She looked around. ‘Well, it’s got a lovely beach and loads of palm trees.’
‘Monica loves this island,’ he insisted. ‘She always said that one day she wanted to get married here.’
Sophie didn’t doubt it; no wonder Monica had specified palm trees and sunsets on her must-have list. She imagined the sunsets here must be something to behold. But what she did doubt was Daniel’s conviction about wanting there to be a wedding at all, let alone playing host to it. For someone who had seemed so vehemently opposed to the idea just a few short hours ago, now it seemed he wanted control of the entire event.
And why? Because he was so happy he wanted his sister’s wedding to be perfect? She seriously doubted it. His turnaround had been too quick, too contrived.
Too convenient.
Something was going on, if only she could work out what it was.
But one thing was clear—there was no way she’d agree to Kallista being the venue for the wedding. Jake had made it clear he’d prefer the wedding to be on neutral ground. She’d thought it a strange thing to specify at first, but having met Daniel and witnessed his animosity towards her brother she could see where Jake was coming from. Daniel was the sort of man you had to stand up to, or get railroaded in the process.
She turned back to him, determined not to be railroaded herself. ‘Okay, you’re right, it is a beautiful island—perfect, I guess, if you want to plan on getting married barefoot on the sand. But in terms of infrastructure for a wedding?’ She shrugged. ‘For a start you’d have to have catering and accommodation facilities. Unless you’d be happy to boat everything in and lug everyone back and forth to the mainland on either a launch or—’ she nodded towards the helicopter ‘—that thing.’
She could swear she could see the glint in his eyes even through the dark glasses. ‘That won’t be necessary.’ He banged his hand on the top of the buggy. ‘Climb in. I will let you judge if Kallista has the necessary infrastructure.’
Sophie did as he asked, climbing into the front seat beside him without bothering to tell him about the article she’d read all those years ago citing a house set high above the sea nestled amongst the vines and palms. Just one house. Sprawling around the hillside, perhaps, but barely enough to cater for an entire wedding party and guests.
Neither did she bother to repeat that there was no point to this entire trip anyway. Tomorrow morning she would pay the deposit that would secure the Tropical Palms golf club, as Monica and Jake had agreed, and Daniel Caruana could go to hell. What did he know about what was needed to organise a wedding? The Tropical Palms might be in need of refurbishment, but if he thought his sister was going to be happy to put up with marquees and sand flies on her special day he could think again.
The buggy took off along the track carved through the sands, heading for the shade of the palms. Somewhere along the line he’d undone the cuffs of his shirt and turned them up, exposing his forearms, his bronzed olive skin making his white shirt look more dramatic as the soft material billowed softly in the breeze. Suddenly she was transported back to her childhood and B-movie matinees featuring swashbuckling pirates with tight breeches, white shirts and gold rings in one ear.
He could almost be a pirate, she thought, with his midnight-black hair, his strong features and his arrogant, ‘it’s my way or the plank way’ attitude.
The buggy’s tiny tyres bumped over a fallen palm frond, the vehicle swaying as he immediately rounded a bend, a bubble of laughter erupted unbidden from her throat.
Almost a pirate—but for the fact she’d never thought of a pirate driving a golf buggy before.
‘Is something funny?’
She pressed her lips together, looked at the track in front of them and avoided his gaze, even when she sensed it burning holes in her. ‘It’s just I saw your car—the black one you were leaning on where we met the helicopter.’
‘And?’
‘And it looked exactly like what I’d imagined you’d drive.’
‘Oh, and what’s that?’
The tiny vehicle rattled along the track. ‘You know, something sleek and black and…’ Dangerous. She stopped herself just in time ‘And fast.’
‘And that’s funny?’
‘Well, no, not really, it’s just that—’ She faltered, suddenly wondering why she’d ever been crazy enough to open her mouth. Next she’d be admitting she could imagine him as a pirate with a cutlass in one hand, a rope from the rigging in the other and a dagger shoved in his belt. And wouldn’t that do her cause a power of good? She looked up at him, thankful for the shade from the canopy above them so he wouldn’t be able to see the colour flooding her cheeks as she dreaded how he might react to the words she was game to put voice to. ‘It’s just that I guess I never imagined a man like you driving a golf buggy.’