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 judgementand 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 hisprofile, 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 motherbefore 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
Taryn listened and commented; from her parents she knew enough about island politics to appreciate the sharp intelligence of his remarks, the astute judgementand 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 hisprofile, 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 motherbefore 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
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