One Real Man (Entangled Bliss) ) (2 page)

“Seth…” Owen mused, rubbing his chin once more. “Seth Bailey, right? Yeah, I remember reading about your wedding extravaganza in some women’s magazine while I was waiting in a checkout line. You had a huge marquee on the front lawn of this house.”

Paige felt her lips thinning at the mention of her “wedding extravaganza.” Was it really less than two years since that event? How worked up she’d been as the big day drew near. Her mother’s celebrity status had meant a glossy magazine was willing to pay for exclusive rights to the wedding. She’d hesitated, not wanting her day to be turned into a circus, but her mother had persuaded her to agree. After all, Paige was a minor celebrity in her own small way, after her half dozen appearances on Crystal’s show chatting about the goings-on of the Sydney social scene. As part of her PR and marketing job, Paige attended plenty of parties, and her boss was happy for the extra TV exposure.

Paige had been secretly terrified that something would go awry with the wedding. Just a couple of weeks before the big day, she’d discovered that Seth had kept a secret from her. He’d been previously engaged, to a local girl from Burronga no less, and had jilted her on their wedding day. That should have been enough warning that Seth Bailey wasn’t the right man for her. But she’d pushed aside her worries, partly because she believed Seth genuinely loved her, partly because, after all the hoopla, canceling her wedding at such short notice was unimaginable.

“I remember reading you and the husband were moving to London,” Owen said. “Is that where you’ve been since the wedding?”

She nodded. “Seth’s still there.”

Seth, a stockbroker, had wanted to work in London for years. Well, he’d gotten his wish. He was with one of the top brokerage firms in the City, swimming with the biggest sharks in the business, raking in big bonuses and blowing it all on coke and gambling. How quickly her marriage had disintegrated. Working insane hours and spending all his free time with his colleagues, Seth had become a stranger to her, and the more she tried to bridge the chasm between them, the more he distanced himself from her. He didn’t need her anymore; in fact, he didn’t want any reminders of his past life. With breathtaking abruptness, he had moved out of their apartment and filed for divorce. She’d barely accepted he was gone when that awful video had surfaced and shown her how little he thought of her.

A quiver started in her chin. No, no, no. She was not going to break into tears over her feral ex. Especially not in front of Owen Bellamy. He would love to see her crack, but she’d be damned if she gave him that satisfaction. Clamping her jaw, she fixed her gaze on him, defying the weakness inside her.

“Anything else you want to know about my doomed marriage?” she challenged him.

He blinked slowly, heavy eyelids masking his expression. “Anything else I should know?”

Her jaw ached as her molars ground together. Did Owen know about the video? Her stomach did a nauseous heave. Seth, eventually ashamed of what he’d done, had assured her that all copies had been erased from the internet, but how could he be so sure? Everyone knew once something was on the Web, it was there for life, that any lecherous computer geek could track down the file and view it. Had Owen done that?

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” The words rushed out of her, frosty and abrupt, as she always was when the situation turned tricky. Ice queen, some people called her, but that was just how she was made.

As the planes of Owen’s face hardened, her heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t the callow teenager she could lord over anymore. He’d grown up, his youthfulness maturing into smoldering masculinity—crisp dark hair, glimmering green eyes, broad shoulders filling a casual blue shirt, a smattering of stubble across his square, stubborn jaw. Not someone she could trifle with.

If he knew about that humiliating video, he gave no sign of it. Maybe he was waiting for the right moment to embarrass her.

“Still the same Princess Paige, huh?” His mouth curved down at the corners. “Well, I can’t say it was a pleasure catching up with you. Why don’t I call you a taxi?”

Panic jumped in her throat. “Wait a minute. We’re not done yet. You haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“I told you already. I’m renting this house for the next year. Or should I say, my property development company is.”

“You own a company?” She didn’t mean to sound so incredulous.

His eyes narrowed. “I’m a junior partner. McCarthy Construction.”

Paige shook her head. “I still don’t understand how you managed to get our house.” Something was going on, something her mother had hidden from her.

“It really has nothing to do with you, Paige.”

His coldness touched a raw nerve in her. She jumped to her feet, the chair screeching against the terra-cotta tiles. “I don’t care if you have a triple lease for a hundred years! This is my home. My home, understand?”

The shaking in her hands spread to the rest of her body. If there was one constant in her life, it was this home. This was her safe house, her place of retreat, her sanctuary. Here, nothing bad could happen to her. And now this…this
pool boy
was telling her it had nothing to do with her.

Spinning on her heel, she stalked out the kitchen and made her way upstairs to her old bedroom. As she slammed the door shut, she realized she’d stormed to her room through force of habit. She had no right to be here, and besides, her room had completely changed. Everything familiar had been carted away, replaced by a few pieces of strange furniture—a double bed, a nightstand, an armchair by the window. This was no longer her room, and everything she owned in the world was crammed into those two suitcases downstairs, if she didn’t count the miserable few hundred dollars in her bank account. Christ, she didn’t even have a mobile phone anymore. Who would have thought that would ever happen to her?

A knock sounded at her bedroom door. Her head jerked up. Owen. Come to throw her out, no doubt.

“Paige? Can I come in?”

At least he hadn’t barged in.
Get it together, girl. Don’t show him any weakness.

She smoothed down her damp hair, straightened her rumpled T-shirt. “Come,” she called out.

He entered and stopped just a few paces in. He glanced around, curiosity plain in his expression. “Huh. Not too girlie in here.”

“You’ve never been in here?” she said.

“No.”

“Not even when you moved in?”

“No.”

“Who decided on this furniture?” She gestured around her.

“The interior decorator I hired. I didn’t have the time, so I left the decisions to her.”

The room wasn’t hers, but it was stylishly furnished, and the big, soft bed looked inviting, reminding her muscles of the grueling journey she’d endured that still wasn’t at an end. As she pulled her attention away from the bed, she caught Owen studying her with those unsettling green eyes of his.

His attention never wavered from her, and silence fell between them. He’d never been one for chitchat. As his scrutiny continued, she found herself growing antsy.

“Paige, are you in some sort of trouble?”

The unexpected gentleness of his tone cracked her facade like nothing else could. She’d braced herself for sarcasm or aloofness, but not this. Her chin quivered dangerously again. She sank her fingernails into the flesh of her palms, willing the lump in her throat to subside.

“Trouble? Me?” She forced a laugh. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come on, quit trying to pull the wool over my eyes. You’ve sneaked back to your parents’ home without telling anyone. That’s not like you. Something’s happened, I can tell.”

She folded her arms. “You’ve never believed in beating around the bush, have you?”

He shrugged. “Okay, so I don’t have all the social niceties, but I do know something’s not right with you. Did your ex bleed you dry? Have you run out of money?”

She dug her nails into her arms as Owen’s bluntness drilled through her defenses. “I—I may be a little short at the moment, but—but it’s only temporary until I start working again.”

“You’ve got a new job lined up?”

Her fingers twined around a lock of hair. “Not…exactly…”

“You’re job hunting?” His expression grew puzzled. “I wouldn’t have thought there were many marketing jobs in this town.”

He knew her line of work; she hadn’t expected that. “I’ll be job hunting in Sydney, of course.” She twisted her hair tighter. “I just came here for a few weeks to rest and—and work on my CV…”

And to hide away. To lick her wounds in private. The truth was, she’d lost her mojo, that hard-fought, shiny confidence she projected to the outside world. In Sydney, she’d made a relative success of her chosen occupation. She’d worked for a top marketing firm and garnered a solid reputation. She valued her career, but at the moment she couldn’t face the fast-paced harbor city and the heaving pool of competition she’d once swum in. When that mortifying video had surfaced, she’d been so sickened and ashamed, she’d shut down her email and Facebook accounts. She hadn’t contacted any of her old Sydney friends—who knew which ones were genuine?—and she didn’t have the guts to face them. Not right now, not the way she was feeling.

Owen reached up and disentangled her fingers from her hair. “You’re going to give yourself a bald patch if you keep on torturing your hair like that.”

“Oh.” Her hand tingled from the brief contact with his fingers. Gripping her hands behind her back, she cleared her throat and forced herself to say matter-of-factly, “So, yes, I’m temporarily out of a job, but it’ll only be for a month or so. And I’ll be out of here as soon as I’ve called a taxi.”

“Where will you go?” He didn’t seem as relieved as she thought he’d be.

Her brain flashed through the possibilities. Since she’d moved to Sydney nine years ago, she’d only kept up with past friends from Burronga sporadically. Too infrequently to suddenly impose on them with her suitcases asking to stay the night. There was always Great-Aunt Lucinda… She shuddered. No, she couldn’t bear the lectures.

“Uh, I’m not sure.”

“I saw Astrid Sherwood in town the other day. Weren’t you two best friends at school?”

Astrid? Christ, not Astrid. Not in a million years
. Back in high school she’d been flattered when Astrid, the undisputed queen bee of their class, had allowed her into her elite circle of friends. For a while, Paige had led a charmed social life, but after the fiasco of the school dance, she and Astrid had avoided each other, their friendship over without a word exchanged.

“That was a long time ago. I don’t want to bother her.” Paige shrugged. “I’ll check into a hotel.” And use up a few more of her precious dollars.

Owen fell silent again. Unnerved, she turned to pick up her handbag, which she’d tossed on the bed.

“You can stay the night.”

His abrupt offer had her swiveling back. “Excuse me?”

“It’s late,” he said gruffly. “Stay the night. You can organize something in the morning.”

She pursed her lips. “You don’t have to sound like you’re having your teeth pulled.”

“You know me. Mr. Charming. Well?”

What choice did she have? “I’ll stay, then.” Slowly she inclined her head. “Thank you.”

A dimple flashed in his cheek for a second. “Now who sounds like she’s having her teeth pulled?”

Paige blinked. “Did you just smile at me?”

“Me? Smile? Nope, must have been a muscle tic.”

He
had
smiled at her. Owen had never been a big smiler. But just for a second there, his smile had transformed his face, making him younger, friendlier, sweeter. Oh Lord, what was she thinking? Owen was
not
a sweet guy. When she was sixteen, he’d pulled her behind the ferns in the pool house and kissed her without warning. For weeks he’d shadowed her, repeating that kiss, and then he’d gate-crashed her high school dance and embarrassed her in front of her date and her entire class. He was not sweet. He’d been a pox on her adolescence.

“You’re giving me the stink eye.” His voice cut through her turbulent memories. “
You
should smile more often.”

“I smile plenty when I have a reason to.”

“No need to get all snippy. I just offered you a bed for the night, remember? I even brought your suitcases upstairs. They’re outside the door.”

“So you suspected I might need a bed?” That was sweet of him—no, she had to stop thinking that.

“It’s a big house. Plenty of spare bedrooms.”

“And where are you sleeping?” A disturbing possibility crossed her mind. “You’re not…you’re not using my parents’ bedroom, are you?”

The corner of his lip curled. “Don’t worry. Your parents’ bedroom felt like a concert hall to me. I’m using one of the smaller guest suites. Does that make you happy?”

“I’m sure you’re more comfortable there.” Her words came out more stiffly than she’d intended.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to put on too many airs and graces. Who knows when I might lose everything?”

She gritted her teeth. “Precisely. You never know what might happen in the future.”

“True. But if I suddenly became penniless, I could always go back to cleaning pools. I haven’t forgotten that.”

The dangerous sheen in his eyes warned her. He hadn’t forgotten anything that had passed between them fourteen long years ago, even though she’d made such an effort to erase the events from her memory. Why couldn’t he let the past go like she had? Why did he have to needle her with it? She’d suffered too, thanks to him.

Words burst from her mouth, born of frustration, humiliation, exhaustion. “Once a pool boy, always a pool boy, I suppose?”

The pupils in his eyes shrank to pinpricks as his expression chilled. Why was she so mean to Owen? Suddenly her heart was pattering all over the place. Was he going to change his mind and throw her out of the house? His mouth flattened to a thin line.

“Good night, princess,” he bit out and left the room.

Chapter Two

He was a first class idiot. But then, Paige Kerrigan had always had that effect on him.

Owen punched his fist into one of the cushions strewn across the couch. He was in the den at the back of the Kerrigan mansion. When he’d hired his interior decorator, he’d been too busy—and not interested enough—to give her more than brief instructions and a tight deadline. She’d chosen furnishings in keeping with the grand mansion, but some of the touches were too fussy for him, like these silly scatter cushions.

He hurled the puffy cushion away from him. That’s what he should have done with Paige’s expensive luggage. Chucked the suitcases out of the house, followed by Paige, her ash-blond hair flying all over her pale, supercilious face.

Once a pool boy, always a pool boy
.

Even when she was down and out, Paige knew just how to needle him.

Well, dammit, he wasn’t her pool boy anymore. He was a partner in a thriving company, making more money than he knew what to do with. And he was back here in Burronga to make an impact. When his real estate agent had told him the Kerrigan place was up for rent, he couldn’t believe his luck. He’d snapped it up, undeterred by the outrageous rent. Not that he’d been plotting his revenge on the Kerrigan family like some twisted villain, but there’d always been a festering rawness when he remembered his time here, so when the opportunity came, he’d reacted instinctively.

Only, he hadn’t experienced much satisfaction since moving in last week. Wandering around the mansion had brought back painful reminders of his late father. Unlike Owen, Derek Bellamy had never resented the Kerrigans. The car accident that had claimed his wife had left him with permanent brain trauma. Unable to return to his carpentry business, he’d been grateful for the caretaker’s job that Edward Kerrigan, Paige’s father, had offered him. But then, he’d never been the same after that car accident, never fully recovered his memories of the wife he’d loved, the family they’d had.

Owen remembered everything—his mother laughing, his father telling silly jokes, his baby sister Natasha gurgling and clapping her hands. They had been an ordinary, happy family until the day his dad had flipped his truck driving Owen’s mother to work in a hurry because he had an urgent job waiting. At least Natasha had been too young to remember those hard times. Now she was growing up fast, almost sixteen, the same age Owen had been when they’d moved into the caretaker’s cottage on the Kerrigan estate.

Tormented by his memories, Owen quit the den to prowl restlessly around the house. As if they had a mind of their own, his legs took him to the conservatory, where he circled the pool.

Here, many years ago, Paige and her school friends had giggled and gossiped and cast sly looks at him as he cleaned the pool. It seemed they always appeared when he had to check the chlorine levels, skim leaves out of the water dropped by the golden trumpet vine, or untangle the suction cleaner. He would try to ignore Paige and her clique, but without much luck. From the very beginning, her ice-maiden beauty had mesmerized him, tormented him. And she had known about his tongue-tied admiration and used it to torture him.

While he worked on the pool, Paige would saunter about the conservatory, her bikini-clad arse wiggling at him, causing him to choke. She’d seldom speak to him except to ask him to open the windows or fetch her a clean towel, always in that cool, don’t-give-a-damn, upper-class voice of hers.

Here, in a corner of the conservatory, were the potted ferns where one day, driven half mad by her flaunting and teasing and his surging adolescent hormones, he’d grabbed her by the wrist, drawn her into the foliage, and kissed her. Hard. She’d pulled free and slapped him across the face, her cheeks burning with outrage, before stalking off. But she hadn’t told her parents, and for a second or two during that stolen, outrageous kiss, he could have sworn her lips had responded to his.

What followed had been the strangest two weeks of his life. Two weeks he’d regretted ever since. Two weeks that had ended in total humiliation at the hands of Paige Kerrigan.

But now things were different. Now the tables were turned. Now he had the opportunity for a little payback. They said revenge was a dish best served cold. Well, his dish had been cooling for fourteen years.

…

Early the next morning, Paige slowly drifted back to consciousness. Cocooned by luxurious sheets and pillows, she felt cozy, safe, and comfortable. But a second later, everything came howling back, and the warmth ebbed away to be replaced by dull nausea in the hollow of her stomach.

She was trespassing in her own home, and she’d have to leave today. With a groan, she pulled the sheet over her head. Where could she go? Perhaps she’d risk her chances with Great-Aunt Lucinda. Did the carping relative know her parents had been forced to rent out their home?

At the thought of her parents, she smacked her palm against her forehead before jumping out of bed. How silly of her not to have tried to contact her mother last night! Her mother would be furious to find out Owen Bellamy was occupying her house. Maybe there was some way Crystal could get rid of him, some clause in the rental agreement he’d violated.

Paige’s fingers shook as she snatched up the phone on her nightstand and dialed her mother’s mobile number. Her parents were on a cruise in the Caribbean. She hadn’t the faintest idea what time it was over there, but this was an emergency. The call instantly went to voicemail. Sighing in frustration, Paige left a brief message before hanging up. It was no use trying to explain everything or leaving a contact number. She didn’t have a mobile phone anymore, and she had no idea where she’d be by this evening.

That thought chilled her even further. In an effort to keep the panic at bay, she sprang into action. A long shower in her en suite bathroom revived her. Afterward, she styled her hair and made up her face before dressing in a pair of skinny white jeans, a printed silk top, high-heeled white sandals, and a judicious amount of silver jewelry. Even if Owen was expelling her, she’d show him she hadn’t lost everything.

At a measured pace, she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen. There was no one around. The counters and sinks were cleared, the stove untouched, the fruit bowl empty. She opened the fridge, hoping to find some orange juice, but it held only a carton of milk, a half loaf of bread, and some Chinese takeaway leftovers.

“Morning.” Owen’s greeting came from close behind her.

She jerked around, nerves screeching at his sudden appearance. “I didn’t hear you creeping up.”

“I wasn’t creeping.” He looked miffed. “Must be these sneakers of mine.”

His chain-store canvas shoes were identical to the ones he’d worn in his pool boy days. His no-name brand jeans were faded, and not in a fashionable way. Clearly Owen didn’t place much importance on his clothes, even though money was no object to him these days.

“Where are you going in that getup?” He eyed her immaculate appearance with faint derision. “Off to do lunch at the country club with the girls?”

“I wouldn’t meet the country club’s dress code in this ‘getup.’” She wafted her polished fingernails at herself. “They’re very particular about who they let in.”

“I’m sure they’d make an exception for you, seeing as you’re a Kerrigan.”

She lifted a shoulder before changing the subject. “What’s happened to Daphne?”

“Daphne?”

“The housekeeper. Judging by the contents of the fridge, she hasn’t been around lately. She always makes sure the house is well-stocked.”

“Your mother fired her.”

“
Fired
her?” She winced.

“Well, maybe ‘let her go’ is the more polite term.”

Frowning, Paige continued, “You should get her back. She’s been with us for ages, and she knows how to keep this place running smoothly.” She indicated their Spartan surroundings. “You need a housekeeper.”

“Yeah, I realize that. I tried to rehire Daphne, but she’s moved on to a much better job. So I’m in the market for a housekeeper, and as a matter of fact I have a candidate in mind.” Folding his arms, he rested his hip against the kitchen counter. “You.”

She couldn’t have heard right. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

She felt her jaw slowly sagging. “
Me?
”

“Don’t look so shocked. What’s so incredible about hiring you?”

“But…but…” Damn, she must resemble a goldfish the way she was sputtering. “Why me?”

“Because I need a housekeeper and you need a job.”

He made it sound so logical, this—this outrageous proposition. She, Paige Kerrigan, a housekeeper? In her own house? How dare he! Blood thumped in her eardrums. “You’re just doing this to humiliate me,” she burst out.

“Now why would I want to do that?” His voice lowered, deceptively calm.

“Because you want to exact your revenge.”

“Hmm, revenge. So you think I have grounds for revenge?”

“Oh, don’t pretend,” she said. “Admit it. You want payback for what happened to you when we were teenagers. You’ve never forgotten, and you’ve been nursing this grudge ever since. And now you think you can get back at me by making me your drudge. Well, it won’t work. I may be down on my luck, but I still have my pride. Good-bye, Owen. I won’t trouble you a minute more.”

Head held high, she brushed past him and strode out of the kitchen. Unfortunately, with her eyes directed upward, she failed to register the rug on the floor, which caught at her stiletto heels and sent her tumbling onto all fours.

“Hell,” she muttered, gasping in pain and surprise. Gingerly she eased over onto her butt so she could massage her wrists, which had jarred against the terra-cotta tiles.

Frowning with concern, Owen crouched down beside her, his hands skimming lightly over her ankles. “Anything broken?”

“No.” Except for her dignity. “Just sore bones and ruined jeans.” Ruefully she glanced at the once-pristine denim, now smudged around the knees.

“You shouldn’t wear such high heels if you’re going to walk around with your nose stuck up like that.”

“I was not…!” She blew out an exasperated sigh as conflicted sensations assailed her. Owen’s fingers on her ankles were disturbingly pleasurable, his touch warm and gentle. Unsettled, she shifted her feet, and his hands immediately withdrew.

“Here, let me help you up.” Before she could protest, he hitched his hands under her elbows and boosted her to her feet. He led her to a chair by the table.

“Thanks.” She sank into the seat.

“No worries. Take all the time you need.” He took the chair next to her. “Do you have a taxi booked already? I could call them to postpone until you’ve recovered.”

“No…no taxi.” She concentrated on her wrists so she wouldn’t have to meet Owen’s eyes. “I, er, called my mother this morning and left a message. She might call the house later on.”

“I see.” His eyes took on that penetrating glint she’d come to know too well. “Trying to get me kicked out? It won’t work. The rental agreement is sewn up tighter than a miser’s wallet.”

She chewed her lip. “I just want to know why they rented out the house without telling me.” Only when the words had tumbled out did she catch the childish neediness in her tone. She was used to her father not telling her anything—he’d always been distant and absent a lot of the time—but her mother was the opposite. At times, Crystal’s attention had almost been suffocating. “It’s not like them at all.”

“I’m sure they had their reasons.”

Could her parents be in financial difficulty? It seemed impossible. Her mother’s TV talk show had been on the air for years. Her father was a respected management consultant and had inherited a fortune, including this house, from his parents. They couldn’t be short of money; there had to be another explanation.

In the ensuing silence, her own predicament returned to the fore. Her parents weren’t around to help her. She had to rescue herself, and right now the only possible means of salvation was sitting right in front of her.

She swallowed hard to get rid of the bilious sting at the back of her throat. “I’m only looking for a temporary situation,” she said, keeping her tone offhand. “Just a month or so until I get myself organized and move back to Sydney.”

Owen’s eyebrows rose. “So you
are
interested in the housekeeper position?”

“I don’t see why not.” She gave a couldn’t-care-less shrug. “It suits us both.”

He didn’t say anything, just rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Well, now. What housekeeping experience do you have?”

She stared at him. “You’re
interviewing
me?”

“I need to figure out what your pay scale should be.”

She frowned. “You know I’ve never been a housekeeper, but how hard can it be? You buy groceries, fetch dry cleaning, organize cleaners, pay bills, answer the phone.”

“So you think it’s an easy job?”

“Maybe not, but I believe I’m capable enough.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” he said darkly. “You’ll have to cook me breakfast every day.”

“I—I’m not a chef.” She’d never been interested in cooking and never had the need to learn. “What kind of meals do you expect?”

“I want a properly cooked breakfast—freshly squeezed orange juice, poached eggs, toast, coffee, etcetera. Seven o’clock every day.”

Seven o’clock.
Cripes, she was barely awake at that time of day. “Sure, no problem.”

“Sometimes I’ll also have guests over for dinner, but then you can organize meals from a local restaurant.”

The image of Owen Bellamy entertaining his friends in her home made her balk. But she merely nodded. “Will you be having any regular guests to stay? Female friends, perhaps?”

He shot her a barbed look. “I can take care of my female friends myself.”

I’m sure you can
. How many “female friends” did Owen have? Plenty of women went for that brooding, taciturn, blue-collar vibe. Not her, though. No, she preferred someone more sophisticated.
Like Seth?
a sly voice hissed in her head. She sighed. Yes, her ex-husband had been all class.

“My sister will also be staying here some weekends,” Owen said.