Read Paradise Found for Free Online Page B

voice, but several octaves lower. How did he make it so soft and sexy, like a breeze blowing over naked skin? She didn’t like it. Not one bit.
    “Are you going to answer me, or ignore me?”
    “I'm not ignoring you,” she snapped. “I just want to know if you're going with us or not.”
    “No, I'm not,” he said. “I've seen everything before and I can't see anything now, so what's the point?” His voice was still low and quiet, but the gentleness of a moment ago had vanished, replaced by strains of bitterness.
    “I just thought—”
    “No.” He clutched the edge of the chair until his knuckles turned white. This was the Matthew Brandon she expected. Angry, forceful. Him, she could handle. It was the other side she'd seen a few moments ago, the seductive, gentle one that scared her to death. Before she could think of anything else to say, he pushed back his chair, nodded a curt good night and strode from the room, maneuvering past the furniture, through the room, and down the hall, never slowing a step.
    ***
    The late afternoon sun followed them as they wound their way past the quaint little shops and boutiques of Laguna Beach. Sara peered through the tinted windows of the limousine, catching glimpses of artists weaving their craft on canvas, pottery, wood, and glass.
    Adam noticed her keen interest and promised, “We'll come back another day and you can take it all in until you've had your fill.”
    She flashed him a quick grin. “Better wear a comfortable pair of shoes.”
    “Ridiculous,” Rex said as they rounded a corner and spotted a man painting plastic milk cartons. He had twenty or so finished ones resting on a pallet behind him.
    “They're beautiful,” Sara breathed, admiring the bold designs and brilliant colors that transformed an ordinary household object into a work of art.
    “Junk,” Rex muttered under his breath.
    “How can you say that?” she asked, as they passed a young woman painting PVC pipe. “The medium doesn't matter. It's what the artist does with it that counts.”
    “Right. So, you're saying I could take toilet paper rolls and paint some fancy little doodads on them and call it art.”
    “You probably could.”
    “And,” he continued, “I could probably sell them for fifty bucks a pop.”
    Sara tried to keep a serious face. “Or more, depending on how original it is.”
    “I'll tell Greta to start saving our toilet paper rolls for you, Rex,” Adam said and turned toward Sara. “That's profession number twenty-two, for our man, Rex.”
    “Who's Greta?”
    “Greta,” Adam said, letting out a long sigh, “is Rex's latest find.”
    “And she's a darn good find, too,” Rex added.
    They were on the highway now, heading south toward a place called Dana Point. Rex told her they could get a taste of native life there, watching experts and amateurs with surfboards, Wave Runners and fishing boats. Sara was content to see sun, water, and blue skies.
    “At dinner, you mentioned Rex's penchant for finding people,” she said. Now was her opportunity to get some answers. “What did you mean by that?”
    Adam inclined his head toward their chauffeur. “Rex has a habit of bringing home strays.”
    “Haven't they all proved very helpful?” Rex asked, shooting Adam a challenging look in the rearview mirror.
    “Helpful and necessary are two different things. I fail to see why Matt needs a cook, a cleaning lady, a window cleaner, a laundry lady, a plant man, and a gardener.”
    “You forgot the car washer and light fixture man.”
    “Oh. How could I forget them?”
    Rex grinned. “Matt just hired them last week.”
    “If he doesn't need them, why does he hire them?” Sara asked. Another interesting twist through the maze to discover the real Matthew Brandon.
    “Thank you, Sara,” Adam said. “It's nice to know someone else agrees with me. Matt and Rex, now they're a different story. Rex meets these people, from who knows where. They've all got a story. Somebody has a