The Far Side of Paradise. Robyn Donald

      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