The Far Side of Paradise (6 page)

‘No.’ She paused, then said lightly, ‘But, from what I remember, tropical islands in the Pacific have coconut palms and coconut crabs, and most of them are surrounded by lagoons of the most amazing blue on the planet. There’s glorious singing, and whole families somehow manage to perch on little motor scooters.’

‘Your parents were brave taking a young child so far from civilisation.’

There was no condemnation in his tone but she had to control a spurt of defensiveness. Her parents didn’t need defending. ‘They’re experienced sailors. And they were desperately needed—still are. There are very few
doctors in the outlying islands. My parents are kept busy.’

‘So they settled in Aramuhu for your schooling?’

‘Yes,’ she said briefly.

‘Where are they now?’ Cade asked, his blue-grey eyes intent.

‘Back in the islands,’ she told him, wondering a second too late if she should have hedged, let him believe they were within reach. ‘In a bigger, more easily sailed yacht that’s also a mobile clinic.’

A clinic that the unexpected and very generous donation from Peter had helped to fund. When he’d received the advance for his sculpture, he’d transferred the money into her account.

Horrified, she’d wanted to return it, only to have him grin and say, ‘Let me do this, darling girl—it’s probably the only time I’m ever going to do anything altruistic. You bring out the best in me.’

He’d had to talk hard to persuade her, but in the end she’d accepted it. He’d been pleased when she’d shown him a photograph of the yacht …

Hastily, she glanced away to hide the tears that stung her eyes.

‘Do you see them often?’ Cade asked.

‘No.’ Something in his expression made her say crisply, ‘I suppose that sounds as though I don’t get on with them but I do—and I admire them tremendously for what they’re doing. I think I told you I’d been overseas for two years, having a ball in London and working there to finance trips to the Continent.’ She added with a smile, ‘Known to all young Kiwis as the big OE—overseas experience. It’s a rite of passage.’

Cade leaned back in the seat and took a swift glance at her profile. ‘When did your parents go back to the
Pacific islands on their mission of mercy?’ he asked, keeping his voice detached.

‘Once I’d settled at university,’ she said cheerfully. ‘And now I’ve revealed some of my story, how about yours?’

Ironically amused, he met coolly challenging green-gold eyes, their size and colour emphasised by dark lashes and brows. No way was he going to tell her of his early childhood; he’d padlocked those memories and thrown away the key years ago.

Cade wondered if she realised just how much she’d revealed.
Admire
didn’t mean the same as love. It sounded as though her parents had seen her through school and then more or less abandoned her.

And he was beginning to believe she didn’t know that he and Peter had been brothers. If she did, she’d have been a little more wary when she’d spoken of her time in London.

He said economically, ‘My life? Very standard. Good parents, good education, a university scholarship, first job in the City, then striking out on my own.’

‘And then success,’ she supplied with a smile.

Cade caught the hint of satire in the curve of her mouth.

Yes, she was challenging him, and not just sexually, although he was extremely aware of her in the seat beside him. His body stirred at the recollection of the silky texture of her skin and the smooth curves her bikini had displayed.

‘That too,’ he said non-committally. ‘Does success interest you?’

She considered the question, her forehead wrinkling. To his surprise, he realised he was waiting for her answer with some expectation. Which was reasonable;
he’d hired her to remove her from her comfort zone so he could find out what sort of person she really was.

Of course, he wouldn’t allow himself to be distracted—he didn’t do distraction. Not even when it came as superbly packaged as Taryn Angove.

‘It interests everyone, surely,’ she said at last. ‘But it depends on how you define it. My parents are hugely successful because they’re doing exactly what they want to do, which is helping people—making a difference to their lives. Sometimes
saving
their lives.’

‘So that’s your definition? Success means following your passion?’

She gave him a startled look, then laughed, a sound without much humour. ‘Seems to be.’

Something more than idle curiosity persuaded him to ask, ‘Do you have a passion?’

He saw her withdrawal, but she answered with a rueful smile, ‘Not one I’ve discovered yet. What’s your definition of success?’

That had changed over the years, from his initial instinctive need to survive a neglectful, drug-addicted mother. He had no intention of divulging his motivations to anyone, let alone Taryn, who’d made out a list that ended in
disengage from Jason.

The list had been on the table, as though she’d dropped it there when he’d arrived to pick her up a few hours ago. She’d gone into her bedroom to bring out her pack, and deliberately and without guilt he’d read down the items. He needed all the ammunition he could muster to remind him that her reaction to Peter’s proposal had so shattered his brother he’d killed himself.

When had she added that last significant note? After they’d met yesterday?

Jason presumably had been her lover; the journalist
had certainly bristled with a territorial air when he’d been talking to her.

So she hadn’t mourned Peter for long.

T
HAT
thought grated so much Cade turned his head and looked out at the sea below.

One thing the years with an erratic mother had taught him was to read people. As soon as he’d met Taryn he’d noted the subtle signs of her response to him. What he hadn’t anticipated was his own reaction to her—a quick, fierce hunger he was having difficulty controlling.

But what worried him was an unexpected and alarmingly unwelcome inclination to believe every word she said. Cade was cynical rather than suspicious, but his life and career had taught him not to trust anyone until he knew them.

And that, he reminded himself, was why Taryn was sitting beside him—in order for him to gather information about her.

He said, ‘I suppose my definition of my own success is to do whatever I do well. And to keep faith with the people who rely on me.’

She waited as though expecting more, then nodded, her expression thoughtful. ‘Sounds good.’

And meant very little, she thought a touch sardonically. If she’d hoped to get something other than platitudes from him, she’d just learned he wasn’t going to open up to her.

After all, he was now her employer. There were protocols to be observed, a suitably respectful distance to be kept. Possibly, in a subtle English way, he was indicating she’d better forget the informal, unconventional circumstances in which they’d met.

Glancing up, she met hooded steel-blue eyes, unsparing and probing. Sensation sizzled through her and she said the first thing that came to mind. ‘I hope I can do the job.’

In an indifferent voice, he said, ‘Having second thoughts, Taryn?’

When she shook her head he went on, ‘Fala’isi is a civilised place, and all I expect from you is a week of quite straightforward work.’ His voice hardened. ‘Because you are beautiful there will be people who misunderstand our relationship, but I’m sure you’re sophisticated enough to deal with that.’

Heat burned across her cheekbones. Cade’s tone had been casually dismissive, as though in his world beauty was taken for granted.

He was far too perceptive. She’d barely recognised the caution in herself, a warning based on nothing more than her own response to him. Time to show him she could be completely professional.

‘Of course I can,’ she said. She added, ‘And I don’t suspect you of ulterior motives.’

He nodded. ‘Good.’ And began to talk of their destination, of the two cultures that had been so successfully integrated by the family that ruled Fala’isi, and of the vibrant economy that made the island state one of the powers in the Pacific.

Taryn listened and commented; from her parents she knew enough about island politics to appreciate the sharp intelligence of his remarks, the astute judgement
and skilful manipulation of information. Not that he revealed much of his feelings; he probably felt they were none of her concern.

And he was entirely right; this inchoate desire to understand him was neither comfortable nor sensible.

But he did say, ‘It’s more than possible that somebody might try to pump you for information about me.’

‘They’ll fail,’ she said promptly, ‘because I don’t know anything about you.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You didn’t research me on the Internet?’

‘Yes, of course.’ As far as she’d been able. She’d downloaded a couple of pictures of him with stunning women, and read several articles about his business tactics, but she’d found nothing personal about him. ‘Just as anyone else could.’

He showed his teeth in a mirthless smile. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to be discreet.’

‘No,’ she said shortly.

‘Good.’ He looked up as the cabin attendant came through.

Taryn welcomed the interruption. She was probably imagining the unspoken undercurrents that swirled beneath the mundane words he’d spoken. Yes, he’d called her beautiful—but in a tone of voice that gave no indication what effect she had on him.

She wrenched her mind away from such a subversive thought. OK, so she was acutely conscious of Cade—and she now knew he liked what he saw when those hard, crystalline eyes roved her face, but she understood how little that superficial appreciation meant.

What would her parents think of the man beside her, at present intent on a sheaf of notes?

Her gaze traced the arrogant lines and angles of his
profile, the olive skin and arrogantly perfect line of mouth and chin.

Physically, he was magnificent. And after searching the Internet the previous evening she knew he was renowned for his ferociously brilliant mind and what one commentator called his
iron-bound integrity.
Another had commented on his almost
devilish good luck.

What were his parents like? She’d found a reference to his
climb from the stifling mediocrity of middle-class England
but nothing else personal.

Unless you counted the photographs of him with exquisite women. At the thought of those women—bejewelled, superbly groomed, confident—a foolish pang of envy darkened her mood.

He looked up and for a moment their eyes locked. Her confusion turned into a flash of fire at the base of her spine, in the pit of her stomach.

It was quickly dampened by his drawled question. ‘Something bothering you?’

‘No,’ she said swiftly and not, he suspected, entirely truthfully.

He was convinced of it when she added, ‘I was wondering if you have a Mediterranean heritage.’

Cade shrugged negligently. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

He didn’t know who his birth father was—it could have been anyone. His real father, the one who’d loved him and disciplined him and shown him how to be a man, was ruddy of complexion and blue-eyed, but Harold Cooper had handed on far more important things than superficial physical features.

Cade had no illusions as to what his life would have been if he hadn’t been fostered by the Coopers.

He’d have grown up on the streets and probably ended up in jail, possibly dying young like his wretched mother
before him. Instead, he’d been loved and cared for, given rules to live by, taught everything he needed to make a success of his life.

Even when his new parents had had their miracle—the child they’d been told would never eventuate—their love for Cade had never faltered. Peter had been a joy to them all, a beloved small brother for Cade to protect and help.

He owed the Coopers everything but the fact of being born—and he was prepared to do anything to give his mother the closure she craved.

Why had Peter chosen to end his life? It had to be something to do with Taryn.

Cade was accustomed to finding answers, and he needed this answer more than any other. His mother feared that Peter had died because he hadn’t felt valued by his parents.

The Coopers had certainly been worried about Peter’s choice of career, but he had real artistic talent and, once they’d realised he was determined to make his own path, they’d stopped suggesting he choose something steady and reliable.

One way or another, Cade would get to the truth. It shouldn’t take him long to discover Taryn’s weaknesses and use them to find out what he needed to know.

He glanced across; she’d picked up a magazine and was skimming the pages, stopping now and then to read more carefully. She was beautiful in a healthy, girl-next-door kind of way, her clear green-gold eyes seeming to hide no secrets; her attitude was candid and direct. Cade could see nothing in her to suggest she’d mock a man’s offer of love.

Yet she must have cut Peter’s confidence to shreds for him to choose death rather than face life without her.

Into Cade’s mind came that final note on the list she’d made out:
disengage from Jason.

Had she
disengaged
from Peter too, then gone on to view the world with that same innocent gaze?

It would be interesting, he thought grimly, to see Taryn’s reaction when she found out the accommodation waiting for them on Fala’isi. She knew he was rich; she’d sensed he was attracted to her.

How would she accept sharing the same luxurious beachfront lodgings with him?

Would she see it as an opportunity? With cold self-derision, he fought the kick of desire in his groin and forced his attention back to the papers in his hand.

Taryn looked around the room, furnished in tropical style with lush green plants cooling the flower-scented air. One wall was highlighted by a magnificent
tapa
cloth in shades of tan and cream, black and cinnamon, and in a corner a serene, smoothly sculpted figure of a frigate bird in flight seemed to hover above its pedestal.

Peter would have loved it.