His Prisoner in Paradise. Trish Morey
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‘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