Reckless in Paradise Page 5

  ‘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.

  ‘The longer you argue,’ he pressed, ‘the longer it will be before you get back to the airport for your return flight. You do want to make that return flight, don’t you?’

  She snapped her head up. ‘I don’t have to come with you.’

  He appeared totally nonplussed by her outburst. ‘I can assure you, when you do come, your time won’t be wasted. On the way you can fill me in on all the details I didn’t give you a chance to tell me in our earlier meeting.’

  She looked at her watch before realising she’d just done that and taken no notice of the time, before looking back up at the man she suspected of playing games with her without bothering to fill her in on the rules. But she had come to Cairns to try to reconcile him to the notion of Monica and Jake’s marrying; if he was even now contemplating that the wedding might happen, then maybe he wasn’t entirely a lost cause. And maybe her day hadn’t been a complete waste of effort.

  If she left now without getting his agreement to walk his sister down the aisle, what would she tell Jake and Monica when they called later tonight—that she had failed them because she was scared of Monica’s brother?

  She had no choice when it all came down to it. There were still a couple of hours before she had to be back at the airport for her scheduled flight. What did it matter if she didn’t get an earlier one when Monica and Jake were relying on her to make this wedding happen? She couldn’t let them down.

  She kicked up her chin. ‘And maybe I might even get my phone back?’

  ‘But of course,’ he said, handing it over with a smile that spoke of victory and made her wonder if whatever she was conceding was worth much more than the price of a mere mobile phone. ‘You only had to ask.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SOPHIE wasted no time calling the airline to confirm her flight time, ensuring Daniel was within earshot when she repeated the time by which she had to check in so he could not pretend later that he hadn’t known. There was no way she intended to miss her flight, especially when she wasn’t at all convinced at the necessity for this side trip.

  Daniel merely smiled and excused himself, walking a little distance away as he made his own brief call before they both climbed into the waiting helicopter.

  The ground fell away below along with Sophie’s stomach as the helicopter rose effortlessly above the palm trees and set out towards the nearby coast. Beneath them the land slipped behind, houses and buildings giving way to a border of palm-studded sand and a sea that lapped at its shores in various shades from pale blue to aqua to turquoise. Once again she was struck with the sheer force of colour; the sand was bleached to a startling white, the waters so bright and beautiful, while the densely tangled, forested mountains behind were a bold contrast of green.

  It was breathtaking, almost as breathtaking as the man alongside her and his unexpected about-face and subsequent apology.

  Never in a million years would she have expected an apology from someone like Daniel Caruana. The man had appeared a complete Neanderthal just this morning. Surely evolution was meant to take longer?

  Maybe, like he said, he’d been taken unawares with the news of his little sister’s wedding? That at least made some kind of sense. She had to admit, she’d been taken aback too with the suddenness of the announcement. In some ways she’d been fright
ened she was losing the brother she’d only recently found. It was only when Monica had made it plain that she’d never be excluded from Jake’s life again, and she realised that the other woman meant it, that she’d really come to embrace the news herself.

  Had Daniel similarly been afraid of losing Monica?

  Is that why he’d ultimately changed his mind—because he was genuinely worried he’d put his own relationship with his sister at risk by refusing her right to decide who to marry?

  Who could tell how Daniel Caruana’s mind worked? After all, this was the man who paid off his sister’s prospective suitors. Did he really care anything about her happiness?

  Besides, she hadn’t missed his reaction when she’d mentioned Jake’s name before boarding the helicopter. It was clear that what he felt for her brother bordered on hatred. So, while on the surface he seemed more amenable to this wedding, nothing had changed there.

  And nothing explained why he had all but kissed her. Her lips tingled at the memory, at the remembered heat of his proximity.

  It had been little more than a brush of lips, as brief as it was unexpected, and then he’d wheeled away and turned his back on her as if it had been the biggest mistake of his life. What had that been about, if not a blatant, testosterone-driven attempt to try to scuttle her thoughts and arguments and show her who was boss?

  And it had so very nearly worked.

  She felt a tap on her arm and jumped, as if she’d summoned his attention with her thoughts, and she was thankful beyond measure that he couldn’t read them.

  He pointed now, and yelled something at her she couldn’t quite catch over her headphones, but she followed where he was pointing and understood.

  Just a smudge of bluish green appeared on the horizon, with a zig-zag line jutting into the sky. But she recognised the shape immediately. So that was Kallista. She remembered seeing pictures of it years ago in an article about the private playgrounds of Australia’s rich and famous. She’d never thought for a moment that one day she’d be setting foot on it herself.

  The island sat like a jewel just off the coast, plump green hillsides and jagged peaks sliding to blindingly white sand beaches thickly fringed with palms, and ringed with the coral reef that made the sea around the island appear a thousand different shades of blue.

  As they circled the mountains, even more treasure was revealed. A lagoon on one side, the water so clear she could see fish darting to and fro in the shallows.

  Sophie’s heart sank.

  It was tropical perfection.

  It made the Tropical Palms golf course look like a shabby try-hard.

  What bride wouldn’t prefer to get married in such a picture-postcard setting?

  But they had a booking and Monica was happy, she reminded herself. And it would be perfect on the day. It was Sophie’s job to ensure it would be so.

  ‘So what do you think?’ Daniel asked, after landing, as they strolled along the short jetty towards a waiting golf buggy. His eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, his white-teeth smile wide, the smile of a man who assumed he’d already won the battle, if not the war.

  She looked anywhere but at him as they reached the buggy. ‘It’s nice,’ she said with a nod, probably making the understatement of the year, but she wasn’t about to gush, not when he would take any encouragement she offered as support for his plans to shift the venue from Brisbane to the island.

  ‘Nice?’ he repeated, rolling the word around his mouth like it had left a bad taste. ‘You don’t think you could be just a little more enthusiastic?’

  She looked around. ‘Well, it’s got a lovely beach and loads of palm trees.’

  ‘Monica loves this island,’ he insisted. ‘She always said that one day she wanted to get married here.’

  Sophie didn’t doubt it; no wonder Monica had specified palm trees and sunsets on her must-have list. She imagined the sunsets here must be something to behold. But what she did doubt was Daniel’s conviction about wanting there to be a wedding at all, let alone playing host to it. For someone who had seemed so vehemently opposed to the idea just a few short hours ago, now it seemed he wanted control of the entire event.

  And why? Because he was so happy he wanted his sister’s wedding to be perfect? She seriously doubted it. His turnaround had been too quick, too contrived.

  Too convenient.

  Something was going on, if only she could work out what it was.

  But one thing was clear—there was no way she’d agree to Kallista being the venue for the wedding. Jake had made it clear he’d prefer the wedding to be on neutral ground. She’d thought it a strange thing to specify at first, but having met Daniel and witnessed his animosity towards her brother she could see where Jake was coming from. Daniel was the sort of man you had to stand up to, or get railroaded in the process.

  She turned back to him, determined not to be railroaded herself. ‘Okay, you’re right, it is a beautiful island—perfect, I guess, if you want to plan on getting married barefoot on the sand. But in terms of infrastructure for a wedding?’ She shrugged. ‘For a start you’d have to have catering and accommodation facilities. Unless you’d be happy to boat everything in and lug everyone back and forth to the mainland on either a launch or—’ she nodded towards the helicopter ‘—that thing.’

  She could swear she could see the glint in his eyes even through the dark glasses. ‘That won’t be necessary.’ He banged his hand on the top of the buggy. ‘Climb in. I will let you judge if Kallista has the necessary infrastructure.’

  Sophie did as he asked, climbing into the front seat beside him without bothering to tell him about the article she’d read all those years ago citing a house set high above the sea nestled amongst the vines and palms. Just one house. Sprawling around the hillside, perhaps, but barely enough to cater for an entire wedding party and guests.

  Neither did she bother to repeat that there was no point to this entire trip anyway. Tomorrow morning she would pay the deposit that would secure the Tropical Palms golf club, as Monica and Jake had agreed, and Daniel Caruana could go to hell. What did he know about what was needed to organise a wedding? The Tropical Palms might be in need of refurbishment, but if he thought his sister was going to be happy to put up with marquees and sand flies on her special day he could think again.

  The buggy took off along the track carved through the sands, heading for the shade of the palms. Somewhere along the line he’d undone the cuffs of his shirt and turned them up, exposing his forearms, his bronzed olive skin making his white shirt look more dramatic as the soft material billowed softly in the breeze. Suddenly she was transported back to her childhood and B-movie matinees featuring swashbuckling pirates with tight breeches, white shirts and gold rings in one ear.

  He could almost be a pirate, she thought, with his midnight-black hair, his strong features and his arrogant, ‘it’s my way or the plank way’ attitude.

  The buggy’s tiny tyres bumped over a fallen palm frond, the vehicle swaying as he immediately rounded a bend, a bubble of laughter erupted unbidden from her throat.

  Almost a pirate—but for the fact she’d never thought of a pirate driving a golf buggy before.

  ‘Is something funny?’

  She pressed her lips together, looked at the track in front of them and avoided his gaze, even when she sensed it burning holes in her. ‘It’s just I saw your car—the black one you were leaning on where we met the helicopter.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And it looked exactly like what I’d imagined you’d drive.’

  ‘Oh, and what’s that?’

  The tiny vehicle rattled along the track. ‘You know, something sleek and black and…’ Dangerous. She stopped herself just in time ‘And fast.’

  ‘And that’s funny?’

  ‘Well, no, not really, it’s just that—’ She faltered, suddenly wondering why she’d ever been crazy enough to open her mouth. Next she’d be admitting she could imagine him as a pirate with a cutlass in one hand, a rop
e from the rigging in the other and a dagger shoved in his belt. And wouldn’t that do her cause a power of good? She looked up at him, thankful for the shade from the canopy above them so he wouldn’t be able to see the colour flooding her cheeks as she dreaded how he might react to the words she was game to put voice to. ‘It’s just that I guess I never imagined a man like you driving a golf buggy.’

  He didn’t get angry like she’d expected. Instead his lips curved upwards before he turned to her. ‘I bet there are a lot of things you never imagined a man like me doing.’

  He held her eyes for a fraction too long, an unnecessary fraction, before he turned his attention back to the weaving track.

  She was so glad in that moment that he couldn’t possibly read her thoughts, because then he might know that already she’d imagined him doing plenty.

  He wondered what she’d been going to say when she faltered, wondered what she was thinking now; if he didn’t know better, he’d think she was blushing. ‘As it happens,’ he admitted, ‘I do have a thing for sleek, black and—’ he threw her a glance ‘—fast cars. But here on the island this is how we get around. I’m sorry if it’s not sleek and black and fast enough for you.’

  His smile widened. She was blushing—even under the dappled light her face was flooded with colour—but this time she wasn’t angry, he was sure of it, by the way her eyes wanted to avoid him rather than impale him. In fact, if he didn’t know better, he’d even have thought Miss ‘Prim’n’Proper’ Turner had caught herself out. What had she been thinking? The way she was sitting up now, so stiff backed and strait-laced, she could have been a Victorian spinster school teacher on her way to meet her new school in a village full of head hunters.

  But she wasn’t as strait-laced and spinsterish as she liked to make out, he knew that first hand. She’d been no unbendable block of concrete in his hands. Instead, she’d felt all woman, a combination of tantalising dips and sweet curves, her feminine scent beguiling, her lips a silken caress.

  He almost growled at the memory. And she was here now, on his island, in his territory. How would Fletcher react to that news? An eye for an eye, a sister for a sister.