The Far Side of Paradise (4 page)

Her mouth curled into a wry smile as she eased the car up the hill. It would take a woman made of iron to look at Cade Peredur and not feel
something.
As well as innate strength and authority, he possessed a brain that had taken him to his present position. Add more than a dash of ruthlessness to that potent mix, and the fact that he looked really, really good …

Yes, definitely a top-of-the-list male.

But not a man any sensible woman would fall in love with.

Not that
that
was going to happen.

Bitter experience had taught her that although she could feel attraction, when it came to following through on it she was a total failure.

In a word, she was frigid.

Without volition, her thoughts touched on Peter, the jumble of shock and sorrow and bewilderment assailing her as it always did when she recalled his proposal—so unexpected, so shatteringly followed by his death. Guilt lay permanently in wait, making her wonder yet again whether her response had driven him to take that final, lethal step.

If only she’d been a little less incredulous—if she hadn’t laughed—would he have made a different decision?

If she’d stayed in England as he’d wanted her to, instead of coming home, would she have been able to help him get over her refusal?

All those
ifs,
and no answers …

The car skidded slightly. Feeling sick, she dragged her mind back to driving. Although the station road was well maintained, it still required concentration.

At Anchor Bay she pulled up and switched off the engine. Cade Peredur’s big Range Rover stopped beside hers and he got out, appraising eyes coolly intent as he surveyed her.

Tall as she was, a little more height would be a distinct asset when it came to dealing with this man. Taryn tried to dissipate another tingle of sensation by collecting her bag. As she walked towards Cade she felt embarrassingly self-conscious. She glanced away, gaze
skimming a huge flame tree to one side of the bay, and caught sight of the house.

It was a relief to be able to say something impersonal. ‘Oh, the bach is still here,’ she exclaimed. She’d half-expected some opulent seaside mansion, suitable for very rich holidaymakers, against the bush-covered slope that backed the lawn.

‘Bach?’

‘The local term for a small, basic cottage, usually by a beach or a lake.’

Cade said, ‘Obviously you know the place.’

‘When I was at school, the previous owners allowed the school to hold its camps here—it’s a very safe beach. The bach was just a ruin then. Possums used to nest in the ceiling, and I’ve no doubt there were rats under the floor.’ She looked around reminiscently. ‘Over there, under that pohutukawa, when I was thirteen I was offered a cigarette by a boy I was madly trying to impress.’

‘And did you accept it?’

She gave him a mock-scandalised glance. ‘Are you kidding? My parents are doctors! I stopped trying to impress him right then.’

He smiled. ‘Good for you. Would you like to see what’s been done to the house?’

It was difficult to match the abandoned shell she recalled to the house now. It had been almost completely reconstructed, its stone outer walls repaired and the timber ceilings stripped and oiled so that they gleamed.

‘It looks great,’ Taryn said, gazing around the long living room.

Although it must have cost a mint to renovate, it didn’t look glossy or smartly out of place. Comfortable and
beachy and cool, it had shelves containing a large collection of books and some seriously good pictures hung on the walls. Somehow it suited Cade Peredur.

He said, ‘There’s a changing room and a shower in the cabana over by the flame tree. You can leave your bag and your clothes there—I’ll join you in a few minutes and bring you down a towel.’

She summoned a bright smile. ‘Thank you. And then I can prove to you how competent I am in the water.’

Cade’s answering smile didn’t soften his face. In fact, Taryn thought as she walked across the coarse warm grass to the beach hut, the curve of his firmly chiselled mouth had made his striking, hard-edged face seem both cynical and forbidding.

Safely in the small building, she wondered if anything ever did soften those arrogant features. When he kissed …?

She tried to imagine being kissed by Cade Peredur. Heat sizzled through her at the thought, but she couldn’t see his face softening into a look of … well,
love
was out of the question, but what about lust?

The word
soften
just didn’t fit the man. In his world it took an intimidating blend of brains, courage and formidable will to reach the top of the tree. When he kissed a woman it would be as a conqueror.

Hastily, she stripped off her clothes, pulling a face as she discarded them. They smelt disgusting—a mixture of smoke and sweat. They looked horrible too, both shorts and T-shirt smeared with ashy smudges and black marks. Even her bikini stank of the fire.

So, probably, did her hair and her skin.

Blissfully, she washed it all off in the sea’s warm caress. A few minutes after she waded into the water, she caught movement on the beach from the corner of
her eye and inched her head around so she could watch Cade Peredur stride across the sand.

Her heart jumped, startling her. Formidably and blatantly male, he seemed like some potent, elemental figure from the dawn of time—sunlit bronze skin and a perfect male body showing off sleek muscles that proclaimed strength and energy.

Some of which she could do with right now. Deep in the pit of her stomach, that hidden part of her contracted and sent another hot wave of sensation through her.

Lust, she thought, trying to douse it with a prosaic and practical attitude.

Although she’d never experienced anything so powerful before, this keen urgency that alerted every cell, tightening her skin and making her heart race, was merely run-of-the-mill physical attraction.

And if she tried to act on it, she knew exactly and in humiliating detail what would happen next; it would vanish, leaving her cold and shaking with that familiar fear. But even those mortifying memories couldn’t banish the shimmers of sensation that pulsed through her, stimulating and undisciplined.

She turned away when Cade dropped his towel and made a fluid racing dive off the rocks at the side of the bay. An unexpected wave caught her—unexpected because she was too busy drooling over the man, she thought furiously as she inhaled water. Spluttering, she spat out a mouthful of salt water and coughed a couple of times to clear her lungs, opening her eyes to see her host heading towards her, strong arms cutting through the waves.

Oh, how … how inane! She’d probably just convinced him she wasn’t safe in a shower, let alone the sea.

Sure enough, he trod water when he reached her and demanded, ‘Are you all right?’

The sun-dazzled sparkles of water clogging her lashes surrounded him with an aura, a dynamic charge of power that paradoxically made her feel both weak and energised at the same time.

‘Fine,’ she returned, only a little hoarse from the dousing. Her heart was thudding as though she’d swum several kilometres through raging surf.

Get a grip,
she commanded.

The last time she’d felt anything remotely like this she’d been nineteen and amazingly naive. She’d decided it had to be love, and became engaged on the strength of it. What a disaster that had turned out to be!

But there was nothing girlishly callow about her response to this man. Her body throbbed with a dark, potent sexuality unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.

She’d deal with that later. Right now, she had to get herself back onto an even keel.

Somehow she managed to produce a smile and said the first thing that popped into her head. ‘Race you to shore.’

Cade’s brows shot up as though she’d surprised him, but he recovered instantly. ‘You get a handicap.’

‘OK,’ she agreed.

However, even with the handicap, he beat her comfortably. At least swimming as fast and as hard as she’d ever done worked off some of that wildfire energy.

When she stood up he said, ‘You’re good.’

‘I was brought up almost in the water,’ she said, breathing fast. He too, she noted with satisfaction, was breathing more heavily than normal. She added, ‘My parents love the sea so much they called me after it.’

‘Taryn?’

‘No, Taryn is apparently derived from an Irish word meaning
rocky hill.
I had an Irish grandmother. But my second name is Marisa, which is from a Latin word meaning
the sea.’

He observed dryly, ‘It’s a very pretty name, but I don’t think it would help if you got cramps and there was no one around to help.’

‘I’ve never had even the slightest twinge of cramp,’ she said defensively, extremely aware of the way water gleamed along the muscular breadth of his shoulders, highlighting the effortless power beneath the skin. ‘Anyway, I know how to deal with it.’

‘Those medical parents?’

‘And a Pacific upbringing,’ she said shortly. ‘Want to know how it’s done?’

He laughed. ‘Like you, I’ve never had cramp, but just in case—yes, demonstrate.’

When he laughed he was really something, she thought confusedly. Trying to speak prosaically, she said, ‘First you change your kick. That often works. If it doesn’t, take a deep breath and float face down, then pull your leg up, grab your foot and yank it upwards.’

She demonstrated, glad to be able to hide her face in the water for a few seconds. When she’d finished, she stood up and said, ‘That almost always does the trick, I’m told.’

But he wasn’t going to let her off so easily. Bumblebees zoomed through her bloodstream when he scanned her face with hooded blue-grey eyes. ‘And if it doesn’t?’

‘Assume the same position and massage the offending muscle,’ she told him succinctly, taking a surreptitious step back before her brain scrambled completely,
overcome by all that bronzed skin, sleeked by water and backed by muscles and hard male authority.

He laughed again, teeth very white in his tanned face. ‘Fine, I’ll accept that you can deal with cramp. Are you on shift work to be able to take the day off?’

The abrupt change of subject startled her. ‘I’m not working right now.’

His brows met over the distinguished blade of his nose. ‘Really?’

Was there a hint of disparagement in his tone? Taryn bristled. Parrying a keen, questioning look, she said with cool reserve, ‘I’ve been overseas, and when I came back I took a job selling souvenirs to tourists. It’s getting close to the end of summer and tourists are slackening off, so I’m no longer needed.’

‘Is there plenty of work around here?’ His voice was casual. ‘The village looked to be pretty small.’

Aramuhu was small, and there were very few jobs. But her future was none of his business. ‘I’m sure I’ll find something,’ she said dismissively.

He smiled. ‘I’m sure you will.’

Something in his tone caught her attention. Their gazes met, clashed, and the glint of awareness in his eyes summoned an intense, elemental response from her.

Taryn forced herself to ignore the shiver scudding down her spine, the tingle of anticipation.

Her breath stopped in her throat and she had to fight an odd belief that those few seconds of silent combat were altering the very fabric of her life, fundamentally changing her so that she’d never be the same again.

This unexpected attraction
was
mutual. Cade felt it too and, if she were willing, he’d probably enjoy a light-hearted, temporary affair.

Taryn didn’t do casual affairs—didn’t do
any
sort of affair. She’d had more than enough of the stark embarrassment when men realised that, although she could shiver with desire, when it came to actually making love she froze.

Her impetuous youthful engagement had caused such fierce disillusionment she’d been left emotionally bruised, so wary she’d never allowed herself to feel anything more than friendship for the men she’d met. Over the years she’d developed effective methods of brushing off unwanted approaches, yet this time temptation whispered seductively through her.

She’d stay well away from him—not give herself any chance of weakening. Turning away, she dived back into the welcoming water.

C
ADE
didn’t follow her. Taryn told herself she should be pleased. She’d be prepared to bet her next year’s income—always providing she had one, she thought uneasily—that on his home turf he’d be hip-deep in swooning women. He had to be in his early thirties and he wasn’t married. Most men with his financial and personal assets would enjoy playing the field.

As she hauled herself up onto the rocks she decided acidly that when he did make up his mind to marry he’d probably choose a glamorous model or actress. After five years or so he’d divorce her and marry a nice girl from his own strata of society—whatever that was—who’d give him the required couple of children. And in his fifties he’d divorce the second wife and marry a trophy one thirty years younger.

And she wouldn’t want to be any of those wives.

That thought made her grin ironically before she slid back into the water.

Half an hour later she’d showered and reluctantly got back into her smelly shirt and shorts, emerging from the luxurious cabana to meet Cade, his muscled elegance defined by clothes that made her feel like a ragamuffin.

Only for an instant. The appreciative gaze that skimmed her bare legs did considerable damage to
her composure. How on earth could he convey leashed interest with one swift glance—a glance that set her treacherous blood fizzing?

Possibly she’d misread his attitude, because his voice was coolly impersonal when he asked, ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘No, thank you,’ she said at once, squelching a pang of regret. ‘I smell of smoke and I really want to get out of these clothes.’

And could have bitten her tongue out. Would he think she’d made an unsubtle proposition? If he said something about a Freudian slip she’d have to bite back an indignant reply in case he guessed what she’d been thinking.

But he was too sophisticated to take her up on her clumsy choice of words. Not a muscle in his face moved when he said, ‘Then some other time, perhaps.’