The Far Side of Paradise (11 page)

Repressing a shudder at old memories, she wondered why she was so sure.

For one thing, the blonde woman in her skimpy black shift would be only too eager to indulge him if all he wanted was a quick fling. And, judging by various covert glances Taryn had intercepted, several other women at dinner wouldn’t mind being seduced by his muscled elegance and magnetic impact.

But what convinced her was his restraint, his complete self-discipline when he’d kissed her. She’d dissolved into a puddle of sensation, and he’d known it, but he’d not tried to persuade her into bed.

Her physical safety was not an issue.

So how about her emotions? Was she falling in love?

Restlessness forced her out from the tumbled sheets. She pushed back a swathe of filmy mosquito netting and walked across to the window, staring out at a tropical fantasy in silver and black, the moon’s path across the lagoon as bright as the stars in the Milky Way.

No, this passionate madness had very little to do with love. Love needed time; it had taken her several months to realise she loved Antony.

She let the curtain drop and went back to bed. That love, however sincere, hadn’t been enough, and she’d been sufficiently scarred to believe she lacked passion. She’d accepted Antony’s disillusioned statements as truths.

Possibly that was why she hadn’t seen anything more than cheerful camaraderie in Peter’s attitude to her.

Bitterly, uselessly, she rued her mistaken impression that he’d been joking when he’d asked her to marry him. She was still haunted by her last sight of him—smiling as she’d waved goodbye and turned into the Departures area of the airport.

A few hours later he was dead. Why? The often-asked question hammered pitilessly at her.

Why hadn’t he confided in her? They’d been friends—
good
friends—and she might have been able to help.

Oh, who was she kidding? Peter hadn’t wanted friendship; he’d wanted love. If she’d given in to his pleading she’d have been replaying the wretchedness of her
engagement, because she hadn’t desired him—not as she desired Cade …

Cade’s presence had pushed memories of Peter to the back of her mind. He was vital, compelling in a way that completely overshadowed Peter. Guilt lay like a heavy weight on her mind, in her heart—an emotion she’d never appease.

She sighed, turning to push the sheet back from her sticky body. The netting swayed in the flower-scented breeze. She felt heavy and hungry, aching with a need so potent she felt it in every cell.

Cade—tall and dark, and almost forbidding in his uncompromising masculinity, yet capable of consideration. Cade, who possibly wanted an affair.

Cade, who made her body sing like nothing she’d ever experienced before …

A stray thought drifted by, silken with forbidden temptation. What if she embarked on an affair with him?

She didn’t dare risk it.

And why, when she’d loved Antony, had his passion never stirred her as Cade’s kisses did? Dreamily, she recalled how it felt to be locked in Cade’s arms, shivering with eager delight.

When sleep finally claimed her it was long after midnight. The next thing she knew was a voice saying incisively, ‘Taryn, wake up!’

She opened her eyes, blinked at a steel-blue gaze and bolted upright. ‘Wha—?’

‘You’ve overslept,’ Cade said curtly, and turned and left the room.

Stunned, still lost in the dream she’d been enjoying, Taryn stared around her.

Why hadn’t her alarm gone off?

Leaning over, she pushed back the hair from her face so she could check, only to bite back a shocked word and twist off the bed.

She hadn’t heard the alarm because last night she’d forgotten to set it.

And she’d forgotten to set it because she’d been too dazzled by Cade’s kisses to think straight.

So much for professionalism!

Not only that, she’d kicked off her bedclothes. She was sprawled on top of the sheet in a pair of boxer shorts and a skimpy singlet top that had ridden sideways, revealing almost every inch of skin from her waist to her shoulders.

All of which Cade would have been able to see through the fine drift of mosquito netting.

Hot with delayed embarrassment, she dived across the room, performed her ablutions, changed into a businesslike shirt and skirt and walked out into the living room with her chin at an angle and every nerve taut.

Cade was standing at the table checking out a sheaf of papers.

‘Sorry,’ she said rapidly.

He lifted his head and gave her a long, cool look. Last night’s kisses—and whether he’d just seen more of her than was
respectable
—clearly meant nothing to him.

All thought was blotted out by a stark, fierce surge of hunger when he crossed the room towards her. Desperately clinging to her splintering composure, she tried to ignore the powerful, masculine grace of his movements and the erratic beat of her heart.

‘Jet lag reveals itself in different ways,’ he said laconically. ‘Here’s what I want you to do after you’ve had breakfast.’

She forced herself to concentrate, only to be startled
when he finished by saying, ‘Drink plenty of water today and try a nap after lunch. It might help.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I have to go. I’ll be back around midday.’

Taryn took a deep breath, letting it out on an explosive sigh once she was safely alone.

‘Breakfast,’ she said to the silent room, then started at a knock on the door. Fortunately, it heralded a delicious concoction of tropical fruit with good toast to back it up.

And excellent coffee … Mentally thanking that long-ago Arabian—or had he been Ethiopian?—goatherd who’d noticed how frisky his goats became after grazing on coffee berries, she ate breakfast before setting to work.

Although she still felt a little slack and listless, by the time the sun was at its highest she’d finished nearly everything Cade had set out for her.

When he arrived back in the
fale
he glanced at her work. ‘Thank you. This is just what I need. I’m having a working lunch but you can eat here or in the restaurant, whichever you prefer.’

‘Here,’ she said.

Cade’s nod was short, almost dismissive. ‘And take that nap.’

Clearly he regretted those feverish kisses as much as she did.

Perhaps for him they hadn’t been feverish. Had he been taken aback—even dismayed—by the intensity of her response?

Even if he hadn’t, his aloofness was understandable; basically, he was indicating that although he’d forgotten himself enough to kiss her, he regretted it and she wasn’t to presume on it.

Kiss in haste, repent at leisure—a classic case of the
morning after the night before, she thought, smarting with something close to shame.

Ignoring the tight knot in her stomach, she worked through lunch, and afterwards followed instructions to take a short nap, only to wake with heavy limbs and a threatening headache.

A swim in the lagoon revived her considerably. On her way back to the
fale,
she met the Frenchwoman with impeccable style who’d admired her
pareu
the previous evening.

Beside her was a much younger woman, a stunning opera singer. After giving Taryn an indifferent nod, she began to complain of boredom.

Madame Murat listened to her complaints with a smile, before saying, ‘It would be my dream to spend the rest of my life in this lovely place.’ She looked at Taryn. ‘You, my dear, are here to work, are you not?’

‘Yes.’ Taryn added brightly, ‘But working in paradise is no effort.’

The younger woman gave a significant smile. ‘No effort at all when you’re sharing.’ she paused, before adding on a husky laugh ‘
… accommodation
with a hunk like Cade Peredur. Lucky you.’ Another pause, before she asked, ‘What’s he like—as an employer, I mean, of course.’

‘Very professional,’ Taryn said woodenly.

‘How maddening for you,’ the other woman said, odiously sympathetic. She gazed around the shimmering lagoon and pulled a petulant face. ‘I didn’t realise we were going to be stuck on this tiny little dot of land all the time we were here.’

After a nod to each of them, she walked away. The Frenchwoman said tolerantly, ‘Poor girl—she had hopes of a resort holiday, I think, with handsome men
to admire her and a chance to display her jewels. Instead, there are only other wives while our men are working.’ She glanced past Taryn. ‘Ah, here comes your employer. They must have finished talking for the afternoon.’

Startled, Taryn looked up. Sunlight shafted down between the palms in swords of gold, tiger-striping Cade’s lean, powerful form as he strode towards them. Her heart fluttered and her body sang into forbidden warmth as the memory of his kisses sparked a rush of tantalising adrenalin. She blinked against suddenly intense colours, so bright that even behind her sunglasses they dazzled.

Unexpectedly, the woman beside her said, ‘Wise of you not to move, my dear. Unless you love him and know it is returned, never run towards a man. This one is coming to you as fast as he can.’

Flushing, Taryn said swiftly, ‘He’s my employer, that’s all.’

‘So far, and you are wise not to surrender too soon.’ Her companion smiled wryly. ‘My children say I am very old-fashioned, but I do not approve of modern attitudes. There should be some mystery in a love affair, some greater excitement than finding out how good in bed a man—or woman—is. A meeting of minds as well as of bodies.’ Just before Cade came within earshot, she finished, ‘And this man—both mind and body—would be a very interesting one to explore.’

She bestowed a frankly appreciative glance on him as he came to a stop before them and in a voice coloured by amusement she said, ‘I hope you do not intend to scold your charming secretary for spending time with an old woman.’

The smile he gave her held cynicism, but was warmed by male appreciation for her soignée chic and elegant
femininity. ‘I don’t see any old women around,’ he said, ‘and the days of wage slavery are long gone. Taryn would soon put me in my place if I tried to keep her immured in work.’

Madame Murat chuckled and steered the conversation into a discussion of the Pacific economy but, when Taryn admitted ruefully to knowing very little about that, adding that she’d been in London for the past couple of years, the older woman changed the subject to her favourite sights there.

None of them, Taryn thought when she was walking back to their suite with Cade, were sophisticated ‘in’ places; the older woman had concentrated on museums, galleries and parks—the sort of spots a tourist would be likely to visit.

‘Do you like Madame Murat?’ Cade surprised her by asking.

‘Yes.’ It came out too abruptly. She was too aware of him, of his intimidating assurance—and gripped by memories of the compelling sensuality of his kisses.

After clearing her throat, she said, ‘Very much.’

His smile was narrow. ‘She was fishing.’

Startled, she glanced at him. ‘You mean—’

She stopped when she met his cool, cynical gaze. Yes, he did mean it. It hurt to think that the charming Frenchwoman might have targeted her.

He shrugged. ‘She was laying ground bait. Her husband is very enthusiastic about a scheme I’m positive will fail, and he’s almost certainly suggested she find out what you know of my plans.’

‘I don’t know anything of your plans,’ she said shortly, angry with him for some obscure reason. ‘And, even if I did, I do know how to hold my tongue.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ he returned smoothly, ‘but it’s always best to be forewarned. What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’ When he sent her an ironically disbelieving glance, she enlarged reluctantly, ‘Just that I liked her. It sounds ridiculous and overdramatic, but … it feels like a betrayal.’

Cade’s eyes were keen. ‘Of course you like her—she’s a charming woman and a very intelligent one. She and her husband make a formidable team. She won’t hold your discretion against you, and might well be useful to you in the future. As for betrayal—’ His shoulders lifted and fell. ‘It happens.’

Thoughtfully, Taryn said, ‘I don’t think I like your world much.’

A black brow lifted. ‘My world, your world—what’s the difference? Every world has its share of innocents and those who prey on them, of honest people and scoundrels. Unless you understand that, you run risks wherever you are.’

Shocked, she asked directly, ‘Don’t you trust anyone?’

Cade didn’t answer straightaway. When the silence stretched too long, she looked up into an austere, unyielding mask.

He gave another barely noticeable shrug. ‘A few. And only when they’ve proved trustworthy. Do you trust everyone you meet?’

After a moment’s pause, she said, ‘Of course not. Only a fool would do that.’

‘And you’re not a fool.’

A note in his voice made her uneasy. ‘I try not to be,’ she returned, irritated by her defensive tone.

The conversation was too personal—almost as personal as his kisses—and, strangely, she felt he was
attacking her, trying to find some hidden weak spot he could use.

Don’t be silly, she scoffed. He’s just making sure you can be trusted not to give away secrets …

He asked, ‘Did you manage to get some sleep after lunch?’

Hugely relieved at the change of subject, she said, ‘Yes, for a short time.’

‘I found your notes. You did a good job.’

She tried to suppress a warm pleasure. ‘Thank you. I assume there’s more.’

‘Yes, although I don’t need it until tomorrow afternoon. Have you ever been to the main island?’

‘Only yesterday when we arrived,’ she said dryly.

‘In a couple of days I plan to check out the local fishing industry and I’d like you to come with me.’

Taryn said, ‘All right. Do you want me to take notes? I can’t do shorthand, but I could take notes by hand, or talk into a recorder—or even use the laptop.’

‘I’ve got a recording device you can use. And I won’t force you to trek around fishing factories or dirty, smelly boats,’ he told her. ‘We’ll be meeting with the people who run the show, not the fishermen.’

She gave him a swift, amused look. ‘I bet I’ve been in more dirty, smelly boats than you have.’

Cade liked her frankness—a little too much, he conceded sardonically. It could have been an indication of inner honesty—except that she’d shown a chilling lack of empathy for Peter.