The Paternity Proposition(30)

       
           



       

"Then I need to be more clear. I was charmed by what you told me yesterday and I have decided to assist you in fulfilling your late aunt's last request. Therefore I shall escort you to all the places on the list." He gave her a rakish smile. "Well, perhaps not all the places."

She instantly thought of Lucia's Point, which was no doubt what he wanted her to do. She thought the man might actually be teasing her. Was it possible? No one ever took the time to kid around with her.

And as tempting as his offer might be, there were a couple of things she couldn't forget. "I wouldn't want to be a bother, and even if you were willing to share your time with me, we've only just met. I don't even know your name."

He touched his fingertips lightly to his chest. "I am most remiss," he said, and swept her a low bow. He should have looked silly, but somehow he managed to look very elegant. "I am Mazin, a resident of the island, and your servant for as long as you command me to serve."

Phoebe couldn't believe this was happening-maybe in a movie, but not in real life and certainly not to her. She glanced around and realized that everyone in the lobby was watching them. She hesitated, torn between what she wanted to do and what she knew she must do.

"Miss Carson?" A man approached. The brass name tag said he was Mr. Eldon, the hotel manager.

"I want to assure you that, ah … " He glanced at the stranger. "That Mazin is a most honorable gentleman. No harm will come to you while you are in his presence."

"You see," Mazin said. "I have those who are willing to vouch for my character. Come, Phoebe. See the wonders of Lucia-Serrat with me."

She was about to refuse-because she prided herself on being sensible-when Ayanna's words came back to her. Her aunt had wanted her to live life to the fullest and never have regrets. Phoebe knew she would regret refusing Mazin's invitation, regardless of how foolish it might be to accept.

"The banyan tree sounds very nice," she said softly, and allowed Mazin to lead her out to his waiting car.





Two

The young woman cast one last tentative glance over her shoulder before slipping into the front seat of his Mercedes. Mazin closed the door and circled to the driver's side, all the while trying to figure out what he was doing.

He didn't have time to play games with children-and that's exactly what Phoebe Carson was. A child of twenty or so. Far too young and inexperienced to succeed at his kind of game. Why was he bothering? Worse, why was he wasting his time?

He slid onto the driver's seat and glanced at her.

She stared at him, her eyes wide-as if she were a cornered rabbit and he were some deadly predator. A perfect metaphor, he thought wryly. He should walk away-tell her that he was too busy to take her on a tour of the island. If he wanted a woman-a woman, not a child-there were dozens who would fly to his side at the first hint of his interest. They knew him and his world. They knew what was expected. They understood the rules.

Phoebe understood nothing. Even as he put the car in gear, he knew he was making a mistake. Because he was acting against his good sense-something he never allowed himself to do. His nature didn't allow him to take advantage of those who were not his equal. So why was he here with her?

Yesterday he had seen her going through customs. She had seemed both brave and terrified … and very much an innocent. At first he had kept track of her because he had been sure she was being met and he wanted to make sure she found her way. Later, when he had realized she was alone, he had found himself compelled to approach her for reasons he could not explain.

He had just returned from his own trip abroad. He should have been eager to go home. And yet he had taken the time to speak with Phoebe. Having spoken with her, he could not forget her.

Madness, he told himself. Simple madness.

"The weather seems very nice," she said, interrupting his thoughts.

Mazin glanced out the front windshield. The sky was blue and cloudless. "With only the occasional sprinkle, this is our dry season," he told her. "In the fall we have a rainy season, followed by several weeks of monsoons. Sometimes I am surprised that all of Lucia-Serrat doesn't wash away into the sea. But we survive and after the rains, everything grows."

Maybe it was her eyes, he thought as he turned onto the main road. So wide and blue. Trusting, he thought grimly. She was far too trusting. No one could be that innocent. He gritted his teeth. Was that the problem? Did he think she was pretending?

He wasn't sure. Did women like her really exist, or was this all an elaborate plot to get close to him? He glanced at her, taking in the long blond hair pulled back in a thick braid and her simple, inexpensive clothing. Was she trying to put him at his ease by appearing so far out of his league as to be beneath notice? Yet he had noticed. For reasons he could not explain, she intrigued him.

So he would play her game-whatever that might be-until he learned the truth, or grew tired of her. Because he would grow tired … he always did.                       
       
           



       

"You said your family had been here five hundred years," she said, glancing at him quickly, then returning her attention to the window. "I can't imagine having that much personal history."

"The island was first discovered by explorers setting out from Bahania nearly a thousand years ago," he told her. "It was uninhabited and considered sacred ground. The royal family claimed it for their own. As European sailors set out to conquer the New World, the king of Bahania grew concerned that his private paradise would be taken for Portugal, Spain or England. So he sent relatives to live here. Eventually the island became populated. A sovereignty was established. To this day, the crown prince of the island is a cousin of the king of Bahania."

Phoebe looked at him, her eyes wide. "I guess I knew about there being a prince, because that's how my great-aunt got in trouble, but I never thought about there being one right this minute. Does he live on the island?"

"Yes, he is a permanent resident."

She looked as if she were about to ask another question, when they drove past a break in the trees. Phoebe stared at the view of the ocean and caught her breath.

"It's so beautiful."

"Do you not see the ocean where you live?"

"Sometimes." She gave him a quick smile before returning her attention to the view." Ayanna's house is a few miles inland. I used to spend a lot of time by the water when I was in school, but after she became ill, I never had the time."

She pressed her fingers against the window. Her hands were as delicate as the rest of her. Mazin eyed her clothes. They were worn, although well cared for. In the right designer gown, with a little makeup and her hair styled, she would be a beauty. Like this, she was a plain gray dove.

While the fantasy of Phoebe as a femme fatale appealed to him, he found himself equally attracted to the little dove sitting next to him.

A dove who had no idea of his identity. Perhaps that was part of her appeal. He so rarely spent time with women who were not clear on who he was and what he could give them.

"There is a grove of spice trees," he said, pointing to his left. "People assume that spices come from seeds, but often they are found in the tree bark."

She turned to look. As she leaned toward his side of the car, he caught the scent of her body. Soap, he thought, nearly smiling. She smelled of the rose soap left for guests at the Parrot Bay Inn.

"Dozens of different kinds of spice are grown here," he said.

"What are those flowers?" she asked. "Are they growing out of the tree bark?"

"No. They're orchids. They're grafted into the branches of the trees and grown for use in flower arrangements. Some are used in perfume. Mango trees are the best hosts, but you will find orchids growing everywhere on the island."

"I haven't seen any oil pumps. You said there was oil on the island. Or is it out at sea?"

"Both."

He waited, wondering if this was where she would tip her hand. Interest in oil meant interest in money … specifically his. But Phoebe didn't even blink. She turned her attention to the passenger window, almost as if the oil didn't matter.

Now that he thought about it he realized that her enthusiasm for the island was far greater than her enthusiasm for him accompanying her. Was she really the shy tourist she claimed to be?

He couldn't remember the last time a woman hadn't hung on to his every word. It was almost as if she wasn't overly interested in what he had to say. If true, it was a unique experience.

They rounded a bend. The main bazaar stretched out on a flat stretch of stone-covered earth.

"The Lucia-Serrat marketplace has been in existence for nearly five hundred years," he said. "These outer walls are part of the original walls that surrounded the area."

Phoebe clapped her hands together in delight. "Oh, Mazin, we must stop. Look at everything they're selling. Those little copper pots and flowers and oh, is that a monkey?"

She laughed as a small monkey climbed across several open-air booths to snatch a particularly ripe slice of mango from a display. The owner of the monkey handed over a coin before the owner of the fruit stall could complain.