The Far Side of Paradise (8 page)

So the fact that they’d more or less left her to her own devices once she’d left secondary school didn’t seem to concern her. He felt an odd sympathy, remembering his own parents’ sacrifices—the money saved for a trip to France, the gap year they’d insisted on financing …

During the afternoon meeting he found it surprisingly hard to concentrate; his mind kept slipping back to the smooth fall of Taryn’s hair, turned by the sun into a
flood of burnished copper, the way her crisp voice was softened by an intriguing husky undertone, her open pleasure in the food.

And that, he thought grimly as he headed back to their
fale,
was something new; no other woman had come between him and work. He’d liked his lovers, enjoyed spending time with them—even Louisa, before she’d decided to change the rules of their relationship. But his previous women had only occupied a small niche in his life.

Taryn Angove was different. How different? He searched for a word to describe her, and could only come up with fresh—
fresh
and apparently frank, intensely seductive.

Had Peter too thought she was different?

Cade welcomed the acid bite of that thought; it dragged his mind back to focus. He couldn’t afford to let his hormones overpower his brain cells.

A call on his cell phone interrupted him; he stopped beneath a large spreading tree with brazen scarlet flowers and spoke to the private detective who’d been investigating Taryn.

When the call was over he pocketed the cell phone and punched one hand into the palm of his other. Beneath his breath, he said explosively, ‘Why the hell did you have to do it, Peter? Why didn’t you just laugh straight back in her face and find a woman who could love you? Why take the coward’s way out?’

The bitter words shocked him into silence. He lifted his gaze to the sea, but saw Taryn walking across the sand towards the
fale,
the
pareu
slung across her hips emphasising their seductive sway. Water turned her hair into gleaming copper and gilded her skin so that she seemed to walk in a golden, shimmering aura. She was
even more alluring than the images his brain had been conjuring all afternoon.

Heated desire gripped him so fiercely he had to turn away. It would be no hardship to seduce her, he thought grimly, no hardship at all.

Yet he could not. Dared not. Never before had hunger fogged his brain, whispering a temptation he wanted to yield to.

C
ADE
dragged his gaze away from Taryn, trying to clear his mind by fixing his attention on the hibiscus bush a few feet away. The fiercely magenta heart of each flower glowed in a silken gold ruff, hues so intense he was reminded of the time he’d visited an official mint and watched molten gold being poured.

Taryn had a quick, astute brain and plenty of character, so she was unlikely to be drifting without purpose. Yet since she’d got back from England her only job had been selling souvenirs to summer tourists, and she certainly didn’t seem to be in a hurry to find more work.

He found himself strongly resisting what should have been the obvious reason. If she had most of Peter’s advance in her bank account, she wouldn’t need to worry about working for some years.

Everything pointed to her being the one who’d accepted—or stolen—the money from his brother. There was no proof, yet no other person had been close enough to Peter to make it seem likely he’d have given them money. If he’d showered her with it, only to have his proposal turned down with mockery and laughter, then that could have been a reason for Peter’s tragic decision.

And she hadn’t mentioned Peter. Or shown any signs of grief.

An innate sense of justice forced him to admit he didn’t expect her to break into sobs every half hour. That wouldn’t be her style.

Nor his, yet he grieved deeply for his brother.

So, was she as good as he was at hiding her feelings—or did she have none? His eyes narrowing, he watched her stop at the outdoor shower set under a big poinciana tree. She tossed the length of fabric around her hips over a shrub, turned on the tap and lifted her face to let the water flow over her.

The bikini was decorous enough but, moulded against the clean curves of her body by the veil of water, she might as well have been naked.

Was this a deliberate pose, letting him see what she had on offer?

Lust tugged urgently at him, swamping his cold calculation with a hot, angry hunger. Abruptly, he turned away, overcome with self-disgust. He couldn’t let himself become too fixated on her. He’d always been in charge of his physical reactions; it was humiliating to want a woman who might be everything he despised.

He had to persuade her to open up so he could better judge whether to trust her version of what had happened. He needed to see for himself what she’d felt—if any-thing—for his brother.

Mouth set in a firm line, he headed down the shell path to the
fale.

Taryn almost hummed with pleasure beneath the shower, but water was likely to be precious on a coral atoll, so she turned off the tap and wrapped her
pareu
around her again to mop up.

She was so glad to be back in the tropics. Stroking through the silken waters of the lagoon, she’d felt a surge of something very close to renewal. Oh, the warm sea
against her skin, the sand shimmering white against the green bushes beneath the coconut palms—they all had something to do with it but, although the sun beat down with a languorous intensity only known in the tropics, her raised spirits were caused by something deeper than delight at being back, a feeling much stronger, much more intimate than a sensory lift, welcome though that was.

It was strangely like a rebirth, an understanding that life could be worthwhile again.

And it had
nothing
—not a thing—to do with being here with Cade, whose controlled dynamism was a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps she’d finally accepted that she’d never know why Peter had changed so abruptly from a best friend to a would-be husband …

Or whether her shocked refusal had led to his suicide.

Her bitter remorse at her stunned response would always be with her. But from somewhere she’d found a renewed sensation of confidence, of control of her own destiny.

Once she got back to New Zealand she’d find a job—move to Auckland if it was necessary—and start this next stage of her life.

There was no sign of Cade when she reached their accommodation. Squelching a stupid disappointment she walked through the glass doors into her bedroom, bare feet warm against the cool smooth tiles on the floor.

Perhaps she could put her skills as a librarian to use in some tropical area?

She smiled ironically. If she managed to find such a position she wouldn’t be living in a place like this, subtly groomed and organised to give rich, demanding clients the illusion of paradise.

Strange that here, in a spot dedicated to a romantic idea of leisure and sensuous relaxation, she should feel a resurgence of the energy she’d lost when Peter died.

She was dressed and combing her wet hair back from her face when movement caught her eye. Swivelling, she realised that Cade had walked to the edge of the terrace and was bending to pick a hibiscus flower.

For some peculiar reason, her heart lurched at the sight of his long fingers stroking the ruffled, satiny petals—only to freeze a moment later when a casual, dismissive flick of his fingers sent the exquisite bloom onto the ground.

It shouldn’t have affected her so strongly. Yet she almost gasped with shock, and took an instinctive step sideways to hide from sight.

After a few seconds she told herself she was being ridiculous. She forced herself to breathe again and glanced sideways into an empty garden. Her heartbeat settling into its usual steady rhythm, she scolded herself for being so foolishly sensitive. Nothing had happened. He’d merely picked a flower and tossed it away.

Later, when she emerged from her room, Cade was standing just outside the glass doors with his back to her. He had to have excellent hearing because, although she moved quietly, he turned the moment she came into the big, cool living room.

Their eyes met, and another little chill ran the length of her spine until he smiled. ‘Enjoy your swim?’ he asked.

‘It was lovely,’ she said, oddly disconcerted. Had he seen her walk up from the beach? She repressed a sensuous little shiver. She’d been perfectly decent with her
pareu
draped around her—and he was probably bored by the sight of women parading around in bikinis.

‘How did you find the computer set-up?’

She blinked, then hastily reassembled her wits. ‘Oh, excellent. No problems.’

He nodded. Now, he thought stringently—give her that opportunity now. Yet it took all his notorious drive to say casually, ‘Your computer skills would have come in handy when you were in London.’

Taryn smiled. ‘Not at first. I worked in a coffee shop, until a friend found me a job cataloguing a library, which was perfect. I could dash over the Channel or around the country whenever I wanted, providing I got the work done.’

‘A very good friend,’ Cade observed. ‘One who knew you well.’

‘Yes, a good friend indeed,’ she said tonelessly.

Cade sent a keen glance, but could read nothing from her smooth face. He let the silence drag on but all she did was nod.

Cade held out a sheaf of notes. ‘I’d like you to get these down now.’

Heart thudding, Taryn took the notes and escaped into her room. It was a relief to sit down at the desk and concentrate on the swift, bold handwriting, and an even greater relief when he left to meet someone.

When she’d finished getting his clear, concise notes into the computer and backed them up, she closed things down and stood up. Cade had just returned and the sun was heading towards the horizon. It would seem to fall more quickly as it got closer to the clear, straight line where sea met sky, and there might be a mysterious green flash the instant it slipped over the horizon. She’d seen it a couple of times, and looked forward to seeing it again.

She picked up the printed copy and walked into the
sitting room. Cade got up from the sofa where he’d been reading the work she’d collated after lunch.

After a quick perusal of the copy, he said, ‘This is exactly what I need, thank you.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘You have half an hour to get into whatever you’re wearing to cocktails and dinner.’

When she frowned, he said smoothly, ‘I assume you’ve chosen something suitable to wear.’

Under the boutique manager’s interested survey she’d chosen something, but whether it was suitable or not time would tell. Impulsively, she said, ‘It still seems too much like gatecrashing for me to feel comfortable about going.’

‘We’ve already had this conversation. You’ve been personally invited.’ His mouth curled up at the corners. ‘Of course, if you met someone on the beach you’d like to further your acquaintance with—’

‘No,’ she interrupted, startled.

‘Then what’s your problem?’

Taryn hesitated. Impossible to tell him that for some reason she hated the thought of being tagged as just another of his women, a holiday convenience.

But his cool, speculative gaze demanded an answer. Gathering her wits, she snapped, ‘I’m your researcher, not arm candy.’

His smile stopped any further words, a smile that, allied to such a powerful presence, made him a walking, breathing, potently dangerous adrenalin rush.

‘Candy is sweet. Your tongue is far too sharp for you to be considered anything like that.’ He took her hand. ‘If you don’t get going we’ll be late.’

It was like brushing against an electric fence, she thought wildly. Breathing was impossible. Dumbfounded
by the wildfire intensity of her reaction to his touch, she let him turn her towards her room.

‘Off you go,’ he said calmly, and started her off with a movement so gentle it could hardly be called a push.

Taryn’s body responded automatically and she got halfway to her room before her dazzled brain came to life. How dared he? Frowning, she swung around and, in her most forthright voice, said, ‘I’m not a child to be told to go to my room. And please don’t ever push me like that again.’

His brows climbed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said unexpectedly, adding abruptly, ‘And you don’t need to be afraid of me. I don’t hurt women.’

The words burst out before she could stop them. ‘I’m not afraid of you! ‘

Cool it!
She was overreacting, giving too much away, allowing him to see how strongly he affected her. After a jagged breath, she said crossly, ‘I just hate it when people stop a perfectly good rant by apologising.’

That spellbinding smile made a brief reappearance. ‘I take your point, but you haven’t time for a really good rant right now. Later, you can let go all you like.’

An equivocal note in his voice dried her throat. She could read nothing in the starkly handsome face, and surely he wasn’t hinting …

He resumed, ‘You flinched when I touched you.’

Wishing she’d ignored it, she said, ‘Not because I was afraid. I just wasn’t expecting it. And, although I’m delighted you don’t hurt women, how are you with children and animals?’

He subjected her to a look she could barely parry. Silkily, he said, ‘Superb.’ She was choking back laughter when he added, ‘And, to reassure you, from now on I’ll only touch you after asking permission.’

His smile, and the glinting look that accompanied it, stopped her breath again. He
was
flirting with her!

Common sense warned her she was way out of her league—but there was no reason to let him know that.

Rallying, she said, ‘So you’ll say, “Taryn, I want to push you out of the way of that shark. Is that all right?” And then wait for my answer?’

‘If that happens, I might force myself to ignore this conversation,’ he said smoothly.

A note in his voice produced a swift wave of heat across her cheekbones. This was dangerous stuff. Put an end to it right now, she commanded herself.

But how?

OK, she’d pretend to take him seriously, as though his eyes weren’t gleaming with amusement and her blood wasn’t pumping a suspicious and inconvenient excitement through her veins.