The Far Side of Paradise (7 page)

The knot of apprehension in her stomach loosened when Cade said, ‘Choose whichever bedroom you’d like.’

Helpfully, the porter said, ‘That room over there has a very beautiful view of the lagoon, madam, and the one on the other side of the
fale
has a lovely intimate view of the pool and the terrace garden.’

She looked at Cade.

Shrugging, he said in a tone that edged on curtness, ‘I don’t mind where I sleep.’

Taryn responded equally crisply, ‘In that case, I’ll take the one with the pool view.’

The porter, tall and magisterial, smiled his approval as he scooped her very downmarket pack from the trolley and headed towards the bedroom.

Shoulders held stiffly, Taryn followed him. She’d not expected to be whisked by luxury launch from the airport on the main island of Fala’isi to a fairy tale atoll twenty minutes offshore, nor to be ushered into a beachfront bungalow she was expected to share with Cade Peredur.

That was when she’d faltered, only to feel foolish when Cade said, ‘There are two bedrooms.’

‘Each with its own bathroom, madam,’ the porter had supplied in a reassuring voice that made her even more self-conscious.

OK, so for a moment—but only a moment—she
had
wondered if she’d walked into a situation she didn’t even want to think about. But there was no need for the glint of satirical amusement in Cade’s hard eyes. She was not an overwrought idiot, seeing danger where there was none!

After a quick survey of the room she’d chosen, she smiled at the porter when he set her pack tenderly onto the luggage rack.

‘Thank you, this is perfect,’ she said.

‘The lagoon is excellent to swim in, madam,’ the porter told her before ushering her into the bathroom, where he demonstrated the switches that lowered the blinds and showed her how to work the multitude of jets in the shower.

The bathroom was circular, its walls built of rock topped by a glass ceiling that allowed a view of palm fronds against a sky of such intense blue it made her blink.

The porter noted the direction of her gaze. ‘The rocks
are from the main island—from a lava flow of ancient times.’

His warmth and innate dignity brought back childhood memories and lifted her heart. If it weren’t for her unusual response to the man in the next room, she’d relish this return to the tropics.

But without Cade Peredur she wouldn’t be here.

She did her best to repress an excitement she hadn’t allowed herself to feel for years—since the debacle of her engagement to Antony. Since then, any time she’d felt an emotional rapport, she’d reminded herself that men wanted more than affection. For them—for most people—love included passion.

She’d been utterly convinced she loved Antony, and just as certain that the stirrings of sexual attraction would progress to desire.

Her mouth twisting into a painful grimace, she turned and walked back into the bedroom, thanking the porter as he left.

She’d been so wrong. Making love with Antony had been a disaster. Try as hard as she could, she’d been unable to respond. In the end, her frigidity had caused their love to wither and die in pain and bitter acrimony.

Which was why she’d been so relieved when Peter had shown no signs of wanting anything more than friendship …

And dwelling on a past she couldn’t change was fruitless and energy-sapping.

Although this exclusive, secluded retreat had probably been built with extremely wealthy honeymooners in mind, this was a business situation. If she kept that in mind and stayed utterly, coolly professional, she’d enjoy her stay in Fala’isi.

She allowed herself a single wistful glance at the aquamarine pool before unpacking her meagre allowance of clothes and indulging in a quick refreshing shower. For a few seconds she dithered, trying to decide on the most suitable garment.

Which was silly. As part of the office furniture, no one would notice what she wore. Firming her mouth, she slipped on a pair of cool, floaty trousers and a soft green shirt, combed her hair into a smooth cap and tied it back, then re-applied her only lipstick and after a deep breath walked back into the big, airy living room.

Her treacherous heart bumped at the sight of Cade, tall and dark in casual clothes, standing on the terrace. He turned before she’d taken more than a couple of steps into the room and watched her come through the huge glass doors to join him.

That cool scrutiny set every nerve twanging with eager, anticipatory, thoroughly scary awareness.

‘Everything all right?’ he asked.

‘Absolutely.’ She tore her gaze away to examine the surroundings. ‘Whoever set this place up certainly homed into the romantic ambience of the South Seas.’

Palms shaded the bamboo furniture, luxuriously upholstered in white. Impressive boulders—probably also relics of the fiery creation of the main island—skilfully contrasted with vast earthenware pots holding lushly foliaged shrubs and, a few steps away, thick white rope provided the hand-rail in the shimmering pool. Bold, brilliant flowers danced in the sun, their colours clashing with a sensuous bravura Taryn envied.

‘The Chapmans—the family who rule Fala’isi—are famous for their acumen and their commitment to excellence,’ Cade said coolly. ‘They know what people expect from a place like this.’

‘They’re also noted for steering Fala’isi so well the islanders now have the highest standard of living in the Pacific Islands. And that,’ Taryn finished, ‘is much more important.’

He gave another of those piercing looks, as though she’d startled him, and then to her surprise he nodded. ‘I agree.’

So he wasn’t as cynical and arrogant as she’d suspected.

He resumed, ‘We’ll eat lunch here, and then I have some facts I’d like you to check and validate while I attend a preliminary meeting. It shouldn’t take much more than an hour, so once you’ve finished I suggest you do some exploring, swim if you want to.’

‘On my own?’ she couldn’t help saying.

His short laugh acknowledged the hit. ‘It would be extremely bad for business to allow anyone to drown here.’

‘Does that mean there’s always someone keeping watch?’

‘Discreetly,’ he said, a sardonic note sharpening the word. He surveyed her face and said with the perception she was beginning to expect from him, ‘You don’t like that.’

‘Not particularly.’

He didn’t say
Get used to it,
but that was probably what he was thinking. Thankful she didn’t live in his world, she added, ‘But that won’t stop me swimming.’

And wished she’d stayed silent when she recognised a note of defiance in her tone.

‘Somehow I didn’t expect it to. You seem to live life on your own terms.’

For some reason, his comment startled her. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

‘You’re remarkably innocent if you believe that,’ he said cynically. ‘Most people meekly follow society’s dictates all their life. They buy what they’re told to buy, live where they’re told to live, in some societies even marry whoever they’re told to marry. You appear to be a free spirit.’

‘I don’t think there’s any such thing as true freedom,’ she said slowly, then stopped.

She did not want to open herself up to Cade Peredur. It would be safer to establish boundaries, a definite distance between them, because instinct told her that even this sort of fragile, getting-to-know-you exploration could be dangerous.

There’s that word again …

She laughed and finished brightly, ‘And I’ve never thought of myself as a free spirit. It sounds great fun.’

And braced herself for another sceptical Peredur scrutiny.

Instead, he picked up a sheaf of papers. ‘Around five I might have notes for you to transcribe—not many, as this afternoon’s meeting is a procedural one. At seven we’ll head off to pre-dinner drinks, and dinner will be at eight.’

Startled, she stared at him. ‘What do you mean—we? You told me I wouldn’t be expected to go to any of the social occasions.’

‘That was because I hadn’t realised most of the men were bringing their wives and significant others.’ He stemmed her impetuous protest with an upheld hand. ‘Don’t bother pointing out that you’re neither. I’ve just been down that road with Fleur Chapman, the wife of the man who’s convened this conference. She wouldn’t hear of you being left out.’

Colour stung her cheekbones. Of course he would
have objected; social occasions were not in this job description. ‘I’m here as your researcher, not to attend parties.’

He responded just as crisply, ‘Mrs Chapman has heard of your parents’ work, and can see no reason why you shouldn’t attend. In fact, she was appalled to think of you staying hidden in the
fale
like a shameful secret, as she put it.’

Dismayed, Taryn stared at him. He—and Mrs Chapman—had cut the ground from under her feet, and she suspected he knew it. Possibly he resented being forced to take her with him.

No more than she did, but the Chapman family had ruled Fala’isi for a couple of centuries; not only were they extremely rich, they were a powerful force in the Pacific where their descent from the ancient chiefly family of Fala’isi gave them huge prestige.

If the Chapmans were interested in her parents’ work, she thought suddenly, there was a chance they might be prepared to help. With so many worthwhile calls on charity spending, her mother and father scrabbled for enough money to keep their clinics going.

This was possibly something she could do for her parents.

But she made one further effort. ‘I haven’t brought any suitable clothes.’

Dispassionately, Cade said, ‘Naturally I’ll organise that.’ Overriding her instant horrified objection, he went on, ‘The manageress of the boutique here will be along about three to discuss what you’ll need.’

‘I can’t let you pay for my clothes,’ she blurted.

One straight black brow lifted. ‘You can’t stop me,’ he observed with cool amusement. ‘Whether or not you wear them is entirely up to you.’

The prospect of appearing in public with him—in clothes he had paid for—sent prickles of apprehension across her skin. There would be sideways glances and assumptions, some of them almost certainly salacious, and the sort of gossip she despised.

Apparently he could read her mind, because he startled her anew by saying in a hard voice, ‘If anyone—anyone at all—says anything untoward, I’ll deal with it.’

Of course he wasn’t being protective, she thought, alarmed by the swift rush of warmth his words caused. She quelled it by telling herself that he wouldn’t want them to be connected in any way.

Office girl and tycoon? Not with the lovely Lady Someone in his life.

Stoutly, she responded, ‘I’m quite capable of looking after myself, thank you.’

Anyway, she doubted if anyone would mistake her for Cade’s latest lover; no matter what she wore, she couldn’t achieve that elegant, exclusive, expensive look.

‘I’ve noticed,’ he said dryly, ‘but in this case you won’t need to.’

When she looked up he was smiling. Her heart flipped, honing her awareness into something so keen and compelling she felt it in her bones. Tension pulled through her, strong as a steel hawser, and it took all her will not to take a step towards him.

She managed to resist, but couldn’t conquer the reckless impulse to smile back at him, although her voice was uneven when she said, ‘How often does someone tell you you’re a very dictatorial man?’

Involuntarily, Cade responded to her smile; it was pure challenge backed by a hint of invitation, and he
guessed she was trying to force a reaction from him, judge for herself why he’d brought her here.

It took an exercise of will to clear the urgent hunger that fogged his brain.

OK, he wanted her—but, much more than that, he wanted what she knew. Instead of confronting her directly about Peter’s death, he’d decided on a more subtle approach—one that did
not
involve acting on this elemental attraction, as unwanted as it was powerful.

However, he couldn’t stop himself from saying, ‘Calling me dictatorial makes me sound like some blood-thirsty despot intent on holding on to power by any means, no matter how cruel. How often does someone tell you you’re beautiful and ask you why you’re still unattached?’

Her eyes widened, then were veiled by thick, dark lashes. ‘Rarely,’ she said curtly. ‘And usually it’s as a sleazy pick-up line from a man I wouldn’t be seen dead with.’

‘Touché.’ OK, so he’d been blunt, but what the hell had caused the frozen shock he’d seen for a millisecond before her expression had closed him out?

Something shattering. Peter’s suicide? Possibly.

Damn,
he thought, as sounds from outside heralded the arrival of waiters with lunch.
Damn and double damn.
Their inopportune arrival might have cut off a chance to introduce the subject.

He was going to have to, sooner or later, yet he found himself intensely disinclined to raise the matter. And that was a worry.

‘Ah, here’s lunch,’ he said, his voice as clipped and curt as he could make it.

It was impossible to tell what she was thinking, but she responded calmly, ‘Good, I’m hungry. And I’m
really looking forward to diving into the lagoon. It’s too long since I swam in really warm water.’

Into his head flashed a tantalising image of her in her bikini, all slender limbs and silken skin, a gleaming, golden nymph from one of the raunchier legends.

Angered by the violent involuntary response from his body, Cade headed for his own room, but stopped at the door to say over his shoulder, ‘When you do swim, make sure you use sunscreen.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she responded smartly. ‘New Zealand spends summer under a huge hole in the ozone layer, and wearing hats and slapping on sunscreen at frequent intervals has become part of our national character.’

Cade had to hide a smile. Over lunch, served on the terrace, he asked her about her childhood and, although she spoke readily enough about that, she was surprisingly reticent about other aspects of her life. He already knew she’d been engaged once, but when he’d provided her with an opportunity to mention it, she hadn’t.

Which proved nothing, he thought, irritated by a potent mixture of feelings—the sensual hunger somehow magnified by a growing protectiveness. Clearly she didn’t feel her parents had abandoned her. In fact, she’d snapped at the bait he’d dangled in front of her by mentioning that Fleur Chapman might be able to help them in their mission of mercy.