Free Edge of Paradise by Dorothy Vernon

bathroom was tiled in palest green. She resisted its cool invitation to inspect the elegant simplicity of the furniture, which provided masses of drawer and hanging space; the wide double bed, instead of the single she had expected; the welcoming touch of a vase of bright, exotic flowers.
    She wandered out onto the balcony and the view that met her eyes took her breath away. Casuarinas wafted gently in a breeze that was as soft as silk against her cheek. White sand. Translucent sea reflecting many textures of color, taking its mood from the changing tones of the sky.
    With the feel of Paul’s hand still tingling through her body she asked herself how she was going to hold herself aloof from him in these unreal surroundings. It wasn’t just like being in a different part of the world; it was like being in another world altogether. Unreal sky, unreal noises, unreal smells. The air was laden with the distinctive, heavy scent of some unidentified blossom. Carried to her on the breeze, it was drugging, hypnotic almost, drawing her into the unreality so that she was no longer sensible, circumspect, even slightly prim Catherine Mason, who could have repulsed Paul’s hand just now, but a strange wild creature who frightened herself with her own wayward thoughts and who was on the brink of running headlong into self-destruction.
    She sighed so deeply that it was almost a groan. She could have stayed out on the balcony for much longer, just looking, soaking up all the beauty before her, but she knew that time was getting on. The light was changing even as she watched; the brilliant glare that had been an assault to her unaccustomed eyes was leaving the sun, and the sky was a kinder, less vivid blue. The view would be there for her tomorrow. For tonight there was a shower to be taken, dinner to be looked forward to, and one more door in her bedroom still to be investigated.
    Did it communicate with Paul’s bedroom? She tried the knob less gingerly than she would have done had she not been absolutely certain in her mind that it would be locked. She gasped in astonishment when it yielded under her fingers and she found herself looking into a connecting sitting room between the two bedrooms. She knew this because the door on the opposite wall was ajar and to her consternation she was not only looking straight into Paul’s bedroom, but straight at Paul himself.
    He turned his head, answering her startled gaze with one of inquiry. ‘Are you all right?’
    â€˜Yes, thank you,’ she said, hastily closing the door on his mocking jade eyes.
    She supposed the reason there was no key in the lock was because it gave entry into a shared sitting room. It meant, and this was the disconcerting part, that Paul could just walk in on her any time he was so minded. She could ask for a key, but if she did, would it look as though she was making an issue out of it, even serve to put ideas into his head?
    The Bahamian porter arrived with her luggage. She decided not to unpack properly. Her clothes wouldn’t come to any harm for having to spend a few more hours in her suitcase. So she carefully took out the things she needed right away. Toiletries and makeup, her precious hairbrush set, a bathrobe, and a dress and evening sandals to go down to the dining room. On a last minute impulse she’d packed the book she’d recently bought, the one written by Paul, and as this was right at the top she took it out and put it on the bedside table. She remembered to fish out her shower cap. She would have liked to stand directly under the jet of water, but she was really hungry and didn’t want to have to wait for her hair to dry before eating.
    Emerging from the bathroom, feeling tingly and clean, she was taken aback to see Paul in her room.
    â€˜You certainly took your time,’ he said. ‘I was on the point of coming in to get you.’
    â€˜What are you doing in my room?’ she demanded coolly.
    â€˜I said