His Prisoner in Paradise. Trish Morey

believe everyone is motivated by the same almighty quest for the dollar? Well, maybe you should think again. And then maybe you might stop judging everyone by your own low standards.’

      She jerked her elbow out of his grip, wanting to get away, needing to get away. Failure weighing heavily on her shoulders.

      Oil on the waters. What a laugh. She might as well have thrown petrol on the flames of his familial discontent. She’d blown her role as peacemaker completely. ‘I have to go.’

      ‘Why? So you can warn Fletcher I’ll be making him an offer? To advise him he should hang out for more? You mark my words,’ Daniel continued, ‘Fletcher will have his price, just like the rest.’

      ‘Oh no.’ She shook her head. There was no way Daniel was slotting her brother into the likes of his damned fortune-hunters. ‘Jake isn’t like that—even if those others were, and you’ve given me no proof of that. Jake isn’t interested in her money. He loves Monica.’

      ‘Of course he does,’ he sneered. ‘How long exactly have they known each other? A fortnight? A month?’

      ‘Some people don’t need that long to know the person they’re with is the one they want to spend the rest of their lives with.’

      ‘Is that so? Next you’ll be telling me you believe in love at first sight.’

      ‘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