His Prisoner in Paradise

‘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.’