Reckless in Paradise (5 page)

But no, she decided, a man like Daniel Caruana wouldn't do remorse. It wouldn't be in his vocabulary. So what was he trying to prove?

Anxiety warred with anger inside her. Her stomach felt like it was already taking flight. The thought of going into battle with the man again set her nerves jangling, and her senses to high alert, but if he wanted a battle that was exactly what he would get.

Because, whoever Daniel Caruana thought he was, however much money he had, he had no right to ride roughshod over other people's wishes and plans. Not his sister's. Not her brother's. And least of all hers. She was just in the mood to explain that to him.

They turned off the highway, the car pulling into a clearing not far from the office block where a sleek red helicopter sat amidst a circle of white markers, its rotors lazily circling. But it was the tall, dark haired figure standing alongside a black coupe that was even sexier looking than the chopper that Sophie focused on. He was holding a phone to his ear, the other hand in his trouser pocket as he leaned against the low sports car, his long legs crossed casually at the ankle,
his white open-necked shirt rippling softly in the breeze. He looked relaxed, urbane and totally without a hint of apology, which only made Sophie even more angry.

She was out of her door and on her way across to him before the car had barely stopped. He saw her coming, and even behind his sunglasses she could feel his dark eyes following her every step. But she was damned if she was going to let that slow sizzle under her skin bother her, not when it gave her yet another reason to resent him.

She stopped directly in front of him, although that still left her more than a metre away, courtesy of the long legs so idly stretched out in front of him. ‘Do you mind telling me what this is about? I've got a flight back to Brisbane to catch, and the last thing I need is to be brought back here without one word of explanation.'

He uttered something into his phone and slid it shut, deposited it in the top pocket of his shirt and slipped that hand into his free trouser pocket. He looked so brutally good-looking and so frustratingly unmoved that she felt like tearing him limb from limb, if only to get a reaction. ‘Miss Turner,' he said with a smile a crocodile would have been proud of, a smile that irritated her all the way down to her bones. ‘I'm so pleased you could join me.'

‘You've got a nerve. You know I had no choice.'

‘Did Cedric tie you up and throw you in the boot?' His eyebrows rose. ‘I must speak to him about his technique. I've warned him about treating my guests that way.' He gave a nod to someone over her shoulder, and she turned to see the driver give an answering wave as he drove off. She swung back, her indignation turning to fury.

‘You think this is funny?'

‘I think your reaction is slightly amusing, yes.'

The blood in her veins simmered and spat. ‘Because I object to having my plans to return to Brisbane thrown into disarray
by a man who made it plain my presence wasn't welcome here? You have a strange sense of humour, Mr Caruana.' She threw a glance at the chopper. ‘Is that thing waiting to take me to Brisbane?'

‘That's not exactly what I had in mind, no.'

‘Then you can just forget whatever you had in mind. I'll do what I should have done before and call myself a taxi.' She wheeled away, pulling her phone from her bag, but she'd barely slid it open when it was extracted smoothly from her hands.

Something inside her snapped. She spun around, lunging for his hand. ‘You bastard! Give that back.'

‘Such language. I should have picked you for Fletcher's sister from the start.'

Her open palm cracked against his cheek so hard that her hand stung with fire at the impact, and she fervently hoped his cheek hurt at least half as bad. ‘Did you bring me back merely so you could further insult my family?'

Open-jawed, he rubbed one side of his face where the darkening bloom was already spreading under his olive skin. ‘Miss Turner,' he said, looking down at her, crowding her with an almost feral gleam in his eyes. It was with some satisfaction that she saw that any hint of a smile had been wiped from his face. ‘You continue to surprise me.'

‘I'm sorry I can't return the compliment. I was warned to expect an arrogant bastard used to throwing his weight around. Seems like I heard right. And now—' she held her hand out to him ‘—may I have my phone back? I have a plane to catch.'

His fingers only seemed to curl tighter around the device. ‘What time is your flight?'

‘What's it to you?'

‘Because where I want to take you is only ten minutes away.'

‘Why should I agree to go anywhere with you?'

‘Would it help if I said I didn't give you a fair hearing during our meeting today?'

She was more suspicious than ever now. ‘I think we both know that's true, but you didn't have to drag me back here to admit it. You could have called. I do have a phone…' She stared pointedly at the fingers still curled around her mobile. ‘Or, at least, I did.'

He chose to ignore her reminder. ‘It occurred to me after you left that I can't stop my sister getting married if that's what she really wants.'

‘That's not what you said before.'

‘Hear me out. I take it Monica would actually like me to be at her wedding?'

Sophie bristled. She'd been thinking that a wedding without a certain Daniel Caruana in attendance held a considerable appeal. But he was Monica's brother, and getting Daniel's cooperation was the reason she'd been sent up here. So she nodded reluctantly, little more than a tiny dip of her head in acknowledgement. ‘Monica was hoping you might walk her down the aisle. When I left your office, that prospect didn't look too likely.'

‘You haven't told her?'

She shook her head. ‘Not yet. They'll still be
en route
.'

He looked skywards, exhaling as if relieved, one hand raking through his thick black hair. Sophie's eyes were involuntarily drawn to the broad expanse of chest, the uninterrupted view of his strong neck and the deep-olive skin revealed by his open-necked shirt. Monica was tiny when compared to her brother. Her skin was almost a honey gold whereas Daniel's was burnished bronze, as if he spent as much time as he could with his shirt off, soaking up the rays. She swallowed. She really didn't need to think about Daniel Caruana undressed.
Not one bit.

She blinked, mentally chasing the unwanted thoughts away, only to find him watching her, a glimmer of something predatory in his dark eyes that disappeared even before she'd turned her eyes away, feigning interest in the fringe of palms bordering the lot. Heat flooded to her face. God, he'd seen her ogling him like some drooling teenager—a man she couldn't even stand. She'd clearly been in the Far North Queensland sun far too long.

‘I'm sorry,' he said beside her.

Not as sorry as I am,
she thought before his words sank in and she realised he was talking about something else entirely.

‘You are?' It was the last thing she'd expected from him.

Her reaction brought a smile to his face. ‘I'm not in the habit of apologising,' he told her. ‘It does not come easily to me.' He sighed and looked over at the waiting helicopter and held up his hand to the pilot, his fingers splayed. The pilot nodded and turned away.

‘Walk with me a while,' Daniel said beside her, strolling off towards the trees and a flower bed bursting with colour. ‘Let me explain. You see, my sister's—Monica's—email took me by surprise. I hadn't had time to assimilate her news before you arrived on my doorstep. But you were right. She has never seemed so serious about any man, but she is twenty-one and I can't stop her getting married, if that's what she really wants.'

‘It is what she wants.'

He paused, looking as though he was searching for acceptance, although the tic in his jaw looked anything but accepting. ‘And if that is indeed so, then I should at least give you a fair hearing, if only for my sister's sake.'

They wandered closer to the flower bed where it seemed colour was king. Every colour seemed vivid here, she mused, the reds more vibrant, the greens more intense, oranges
looking like flames from the fires of hell. Nothing, it seemed, was pastel, least of all the man walking alongside her right now. He was large and powerful and darker in impression than any man had a right to be, and it wasn't just the flowers that looked like they'd stepped straight from hell. With his chiselled dark beauty and the power he wore like a cloak, he could be the ruler of the underworld.

She stopped and shivered slightly, not liking the direction of her thoughts, turning instead towards the waiting chopper, the pilot sitting patiently at the controls. ‘So why the chopper?'

‘Where is the wedding to be held?'

She groaned inwardly. Couldn't he just answer a simple question? The man was jumping around so much it was impossible to get a handle on him. He'd gone from arrogant to abusive to underhand to reconciliatory in the time most people could have lingered over a lazy Sunday brunch. But, then again, what did his character faults really matter as long as he did right by his sister and her brother? It wasn't as though Sophie had to like him. Not that there was any chance of that.

‘I've booked the Tropical Palms golf club on the Gold Coast. I'm confirming it tomorrow, first thing.'

He scowled, and if his PA had been here, Sophie could imagine the girl running for cover. ‘A
golf club
is going to play host to my sister's wedding?'

She wasn't his PA and yet still she bristled, feeling defensive, knowing she shouldn't give a damn about his reaction but unable to help it. She'd wanted something more exclusive, sure, but given the timing… ‘It was all I could get at short notice. We were lucky as it was to score a cancellation. And Monica's happy with the venue.' She stole a breath, paused for thought and wondered why it mattered. Damn the man! Why
should she have to justify the choice of venue? ‘Monica's more than happy, actually, because when all's said and done she just wants to marry Jake as soon as possible.'

She caught the flicker in his eyes, that tell-tale tic in his jaw even while he tried to put an appearance of civility over his hard, chiselled features, and she wondered again what the hell this was all about. Why his sudden interest in the arrangements? Why the sudden change of heart that meant he could even contemplate his sister's wedding?

Especially when it was crystal clear that he found the idea of his sister marrying Jake repugnant.

Sure, he'd been taken by surprise by his sister's news—but to go from being vehemently opposed to the match to suddenly being so interested in the details of the wedding seemed too good to be true. It
had
to be too good to be true.

She crossed her arms over her slim briefcase in front of her. ‘What is this all about, Mr Caruana? And this time I'd appreciate a straight answer.'

He smiled, if you could call it that. ‘I want to show you something—a place better befitting any marriage of my sister.'

‘I just told you, we have a venue. Monica—'

‘You have a golf club.'

‘It's a reception centre.'

‘It's old, overrated and it's not good enough, not for Monica. It's too public, it's too cheap.'

‘Monica and Jake are working to a budget on this.'

‘As head of Monica's family, I should be paying for my sister's wedding. People will expect it. You will make me look cheap.'

‘I'm sorry.' She turned away, unable to listen any longer; she'd heard enough. Did Mr Impossible care about nothing but himself and the impression he made? ‘It may surprise you to know that this wedding isn't actually about you.'

‘Maybe not, but everyone will assume that I am paying. The press will have a field day, claiming that Daniel Caruana spends less on his sister's wedding than on his latest mistress.'

She closed her eyes, trying not to think too hard about what it would be like to be Daniel Caruana's mistress—and not because of the money he must throw at them. He would be an uncompromising lover, she imagined, hard, demanding and as ruthless in the bedroom as in the boardroom. What would it be like to be that close to him, to be the one to rake her nails across that broad, sculpted chest?

Not that she cared.

Liar.

If she didn't care, a menacing voice inside her questioned, then why had she even thought of it? Unless she was still remembering that whisper of a kiss and how it had made her tremble all the way to her toes…

‘I wouldn't have thought,' she said, battling a mouth that suddenly felt too dry to extract the words she needed, ‘that you were the type of man who worried about what anyone said, let alone the press.'

‘There are some things,' he started, leaning towards her, his dark eyes like a promise and his voice like a glove that stroked velvet down her spine, ‘that are so private they have no place in the press.'

Under an indigo sky and a sun so warm that her skin felt kissed by the very air, still she shivered with the force of his words. Or was it their content? Whatever it was, it was threatening to scramble her brain.

‘Let me show you an alternative,' he suggested. ‘A mere ten minute flight away,' he said, jerking her back to the present, reminding her of what they were doing here. ‘No more.'

‘Look, Mr Caruana.' She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, wishing she could rid herself of this infernal
instability that seemed to beleaguer her while he was anywhere near, ‘I told you, we have a booking. I hardly see the point.'

‘Indulge me.' His voice performed that velvet glove stroke down her spine again. She fought against a melting spine and glanced at her watch, because she had to look somewhere and if she looked into his eyes and saw that he'd meant his words to have that reaction, she would be lost. She didn't want to think about indulging Daniel Caruana in any way, shape or form.