Free The Far Side of Paradise by Robyn Donald

had most of Peter’s advance in her bank account, she wouldn’t need to worry about working for some years.
    Everything pointed to her being the one who’d accepted—or stolen—the money from his brother. There was no proof, yet no other person had been close enough to Peter to make it seem likely he’d have given them money. If he’d showered her with it, only to have his proposal turned down with mockery and laughter, then that could have been a reason for Peter’s tragic decision.
    And she hadn’t mentioned Peter. Or shown any signs of grief.
    An innate sense of justice forced him to admit he didn’t expect her to break into sobs every half hour. That wouldn’t be her style.
    Nor his, yet he grieved deeply for his brother.
    So, was she as good as he was at hiding her feelings—or did she have none? His eyes narrowing, he watched her stop at the outdoor shower set under a big poinciana tree. She tossed the length of fabric around her hips over a shrub, turned on the tap and lifted her face to let the water flow over her.
    The bikini was decorous enough but, moulded against the clean curves of her body by the veil of water, she might as well have been naked.
    Was this a deliberate pose, letting him see what she had on offer?
    Lust tugged urgently at him, swamping his cold calculation with a hot, angry hunger. Abruptly, he turned away, overcome with self-disgust. He couldn’t let himself become too fixated on her. He’d always been in charge of his physical reactions; it was humiliating to want a woman who might be everything he despised.
    He had to persuade her to open up so he could better judge whether to trust her version of what had happened. He needed to see for himself what she’d felt—if any-thing—for his brother.
    Mouth set in a firm line, he headed down the shell path to the
fale.
    Taryn almost hummed with pleasure beneath the shower, but water was likely to be precious on a coral atoll, so she turned off the tap and wrapped her
pareu
around her again to mop up.
    She was so glad to be back in the tropics. Stroking through the silken waters of the lagoon, she’d felt a surge of something very close to renewal. Oh, the warm seaagainst her skin, the sand shimmering white against the green bushes beneath the coconut palms—they all had something to do with it but, although the sun beat down with a languorous intensity only known in the tropics, her raised spirits were caused by something deeper than delight at being back, a feeling much stronger, much more intimate than a sensory lift, welcome though that was.
    It was strangely like a rebirth, an understanding that life could be worthwhile again.
    And it had
nothing
—not a thing—to do with being here with Cade, whose controlled dynamism was a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps she’d finally accepted that she’d never know why Peter had changed so abruptly from a best friend to a would-be husband …
    Or whether her shocked refusal had led to his suicide.
    Her bitter remorse at her stunned response would always be with her. But from somewhere she’d found a renewed sensation of confidence, of control of her own destiny.
    Once she got back to New Zealand she’d find a job—move to Auckland if it was necessary—and start this next stage of her life.
    There was no sign of Cade when she reached their accommodation. Squelching a stupid disappointment she walked through the glass doors into her bedroom, bare feet warm against the cool smooth tiles on the floor.
    Perhaps she could put her skills as a librarian to use in some tropical area?
    She smiled ironically. If she managed to find such a position she wouldn’t be living in a place like this, subtly groomed and organised to give rich, demanding clients the illusion of paradise.
    Strange that here, in a spot dedicated to a romantic idea of leisure and sensuous relaxation, she should feel a resurgence of the energy she’d lost when Peter died.
    She was dressed and combing her wet hair back