The Far Side of Paradise (3 page)

Mind racing, he took in the implications.

Did she know who he was?

If she did, she’d suspect that although this meeting was a coincidence, his presence in New Zealand wasn’t. So she’d be wary …

Chances were, though, that Peter wouldn’t have spoken of him. An unpleasant situation some years before, when Peter’s then lover had made a determined play for Cade, meant that Peter rarely introduced his girlfriends to his family. He’d once admitted that although he referred to Cade occasionally, it was only ever as his brother.

Cade knew the value of hunches; he’d learned which ones to follow and which to ignore. One was warning him right now to keep quiet about the connection.

‘Cade Peredur,’ he said smoothly, and shook Taryn Angove’s outstretched hand. ‘How do you do?’

He could see why Peter had fallen for her. In spite of the smoke stains, she was very attractive—beautiful, in fact, with fine features and creamy skin set off by coppery hair.

Not to mention a lush, sinfully kissable mouth …

Ruthlessly, Cade disciplined an unexpected kick of lust. Nowhere near as easily affected as his brother had been by a lovely face and lissom body, it exasperated him that Taryn Angove had a definite and very primal impact on him.

Which he had to suppress.

His investigation team hadn’t been able to turn up a single person who wasn’t shocked and astonished by his brother’s death. The police had been unable to add anything beyond the fact that there had definitely been no foul play.

Peter had taken Taryn Angove to the theatre the previous night. She’d stayed with him that night and then he’d delivered her to Heathrow for the flight home. He’d cancelled an appointment with friends the following evening, but he’d spoken by telephone to them and he’d seemed perfectly normal.

Yet only a few hours later he’d killed himself.

From New Zealand, Taryn been asked to do a video interview with the police, but it revealed nothing; she hadn’t mentioned anything that might have upset him, so they didn’t consider her a person of interest. Although sympathetic, for them there was no doubt that Peter
had committed suicide, and so there was nothing to investigate.

So she was the only person who might be able to help Cade find out why Peter had done it.

And there was the question of what had happened to the money …

Looking down into the wide green-gold eyes lifted to his, noting their subtle darkening and the faint flush visible even under a patina of smoke, Cade decided a change of tactics could be in order.

He’d come here determined to use whatever weapons might be necessary to find out what she knew. He’d try appealing to her better instincts—if she had any—and, if that failed, then intimidation might work. Or paying her off.

Now he’d met her, he wondered whether such weapons would be necessary. Taryn seemed nothing like he had expected. In order to choose the best method of persuading her to talk, he’d have to find out what made Taryn Angove tick.

Which meant he needed to get to know her.

Ignoring the electricity his touch zapped across her nerve-ends, Taryn concentrated on his grip—firm but not aggressive and completely confident.

Just her luck to be sweaty and smoky, with stringy hair clinging to her probably scarlet face. How did he manage to look so … so much in control?

Not that it mattered. Too late, she remembered who he was—periodically, she’d seen photographs of him in the press and appreciated his sexy, angular impact. He was a big player in financial circles and appeared occasionally in the gossip magazines a flatmate in London used to devour.

In them, he was usually squiring a beautiful titled woman with very expensive taste in clothes.

When he released her hand she said calmly, ‘Thanks so much for coming to help when you saw the smoke.’

Broad shoulders lifted again dismissively. ‘It was a matter of self-interest.’ At her enquiring look he enlarged, ‘I’m holidaying in the next bay.’

Had he bought Hukere Station? She dismissed the idea immediately. High-flyers like Cade Peredur didn’t invest in remote agricultural areas in New Zealand’s subtropical north; they went to the South Island’s glorious mountains. Anyway, he didn’t look the sort to want a cattle station; from what she remembered, his interests lay in the cutthroat arena of finance and world-shaking deals. And sophisticated English aristocrats.

In that cool, slightly indifferent tone he told her, ‘I saw smoke in the air so I came to see what I could do.’

Taryn looked past him and said with a shiver, ‘I’m so glad you did. I wish the idiots who lit that fire could see what their carelessness has led to. The thought of all these pohutukawa trees going up in flames is horrifying. Some of them are over five hundred years old. In fact, Maori legend says that the big one along at the end of the beach was used to tie up the first canoe that ever landed here.’

His gaze followed her pointing finger. ‘It looks old enough, certainly.’

Taryn shrugged mentally at his lack of enthusiasm. He was English, and on holiday—why should he share her love for the ancient trees? It was enough that he’d come to help.

‘It will take a lot of time before this place gets back to its previous loveliness,’ she said. ‘It’s such a shame.
It’s the only good swimming beach close to Aramuhu township, but no one will want to come here until the grass grows again.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘It looks horrible and it smells beastly, and everything—and everyone—would get covered in soot.’

Cade accepted the opportunity she’d offered—whether deliberately or not, he couldn’t tell. ‘If you’d like to swim, why don’t you try the beach I’m staying at?’ He nodded towards the headland that separated the two bays.

Startled and a little wary, she looked up. Caught in an ironic blue-grey focus, she felt her pulse rate surge and automatically ignored it. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said without committing herself.

‘It seems only fair.’

For the first time he smiled, sending languorous heat curling through Taryn. ‘Fair?’ she asked, only just stopping herself from stuttering.

‘You might well have saved the beach house from going up in flames—and me with it,’ he replied, noting that the farm manager was on his way towards them with the fire chief.

Noted too, with something close to irritation, the swift appreciative glances both men gave Taryn Angove.

Not that he could blame them. Those shorts showed off her glorious legs, and her bikini top accentuated her more obvious assets; only a dead man would ignore them.

The thought no sooner formed in his mind than he realised how bleakly appropriate it was. A man as dead as Peter.

‘Hi, Jeff.’ The smile Taryn gave the farm manager was friendly and open, but the one she bestowed on
the grey-haired fire chief sparkled with mischief. ‘Mr Sanderson.’

The fire chief gave a brief grin. ‘Why am I not surprised to find you trying to put out a fire with nothing more than a garden hose?’ he asked in a not quite fatherly tone before turning to Cade.

The farm manager introduced them and, as they shook hands, Cade said, ‘It didn’t take you long to get things under control.’

Hugh Sanderson nodded. ‘Easy enough when you’ve got the men and the equipment. However, I’ll leave a gang here to keep an eye on it. Just as well you both kept at it—probably saved a lot of destruction. Do you know how it started?’

‘Ms Angove’s theory seems logical,’ Cade told him. ‘All I saw was smoke in the sky.’

She flashed a green-gold, glinting glance at him as she explained what she thought had happened.

‘Yeah, that would be it.’ The fire chief indicated the sign that announced a total fire ban. ‘Some idiots think a fire on the beach doesn’t count. Thanks for keeping it away from the bullrushes—although I damn near had a heart attack when I saw you two trying to put it out.’ He transferred his gaze to Taryn. ‘No more heroine stuff on my patch, all right? If that fire had got into the rushes you’d have been in serious trouble, both of you. You OK?’

‘Fine, thanks.’ Her radiant smile made light of smoke stains and sweat.

The older man grinned. ‘You never were one for keeping out of mischief. Patsy was just saying the other day she hadn’t seen you for a while. Come and have a cup of tea with us when you’re in town next.’

Cade waited until they’d gone before asking thoughtfully, ‘What sort of mischief did you indulge in?’

She flushed a little, but laughed before explaining, ‘When we first came to Aramuhu I was twelve, and I’d spent the previous eleven years living with my parents on a yacht in the Pacific. Fruit grows wild in the islands and I was used to just picking something off the nearest tree whenever I was hungry. At Aramuhu we lived for a few months next door to Mr and Mrs Sanderson and one day I took a cherimoya from his orchard.’

‘Cherimoya?’

‘It’s bigger than an apple, sort of heart-shaped with bumpy green skin. Cousin to a custard apple.’ Her voice sank into a sensual purr. ‘They have the most delicious taste in the world. My mother marched me over to apologise and offer to work to pay for it. Mr Sanderson decided I could weed the garden for an hour, but once I’d done that he gave me a bag of them to take home. Even when we moved to a new house he made sure we were supplied with ripe ones in season and he still likes to tease me about it.’

Cade wondered if that husky tone was reserved for fruit, or if she murmured like that when she made love. His body tightened—and then tightened again for an entirely different reason at another thought.

No doubt Peter had also found that sleepy, sexy note both erotic and beguiling.

In an ironic tone that banished the reminiscent softness from her expression he said, ‘Ah, small town life.’

‘Where everyone knows your business,’ she agreed with a swift, challenging smile. She focused her gaze behind him and he looked over one shoulder to see a racy red car hurtling boisterously down the road.

When he turned back she was frowning, a frown that disappeared when she asked, ‘Did you grow up in a big city, Mr Peredur?’

‘I was born in one, yes.’ When taken away from his mother, he’d been living in the stinking backstreet of a slum. ‘I’m going back to the beach house now. The invitation to swim is still open.’

And waited, concealing his keen interest in her answer.

She hesitated, then said lightly, ‘I’m sticky and hot and I’d love a swim, thank you. I’ll follow you in my car.’

‘Right.’

Taryn watched him stride towards his Range Rover, long legs carrying him across the sandy ground in lithe, easy paces.

In a word—
dominant.
He compelled interest and attention by sheer force of character.

The swift fizz of sensation in the pit of her stomach startled her, but what made her increase speed towards her own car was the arrival of the one driven by a journalist for the local newspaper, an old schoolfellow who’d made it more than obvious that he was angling for a relationship.

Although she’d tried as tactfully as she could to show him she wasn’t interested, Jason didn’t seem to understand.

She fought back an odd clutch of apprehension beneath her ribs when she saw the possessive gleam of his smile as he swung out of the car, camera at the ready.

‘Hi, Taryn—stay like that and I’ll put you on the front page.’

‘I’ve done nothing—showcase the men who put out the fire,’ she returned. From the corner of her eye she
noticed that Cade Peredur had opened the door of his vehicle, but not got in; he was watching them across its roof.

‘Babe, they don’t look anywhere near as good as you do.’ Jason gave a sly grin and lifted the camera.

‘No.’ She spoke more sharply than she intended.

He looked wounded. ‘Oh, come on, Taryn, don’t be coy—we’d sell a hell of a lot more issues with you in those shorts on the front page instead of old Sanderson in his helmet. How about coming out with me tonight? I’ve been invited to a soirée at the Hanovers’ place and they won’t mind if I bring along a gorgeous girl.’

‘No, thank you,’ she said, keeping her voice even and light.

‘Going to wash your hair, are you? Look,’ he said, his voice hardening, ‘what is it with you? Think you’re too good to go out with an old mate now, do you? I’m not trying to get into your pants, I—’

He stopped abruptly as a deep voice cut in. ‘All right, Taryn?’

‘Fine, thank you,’ she said quickly, adding rather foolishly, ‘Jason and I went to school together.’

‘Hey,’ Jason exclaimed, ever the opportunist, ‘you’re Cade Peredur, aren’t you? Mr Peredur, I’m Jason Beckett from the
Mid-North Press.
Can I ask you a few questions about the fire?’

‘The person to tell you about it is the fire chief,’ Cade said evenly. He looked down at Taryn. ‘You go ahead—I’ll follow.’

‘OK,’ she said, fighting a violent mixture of emotions.

Cade watched her walk across to her car and get in, then looked down at the reporter. Yet another man smitten by Taryn Angove’s beauty; he should feel a certain
amount of sympathy for the good-looking kid even if he was unpleasantly brash.

Instead, he wanted to tell him to keep his grubby hands and even grubbier statements to himself, and stay away from her if he valued his hide.

Shrugging, Beckett said, ‘Well, that’s women for you, I guess.’ He produced an ingratiating smile. ‘Are you planning to buy Hukere Station, Mr Peredur? I’ve heard rumours of development, a farm park …’

‘I’m on holiday, nothing more,’ Cade said evenly, nodded, and strode back to his vehicle.

In her car, Taryn took a deep breath and switched on the engine. The hot air inside the vehicle brought a moment of giddiness, but at least it wasn’t too smoky. Grimacing, she looked down at her legs, stained and sticky with a vile mixture of sea water, perspiration and smoke. The swim she’d been promising herself all week had never seemed so desirable, but she should have said,
No thanks, Mr Peredur,
and headed back to the small studio unit that was her temporary home.

So why hadn’t she? She turned the key and waited patiently for the engine to fire.

Partly because she’d wanted to get away from Jason. But more because she was curious—and that forbidden tug of response excited her as much as it alarmed her.