by Trish Morey
Which reminded him…
‘How is it your name is Turner?’
‘Excuse me?’ She swung her head round but not before he’d noticed how the breeze shook tendrils of her hair loose to curl around her face and sculpt the soft fabric of her dress so it clung to her breasts and playfully teased around her knees. Then she noticed the direction of his eyes and tucked the wayward material under her legs. He didn’t mind that either, because now it only highlighted the elegant tapering of thigh to knees.
Long, shapely legs. Nice breasts. He could only imagine what other treats the surprising Miss Turner had in store. A pity, really…
‘You’re name’s Turner,’ he said, pulling his thoughts back into line. ‘Not Fletcher. But you weren’t married, you said, or at least you’re not now. Fletcher never mentioned having a sister.’
She hesitated, and he sensed the cogs in her brain working out his angle. She didn’t trust him, that much was obvious, although she was beginning to lose a little of that abrasive defensiveness. All that talk about what kind of car he drove—she’d been thinking about him, and he’d lay odds she hadn’t been thinking about automobiles. Finally, when he’d almost given up on a response, he picked up her shrug in his peripheral vision.
‘It’s no big secret,’ she began on a sigh, almost as if resigned to the fact he’d find out eventually anyway. ‘Our parents separated when I was barely a year old, splitting everything in two, including the kids. Dad kept Jake, Mum took me. She changed my name to hers, I guess so she didn’t have a constant reminder of her ex. I didn’t know about any of it for years.’
The gears in Daniel’s mind crunched. So she was Fletcher’s sister, as she’d claimed. Jo’s digging would confirm it, but he had no doubt she was telling the truth. Which meant that she probably was in on whatever her brother had planned to make this so-called marriage look as legitimate as possible in order to extract the best settlement. ‘So, how did you two find each other again?’
The buggy sped along the narrow track. Glimpses of brilliant sunshine and a sapphire sea appeared only to be swallowed up again by the foliage.
‘Mum died two years ago. Some lawyer told me then that I had a brother. I’d had no idea. I was too young to remember anything. We met for the first time at her funeral. And that’s when I learned that our father had died ten years before. My mother never…’
Her voice broke. He glanced over, but she wasn’t looking at him, her eyes appeared fixed on some point ahead of them as she took a deep breath, her breasts rising under the slip of silk.
‘Anyway, that’s the whole gruesome story.’
She sounded so lost and alone in that instant that it was his turn to take a deep breath. Next thing he knew, he’d be feeling sorry for her—Fletcher’s sister, of all people! Besides, he remembered seeing Jake’s old man once, sitting on the veranda of their timber house. The place had been practically falling down around him while he’d sucked his beer dry, the empties scattered around him like toppled ninepins. It was no surprise to hear that he’d gone.
Maybe it was better she’d never met him. She might have ended up more like her brother. A brother she defended like a tiger would defend her cubs. Would she be so quick to defend him if she knew more of his past? He doubted it.
‘So, you haven’t actually known Fletcher that long?’
Her jawline hardened, her mouth tightening. ‘I’ve known him long enough.’
‘Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think.’
‘Look, Mr Caruana, I think we’ve established how you feel about my brother.’
‘Daniel.’
‘What?’
‘Didn’t we agree you’d call me Daniel? And that I would call you by your first name?’
‘I—’
‘After all, Sophie,’ he argued softly, slowing the vehicle for a bend, ‘We are almost related.’
She sat upright in her seat, even stiffer and more tight-lipped than before, and he got the distinct impression she considered the idea of him being her brother-in-law with even less appeal than he contemplated her becoming his sister-in-law, though why that notion should grate he wasn’t entirely sure.
They rounded the last curve and he heard her small gasp of surprise beside him as the first timber and palm bungalow came into view with the hint of more hidden in the dense palm forest beyond. ‘What’s this?’
He jerked on the handbrake and jumped out, offering her his hand. ‘You said you wanted infrastructure,’ he mocked. ‘And I always give a lady what she wants.’
She’d just bet he did. Although her cynicism would have been far more effective if his words had not just sent a burst of heat all the way down her spine.
‘Don’t worry about your things,’ he said as she reached for her briefcase. ‘The only people on the island are my employees. They know if they do anything wrong, they’ll be FBO’d.’
‘“FBO’d”?’ she asked, keeping the rising panic from her voice as reluctantly she put her hand in his, feeling his warm fingers wrap around her hand, feeling his strength, his heat and his sheer masculine power as he helped her out of the buggy. It didn’t help that he was smiling. It didn’t help that she could feel that smile all the way down to her toes.
Surely it shouldn’t feel so good to touch someone who was so arrogant and unlikeable, someone who made clear his feelings that her brother was in no way good enough to marry his sister? Then he let her hand go to indicate she precede him up the steps to the timber deck, and she had to clamp down on a bizarre sense of disappointment. ‘What does FBO mean, exactly?’ she asked with false brightness, wishing she had either her briefcase or portfolio to cling onto, anything to make her hands feel less awkward and empty as she climbed the short flight of steps up to the deck, skirted a table and two chairs and stood by the railing, looking out at the view.
He came alongside her where the bungalow looked out through the thinning spread of trees towards the sandy beach and the promise of oceanic perfection.
‘It means they’ll be on the first boat off.’
‘You mean like on those reality shows where someone gets voted off the island?’
‘There’s no voting involved,’ he said unapologetically, crossing the deck to slide big glass doors that opened to billowing curtains, standing back to let her pass. ‘You mess up, you pay the price.’
She almost laughed. Almost. Until she caught his deadpan expression and realised he was completely and utterly serious. ‘Sounds like a mantra to live by,’ she murmured.
‘It works for me,’ he said simply, swiping off his sunglasses. As she moved past him she wondered if he was only talking about his employees.
This was Daniel’s island and he was in charge. King of his island castle. Thank heavens Monica had agreed to hold the wedding in Brisbane. She couldn’t imagine trying to organise a wedding here with Daniel watching, waiting for every mistake. Not that there was any chance of that happening, no matter what he thought of his ‘infrastructure’.
Sophie entered the bure, removed her sunglasses and felt her heart sink as her eyes adjusted. The sight of the bungalows hidden in the rainforest had been a surprise in itself; the article she’d read had mentioned nothing of scattered bungalows. But, while the decking had been thoughtfully designed, the simple exterior had given no indication of the luxury contained within. The timber-framed glass doors opened straight into a spacious sitting-room decorated not in the usual and unimaginative palm-tree prints but in tasteful russet, cream and coffee shades. The prints on fabrics and walls were minimal, the furnishings inviting, and Sophie applauded every decorating choice.
In a wall opposite the entry, bi-fold doors beckoned, hinging back to reveal a bedroom even larger than the living area with a pillow-laden bed so wide and inviting that the child in her was tempted to dive straight onto it. Sophie would have too, until her adult brain reminded her that Daniel was just behind her. Any sign of enthusiasm now was only going to make it more difficult for herself later on whe
n she had to argue that this venue wouldn’t work.
She still believed it, even with the glimpse of more bures tucked between the trees. A few cabins, after all, did not make a resort. The catering facilities would have to be first rate too, though a niggle in the back of her brain told her that bures of this standard would require more than a simple barbeque on the beach every night. But whatever they were like, she told herself, the inspection was pointless. They had a venue. End of story.
‘Very nice,’ she conceded with a terse nod, schooling her face to bland, knowing Daniel was waiting for her reaction. Another door led to the adjoining bathroom with spa bath and rainforest shower head which she eyed with as much detachment and as little envy as she could manage.
But there was no denying the sudden stab of guilt. It was gorgeous, seriously gorgeous, and she couldn’t have blamed Monica in the least if she’d wanted to get married here on the island. She didn’t know what else was in store for this inspection, but a bit of dressing up could turn a bure like this into every girl’s fantasy honeymoon suite.
Her teeth scraped her bottom lip as she recalled the rooms at the Tropical Palms. Outdated. Bordering on shabby. Seriously in need of refurbishment. Whereas here…
Jake had wanted the wedding to take place in Brisbane and Monica had agreed to the Tropical Palms because she’d thought Daniel would never agree to her marriage, that he would never tolerate it, let alone offer to pay for it. And also, she had to admit, because it was the only place going at short notice that could offer a taste of the tropical paradise that Kallista was.
What if Daniel was right and Monica had always wanted to be married here? Right now she only had Daniel’s word on that, but looking around it didn’t take too much stretch of the imagination to believe it.
Had Monica suppressed her heart’s desire to be married here on Kallista because she had thought it would present the path of least resistance and accommodate both her brother’s and her fiancé’s wishes?
Which left her—as a wedding planner who promised a perfect day—where, exactly?
‘So, what do you think?’
She wheeled around so quickly that her head spun. Was it just the sight of him reclining on the side of the bed behind her and not waiting in the doorway like she’d expected? Her mouth went dry. His eyes were level with her breasts. She knew that because he was looking right at them. And once again she cursed the absence of anything she could hold up against her chest as a shield to hide her suddenly achingly hard nipples.
‘About what?’
He glanced up at her eyes, looking for all the world like a predator at ease, propped up on one elbow against the pillow-decked headrest, all long-limbed elegance sprawled ever so casually and yet with a barely suppressed energy just waiting to be unleashed.
‘About whatever you’ve been thinking about this last five minutes you’ve been staring into space.’
She swallowed, attempted a smile and was sure it came off as too contrived, but she was still too thrown by the picture of him lounging ever so casually against the wide bed to know how to compensate. If he looked that good dressed, lying on a big, wide bed, how much better would he look undressed?
Oh, no!
She knew in that moment that there was no way—no way—she wanted this wedding to take place here on Kallista. Her thoughts would be forever distracted by pictures of Daniel sprawled back against the bedding, or with the fine cotton of his shirt rippling against his bronzed olive skin as the warm wind tugged at the fabric, or with him just being there.
So she made a show of checking her watch and flashing her brightest, most meaningless smile. ‘I think we better get on with the inspection if I’m going to make my flight.’
It was as bad as she expected. There were twenty such bures, all just as superbly appointed. They were tucked between the palms around the lagoon with enough distance between them to make you think you were the only inhabitants on the island, plus there was a central long house that served as lounge-bar and restaurant.
It was worse than bad, she decided, sipping on a mango cocktail and overlooking a crystal clear pool set amidst the palms.
It was an absolute disaster.
It was perfect.
Or it could be, if not for the man sitting opposite her right now.
Daniel Caruana leaned smugly back in his chair like he thought he had the whole world and not just his sister’s wedding stitched up.
Sophie was more and more fearful that he did—at least, when it came to the wedding. After all, this was a man used to fighting and winning corporate battles every day, used to manoeuvring against major players in the boardroom and beating them at their own game. How was she supposed to hold her own against the likes of him?
‘I guess we should be heading to the helicopter soon,’ she suggested, ‘if I’m going to make my flight.’
‘I guess we should,’ he said, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head as if he had no intention of going anywhere. ‘Except…’ He smiled. ‘You haven’t told me what you think of my infrastructure yet.’
She sipped her drink, gazing as inconspicuously as possible over the rim of her glass at the broad expanse of chest under the snug-fitting shirt. There was nothing at all wrong with his infrastructure from where she was sitting; the man was a perfect specimen, fit, strong and sexy as sin, and that was putting it mildly. Not that she was about to admit it. ‘I didn’t expect to find the island so developed. I was under the impression there was just the one dwelling.’
He dropped his hands to his front, lacing his fingers over an impossibly flat stomach. Did the man not have an ounce of fat anywhere? ‘It seemed selfish to keep all this to myself.’
‘But there’s nobody here but us and a handful of staff, and you don’t operate as a resort. What’s it all for?’
He shrugged. ‘Caruana Corporation has many employees who require the usual training and professional development. Sometimes they come for team-building exercises, sometimes as incentives. One group of managers has just left this morning. Another team will arrive next week. A skeleton staff keeps the place ticking over in between.’
‘But it looks like a five-star complex. You must have spent a fortune on this place.’
He leaned forwards, his elbow on the table, his fingers out wide to support his point. ‘And why pay a fortune for them to go somewhere else when I have my own island just off the coast? But what I have spent is not your concern. What I am more interested in is whether you now agree that this is the perfect place to host Monica’s wedding.’ It was a perfect venue. There was enough accommodation for plenty of the nearest and dearest with the best accommodation that Far North Queensland had to offer just a short helicopter flight or launch ride away. Absolutely perfect, except for one not quite so small fly in the ointment.
Daniel Caruana.
‘Mr Caruana?’ she began.
‘Why do you have so much trouble calling me Daniel?’
She sucked in air. Did he mean apart from the fact it seemed so informal? Too personal? ‘Okay—Daniel. You’re right, it is a fabulous venue. And I’m sure it would be perfect in the right circumstances. But maybe not this time. I’ve already told you, we have a venue, and one which Monica and Jake have both agreed on.’
‘So cancel it.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Cancel the venue and save the money. You said Monica and Fletcher were working to a budget—this venue won’t cost them a cent.’
She breathed deep. She had to in order to give herself time to think. Everything he said made perfect sense. The venue was divine, the accommodation superb and she had no doubt the food would be exquisite. All that, and Jake and Monica could save themselves a bundle into the deal. She must be mad to be so desperate to find a reason to say no. But Daniel was so adamant—disturbingly so—and there was no way she was being railroaded into saying yes, certainly not before she’d had a chance to speak to her clients.
Monica might well be in love wi
th the idea of getting married on the island, but Sophie only had Daniel’s word for that. Meanwhile her own brother, she knew, had other ideas about what constituted a perfect venue. Daniel Caruana’s private island was hardly likely to fit the bill on that score.
‘Look,’ she ventured, glad she’d never shared the fact that the deposit on the Tropical Palms hadn’t yet been paid. ‘It’s very short notice and there may be penalties for cancellation that reduce any potential savings. But I’ll certainly speak to both Monica and Jake regarding your generous offer.’ She glanced at her watch, shocked to see how time had slipped away, and stood, collecting up her things. ‘I have to go. I have an early morning meeting tomorrow and I’m not prepared to miss that flight.’ And then, because she knew she had to offer him something, ‘How about I call you tomorrow? Let you know what Monica and Jake are thinking?’
A hand on her arm stopped her flight and she jumped. ‘And how about we discuss it now?’
She looked up at him, his brow was brooding over dark narrowed eyes and a jaw set like concrete. She tested his grip with just one tiny tug on her arm and found no give, no weakness. ‘I can’t afford to miss my flight.’
‘Why are you so opposed to holding the wedding here?’
She swallowed. ‘Can you blame me for being a little reluctant to agree to your every whim? May I remind you that you were the one who said there would be no wedding?’
He made a sound like a growl. ‘We’ve been through that. Getting married here is what Moni really wants.’
‘And we have a booking Monica agreed to. Somewhere else.’
‘This is my sister we’re talking about.’
‘And Monica is my client. I’ve acted in accordance with her wishes. Thank you for your advice and your tour, Mr Caruana; I will pass on your thoughts to my client, but I’m afraid I must leave. I have a plane to catch.’ She looked pointedly down at the hand that still maintained an iron grip on her arm. ‘If you wouldn’t mind?’