by Lucy King
‘The current temperature is in the mid twenties,’ Alex was saying, ‘but it gets chilly at night, so you might want to pack something warm.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We need to leave in the next half an hour so I suggest you go and get ready.’
Go and get ready? Phoebe could barely get her head around the implications of what he’d told her. It appeared that not only had he set her a challenge way outside her remit, he also intended her to complete it miles out of her comfort zone.
Devious didn’t even begin to describe the workings of his mind, she decided darkly. Machiavelli himself would bow down in awe.
She should have guessed he’d pull a trick like this. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he’d deliberately kept the location of the party from her just so he could spring it on her when she was least expecting it. Because in her line of work surprises were never welcome and he must know that.
‘Chop chop,’ he said mildly, looking at her as if surprised to see her still standing there.
Phoebe huffed, shot him a filthy look and stormed out.
Alex took his coffee into the sitting room and, not for the first time since he’d laid eyes on her scantily clad form, wondered if taking Phoebe with him to the island was really such a wise idea.
The challenge that he’d set her would prove her determination and her commitment and would satisfy his promise to Jo without compromising the vow he’d made to himself in the aftermath of losing everything he’d worked so hard to acquire.
However, the glimpses of long tanned leg that he’d got whenever Phoebe’s robe slithered open had tested his control to the limit. That ridiculous eye mask perched on top of her mussed-up hair had got him thinking about blindfolds and silk scarves and hours of lazy sensory exploration and he’d nearly stalked over and pinned her against the counter just to see if she felt as warm and soft as she looked.
There was a thump as something hit the floor above, then a yelp of pain and a string of expletives. Alex snapped back to reality and grinned. Phoebe first thing reminded him of a very grumpy, very put out sprite.
He took a look around. Fat cushions sat at random on the two deep sofas that faced each other either side of a coffee table laden with books. Bright splashes of artwork lined the walls. Piles of magazines were stacked high either side of the fireplace. A book lay open face down on the floor beside the sofa.
The room wasn’t messy, but compared to her office it was a tip. If he didn’t know otherwise he’d have thought that two very different people occupied each space.
But then nothing about Phoebe was quite as it seemed, he realised, making his way over to the bookcase. Was she the cool, efficient PR executive? The whimpering goddess he’d held in his arms, who’d stared up at him with stars in her eyes and passion infused in her face? Or was she a combination of all of them and more?
‘I can’t imagine you’ll find anything there to interest you.’
Alex swung round and his pulse spiked. Phoebe stood in the doorway, dressed in jeans that hugged her legs and a little cardigan that clung to her curves and pulled tight across her breasts. Dark sunglasses held her hair back from her face.
For a moment Alex couldn’t decide which version he preferred. The sleepy, tousled Phoebe who smelled of bed or this sleek, fresh-faced Phoebe who smelled of flowers. And then he realised he was expected to say something. ‘That was quick.’
‘Yup.’ She grinned. ‘It’s amazing what caffeine can do. And I still have five minutes to spare.’
‘I’m impressed. Is that it?’ he said, glancing at her suitcase.
‘Yes.’
‘You travel light.’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I am.’
‘Not all women carry their entire worldly goods whenever they go anywhere, you know. My wardrobe is particularly capsular.’
‘Unlike your house. This is very different from your office,’ he said, indicating the room with a sweep of his arm.
Phoebe frowned. Generally people didn’t see both. She shrugged. ‘I don’t think clients would be too impressed to see this, do you?’
‘Do you care that much what people think?’
She smiled. ‘I’m in PR. It kind of goes with the territory.’
‘Got your passport?’
‘Hmm. Good point.’ The phone started ringing and Phoebe walked over to answer it. ‘Would you mind? It’s in the desk. Top drawer.’
Which reminded her, she needed to get it renewed. And not before time. That photo… The hair. Phoebe shuddered. No one apart from herself and a handful of international immigration officers had ever seen it.
And any second now Alex would be sliding open the drawer, taking it out and flicking through the pages…
‘No, wait,’ she practically shouted. ‘On second thoughts, I’ll get it.’
Phoebe dropped the phone and hurled herself at him. Her body slammed into his and Alex let out a gruff oomf at the impact. Her hand covered his, their fingers tangled in the chaos and for a moment she thought the room had started to spin. Showers of sparks shot up her arm. His scent engulfed her and she nearly swooned.
Fighting back a blush, Phoebe tugged her passport out of his grip. ‘Sorry about that. Terrible photo.’ She peeled herself off him and walked to the door on very wobbly legs. ‘We—er—should probably get going.’
CHAPTER SIX
WELL, THAT HAD been gruelling, thought Phoebe, pushing her sunglasses up her nose and taking her first lungfuls of Atlantic air. The flight to the capital had been smooth enough and Alex’s skill as a pilot during the short hop to their final destination had been impressive. But having to spend close on to four hours in a confined space with him had been a nightmare.
Once on board his jet, she’d hauled out her laptop with the intention of reading up on her notes, but to her intense irritation her usually excellent powers of concentration had gone on strike. Instead, her body had decided to tune itself to Alex’s frequency. Every move he made, every frown, every smile, that flitted across his face registered on her conscience.
But if she’d thought that had been torturous it was nothing compared to the torment she’d suffered once they’d transferred to the tin pot of a plane that was to carry them to the party venue.
There’d barely been room to breathe. Alex’s shoulder had constantly brushed against hers. His denim-clad thigh had sat inches from her hand and her fingers had itched to reach out and find out if it was as firm and muscled as it looked. And then his voice, coming through her headset, deep and sexy, had reached right down inside her, wrapping itself around her insides and twisting them into knots as he pointed out a pod of whales.
Her body ached from the effort of trying to plaster herself against the side of the plane. Her stomach was still churning. The minute they’d landed she’d been so desperate to get out of the plane she’d nearly garrotted herself.
‘Welcome to Ilha das Palmeiras,’ Alex said, taking her suitcase and throwing it into the back of the Jeep that was parked at the side of the grass runway.
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘I think so.’
‘But humid.’ Phoebe could already feel her hair beginning to frizz and rummaged around in her handbag for a hair clip.
‘The islanders say if you don’t like the weather wait ten minutes.’
Phoebe pinned back her hair and then delved back into her bag for her mobile. Hauling it out, she flipped it open and switched it on. Hmm. She frowned. No signal.
Alex glanced up as she waved it around. ‘I wouldn’t bother. There’s no coverage.’
Oh. ‘None at all?’ She didn’t think she’d ever been anywhere where she hadn’t been able to pick up a signal.
‘Nope. And there’s no landline either.’
‘What about the Internet?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
There was no need for him to look quite so cheery, thought Phoebe darkly. Her phone was like a third limb. She needed to be available every minute of every day,
just in case any nasty little surprises popped up.
But there wasn’t much she could do about it now. With a sigh, Phoebe dropped her phone back into her bag and resigned herself to twenty-four hours of being incommunicado. At least weekends tended to be quiet on the PR front.
The island was smaller than she’d imagined, and far more remote. She’d envisaged a buzzing harbour, bright colours and exotic smells. All that had been true of the island that housed the capital, but Ilha das Palmeiras was quiet and peaceful. After a lifetime of living in London Phoebe had imagined she’d have been more freaked out by the absence of noise, but instead she could already feel herself beginning to unwind.
Palm trees swished in the breeze. The sun warmed her skin. The distant sound of waves crashing onto the shore filled her with a sense of wonderful restfulness.
Maybe after the party, when she’d smashed her target and proved she was more than capable of handling Jo’s career, she’d do a spot of sunbathing. Relaxing. God knew how long it had been since she’d had a day off.
‘Hop in.’
Phoebe’s eyes snapped open. Oh, she had to be careful. If she allowed herself to be lulled into a false sense of tranquillity, if she didn’t keep her wits firmly about her, she could find herself struggling to pass Alex’s test.
She grappled with the handle of the car door that was welded shut and it dawned on her that she would literally have to ‘hop in’. Which she’d never manage with any sort of elegance. Alex had vaulted in, but as she hadn’t been inside a gym for years if she tried that she’d land in a heap on the grass. Perhaps if she just perched her bottom on the edge and then levered herself up…
‘I would offer you a hand, but I can still recall what happened when I last tried that.’
‘Try it again,’ she said with uncharacteristic sweetness while batting her eyelashes at him in an exaggerated fashion, ‘and I can guarantee you’ll get a different response.’
Alex grinned, got out of the car and walked over to her side. ‘Turn round.’
Phoebe did and he reached down, put his hands on her waist and lifted her so that she could swing her legs round. He dropped her into the seat and Phoebe untangled her legs and arms. ‘Thank you,’ she said, determinedly ignoring the tingles zapping around her body and her galloping pulse. ‘And since you mention it, thank you for your help with Mark the other night.’ Hindsight had made her realise that she might not have been able to manage him on her own, and the fact that she’d never got round to thanking Alex had been niggling away at her ever since.
‘You’re welcome.’ He fired up the engine. ‘I probably owe you an apology.’
‘Oh?’
‘I might have overreacted. Just a bit.’
Phoebe sat back and grinned. ‘Accepted. It sounds like you’re out of practice.’
‘Could be,’ he said dryly. ‘I don’t often have reason to apologise.’
‘It must be wonderful being right all the time.’
‘Most of the time,’ he said with a grin and hit the accelerator.
‘So this island must be privately owned,’ said Phoebe, clinging onto the top of the windscreen in a futile effort to lessen the jarring on her poor battered body as they bounced over the terrain.
‘It is.’
She gave up and went with the motion. ‘Who by?’
‘Me.’
As she’d suspected. ‘Of course. What billionaire would be without one?’
‘If I’d wanted a status symbol I’d have bought a playground in the Caribbean.’
Hmm. ‘So what is this deserted peaceful island with no interference from the outside world? An escape?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘From what?’ she asked.
‘The city.’
She had the impression the island was an escape from more than just the city because she’d found no mention of it in her research. ‘How much time do you spend here?’
‘Not enough.’
That seemed a shame, she thought, drinking in the spectacular scenery spreading out before her. The shoreline jutted in and out, shaped by millennia of buffeting winds. After the carefully landscaped gardens of the night before last, the rugged beauty of the island took her breath away.
As did Alex’s profile. Phoebe took advantage of the fact that he was staring out of the windscreen to study him. Despite the concentration etched on his face, the lines around his mouth and eyes seemed to have softened, as if the serenity of the place had seeped into him too. The wind ruffled his hair and as she ran her gaze over the hint of the bump on his nose it struck her how much Alex suited this landscape.
‘When were you here last?’
‘About a year ago.’
‘Why so long?’
‘Busy. Work.’
‘What made you buy a remote island in the middle of the Atlantic?’
‘It’s a remote island in the middle of the Atlantic,’ he said dryly. ‘I like my space. I value my privacy.’
That figured. Given the press attention he received she guessed he wasn’t a great fan of journalists. Or nosy PRs, judging by the brevity of his answers to her questions. Still, she hadn’t got where she had by being deflected by evasiveness.
‘No man is an island,’ she said solemnly.
‘Are you romanticising me, Phoebe?’
Heaven forbid. ‘Just thought I’d mention it.’
‘It’s not completely isolated.’
He’d pointed out the other islands in the archipelago as they’d flown over them. ‘Who lives on the other ones?’
‘No idea.’
‘That’s not very neighbourly.’
‘Owners of remote islands don’t tend to be very neighbourly.’
‘What happens if you run out of sugar?’
‘My housekeeper makes sure I don’t.’
He had answers to everything, thought Phoebe as they headed off the rough land and onto a gravel track. He was wasted in venture capital. He should be in PR.
‘If you value your privacy so highly, why host a party for a hundred people?’
‘No press. Do you have to keep asking questions?’
‘Yup. Sorry. It’s my job.’
‘Perhaps you should be saving your energies for later.’
‘I have plenty of energy,’ she said with a grin, and realised with surprise that it was true. Despite her lack of sleep, Phoebe felt oddly invigorated. It was probably the sea air. Or the thrill of a challenge. Or perhaps the exhilaration of the Jeep ride.
It had nothing whatsoever to do with having spent the best part of the day with Alex.
A shower of gravel flew up as Alex pulled up outside the house and yanked on the handbrake. The sooner he could get away from Phoebe, the better.
Her incessant questioning was driving him nuts. He didn’t want to have to go into detail about when and why he’d bought the island, but any longer and his resistance would crumble under the sheer weight of her persistence.
‘Oh, wow.’
Phoebe was standing up and gazing up at his house, an expression of awe on her face. At least she’d stopped with the bloody questions, he thought grimly, jumping out of the Jeep and striding round to her side. ‘Give me your hand.’
‘This is amazing,’ she said, holding her hands out but still staring up at the house. ‘Did you build it?’
Alex helped her out of the Jeep, set her on her feet and took their luggage out. ‘I designed it. Someone else built it.’
He glanced up. The two-storey glass and steel construction that stood on the edge on the cliff was very different from the glorified shack that had existed when Jo had been recuperating. He’d bought the island primarily for his sister and he’d worked every second to ensure he could do it before she came out of hospital. However it had taken him another couple of years before he’d recouped enough of his previous fortune to build this house.
Memories clamoured at the edges of his brain and Alex ruthlessly pushed them away.
‘It’s fabulous.
The views must be incredible.’
‘Go inside and take a look around. You’re staying in the capital with the rest of the guests. They’re being ferried over and back. But there’s a guest wing here you can use in the meantime to get ready or whatever.’
Phoebe’s eyebrows shot up. ‘If I’m staying with everyone else, why didn’t you leave me there when we passed through earlier?’
Good question, he realised with a start. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. But then that was hardly surprising; the moment they’d boarded his plane rational thought had pretty much given up the ghost and a clamouring awareness of the woman with him had taken over. It had left him feeling unusually on edge. ‘I thought you might like to check things out in preparation for later.’
She nodded and gave him a smile that made him think of sunshine. ‘I would, thanks.’
Alex had had serious doubts about holding a party here. Despite his determination to avoid a repeat of last year, when the event had been held in London and gatecrashed by an extremely creative journalist, the invasion of his privacy and general disruption to what had always been a haven of tranquillity hadn’t appealed in the slightest.
However, right now the hive of activity engulfing the house and gardens was as welcome as the unexpected appearance of a life raft in the wake of a shipwreck, and he had no qualms about clinging to it.
He’d go and see that all the arrangements for this evening were in order. Never mind that Maggie was so efficient he didn’t need to check anything; if he didn’t head off right now he’d be in danger of doing something rash like suggesting a personal guided tour of the bedrooms. He nodded curtly. ‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
THIS WAS THE life, Phoebe thought, rolling onto her stomach and feeling the sun hit the backs of her legs. With the gentle sound of the waves lapping at the shore, the breeze rippling through the palm trees, and the softness of the fine sand beneath her towel, she really was in her own little slice of heaven.
Alex’s abrupt departure had left her standing there feeling like a spare part and wondering if she’d said something wrong. But she’d pulled herself together, and, after asking around to see if anyone needed any help and being assured that everything was under control, she’d found her way to the guest wing, changed out of her jeans into a skirt and had headed for the relative calm of the beach.
