His Prisoner in Paradise. Trish Morey
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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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