The Far Side of Paradise (17 page)

His eyes narrowed into flinty shards. In a tone that almost brought her to her feet, ready to run, he said, ‘Because I wanted to find out what sort of woman you were.’

‘Why?’ Every breath hurt, but she had to know.

He said evenly, ‘I wanted to know what the woman who laughed at his proposal was like.’

Taryn almost ducked as though avoiding a blow. White-faced and shaking, she had to force herself to speak. ‘How … how did you know that?’

His beautiful mouth tightened—the mouth that had brought her such ecstasy.

‘How I know doesn’t matter. Are you surprised that I should want to know why he killed himself?’

Dragging in a sharply painful breath, she reached deep into her reserves to find strength—enough strength to force herself up so she faced him, head held high.

‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘Do you think I don’t regret laughing? That I don’t wish I could go back in time and change how I reacted? I thought he was joking.’

‘Men do not
joke
about proposing,’ he said between his teeth, making the word sound obscene. ‘Why the hell would you think that?’

‘Because we didn’t have that sort of relationship,’ she cried. ‘We were friends—good friends—but we’d never even kissed.’

Stone-faced, he asked, ‘Never?’

Firming her jaw, she admitted, ‘The occasional peck on the check, that’s all. Nothing beyond that. In fact, I thought—’ She stopped.

‘Go on,’ he said silkily.

She swallowed. ‘I thought he had a lover. There was a woman … ‘ She stopped and forced her brain to leash the tornado of emotions rioting through her. ‘Or that he might be gay.’

Cade looked at her, his expression kept under such rigid discipline she had no idea what he was thinking.

‘He wasn’t. Far from it.’ He made a sudden, abrupt gesture, his control splintering. ‘So if he never made a move on you, never showed that he wanted you, never indicated he might be in love with you, why the
hell
did he propose?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said wretchedly. ‘I really did think he was joking. And I was so taken aback—so startled—I laughed. Until I realised he was serious. I never thought. I
still
find it hard to believe he was in love with me.’

‘I’m finding everything you’ve said hard to believe,’
he said in a level judicial voice. ‘I know—knew—my brother better than anyone, and he wouldn’t have rashly proposed to a woman he wasn’t sure of. Peter wasn’t one for wild impulses.’

Taryn opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Harshly, Cade said, ‘Tell me what you were going to say.’

When she hesitated, he commanded in a tone that sent a cold shiver scudding down her spine,
‘Tell me. ‘

‘Just that as a brother you might have known him well, but as a man … how much time did you spend with him? He could be impulsive. And before he—’

‘Killed himself,’ Cade inserted when she couldn’t go on.

‘Before he died,’ she went on bleakly, ‘he was ecstatic at scoring that wonderful commission. It meant so much to him. He told me it validated everything he’d done before, and that he’d finally make his family proud of him. He was so happy planning the sculpture, so eager to get on with the work—almost crazy with delight.’

Shocked, she realised she was wringing her hands. She stopped, reasserted control and said without thinking, ‘I swear, killing himself was the last thing on his mind.’

‘Because he believed you loved him,’ Cade said ruthlessly. ‘When he proposed, what did you say to him?’

T
ARYN
flinched when she met Cade’s—
Peter’s brother’s
—hooded, pitiless eyes. ‘After I laughed, do you mean?’ she asked on a half sob. ‘I told him that although I liked him very much and valued him enormously as friend, I wasn’t in love with him.’

‘And what did he say to those noble sentiments?’

Colour flamed the length of her cheekbones, then faded into an icy chill. ‘He said he hoped I’d always remember him as a good friend.’

‘And it didn’t occur to you he was saying goodbye?’ he demanded incredulously.

‘Of course not.’ Then she said swiftly, ‘Well … yes. Yes, of course I realised that our
friendship
was over. His proposal changed everything—and I was going back to New Zealand in a few hours. But … if he loved me, why did he leave it so late to propose?’

Cade said nothing and she went on in a low, subdued voice, ‘I did … I did love him, but not the way he wanted me to, and I still can’t … ‘

Cade remained emphatically silent while she gulped back her emotions, eventually regaining enough self-possession to say in a voice drained of all colour, ‘I d-don’t know what I could have done to help him.’

‘Nothing.’ He was watching her so closely she took
a step backwards. In a level voice, he said, ‘Although offering to return his money might have made some difference to his decision to kill himself.’

‘Money?’ She flushed when she realised what he was talking about. ‘It had already gone to my parents. It was used to fit out the new yacht—and he wanted to give it to Mum and Dad, Cade. If you believe nothing else, believe that. He insisted on sending it to them.’

He shook his head. ‘Not that—I know he donated it to your parents. As I said last night—you’re a good daughter.’

Now she understood what he’d meant—and why he’d left her alone last night.

Numbly, she listened to him continue, shrivelling inside when he went on, ‘Peter had every right to give his money to whoever he wanted to. No, the money I’m talking about is the rest of his advance for the sculpture he was commissioned to produce.’

His words rang senselessly in her ears, jangling around her head in meaningless syllables. She stared at him, met penetrating eyes that judged and assessed every tiny muscle flickering in her face.

‘What are you talking about?’ she asked numbly.

He lifted one eyebrow to devastating effect. ‘Don’t be coy, Taryn. As well as the donation for the clinic, Peter gave you a large chunk of that advance. Where is it?’

Deep inside her, some fragile, persistent hope shattered into shards, dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind a black bitterness and misery.

Cade had deliberately targeted her, tracked her down and made love to her—because he thought she’d taken money from Peter. A large amount of money. Peter had gleefully told her how much it was, and that it was to be used to buy the materials for his sculpture.

Everything Cade had done, he’d done because he was convinced she was a thief. He’d brought her here, made love to her, given her such joy—and it was all false, all lies.

Trying to speak, she discovered that her throat had closed. Her stomach turned and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

He said, ‘Stay there.’

Taryn closed her eyes, shielding her misery from him. She heard a clink and felt a glass of water being put into her hand.

‘Drink it up,’ he advised.

Their fingers touched and, in spite of everything, a jolt sparked through her. Dear God, she thought wearily, how could her body betray her like that when she now knew exactly what he thought of her—a liar and a common thief?

She wished she could summon righteous anger at being so badly misjudged, but her only emotion was a deep, aching grief for a fantasy that had turned into a dark nightmare.

Although she was sure she’d choke if she tried to drink the water, her throat was so dry and painful she forced several gulps down.

‘Thank you,’ she said hoarsely, wishing he’d step back. He was too close, and she.she was as broken as though the very foundations of her world had been cut from under her.

Clutching the glass in front of her like a pathetically useless shield, she said, ‘I don’t have anything of Peter’s—certainly not his money.’

‘Taryn, if you don’t have it, who does?’

He spoke quite calmly and for a brief, bewildered
second she wondered if indeed—somehow—she did have the money.

Then sanity returned, and with it some courage. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. Her voice wobbled, so she swallowed and tried again. ‘All I know is that he didn’t give me any money. I’ll furnish you with the records of my bank account so you can see for yourself.’

His lashes drooped. ‘I want to see them, although if you took it you’ve had plenty of time to stash it away and cover your tracks.’ He waited for a second and when she remained silent went on, ‘It will be much easier if you just tell me where it’s gone. Once it’s returned, we’ll forget about it.’

Fighting back against shock and fear and disillusionment, she drained the glass and set it down. She looked up, measuring him like a duellist of old, sensing that once again he was testing her, assessing her reactions to discern whether she’d stolen the money.

In other words, he wasn’t sure.

The thought acted like a stimulant, but she forced herself to repress the wild hope that burst into life. Although her thoughts were still far from coherent, she said as calmly as she could, ‘I swear to you, Peter didn’t give me a cent all the time we knew each other.’

‘Taryn, every financial transaction leaves a paper trail.’

When she shrugged, he finished softly, ‘I can find those trails.’

It was a threat, but now she’d found a few shreds of composure she recognised it for an empty one. ‘You’ll discover that there’s nothing to find. Cade, you’ll never know how sorry I am that Peter’s dead, and how sorry I am that I laughed when he proposed. I have that on
my conscience, but not the loss of his money. And now I want to go home.’

Home? She didn’t have a home, but if she didn’t get away from Cade soon she’d crack. Now that she knew the depths of his betrayal, she couldn’t bear to stay anywhere near him—let alone pretend they were lovers.

‘We’ll be leaving tomorrow,’ he said inflexibly. ‘Until then, I’ll expect you to behave as you have been.’

‘You must be joking!’ she burst out, incredulous at his arrogant command.

‘Far from it.’ And when she started to speak again he said, ‘You won’t get off the island without my permission so don’t try it.’

She stared at him, met an implacable gaze. He had to be lying—yet, perhaps not. Fleur Chapman might be a warm, compassionate woman, but her husband had the same air of effortless, uncompromising authority that marked Cade. They were also good friends.

And there were her parents—if the Chapmans were thinking of helping their mission, she didn’t dare put that in question. Quietly, she said, ‘Very well, I’ll work for you, but that’s all.’

‘That’s all I want,’ he returned.

He turned away, stopping when she said, ‘Why did you wait until now to tell me this?’

Without looking at her, he said, ‘It had gone far enough.’

And he strode out of the room.

Taryn made sure she was in bed when he came back in the warm tropical night. Working had given her mind something to do—something other than returning endlessly to that moment when Cade had accused her of stealing money from Peter and stripped away her foolish, self-serving illusions.

Except that in bed, faced with the truth, her mind refused to allow sleep. Endless, scattered, anguished thoughts tumbled through her mind until she forced herself to accept that she couldn’t love Cade. He’d deceived her and seduced her.

Actually, he hadn’t seduced her. Besotted idiot that she was, she’d met him more than halfway there.

But she had too much pride to love a man who could deliberately lie to her—even though she accepted he had good reason to find out what had killed his brother.

Most nights a sighing breeze kept the mosquito nets breathing in and out, but tonight the sultry heat—and what felt perilously like a broken heart—kept her wide-eyed and sleepless.

On a half sob, she thought Cade had caused her more wakeful hours than anyone else in her life.

A pang of exquisite pain made her catch her breath. More than anything, she wanted to be able to blank him out, forget she’d ever met him, ever seen him. The memories hurt too much.

So she set her mind to the mystery of Peter’s missing advance. He’d splashed money around a bit once he’d gained the commission, but he hadn’t been extravagant. Certainly not enough to have spent it all.

She was still mulling this over when she heard Cade come into the
fale.
Her breath locked in her throat and her lashes flew up. For a few ridiculous seconds she hardly dared breathe, but of course he didn’t knock on her door.

Once she left Fala’isi and Cade, surely she’d get over this aching emptiness, this sense of loss and loneliness, of being betrayed by hopes she hadn’t even recognised?

Driven by a searing restlessness and a heart so sore it
felt like an actual physical pain, she got up and walked across to the window. It took her some time to realise that Cade was out there in the tropical night, a tall, dark form standing beside the pool.

Still, so still, as though he couldn’t move.

Moonlight shimmered across the arrogant planes of his face, picking out in silver the sweeping strength of bone structure, the straight line of his mouth. Tears burned behind Taryn’s eyes, clogged her throat. She blinked them back, focusing on the object Cade held in his hand.

A flower, she realised when he turned it and light glimmered across its silken petals. A hibiscus bloom. What intrigued him so much about the blossoms?

Wincing, she saw him throw it down as he had done before. Then she froze when he suddenly stooped and picked up the flower. Hardly daring to breathe, she watched him walk towards the
fale.

Her breath sighed out slowly and she turned and made her way back to her bed, too heartsore to do more than wonder why he’d bothered to pick up the flower.

Eventually exhaustion claimed her, but only to dream, and wake with a start to wonder why her unconscious mind had brought her images of a friend of Peter’s, famous for her artistic installations.

Peter had respected Andrée Brown as an artist and enjoyed her acid wit, but they’d had an odd, edgy relationship. Sometimes Taryn had suspected he and Andrée were lovers, and wished she could like the woman more. She’d found her heavy-going, a nervy, almost neurotic woman who lived for her art and made no secret of her disdain for people without talent.