‘What are you so afraid of?’ he asked, moving closer, dropping his other arm to the vehicle behind. ‘Why is it so hard to make a decision?’

Sophie looked up at him, surprise at his sudden move turning her eyes wide, and shock at finding herself trapped neatly against the vehicle when she tried shuffling backwards filling them with alarm. ‘Oh, nothing. I’d have to call the office. And change my flight booking, of course—although I don’t know what time I’ll be able to get away.’

She was babbling. Flustered again, and delightfully so. ‘Is that all you’re worried about?’

Her eyes darted from one side to the other, checking the positioning of his arms as if assessing her chances of escape.

Didn’t she realise? It was much too late for escape.

His Prisoner In Paradise

by

Trish Morey

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

TRISH MOREY is an Australian who’s also spent time living and working in New Zealand and England. Now she’s settled with her husband and four young daughters in a special part of South Australia, surrounded by orchards and bushland, and visited by the occasional koala and kangaroo. With a life-long love of reading, she penned her first book at the age of eleven, after which life, career, and a growing family kept her busy until once again she could indulge her desire to create characters and stories—this time in romance. Having her work published is a dream come true. Visit Trish at her website, www.trishmorey.com

Recent titles by the same author:

FORBIDDEN: THE SHEIKH’S VIRGIN* HIS MISTRESS FOR A MILLION THE RUTHLESS GREEK’S VIRGIN PRINCESS FORCED WIFE, ROYAL LOVE-CHILD THE ITALIAN BOSS’S MISTRESS OF REVENGE THE SHEIKH’S CONVENIENT VIRGIN

To editor extraordinaire, Jo Grant.

Thank you for your patience, your insight and your wisdom, along with your wonderful advice and support through these last 11 books!

Long may it continue.

With thanks, too, to the generous and gracious Helen Bianchin. A class act, an awesome writer, and an inspiration in every way.

Thank you both!

Chapter One

‘OVER my dead body!’ Daniel Caruana hadn’t made it past the first paragraph of his sister’s email before he crumpled the printout in his fist and hurled it in fury at the closest wall. Monica marrying Jake Fletcher? No way in the world!

Not if he had anything to do with it!

Too wound up to sit, too agitated to stand still, he gave in to the need to pace, his long strides eating up length after length of his sprawling office’s floor, while his restless hands took turns clawing though his hair. By his side, full-height windows took full advantage of the view of a white, sandy palm-lined beach and the azure sea that glinted under the tropical Far North Queensland sun.

Daniel saw nothing of it.

Daniel saw only red.

Whatever had possessed him to allow Monica to study in Brisbane? So far from Cairns, so far away from his influence. And clearly nowhere near far enough away from the grasping hands of Jake Fletcher.

He stopped pacing, his mind making connections that sent ice floes careening down his spine. Fletcher had called twice this week out of the blue, leaving messages for Daniel to call back, messages Daniel had brushed aside like he was swiping at an annoying insect needling at his skin. For he had no desire to speak to Fletcher ever again. Had no purpose.

But now it appeared Fletcher had purpose—if only to gloat…

Bile rose in his throat, its bitter taste the perfect accompaniment to his mindset. Please God, not Fletcher.

Please God, not his sister.

Especially after what had happened before.

Daniel leaned his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes, a vision remaining of a girl with laughing blue eyes and a sweet, sweet smile.

Emma.

As long as he drew breath, he would not forget Emma.

Nor what Jake Fletcher had done to her!

He opened his eyes and gazed far out to where the cerulean sea met the sky, searching for answers and solutions. Ordinarily the picture-postcard view was a sight that inspired him. Cheered him. Even, on occasion, soothed his fractured nerves.

Today all that sun-drenched perfection only served to mock the storm-tossed contents of his mind.

He slammed one palm against the glass. Damn—not Monica! He’d barely seen off Monica’s last so-called boyfriend, an effort that had left him twenty-thousand dollars poorer on the deal. Small change, given what the jerk might have held out for if he’d done his homework a little more thoroughly and found out what his girlfriend was really worth.

Fletcher, on the other hand, probably knew how much the Caruana fortune was worth down to every last cent. Twentythousand dollars would be nowhere near enough to deter his kind, especially not now he probably imagined he was practically family.

No way. His fingers pressed hard against the glass, as rigid as his resolve. As long as Daniel had any say in it, Jake Fletcher would never be family.

Fletcher wouldn’t come cheap—there was no doubt of that—but everyone had their price, and whatever it took to free Monica of his poison influence would be worth it.

The phone on his desk buzzed behind him. Daniel scowled at the interruption—surely his empire could cope for just ten minutes without him? Then he reached for it. After all, he hadn’t taken the Caruana name from the brink of financial disaster to its dizzy heights by ignoring his businesses, whatever the reason.

He would deal with Fletcher—nothing was surer—but he would not lower his game in the process. His hand snatched up the receiver. ‘What?’

A moment’s hesitation met his retort, a moment in which he remembered it was a temp sitting outside and not his usual indestructible PA.

‘Mr Caruana?’ she squeaked. ‘There’s a Miss—a Miss Turner here to see you.’

His scowl deepened and for a second the problem of Fletcher took a back seat. He couldn’t remember anything about any Miss Turner. ‘Who?’

‘Sophie Turner: from One Perfect Day.’

The name made no sense to him but he was used to people trying to talk their way into his office, looking for favours, or more frequently cash contributions towards shaky business-plans the banks had already turned down. This Miss Sophie Turner was no doubt another of their ilk. ‘Never heard of her. Get rid of her.’ He slammed the phone back down, annoyed again with the unnecessary interruption when he had important things on his mind.

Even more annoyed when the phone buzzed a second time not thirty seconds later. ‘What is it this time?’ he growled into the mouthpiece, unforgiving at the interruption, even if the girl didn’t know better.

Her voice sounded even more timid. ‘Miss Turner says it should have been in the email your sister sent you. All the details about her visit were apparently there.’

‘What email?’

‘You did read it?’ the temp continued apologetically, a crack in her voice; she sounded as if any moment she would burst into tears. ‘It was on your desk. I printed it out especially.’

That email? His eyes crossed to the crumpled ball of paper that had come to rest in a corner of the room. He hadn’t got past the casual bombshell Moni had dropped that she intended to marry the one man he had reason to hate with a passion. How the hell was he expected to absorb anything more?

‘Hold on,’ he said, dropping the phone down on the desk and crossing the office floor in long, purposeful strides. He swept up the ball of paper and unscrewed it, flattening it against his broad palm. The paragraph stared out at him, the same one that had turned his vision red scant minutes before:

Daniel, please be excited for me. I thought I was sworn off men for ever, especially after being dumped for the third time in quick succession, but then I met Jake Fletcher and the last few weeks couldn’t have been more perfect. He treats me like an absolute princess and he’s asked me to be his wife, and I’ve said yes.

No; his mind revolted. Never! He closed his eyes, the same rush of anger winning supremacy over his veins, the same flood of revulsion as the first time. Little wonder he’d been unable to bring himself to read the rest. His fingers ached to crumple the page into a tight ball once more, but this time he took a deep breath, willed his eyes open and read on.

I know you two never used to get on in the past, and maybe that’s why you didn’t return Jake’s calls last week, but I’m hoping you can put the past behind you when you see how much we love each other.

Put the past behind you? A thousand snapshots of a young woman’s bright smile formed a moving slide-show through his consciousness. How was he ever supposed to put the past behind him when she would never get to see another day?

I know it’s sudden but I want you to be among the first to know our happy news and just how much we love each other. It’s the real thing this time, I know.

Daniel snorted his contempt. The real thing? He had no doubt Fletcher thought it the real thing, but if he was in love with anything it was the Caruana fortune. When would his sister ever learn that that was all men wanted? Especially men like Fletcher.

But she’d soon see the light, just as she had before, just as soon as he’d dispensed with this latest in a long line of gold-diggers whose so-called love didn’t extend past her trust fund.

I wish I could give you this news personally, but you were in transit, and now Jake is whisking me off to Honolulu for two weeks for a surprise engagement present and there simply wasn’t time to get a connection through Cairns to meet up before we left.

He growled, the fingers of his free hand curling and uncurling into a fist; bile wasn’t the only bitter taste that filled his mouth. The thought of his little sister with him made him want to catch the next flight to Honolulu and drag her back before the bastard got her pregnant.

Or was that his intention—To make this marriage a done deal before the ceremony?

Daniel shook his head. It would take more than a baby before this marriage went ahead. The fires of hell would freeze over before he let someone like Fletcher marry his sister.

Monica was twenty-one now, so physically dragging her back was hardly an option, but there was no way he was going to stand by and let her get cornered into this marriage. Not by a long shot. He glanced down at the last few lines.

So instead I’ve arranged for our wedding planner to visit you. Her name is Sophie Turner and she’s already much more than a friend. Will fill you in on the details later.

Meanwhile, be nice to her!

His sister had signed off with a promise to send a postcard from Waikiki Beach, but that wasn’t what held his attention. It was the ‘be nice to her’.

What did his sister take him for—some kind of monster?

He wasn’t a monster. He was a businessman and a brother: a brother who had his eye out to protect his little sister from those who sought to take advantage of both her and the family fortune.

He was careful. Cautious. Protective of his own.

Did that make him such a monster?

Of course he’d see this Sophie Turner. And he’d be nice, just as his sister had requested. He’d invite her in, listen to her spiel and then he’d set her straight.

Because her services would not be required. As long as he drew breath, there would be no wedding between his sister and the likes of Jake Fletcher.

He picked up the receiver that lay abandoned on his office desk.

‘Send Miss Turner in.’

Chapter Two

SOPHIE perched uneasily on the edge of the waiting-room chair, the leather portfolio that contained all the details of Monica and Jake’s wedding resting on her knees. She couldn’t help but notice the bloom of pink spread over the young PA’s cheeks as reluctantly she placed the second call to her boss in less than a minute. Clearly what she’d read on the Internet about Daniel Caruana’s take-no-prisoners reputation extended beyond his business rivals and his girlfriends to his staff; the girl looked petrified.

Sophie might have felt guilty at insisting the girl call again and explain, but she wasn’t about to waste an entire day travelling from Brisbane to Cairns and back again for no good reason—not when Monica had told her today’s meeting had been all arranged and how much they were both relying on her.

‘Oil on the waters’, Jake had labelled her role, not exactly imbuing her with confidence. Apparently Daniel was super-protective of his little sister, having practically raised her since their parents had died, so of course he’d take the news of Monica’s plans with less than enthusiasm. Especially given Jake and Daniel hadn’t exactly hit if off back in high school, which Jake had admitted when attempting to explain why Daniel might not have bothered to answer his calls.

Something seriously wrong had gone on between them, Sophie mused, if Daniel wouldn’t even speak to him. Her suggestion had been for Jake and Monica to visit Daniel themselves, given he could hardly refuse to see Jake if Monica was with him, but Monica had come up with what she thought was a more diplomatic solution.

She’d break the news to her brother in an email and then the to-be-weds would disappear for two weeks while Sophie ran through the wedding arrangements with Daniel. By the time the happy couple returned from Hawaii, Sophie would have everything arranged and Daniel would have come to terms with the idea that his little sister was a grown woman, old enough to make her own decisions about getting married and to whom.

It was simple, Monica had told her.

Failsafe.

Monica had hugged her tight and thanked her. She’d looked so hopeful, if not half-desperate, this bride-to-be who wanted everything to be absolutely perfect, Sophie had swallowed back all her arguments that it should be them visiting Daniel and ironing out any problems face to face, and had nodded her agreement instead.

Now it seemed a crazy idea. Conscious of time spinning away while the PA waited for a response, she clamped down on the bubble of nervousness that had her suddenly fidgeting with the folder perched on her knees.

Failsafe? She wished she could be so sure. Anyone who could put the fear of God into his receptionist with just a word or two was hardly likely to be the pushover Monica imagined her brother to be. But she supposed she had to meet the man some time, especially given they were practically related.

How ironic. She’d always wanted family; reconnecting with Jake after all their years apart had been amazing, even if it had taken their mother’s death to get the siblings back together. Now it looked like her tiny family was set to expand. Monica was a sweetheart. The two of them had hit it off from the first time they’d met, and she couldn’t imagine a nicer sister-in-law.

But somehow the prospect of being Daniel’s sister-in-law didn’t come with quite the same thrill. That was the down side of families, she supposed: you didn’t always get to choose your relatives.

What was taking the man so long? Impatiently she crossed and uncrossed her ankles, unclipping the portfolio to check its contents were all present and correct before snapping it shut without having registered a thing. Damn the man and his arrogance! If he’d just bothered to talk to her brother, she wouldn’t have to be here at all.

The girl shrugged apologetically at Sophie’s questioning glance, and Sophie sighed and turned her attention out of the full-length windows to where the palm-fringed, sandy shore met the Coral Sea. Some PA’s office, she thought. It was a million times better than her own office in Brisbane which boasted not even a sniff of river view between the multi-storey office blocks. Maybe there were compensations for working for the boss from hell. At least his PA had a decent view between the no-doubt frequent ear-bashings.

‘Mr Caruana will see you now.’

Sophie jumped, her insides lurching at the announcement, and not entirely with relief. Sure, she’d got what she’d come here for—admittance to the hallowed inner sanctum for an audience with Mr High and Mighty—but there was no sudden burst of enthusiasm at the prospect. The time he’d taken to make up his mind was hardly welcoming, and if it was up to her she’d like nothing better than to turn and snub one Daniel Caruana’s churlish and clearly reluctant agreement.

But this wasn’t about her. She was here to champion Jake and Monica, and telling the man where to get off was hardly going to help. So instead she took a deep breath and smoothed the silk of her skirt as she rose, doing a last-minute check of her sheer stockings for ladders, and putting a hand to the sleek coil behind her head for any escaping tendrils.

Cool, poised and professional was the look and manner she was aiming for. The Daniel Caruana she’d researched demanded first-class presentation and she intended to deliver. Later, in the afterglow of a successful wedding between their respective siblings, and when they knew each other better, there would be time to relax in each other’s company.

Because, while the prospect seemed unlikely at the moment, it would be nice if she could at least like the man who was soon to be her brother-in-law.

Though given what she’d experienced so far of Daniel Caruana, she wasn’t too confident.

She smiled her thanks to the PA, whose colour had returned and who managed to smile back, clearly relieved she wasn’t going to have to ring her boss a third time. Sophie rapped her knuckles lightly on the door and let herself into the largest office she’d ever seen.

She stopped dead, stunned by the sheer dimensions of the room. All this space for one man? Maybe he needed it to accommodate his ego. She shoved her scorn back where it belonged. He had agreed to see her, even if it had taken an eternity; maybe the man wasn’t completely beyond redemption.

She worked up a smile, remembering the old adage that to think positive was to be positive. ‘Mr Caruana,’ she offered with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel and that barely cloaked her nerves. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.’

He was standing with his back to her against the wall of windows that brought the best of the far-north Queensland beach views into the office, his arms crossed and feet planted wide apart. Maybe it was because she’d already witnessed the view that five storeys could offer over the coast line that Sophie found herself assailed with impressions that had nothing to do with the view outside and had no place on today’s agenda.

Broad shoulders.

Narrow hips.

Long, lean legs.

Then he turned and the view outside faded to grey. She blinked, wondering what it was exactly that the pictures on the Internet had missed. Sure, they might have captured the short, tousled black hair, the steel-like gaze and the wide, generous lips. They might have contained a hint of the aura that surrounded him of power and success and raw masculinity. Yet they’d been unable to capture that grace of moment, that animal-like quality that turned even his slightest movement predatory.

His head tilted and his narrowed gaze assessed her, as if he had stripped through all her professional-development bluff and seen her for the nervous sister of the groom anxious to make a good impression that she really was. ‘Is it a pleasure?’

Maybe not. Not that he was waiting for her answer. She got the distinct impression Daniel Caruana wasn’t used to waiting for anything, even before he continued, ‘You wanted to see me?’

‘Ah.’ She swallowed, his prompt reminding her why she was here, and that it wasn’t to ogle the brother of the bride or lose herself in her thoughts. ‘Of course.’ She forced her frozen legs into motion and crossed the space between them, holding out her hand. ‘Sophie Turner, from One Perfect Day. One Perfect Day makes perfect memories to last a lifetime.’ The business’s advertising blurb rattled off her tongue before she could stop herself. She was proud of her business and all she’d achieved. She believed that she offered her clients as perfect a wedding day possible, but right now in this office, faced with this man and battling her own rattled thought-processes, her words sounded trite and hackneyed.

He surveyed her hand for what felt like an eternity before his eyes once again lifted to snag on hers. This close she could see the dark shadow of a beard accentuating the strong line of his jaw. This close his dark eyes seemed to swirl with unplumbed depths, the hint of a smile in those ever-so-slightly-upturned lips.

Then he finally took her hand in his and sent a jolt to her internal thermostat. She dragged in much-needed oxygen, only to find it fuelled with the warm, spiced tang of male. She pressed on, trying to ignore the feel of her hand in his, trying to discount the skin-on-skin contact and the scramble it was making of her senses. ‘Monica has told me a lot about you. She wishes she could have visited you herself, to tell you about her plans, but—’

‘But she was suddenly whisked away to Hawaii?’ His voice was deep and rich and with the merest trace of an accent. It rolled over her senses much like the way his thumb seemed to be skimming the back of her hand. ‘By the latest man she’s apparently fallen head over heels in love with?’

The tension hummed through his words, an obvious cynicism shining in the gleam of his dark-as-night eyes, despite the easy smile that revealed a line of perfect white teeth.

That man, she wanted to say, is my brother, and he loves Monica as much as she loves him. But right now all her thoughts and senses were centred on the hand that somehow still remained firmly lodged within his.

Power, she felt in his touch, and a heat that radiated up her arm to fan out to her extremities in a delicious wave.

She tugged her hand free, sensing a slight reluctance on his part to let her go, and then wondered if she’d just imagined it.

Wished it were so.

Now she really was losing it.

Her eyes scanned the spacious office and fell on a nearby suite, three leather settees arranged in a U formation around a glass-topped coffee table. She sensed an opportunity to escape his close proximity and gather her scattered thoughts to the deal. ‘Perhaps we could sit there?’ she suggested with washday brightness laid on thick. ‘And I can fill you in on Monica and Jake’s plans.’

She was already seated, her briefcase beside her on the floor and unclipping her portfolio, when she realised he was still standing there, his lips curled again, a facsimile of a smile fading before reaching his eyes.

Then he seemed to shrug, making even that slight gesture look elegant and full of animal grace. ‘Perhaps we could,’ he agreed, before surprising her completely by ignoring the other sofas and sitting down alongside her, as if determined to turn her escape into purgatory.

He liked the way she seemed to shrink back against her armrest after that initial look of shock, especially after he’d angled himself sideways, snaking one arm along the back of the chair. Now she squeezed herself into the corner of the sofa and focused on sorting through the contents of the folder on her knees like it was some kind of lifeline. ‘I have some brochures,’ she mumbled, her long fingers fumbling.

She was flustered.

He liked a woman flustered. It kept her on the defensive, right where he wanted her. Unless she was in bed, of course, and there he welcomed the occasional tigress.

Would prim-looking Miss Turner be a tigress in bed?

He took his time to look at the woman alongside him up and down. The button-through blue silk dress with modest neckline hid more than it revealed, but first impressions had told him she had a reasonable body hidden beneath: nicely balanced in the hip and bust departments, slim-waisted and long-legged, with her facial features arranged just as acceptably as her body parts.

Second impressions only confirmed the first. Even in pro-file—the real test—her features were engaging. High cheek-bones, a classic nose, that lush mouth…

He frowned. He couldn’t remember the name, but something about her looked almost familiar. The thought was discarded the very next instant. He met a lot of women, and if he had met this one before he was sure he wouldn’t have let her get away without knowing her better.

Unless she’d been out of bounds. Some people didn’t share the same scruples, he knew from experience, but if there was one thing he wouldn’t touch it was someone else’s woman. ‘Are you married, Miss Turner, or engaged?’

Her head snapped around, a couple of brochures sliding unnoticed from her fingers into her lap. ‘Why do you ask?’

He smiled, scooping the pamphlets up, noticing with satisfaction the tremor as the back of his fingers skimmed the top of her legs; it was no more than a featherlight contact through the silk of her skirt, but enough to elicit the kind of reaction he was used to. The kind of reaction he welcomed when he himself was attracted. ‘You work in the wedding business—wouldn’t someone who has been married themselves understand what a bride really wants to make her day perfect? How else would you know?’

‘Oh, I see, I…’ Colour invaded her cheeks, and this time he kept his smile to himself. Most definitely flustered. Did she imagine he had ulterior motives in determining her marital status? Did she hope?

‘It doesn’t work that way,’ she continued, accepting the brochures back and sweeping an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear, fiddling with an already perfectly aligned pearl earring. ‘I’ve arranged more than one hundred weddings now. I can assure you, I’ve had plenty of experience to ensure Monica’s wedding goes off without a hitch. Now—’

‘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.’

Chapter Three

NO 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 dis-missed—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?

He was closer, his hand at her neck, drawing her towards him, towards his mouth. ‘What would your answer be?’

There was a point to all this, she recognised that much, if only she could tell what it was. But in air spiced with his musky, masculine scent she couldn’t make sense of what he was asking, only on some fundamental level that it shouldn’t be happening. She held onto the thread of logic, clung to it, even when his lips brushed over hers and then returned for another pass just as feather-light as the first. Just as earth shattering.

She trembled under the silken assault, her knees almost buckling beneath her as he drew her closer until her folded arms met his chest, the folded arms protecting the folder she clung to like a shield, reminding her why she was here.

And it wasn’t to allow herself to be seduced by the man who opposed his sister’s marriage! She freed one hand and pushed against the hard wall of his chest, trying not to think about how good his hard flesh felt under her fingers even as the fingers deep in her hair attempted to steer her still closer.

Sophie turned her head aside, felt the brush of his warm breath on her cheek this time. ‘Mr Caruana,’ she pleaded, needing the formality to put distance between them. ‘This is ridiculous. We barely know each other.’

His hands were gone from her as he wheeled away and cold air rushed to fill the places he’d been. ‘Exactly my point,’ he said, sounding angry, his back to her as he gazed out at the view, raking the fingers of both hands through his hair. ‘We hardly know each other. And yet you seem to think it’s perfectly reasonable for my sister to marry someone she’s known barely a month.’

‘So maybe Jake didn’t maul her the first time they met.’

His shoulders stiffened before he turned and already she regretted her hasty words, even before she’d seen the potent depths of his eyes. ‘Believe me, if I’d have mauled you I would have left the marks to prove it.’

A quake shuddered through her bones and she had to muster every last crumb of control she could to hide it. He’d touched her with a caress as soft as silk, and that had been enough to leave its mark, so how much more delicious would it be to feel the full brunt of his passion?

Oh yes, she believed him. Which was why now, more than ever, she had to get out of here. She was supposed to be a professional wedding planner, and professionals didn’t get involved with family members of people whose weddings they were arranging, even when the groom was your brother. Especially when the groom was your brother. ‘Like I said, I have to go.’

Yes; the sooner she went, the better. Her colour was high, her hair was mussed where he’d pushed his fingers in the thick coil and her eyes were wide and watchful, like she was afraid he’d kiss her again. The chances were, if she kept looking at him that way, he just might.

Why had he done that? He’d wanted to prove a point, to make her see how ridiculous it was for anyone to make the momentous step of getting married when they barely knew each other. Instead he’d got lost somewhere along the line, somewhere between the sensual curve of her cheek and the warm scent of woman.

‘The car’s waiting downstairs to take you to the airport.’

She nodded, leaning to gather her portfolio and briefcase without taking her eyes from him, as if to check he wasn’t about to ambush her again. Then she straightened and headed for the door.

Halfway there, she stopped and turned. ‘I feel sorry for you—I really do. But I feel sorrier for Monica, who thinks the sun shines out of her big brother. Who believes you love her and that you’ll come round to her plans for marriage, when all you’re really interested in is keeping her locked away from the world in some kind of gilded cage.’

‘I want what’s best for her.’

‘No, you don’t. You want what’s best for you. What’s easiest. You actually don’t care about Monica’s happiness at all. Well, all I can say is it’s lucky she found someone like Jake at last, someone with a bit of backbone who can stand up to her overbearing, bullying brother. God knows, he’ll need it.’

Her words rubbed him raw, her arguments playing on his mind. Once again she was defending the indefensible. Once again she was acting as if Fletcher were the injured party in all this. Fletcher was supposed to be her client but, the way she came out fighting every time he mentioned his name, anyone would think she was in love with him herself.

She was already reaching for the door handle when he found the words to respond. ‘You don’t know the first thing about Fletcher. Why do you insist on defending him the way you do?’

Her hand stilled on the handle. He saw her shoulders rise and fall on a sigh before she glanced over at him even as she pulled open the door. ‘Why wouldn’t I defend Jake? After all, he is my brother.’

Chapter Four

FLETCHER was her brother? She’d pulled the door closed behind her and disappeared before he could react, but it was shock that kept him rooted to the spot. Fletcher didn’t have any sister, not that he could recall. He’d certainly never mentioned one in all their years at college, not that they’d ever spent any time in idle chit-chat. Daniel had always been too busy facing up to the brash challenger who’d insisted he was as good, if not better, than him, Fletcher trying to prove it at every opportunity. Besides, she’d said her name was Turner—or was that just part of the ruse?

Nothing made sense.

Nothing but knowing that he should have handled the meeting with her a whole lot better. He would have, if he hadn’t been thrown off balance completely this morning by his sister’s email.

And now the mess he’d made of the meeting had grown a hundred times worse. Because Sophie Turner wasn’t simply a wedding planner, as he’d believed. She was Fletcher’s sister.

She should have told him. He glanced out of the windows in the direction of the street, caught a glimpse of the car as it pulled into the traffic before it was lost from view and swore under his breath.

But of course she hadn’t told him. She was probably in on the deal, no wedding planner at all but rather a convenient intermediary, no doubt expecting a cut for her part in playing a role and making the marriage plans look real. She’d probably be calling Fletcher already, telling him to expect an offer, advising him to hang out for a better one.

Or would Monica and Fletcher still be on their flight?

Maybe there was still time.

He snatched up the phone on his desk and punched in a number that would connect him with his head of security. It answered on the second ring, as he knew it would. ‘Jo? Caruana here. I want you to find out all you can about a wedding-planning business called One Perfect Day, and a Miss Sophie Turner who supposedly works there. I want financials, personal contacts and history, as well as details of family members of every employee, as fast as you can.’

‘Will do,’ came the rapid-fire response. Then a pause. ‘Do I take it congratulations are in order?’

From anyone else the question would not have been tolerated, but Jo had been with him almost from the beginning, their association going back to their high-school days together.

‘I’m not. But Jake Fletcher’s apparently got his hooks into Monica. They’re talking weddings, and Sophie Turner claims to be their wedding planner.’

‘Fletcher’s back?’ Daniel heard the squeak of his security head’s chair as he sat to attention. ‘You want me to sort him out, boss?’

Daniel had anticipated just such a reaction. Jo hated Fletcher almost as much as Daniel himself did. But then Jo was the one who’d been waiting at the airport when Daniel had returned from Italy in time for Emma’s funeral. He was the one who’d kept him together when they’d learned the results of the autopsy. And he was the one who’d stopped him marching into Fletcher’s hospital ward and pulling him off his life support.

He appreciated the loyalty, but while once upon a time he’d have settled contests with his fists, those days were gone. These days he preferred to use subtler, even if more expensive, means. Not that he couldn’t afford it.

‘He’s already flown the coop and taken Monica to Hawaii—and left the wedding planner to convince me the wedding’s kosher, no doubt to secure a higher settlement.’

‘Like hell it’s kosher! Okay, boss, I’m onto it.’

‘And Jo—something else you should know.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The wedding planner, Sophie Turner, she’s claiming to be Fletcher’s sister.’

Jo whistled through his teeth. ‘I never knew Fletcher had a sister.’

‘Neither did I. That’s one of the things I want you to check. If she’s not his sister, she’s probably in on some kind of percentage from a settlement to make him disappear. And if she is his sister…’

‘Given her scum dog of a brother, she’d be even less trustworthy.’

‘Exactly what I was thinking,’ Daniel agreed before he hung up, still leaning over his desk, hauling air into his lungs as his brain made the connections. Fletcher had to have taken Monica to Hawaii for two reasons—first, to ensure nobody could arrive in Brisbane while Fletcher wasn’t around and bundle her on the next flight back to Cairns to talk her out of making the biggest mistake of her life, and secondly to suck her further and further into his web.

Meanwhile the sweet Miss Turner had the job of playing the supporting role at home to make it look like the wedding was real, no doubt in the hope it would crank up any pay-off offered to Fletcher.

He growled. If she’d been speaking the truth, then he’d had Fletcher’s sister right here in his office and he’d let her walk away. God, he’d even held her in his arms and all but kissed her. Fletcher’s damned sister. What had he been thinking?

But he hadn’t been thinking then, not beyond the silkysmooth perfection of her skin, the unusual blue of her eyes, and the tantalising scent of woman.

So much for wanting to make a point about the irrationality of things happening too quickly. If she hadn’t stopped him, if she hadn’t pushed him away, he doubted he could have stopped himself.

Not the point he’d been trying to make at all. But Monica’s news had thrown him for six. No wonder he hadn’t been thinking straight.

But he was thinking straight now.

The old and familiar competitiveness cranked back into life. Fletcher would soon be sitting in his five-star hotel suite waiting to hear from his sister about Daniel’s reaction, rubbing his hands together in glee while he waited for a nice plump offer for him to disappear to drop into his lap.

The last thing he’d be expecting would be for Daniel to join in the game. If Fletcher wanted to play ‘whisk away the sister’, why couldn’t Daniel do likewise?

Maybe he should just whisk away one Miss Sophie Turner for however long it took.

And he sure as hell wouldn’t let her go again until he knew Moni was safe.

He glanced at his watch. They should be nearing the airport by now. Miss Turner would be thinking she was just about home free.

He picked up the telephone again, punching in another number and smiling for what felt like the first time today, already anticipating her confusion. ‘Cedric, there’s been a change of plans…’

Sophie pushed back into the butter-soft upholstery, willing herself to relax. She’d almost turned her back on the car waiting for her when she’d emerged from the lobby. She’d had enough of Daniel Caruana for one day, and she’d wanted nothing more to do with him and his. But the driver had greeted her with a friendly smile and, much as she resented his boss, she’d had no reason to be rude to an innocent driver—especially one who was probably smiling in relief because it wasn’t Mr Arrogance himself that he was picking up. Besides, she’d had no idea how long it would take to wait for a taxi this far north of Cairns, and the sooner she made it to the airport, the better chance she would have of catching an earlier flight back to Brisbane.

So she’d allowed herself to be handed into the spacious interior of the luxury sedan, satisfied at least that every minute took her another kilometre from Daniel Caruana.

She sighed and dropped her head back against the head rest, closing her eyes and wondering what she was going to tell Jake and Monica. They’d expected resistance to the wedding news, certainly, but Daniel hadn’t even given her a chance to explain the wedding arrangements and the fact that nobody was expecting him to pay for anything. Not that he would have believed her, given he’d already made his mind up on that point.

Apparently nobody went out with his sister unless they were gold-digging fortune-hunters looking for nothing more than a juicy pay-out. And of course he wouldn’t care who was supposed to stump up for the wedding bills. Hadn’t he already made it plain that there was to be no wedding?

Sophie put a hand to her forehead, her fingers trying to stroke away her tension as the car continued down the palm-lined highway towards the city of Cairns and the airport that promised escape. How on earth had Jake ever thought she’d be able to convince someone like Daniel Caruana that this wedding was a good idea? And how was she going to tell him that she’d blown her peace-keeping role big time?

She opened her eyes in time to see the sign signalling the turn off for James Cook Airport. She sighed in relief. At least she’d soon be away from here. Away from Daniel Caruana, the man who could be her brother-in-law.

The man who had almost kissed her…

She jammed her eyes shut, trying to blot away the memories, but she could still feel the brush of his lips, could still smell his intoxicating, masculine scent weaving its way into her senses as his fingers worked their way into her hair and directed her face towards his.

When he’d told her that if he had mauled her she’d have the marks to prove it…Oh my. Sophie dragged in a lungful of air, hot and breathless, the car’s air conditioning was suddenly found wanting. Thank goodness she’d found the sense to turn away before she made more of a fool of herself than she already had.

What was his point? Had he been trying to convince her he was the red-hot lover the tabloids hinted at? Or had he just been toying with her, like some random plaything, before throwing her out?

Either way, the man clearly had no conscience. She was glad she’d have nothing more to do with him. At least not until the wedding—if he even bothered to show up.

Then she smiled. If there had been one glimmer of satisfaction she could take from this morning’s meeting, it had been the moment before she’d left, when she’d finally had the opportunity to tell him she was Jake’s sister. In the scant seconds after her revelation, and before she’d pulled the door closed behind her, she’d seen his look of smug dismissal give way to shock and a kind of numb disbelief.

So maybe she hadn’t managed to convince Mr Hot Shot Caruana to give his blessing to his sister’s upcoming wedding—and maybe she’d blown her role as peace maker—but at least she’d managed to get the last word in. How fortunate it was that he hadn’t allowed her to get a word in edgeways so she could save that little gem until last. That part of the meeting, at least, had been infinitely satisfying.

Sophie looked up, thinking for a moment that the driver had said something to her, only to find him talking into his handsfree phone. She looked around. They were in the departure lane, slowing as they neared the drop-off zone with the maze of vehicles pulling in and out along the kerb before them. She strung her briefcase strap over her shoulder, her hand ready on the door release so that she could quickly alight. Except the driver didn’t pull in to stop like she’d expected but kept on driving.

‘There’s a spot just there,’ she called, pointing to her left, wondering what was wrong with the last two spaces he’d driven past.

‘Sorry, miss,’ the driver said, glancing at her in his rearview mirror. ‘Change of plans.’

‘No, I have a flight to catch.’ She looked over her shoulder as the airport buildings and her escape plans disappeared behind, the first frisson of fear slipping down her spine and taking root in her gut.

She turned back in time to catch the driver’s shrug as he accelerated back along the airport exit-road. ‘Didn’t Mr Caruana tell you? Apparently now you’re going by chopper.’

‘What? No.’ Fear turned to anger as she reached for her PDA and found his number. ‘No, Mr Caruana didn’t tell me that.’

Mr Caruana still wasn’t telling her anything. The young PA told her he was unavailable and couldn’t be reached—perhaps she’d like to leave a message?

No, Sophie decided, breaking the connection. What she had to say to Mr Caruana was best said face to face. No matter what stunt he was pulling now, she’d make sure there’d be ample opportunity for that sometime.

She called her office in Brisbane, something she’d been intending to do once she’d confirmed her flight.

‘Meg,’ she said as soon as her assistant answered. ‘It’s Sophie.’

‘How did the meeting go?’

Sophie pulled a face. ‘Not as well as it could have. I think Monica might be walking down the aisle by herself.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. But at least you tried. What time will you be back?’

Good question, Sophie thought, biting her lip as she watched the passing parade of palm trees lining the wide highway, heading the wrong way, wondering if she should let Meg know what was happening. But what was happening? It wasn’t like she was being kidnapped. Not exactly. She still had her phone, after all. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t call for help if she thought she needed it. But that still didn’t mean she was happy about her plans being turned upside down for no good reason and without explanation. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, and at least that much was true. ‘It looks like I might be delayed. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.’

‘Okay. I’ll hold the fort until you get back. Oh, and don’t forget, you have that meeting at the Tropical Palms first thing tomorrow to finalise the arrangements.’

‘Don’t worry, Meg.’ Whatever surprises Daniel Caruana had planned, she’d be back in Brisbane long before then. ‘There’s no way I’d miss that. See you soon.’

She snapped her phone shut and looked around. Here the rainforest covered mountains rose sharply from the narrowing coastal plain, and she realised she was almost back at the Palm Cove turn off and the office she’d left barely forty minutes ago. What the hell was he playing at? Surely he didn’t feel so bad about the way he’d behaved during their meeting that he was going to make up for it by having her flown all the way to Brisbane in his private helicopter? She swallowed. As much as she wanted to get back to the office, she wasn’t sure she was too crazy at the idea of spending two hours or so in one of those tiny buzz boxes.

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.

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