Reckless in Paradise (9 page)

Her brow creased into a slight frown. ‘Did I say I was staying?'

‘Aren't you?'

She looked away then in the direction of the helipad, even though there was nothing to see from here but the thick tropical plantings of palms and bamboo bordering the parking area, before slowly she turned back. ‘I guess I can stay, just for the call. But I haven't brought anything with me. I wasn't expecting to swim.'

‘Not a problem,' he said, tossing the buggy key up in his hand. ‘I'm sure we can find you something half decent.'

 

The house was halfway around the island and perched up high, all timber and glass, with decking and sails nestled amongst the forest and wrapped around the hillside. But despite the stunning beauty of the house it was the view to which the eye
was drawn—on one side to the ocean, studded with island jewels, and on the other to the spectacular line of mainland coast that ran as far as the eye could see. Beyond the shoreline rose the steep mountains, the spectacular gateway to the hinterland.

‘It's beautiful,' Sophie said as he helped her from the car. ‘I don't know how you could ever bear to leave.'

He smiled that lazy crocodile smile once more, the smile aimed right at her, and that scored a direct hit. ‘I'm glad you think so.' Breathless, not seeing or understanding the message she was sure lay behind the words, she moved away, pretending to be more interested in the view. It was magnificent, it was true, but right now she had more pressing things on her mind.

Like why she'd let him kiss her. She was planning his sister's wedding, after all. She was supposed to be a professional. She was supposed to be detached.

Letting him kiss her had hardly been detached.

But supposition was one thing. Knowing what she should do when he was looking at her that way, when her skin was tingling, her heart trembling and her thoughts as scattered as the winds was another thing entirely. How was she expected to think when all she knew was that she hungered for his kiss, that every cell in her body had been primed for his touch?

Was it only this morning they had met? It hardly seemed possible to reconcile the man who'd kissed her so tenderly with the man she'd encountered in his office—the man who'd turned arrogance into an art form and bundled her out without a decent hearing. Although he'd almost kissed her then too, practically reducing her to a puddle on the floor before she'd managed to find the will to push him away.

But had she pushed him away when he'd come back a second time? Oh no. Her body had been strung tight as a wire, not from dread or revulsion, but from the anticipation thrumming in her veins as she'd watched his mouth descend.

And the only thought in her mind was that there was no way she was going to stop him.

Far below them the azure sea lapped half-heartedly at a tiny cove of diamond-tipped water and a beach of brilliant white sand protected at either end by a rocky point jutting into the sea. Totally private and utterly inviting. It would be a long climb down the wooden steps she could see, but already she could feel the cool water sliding over her heated body.

Except would it really cool her down?
Her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip as her mind churned over the implications. Was it really wise to strip down to a borrowed swimsuit and share the water with a man who was distracting enough with his clothes on, let alone wearing nothing more than bathers? She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to extinguish the pictures that thought conjured up, of a body naked but for a band of black lycra. Oh no! A swim was a really bad idea.

‘I think I might actually pass on the swimming after all,' she decided, searching for an excuse that didn't scream ‘coward', and trying to pretend she wasn't more hot and bothered than ever. ‘My heels would never last the climb down those steps. But you go right ahead.' When she looked up it was to find him not looking down at the cove, like she'd hoped, but still watching her. Heat flared in her cheeks, his unrelenting gaze unnerving, even while shrouded by sunglasses.

‘I'd hate to risk your heels,' he said, half-smiling, as if he found her discomfiture amusing. ‘So why not use the pool, like I intend to? I gather your heels are good for a few more metres.'

As if realising he'd won the point, he turned and led the way through the tangle of bougainvillea that spilled a riot
of colour over the entrance to the courtyard, while Sophie followed meekly behind, feeling more of a fool than ever. Of course a house like this would have a pool tucked away somewhere, so what excuse was she going to dream up next without looking like she was afraid of getting into the water with him—that she was afraid of crocodiles?

Not that that would work, she decided, abandoning the idea as useless. Daniel was exactly the kind of man who would probably be flattered by such a comparison.

The timber entry door swung open before they reached it, and a middle-aged woman beamed at them under her apron. Sophie took to her warm and welcoming eyes on sight. ‘Mr Caruana! You should have told me you were bringing back a guest,' she chided as they entered the spacious room, clearly with no qualms about castigating her boss over his lack of forward notice. ‘I would have prepared something more special for dinner.'

‘I'm sure whatever you have planned, Millie, will be superb as usual. And I have no doubt Miss Turner here will soon likewise be a fan of your cooking.' He turned to Sophie. ‘Millie used to run a café in Cairns, until I happened in for lunch one day and made her an offer she couldn't refuse.'

His phone beeped then and Millie took his jacket as he excused himself and checked the caller ID. ‘He did too,' Millie agreed conspiratorially, her smile growing dimples and her clear green eyes sparkling. ‘And the next thing I knew, I'd upped sticks and was living on a tropical island paradise. Mind you, this one could talk the leg off a chair. So you watch out, Miss Turner, if you know what's good for you.'

‘Now, Millie,' Daniel cautioned, sliding his phone away. ‘Don't go giving away all my trade secrets.'

‘Thanks for the advice,' Sophie told Millie, seeing a different side to Daniel and enjoying the unexpected banter between employer and employee. ‘I'm not actually sure I'll be staying for dinner, but I'll definitely take all the tips I can get.'

Millie looked genuinely disappointed until Daniel intervened. ‘Of course Miss Turner is staying for dinner,' he announced. ‘And, in the meantime, I wonder if you might show her to the guest room and rustle up a swimsuit? I'll catch up in a while. I have a couple of calls to make.' And then he smiled. ‘Just don't be too hard on her heels.'

‘Of course. I know just the suit for you. Come this way.' Millie bustled up a short flight of timber stairs to another level and a long passageway. ‘What was that about heels?' she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

‘He was having a joke at my expense,' Sophie admitted. ‘I thought I had to walk down to the beach for a swim and I used my shoes as an excuse. I didn't realise there was a pool.' She didn't admit she was trying to avoid swimming with Daniel full-stop, but if he was busy with calls maybe she could get in a quick dip now. She could surely do with a cool down to dispel some of this heat.

Millie chuckled. ‘He has a way with him, that one. There is a path down, and the beach is just beautiful. Get Daniel to show you. But, yes, preferably when you're wearing flat shoes.'

Sophie smiled her thanks. As much as the beach looked special, she was sure she wouldn't be around long enough for a personal inspection.

But that didn't stop her appreciating the house itself with its high-ceilinged rooms, cool timber floors and a wall of windows that brought the magnificent view inside. ‘It's always nice when Mr Caruana brings a friend home,' Millie offered
as she led the way. ‘I tell him it's not natural for one man to rattle around a big house like this all by himself. I keep telling him he has to settle down one day.'

The house was indeed enormous, wrapped around a hillside so you couldn't see from one end to the other—although why would you want to look anywhere but at the view, which changed with every angle, a view now complemented by the crystal-clear infinity pool that bordered the decking. An aqua plunge-pool lay at one point that a casual living-area wrapped around.

But Millie's words settled heavily on Sophie as she followed her into a bedroom that looked out over treetops to aquamarine waters and the mainland coast beyond.
Friend.
The housekeeper assumed she was Daniel's latest girlfriend. ‘We're not actually friends. Not like that, I mean. I'm just waiting for Monica to call from Honolulu. I'm organising her wedding.'

‘Monica's getting married?' The housekeeper abandoned her rummaging in the fitted wardrobe and turned around, delighted. ‘Well, I never! That is exciting news. Who's the lucky man?'

‘My brother, Jake, actually.'

Millie smiled broadly. ‘Then you're much better than a friend. You're practically family.' She returned to the surprisingly well-stocked closet. ‘Now, let's see, there's a colour in here that would suit you perfectly. Where is it?'

‘Who owns all these clothes?' she said, looking around, wondering about the guest room with its high bed, snowy-white comforter and cupboard brimming with clothes.

‘They're just spares, really. Handy in case Monica drops by with friends.'

Sophie could see Monica used the room sometimes. There were pictures of her on a dressing table. One of her in bathers at the beach. Another in school uniform, grinning self-
consciously, trying not to show her braces. She smiled at that one. She remembered the ignominy of braces herself. Only for two years, but at the time it had seemed like an eternity of humiliation. And she'd resented it so much she'd never really thanked her mother for doing all those hours of overtime so she could afford to pay for them.

She put the photo down, lip stuck firmly between now perfectly aligned teeth. God, she missed her mum. Thank heavens Jake had found her after her death. It was one thing to be independent, rational and aloof, but it could be lonely.

There was another photo, but Sophie didn't recognise who it was. She picked up the silver frame. A pretty girl with laughing eyes looked out at her, her long blonde hair whipping around her face as she blew a kiss to the camera.

‘Ah, here we are,' said Millie from behind her. ‘Try this one for size, and there's a matching sarong. I'll fetch you a towel.'

Sophie turned, caught the gleam of sapphire-and-gold coloured fabric on the bed and smiled appreciatively. It was a rich, sumptuous pattern, and with a sarong to cover her she wouldn't feel quite so undressed. ‘Thank you, Millie, it's lovely. By the way, who's this—do you know? One of Monica's friends? I don't think I've met her, although I've met the girls she's asked to be bridesmaids.'

Millie drew close and took the picture from her, giving the glass a gentle dust with a cloth she pulled from a pocket in her apron, her smile now sad. ‘A good friend of Daniel, apparently. Died in tragic circumstances. Daniel can't bear to have the photograph where he can see it, but he can't bear to put it away, so it hides in here where he's unlikely to come across it. Pretty little thing, wasn't she? I sometimes wonder if…'

The woman trailed off to silence and Sophie wondered if it was because her thumping heart had drowned out the other woman's words. Why did it matter so much? She didn't know, but she had to ask. ‘What do you wonder?'

Millie sighed. ‘Oh, just whether whatever happened back then turned Daniel off the idea of ever getting attached to anyone else. Apparently it was quite serious.' Then she flicked her cloth over the shelf before she replaced the photo. ‘Ah well; I best be getting you that towel.'

Sophie sat down on the side of the bed, idly picking up the richly coloured wrap the woman had left. The fabric slipped through her fingers, smooth and shimmering, a faint gold thread catching the light. Exquisite.

But then her eyes were drawn again to the picture of the smiling girl—so special to Daniel that he couldn't bear to look at her photograph, so special that he couldn't bear to part with it.

Had it been Daniel holding the camera all those years ago? Had the love shining in her eyes and that kiss been meant for him?

He must have loved her very much.

For some inexplicable reason she didn't want to linger too long on that thought. It was hard imagining Daniel loving anyone; he seemed so driven and angry and unrelenting, and if he'd ever had a heart it was so deeply buried it had probably atrophied by now. Even his love for his sister seemed more of a guard-dog mentality than brotherly love.

She scooped up the bikini and headed for the
en suite
. A swim was definitely what she needed right now. Given Daniel was busy with his calls, she'd have the pool to herself for a while. And when he did arrive she could plead she'd had enough and cover herself with the sarong.

Besides, Millie was here. What on earth could she have to worry about?

‘W
HAT
have you got?'

‘She's Fletcher's sister all right.' Jo's voice sounded like gravel rattling down the line. ‘Seems her parents broke up and split the kids.'

Daniel leaned back and put his feet up on his desk. So it was as she'd said. He wasn't sure whether he was relieved she hadn't been lying, or disappointed she really was related to that Fletcher scum. ‘And the business?'

‘It exists. Small to middling. Seems to have a good reputation, although business has been a bit thin on the ground lately.' There was a weighted pause. ‘Could definitely do with an injection of funds.'

Daniel's gut churned and he dropped his feet to the floor. ‘You think she's after a cut?'

‘What else would she be doing here? Monica's old enough now to take herself off and get married without your permission. This Miss Turner, or whatever she calls herself, is here to make the wedding look legit—nothing surer—so you'll panic and offer more for Fletcher to clear off.'

A growl rose in his throat. Yet she'd acted as if her brother's affair with Moni was the romance story of the decade. But Jo's discoveries had only confirmed what he'd first suspected as soon as she'd finally revealed who she was: she was in it for the money. Nothing more.

Which made her a superlative actress. But then, con men—and con women—usually were.

‘We're talking to Monica tonight. Once I find out where they're staying, I want you to get an offer to him.'

Jo was well rehearsed in the drill, all except for the one variable. ‘How much?'

Daniel had been mulling over the same thing himself. It wasn't going to be cheap, so there was no point starting low and extending the process with bid and counterbid. ‘Let's cut to the chase. Offer him a million. The usual deal: clear off and never get in touch with Monica again.'

‘A million? Jeez, boss, offer me a million and I'll never talk to Monica again myself.'

‘Quit it, Jo!' he said, not in the mood for jokes. Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't pay his security manager a better than decent salary. He massaged his forehead with his fingers. ‘This is serious.'

‘I am serious,' the man protested, although this time the laughter was noticeably absent from his voice. ‘You'd offer that bastard a million dollars when you know he's only going to ask for more? You know he's not worth it.'

‘It's worth whatever it takes to get him away from Moni! You understand that?'

‘Yeah. Of course, boss,' he said grudgingly. ‘I was there, remember?'

Daniel remembered. Jo had been there through those years of high school to witness Fletcher's futile efforts to prove himself Daniel's equal over and over. The scholarship kid with a chip the size of a log on his shoulder versus the kid with money—not that his family had hung onto that long enough to enjoy it. But all those challenges, brawls and endless niggling irritations to prove he was as good as, if not better than, Daniel—Jo had been there. Jo had seen it all.

Fletcher had been a poster boy for persistence, and the ironic thing was that by the time the final year was over, Daniel had almost developed a grudging admiration for him. He'd felt the kid with the deadbeat father might actually make something of himself.

Or so he'd thought.

Until he got the phone call that changed his life.

The phone call telling him Emma was dead.

He'd realised then that Fletcher hadn't just wanted to be as good as Daniel Caruana. He'd wanted to
be
him, lock, stock and fiancée.

It was Jo who had scraped Daniel off the floor and stood by him while they'd buried the girl he'd loved. Jo who had fed him beer after beer while he spilled his guts about all the ways he was going to kill Fletcher. Jo who had convinced him Fletcher wasn't worth it and had stopped him when drunken bravado had convinced Daniel it was the only option he had.

Yeah, Jo had been there, and his loyalty deserved better. ‘I know he'll ask for more,' Daniel continued, his tone less aggressive. ‘He knows more than anyone what Moni's worth—but I bet Miss Turner will soon get him to agree, simply so she can get off the island and collect her cut.'

There was another pause. ‘She's still there, then?'

‘The fastest way to prove she's in on it is to force her to organise a wedding she knows isn't going to happen. She won't be able to keep up the pretence twenty-four hours a day.'

‘You reckon she'll stay put, then?'

‘She's not leaving the island. Not while Fletcher's got my sister.'

He severed the connection with an assurance he'd call with Moni's location as soon as he'd heard from Honolulu. Then he dropped his feet to the floor and swung his chair around to
gaze out through the wall of windows, grateful that there was someone who understood, someone who knew the history, who didn't have to ask too many questions.

What would he do without Jo? His old high-school friend had also been there when one of Moni's first boyfriends had decided that she was worth more in cold hard cash than for herself. Barely eighteen, Monica had fallen head over heels, never realising that at the same time the guy was pretending to be the man of her dreams he was threatening to publish secret images of them on the Internet. Daniel's sister, immortalised on film, at what should be one of the most intimate and special times of her life. Unless her brother paid—big time.

Jo had arranged the payment to send him on his way and the bastard had disappeared, the files destroyed. But it seemed there was always someone else lining up to take his place, someone ready to accept an offer before they had time to do any damage.

Given they'd taken the money, didn't that prove that it was the dollars they'd really cared about?

Fletcher would be just the same—worse, really, given his history.

The sapphire perfection of sea and sky suddenly came into focus, filling his vision as he dragged in air, restoring him.

Jo wouldn't fail him. The trap would soon be set and Fletcher would soon be gone. And meanwhile…

A movement low down in the window snagged his attention, a ripple at the end of the pool.

He growled.

Meanwhile he had other things to attend to.

She might be a good actress, but she wasn't the only one who could play at make believe. Only, the way he played, she'd soon be wishing she'd never gone along with that deadbeat brother of hers.

He made another quick phone call, anxious now to join her in the pool, eager to take the game to the next level but first needing to make sure that she had no argument for a sudden departure.

Because Miss Turner wasn't going anywhere, any time soon.

 

Sophie rested her chin on her crossed arms on the edge of the pool and floated as she gazed out at the expanse of sea and sky. The warm air was sweet here, any hint of salt or beach concealed under the scent of the tropical flowers that clambered rampant over walls and gateways. It was paradise.

But she was here to do a job. She had to keep reminding herself of that, because instead of focusing on Jake and Monica's needs she found her thoughts more and more hijacked by the bride's brother.

How could she trust him, both after the way he'd treated her and had spoken of Jake this morning? How could she believe he was now so keen for this wedding to go ahead here, a wedding that he'd been so vehemently opposed to and probably still was, if truth be known?

And how could she trust herself if, knowing what she did, she still practically swooned every time his lips drew close? Was it wrong to be so aware of and so attracted to your potential brother-in-law?

Tiny birds darted through the whispering treetops, unconcerned by her presence, while brightly coloured butterflies negotiated a zig-zag course through the air, so close at times that she could almost reach out a hand and scoop them into her palm.

It had just been a kiss, she reminded herself for what must have been the hundredth time. Nothing more. And nothing would come of it, she knew. A man like Daniel would have a little black book the size of the phone book; given the
unsurprised look on Millie's face when she'd been introduced, half of them had no doubt turned up here for a swim and who knew what else? A kiss would mean nothing to a man like him.

A few moments with the water lapping at her breasts gave rise to a new thought: maybe it did mean something? He was a businessman, used to tactics in the boardroom and no doubt in the bedroom. Was that latest kiss designed to throw her, to make her think he was interested, all in the hope of disarming her defences? Maybe he thought that if he seduced her he might drive a wedge between her and Jake? Divide and conquer—was that his ploy?

But if he seriously thought she could be seduced by a few kisses into doing his bidding he could think again. She kicked lazily at the water while she mulled over the thought, wondering if she could turn it to her advantage. She wasn't sure she knew enough to play the attraction game; she hadn't had near enough experience with men. But maybe, if he got to know her a little better, he might be more willing to listen to her, and maybe he might see that Jake wasn't all bad.

The sun felt warm on her shoulders and she slipped back to duck them under the water to cool them down. She'd get out soon, before Daniel finished with whatever business was keeping him. But it was too delicious not to enjoy just a minute longer.

Her feet swirled the water behind her, not enough to break the surface, just moving the water enough so that it swirled and eddied around her in a blissful water-massage, soaking away the tensions of the day. She sighed and closed her eyes. A person could get used to this. Just a minute more…

Something cold hit her back and she came to with a start. ‘You'll burn if you're not careful.'

She would have jumped to her feet, but her arms were tangled, her thoughts already in havoc. Already he was there
beside her, his feet planted in the water alongside and his hands on her shoulders, long fingers rubbing lotion into her skin, the press of his hand not allowing her up. ‘You were asleep,' he said, clearly delighted with the discovery.

‘I must have dozed off,' she said breathlessly. ‘It was so relaxing.'

‘You don't feel relaxed,' he bothered to note. ‘You feel as stiff as a board.'

There was good reason for that, she thought wryly as his hand sought to work the lotion into her back with long, languorous strokes. Long strokes that transmitted their languid caress all the way down to her core and made her even tenser. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could so easily block out the sensations assailing her. This was no casual application of sun block. This was a caress. Every one of his fingertips was like a probe that sought and found exactly the right pressure points to make her gasp with pleasure.

When he kneeled down in the water alongside her, his second hand joined the first, one hand at each shoulder, his fingertips brushing perilously close to her breasts as he circled to her underarms. She couldn't take any more.

She pushed up, turning her head to roll over. ‘I should get out.' She almost wished she'd stayed right where she was, for now she could see him. Her mouth went dry. She was surrounded by water, had probably been soaking long enough to turn into a prune, but right at that moment her throat was drier than the Sahara in a sandstorm.

Because somehow she'd known he'd wear black, had known he'd wear it better than most against his sun-bronzed skin. But nowhere in her wild imaginings had she'd estimated he'd bypass simply being devastating and head into the realm of the gods of ancient mythology. He was way beyond dangerous. He was positively lethal.

‘There's no rush, is there?'

Against her better judgement, his words made some kind of sense as she drank in the olive-skinned perfection of his torso, the whirls of dark hair dusting his naked chest, only to arrow down to his naval and disappear in a line in his trunks. Maybe he was right—there was no rush. So why her desperate rush to get away?

Oh yes…

‘Monica might call,' she managed at last, levering the tongue from the roof of her mouth and peeling her eyes away to locate her sarong in the same action, mentally estimating the seconds before she could hide herself beneath it. ‘I want to be ready.'

‘She already called.'

Her eyes flicked back to his, sure she'd misheard. ‘She what?'

‘I just spoke to her. She couldn't raise you on your mobile so she checked with your office and they told her you might still be up here.'

Now he had her full attention, and not just because he had a body that shorted her senses. She rolled over until she was sitting up on the submerged ledge of the pool, thoughts of imminent escape momentarily forgotten. ‘Monica called and you didn't bother to let me know? When you know I've been waiting for her call?'

‘She did try to call you,' he reminded her. ‘Is it my fault you didn't pick up? But does it really matter who she spoke to? The important thing is, she said she's delighted to have the wedding here on Kallista.'

‘Oh, I'll just bet she did.' Sophie rose up like the proverbial phoenix, water sloughing from her limbs. For the first time she was uncaring at being clad in only a bikini, if only because she was so angry. ‘Because you no doubt told her the Tropical Palms was now unavailable.' She swiped up the sarong from the chair where she'd left it and knotted it around
herself before searching for her phone, wondering how she could have missed a call. Even if she'd dozed off, it would have woken her.

‘It is unavailable. I didn't realise it was a secret. You should have said.'

‘And you should have called me!' she said, lifting her towel, knowing the phone had to be here somewhere. ‘Monica might be your sister, but I'm supposed to be the one who's organising this wedding for her and Jake.' She turned back, temporarily giving up on the phone. ‘Or did Jake jump up and down with excitement at the prospect of holding the wedding here too? Somehow I doubt it, given how much you two seem to get on.'