The Far Side of Paradise. Robyn Donald

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.

      Her mouth curled into a wry smile as she eased the car up the hill. It would take a woman made of iron to look at Cade Peredur and not feel something. As well as innate strength and authority, he possessed a brain that had taken him to his present position. Add more than a dash of ruthlessness to that potent mix, and the fact that he looked really, really good …

      Yes, definitely a top-of-the-list male.

      But not a man any sensible woman would fall in love with.

      Not that that was going to happen.

      Bitter experience had taught her that although she could feel attraction, when it came to following through on it she was a total failure.

      In a word, she was frigid.

      Without volition, her thoughts touched on Peter, the jumble of shock and sorrow and bewilderment assailing her as it always did when she recalled his proposal—so unexpected, so shatteringly followed by his death. Guilt lay permanently in wait, making her wonder yet again whether her response had driven him to take that final, lethal step.

      If only she’d been a little less incredulous—if she hadn’t laughed—would he have made a different decision?

      If she’d stayed in England as he’d wanted her to, instead of coming home, would she have been able to help him get over her refusal?

      All those ifs, and no answers …

      The car skidded slightly. Feeling sick, she dragged her mind back to driving. Although the station road was well maintained, it still required concentration.

      At Anchor Bay she pulled up and switched off the engine. Cade Peredur’s big Range Rover stopped beside hers and he got out, appraising eyes coolly intent as he surveyed her.

      Tall as she was, a little more height would be a distinct asset when it came to dealing with this man. Taryn tried to dissipate another tingle of sensation by collecting her bag. As she walked towards Cade she felt embarrassingly self-conscious. She glanced away, gaze skimming a huge flame tree to one side of the bay, and caught sight of the house.

      It was a relief to be able to say something impersonal. ‘Oh, the bach is still here,’ she exclaimed. She’d half-expected some opulent seaside mansion, suitable for very rich holidaymakers, against the bush-covered slope that backed the lawn.

      ‘Bach?’

      ‘The local term for a small, basic cottage, usually by a beach or a lake.’

      Cade said, ‘Obviously you know the place.’

      ‘When I was at school, the previous owners allowed the school to hold its camps here—it’s a very safe beach. The bach was just a ruin then. Possums used to nest in the ceiling, and I’ve no doubt there were rats under the floor.’ She looked around reminiscently. ‘Over there, under that pohutukawa, when I was thirteen I was offered a cigarette by a boy I was madly trying to impress.’

      ‘And did you accept it?’

      She gave him a mock-scandalised glance. ‘Are you kidding? My parents are doctors! I stopped trying to impress him right then.’

      He smiled. ‘Good for you. Would you like to see what’s been done to the house?’

      It was difficult to match the abandoned shell she recalled to the house now. It had been almost completely reconstructed, its stone outer walls repaired and the timber ceilings stripped and oiled so that they gleamed.

      ‘It looks great,’ Taryn said, gazing around the long living room.

      Although it must have cost a mint to renovate, it didn’t look glossy or smartly out of place. Comfortable and beachy and cool, it had shelves containing a large collection of books and some seriously good pictures hung on the walls. Somehow it suited Cade Peredur.

      He said, ‘There’s a changing room and a shower in the cabana over by the flame tree. You can leave your bag and your clothes there—I’ll join you in a few minutes and bring you down a towel.’

      She summoned a bright smile. ‘Thank you. And then I can prove