only drew attention to the long sweep of her dark lashes over the biggest surprise—cheeks flushed with sudden colour—before she once again opened them. Did she have any idea how innocent yet sexy she looked when she did that? He sighed.
What a waste.
In other circumstances he might have been able to pursue this attraction to its logical conclusion—in other circumstances he most likely would have. But she'd hardly be in the mood for sex once he'd given her the bad news.

‘Did I say I wasn't married?'

‘You intimated it, I'm certain.'

Her teeth pestered her bottom lip as she frowned, and he could tell she was rewinding her words, working out which of them had given her away. Then she shook her head. ‘And is it actually relevant?'

‘Not really.' He smiled, knowing he had her right where he wanted her. ‘I'm just a curious kind of guy.'

The fog of indecision cleared in her narrowing eyes. ‘In which case, you're no doubt curious to hear about Monica and Jake's plans.'

Touché
, he thought, awarding her a mental tick of approval for steering the conversation back to the wedding. Except that it was the one place he didn't particularly want to go. ‘Actually, no. I'd rather talk about you.'

Even with her mouth open he couldn't fault her looks. A shame the game had to end here. ‘Mr Caruana,' she recovered enough to say, ‘I don't think—'

A knock at the door had them both turning to where the young PA stood, looking uncertain. ‘I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr Caruana. Would you like me to bring in any tea or coffee?'

‘No, thank you. Miss Turner was just leaving. Let my driver know to have the car out front.'

He stood as the girl nodded, withdrew and pulled the door closed behind her—unnecessarily, given his guest would soon be leaving, but something he could easily remedy. Meanwhile his visitor was looking more flustered than ever. ‘But Mr Caruana, we've hardly begun. We haven't even discussed the date for the wedding.'

‘Ah, there would be a reason for that.' He was already reaching for the handle, ready to swing open the door in preparation for her departure. If she was about to storm out, as he predicted, he'd hate her to have to break her stride on the way. ‘That's actually because we don't need to.' He swung the door open and waited. ‘It would simply be a waste of time. And in my business—as in yours, I expect—time is money.'

She shook her head where she stood, a slash of colour accenting each high cheekbone. ‘This is your own sister's wedding we're talking about. Surely you want to support her on the most important day of her life?'

‘Whatever do you take me for? Of course I would never be so callous. My sister, and her happiness, are of the utmost concern to me.'

‘Then why are you not prepared to even talk about the arrangements for her wedding?'

‘There's a very simple explanation for that, Miss Turner, an explanation that seems to have escaped your notice: you see, there's actually not going to
be
a wedding.'

N
O WEDDING
?
She'd learned through her research that Daniel Caruana was regarded as one of Far North Queensland's most ruthless business tycoons, known equally for his ability to create millions as for his ability to blow any opposition away. Likewise she'd been warned by Jake that Daniel Caruana was super-protective of his little sister and that her suddenly getting married mightn't sit easily with him.

Still, the sheer force of his reaction shocked her. It was one thing to want the best for his sister—who wouldn't want that?—but to deny this wedding would happen, to pretend that it would go away if he so decreed, just beggared belief.

‘Is that so?' she managed, determination stiffening her spine as slowly she rose to her feet, swallowing back on a more personal, more biting, retort. ‘I suspect Monica and Jake might have something to say about that.'

‘And I suspect my sister will soon see sense, and this marriage rubbish will be nothing more than a distant memory. In which case, I'm sorry to say, it appears your services will no longer be required.'

From somewhere deep inside her she summoned a smile. She hadn't wasted a day to come and not see him. Likewise she hadn't wasted a day to come and be summarily dismissed—not without him hearing her out. ‘Mr Caruana,' she said, knowing instinctively that if she took a step towards the
open door she would be giving in to his heavy-handed tactics. Instead she stood right where she was, clutching the portfolio and the wedding arrangements it contained to her chest as if protecting her own child.

Right this minute the wedding of Jake and Monica
felt
like her baby. She'd put so much time and effort into making sure Monica had everything she wished for—palm trees, a romantic beach setting and, hopefully, a glorious sunset to accompany the reception. Finding a venue that could provide all that and could take a wedding at short notice had consumed one hundred per cent of her time lately, and if it hadn't been for a cancellation she wouldn't have a booking at all. If she didn't confirm tomorrow morning like she'd planned, she'd lose it; she'd be blowed if she'd do that because His Nibs didn't like the idea of his little sister getting married. ‘If I might be so bold, I don't think Monica and Jake consider it “rubbish”. They would no doubt both be offended you felt that way, as am I.'

He glanced at his watch, managing to look both impatient and bored in the same instant. ‘Is that all you have to say before you leave?'

‘No, as a matter of fact, it's not. For as much as you might be able to dismiss me from your office and continue living in your precious little world of denial, you're going to have to face the fact some time that your sister is all grown up now and she and Jake will soon be married, with or without your seal of approval—which I'm sure you appreciate, given Monica's age, she doesn't actually need.

‘Naturally, I don't need to tell you that she'd be happier if you could dredge up some semblance of support for her at this, one of the most important times of her life, but the marriage is going to go ahead whether you like it or not. In which
case, it might be better and easier for all concerned if you just accepted that fact now rather than fighting it, wouldn't you say?'

She wanted to sag with relief after completing her impromptu speech, but there was no respite, not from the steel-like glare that held her pinned to the spot, nor from the fury drawing his features into a tight mask.

Beyond the glass walls of the office the sun continued to blaze in an azure sky. The diamond-flecked waves along the shore were studded with swimmers taking advantage of the warm winter sun, while inside the temperature had dropped below freezing.

Suddenly the door slammed shut with a crash that made the walls shudder and Sophie jump with them as Daniel stormed away along the length of the windows. Just as suddenly he stopped and turned, his hand slashing through the air. ‘I don't have to accept anything! Not when there will
be
no wedding!'

‘You really think you can stop them?' She dragged in a breath, shaking her head, realising that arguing was futile and that she would do better to try and persuade. ‘Look, Mr Caruana,' she said, taking a tentative and what she hoped was a conciliatory step forward, ‘Monica and Jake are crazy about each other. You should see them together—this is a true love-match.'

His left palm cracked down so hard on his timber desk that she flinched. ‘She does
not
love that man!'

‘You don't know that.'

‘Don't you think I know my sister? Monica likes to think she's in love. She always has. She's been in love with fairy tales for ever, in love with the
idea
of being in love, always waiting for a knight in shining armour to come riding over the hill and rescue her. But if there's one thing my sister doesn't need it's rescuing. Not by anyone.'

No? With a brother like him, rescuing by a knight in shining armour sounded like a perfectly reasonable idea, if not a necessity. ‘I'm not actually talking fairy tales, Mr Caruana. I'm talking about love—deep, abiding love.' She hesitated, wondering how far she could go before overstepping the mark from ‘cool and professional' to tripping into ‘foot in mouth' territory. Then she figured that, with all that had gone before, she was already there. ‘I gather from your reaction that you're unfamiliar with the concept.'

The sudden tightness of flesh against cheek and jaw was his first response. ‘I'm talking reality!' was his second, before he took to pacing again, eating up the floor in long, fluid strides. She would have liked to ignore him, but she was compelled to watch. Compelled to admire the big-cat-like grace and economy of his movements, even when anger seemed to be the prime motivator behind his motion.

Whoever his tailor was, he was a genius, she thought guiltily; there was no way he'd bought those trousers off the rack. The fabric moved over the tight musculature of his behind and thighs like it was part of his very flesh.

‘How much do you think my sister is worth?' He wheeled around so suddenly she had to drag her eyes north, and her wayward thoughts with them. ‘How many millions?'

Sophie shrugged, struggling for nonchalance as she reined in thoughts that had no place in this confrontation. ‘And that's relevant because?' It seemed a fair question to her—she'd never given two thoughts to Monica's wealth or otherwise—but it only appeared to make him madder.

‘Are you really that naïve, Miss Turner?' Three long steps brought him closer—perilously closer. Now there was only a pace between them, and even that seemed shrunken and almost vibrating with tension, a tension that inexplicably made
her breasts ache and her nipples harden. ‘Do you have any idea how many men have come sniffing after my sister, hoping to find a way to the Caruana fortune?'

She forced herself to concentrate on his words instead of the shimmering sensations of the flesh, kicking up her chin in a futile effort to appear taller, even though he had at least six inches on her five-foot-eight frame. ‘And you'd know that was their motive, because…?'

‘Because as soon as they got a sniff of a cheque they conceded defeat and cleared off.'

Shimmer turned to shock, rendering her momentarily speechless. When she could finally put voice to thoughts again, out spilled the disbelief in words. ‘You paid them?'

She put a hand over her mouth, swaying a little on her feet at the revelation. Monica had mentioned in passing the fact that she'd never been able to hang on to a boyfriend for long, how she'd been left cold on more than one occasion and how she felt Jake was different. Sophie had imagined it had merely been to do with not finding the right guy yet, and had never once imagined there was a more sinister reason. ‘You actually
paid
your sister's boyfriends to back off?'

‘Which they did. Which proves my point, wouldn't you say, that they only wanted her for the money?'

She was still reeling, amazed that he was so unabashed about his interference on the one hand, and imagining the pressure he must have exerted on his sister's hapless suitors on the other. Confronted by one of his henchmen, or worse still Daniel himself, they'd probably been terrified of what might have happened if they didn't take the money and run.

She searched his eyes for some hint of remorse but their dark depths were cold and unapologetic. She shivered, the earlier shimmering heat she'd felt suddenly vanquished with his cold-as-ice revelation.

She had no doubt he thought he was doing good in protecting the family fortune, but in doing so he'd left his sister thinking there was something fundamentally wrong with her and that she would never find a partner who would stick by her in the process.

It was sheer luck that Monica had found Jake—not that there was any way she was going to convince Daniel of that. Just as clearly she could tell she'd wasted her time coming here today. Daniel didn't just want his sister to remain unmarried, what he really wanted was to lock her in a gilded cage and throw away the key.

‘You should be pleased your sister has found someone who appreciates how special she is.'

‘Oh, Fletcher knows she's special, all right. Special to the tune of an eight-figure sum. Why else would he have zeroed in on her?'

‘Because he loves her.'

‘So why the desperate rush to marry if he
loves
her so much? Is he afraid she'll change her mind and he'll lose his entrée to a fortune? Or is it that he can't wait to get his hands on her assets—those assets he hasn't already availed himself of, that is?'

‘You're disgusting,' she managed, already turning her thoughts to getting to the airport, maybe catching an earlier flight back to Brisbane. ‘You're not a brother. You're some kind of monster.'

‘Am I more a monster than the men who would take advantage of Monica's fortune in pretence of love?'

She bowed her head, disbelieving, already turning away. ‘You don't know they were after her money. They were probably just too terrified to argue. I'm sorry, I've wasted—'

An iron grip on her forearm put a stop to her escape before it had begun. When she turned back, his eyes were narrowed, their darkness intensified, his head at an angle as he moved
closer. ‘Yet you're not too terrified to argue, are you, Miss Turner? Why is that? Are you afraid of missing out on your big, fat fee?'

Resistance sparked once more in her veins. ‘Is that all everything comes down to with you, Mr Caruana? Money? Do you really believe everyone is motivated by the same almighty quest for the dollar? Well, maybe you should think again. And then maybe you might stop judging everyone by your own low standards.'

She jerked her elbow out of his grip, wanting to get away, needing to get away. Failure weighing heavily on her shoulders.

Oil on the waters
. What a laugh. She might as well have thrown petrol on the flames of his familial discontent. She'd blown her role as peacemaker completely. ‘I have to go.'

‘Why? So you can warn Fletcher I'll be making him an offer? To advise him he should hang out for more? You mark my words,' Daniel continued, ‘Fletcher will have his price, just like the rest.'

‘Oh no.' She shook her head. There was no way Daniel was slotting her brother into the likes of his damned fortune-hunters. ‘Jake isn't like that—even if those others were, and you've given me no proof of that. Jake isn't interested in her money. He loves Monica.'

‘Of course he does,' he sneered. ‘How long exactly have they known each other? A fortnight? A month?'

‘Some people don't need that long to know the person they're with is the one they want to spend the rest of their lives with.'

‘Is that so? Next you'll be telling me you believe in love at first sight.'

‘It happens.'

‘But of course you would have to say that, in your line of work. You want people to get married; you don't actually care if they
stay
married.'

Sophie turned for the door. ‘Look, I'm leaving. I don't have to put up with this.'

But he was already there in front of her, blocking her exit, and again she was struck by the way he moved with such effortless grace for such a powerfully built man. But it was what he was doing to her internal thermostat that concerned her more. Again he'd tripped some switch that sent her body from frigid to simmering in an instant. Her skin prickled with heat, her nerve endings tingled with awareness and it was only the portfolio clutched in her folded arms that concealed her rock-hard nipples.

It was in his eyes, she realised as he stared down at her. In his dark, challenging eyes that could suddenly turn from cold and flat to molten pools that radiated their heat to hers and then downwards to her very extremities. Eyes that were telling her things that made no sense, yet still her toes curled in her shoes.

Then he smiled and reached out a hand, running the backs of his fingers down her cheek so gently that she trembled under his electric touch. It was like being in a bubble where the room had shrunk to a tiny space around them, where even her peripheral vision had shrunk to fit no more than his broad shoulders. ‘If I said to you right now “marry me”, would you say yes?'

His voice seemed to come from a long, long way away, while his thumb stroked her chin; her lips parted on a sigh. ‘Mr Caruana…' She swallowed, her thoughts scrambled. She was supposed to be leaving. She was sure she'd been about to leave. They'd been arguing. But what about?

‘Daniel,' he said, his voice like the darkest chocolate, smooth, rich and forbidden. ‘Enough with the “Mr Caruana”. Call me Daniel. And I shall call you Sophie.'

‘Mr Caruana,' she attempted again. ‘Daniel.' She licked her lips. The name felt way too informal, tasted almost intimate, or was that just the way his eyes seemed to spark and flare as he watched her mouth his name? As he watched her lips taste the sound as hungrily as she'd watched his lips utter her name?