by Trish Morey
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 un-plumbed 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 wash-day 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 profile—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 finge
rs 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 dismissed—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.