One Real Man (Entangled Bliss) ) (7 page)

She pressed a hand to her stomach, her lungs aching for air. “I never laughed at you behind your back,” she said huskily. “I never told anyone about…about us.”

Owen blinked, startled. “You didn’t?”

She shook her head.

He plowed his fingers through his hair, some of his ire evaporating. “I don’t understand, then. Why did you go to that dance with Eric Jensen? What did I do to deserve that?”

It wasn’t anything he’d done, but rather what she was afraid
she’d
do if they carried on meeting in secret. The magic of his kisses, the thrill of his hands caressing her, the blood-tingling fire in his eyes as they devoured her—all so wild and irresistible, luring her further and further into dangerous, uncharted territory. Even now she could barely admit this to herself, never mind telling him.

“You didn’t do anything, but it was time to call a halt.”

Instantly his chin jerked up. “Oh yeah? So when you coolly say it’s all over, that’s it? I don’t get a say? I’m just supposed to go along with whatever you decide?”

Her stomach snarled. Without thinking, she burst out, “Oh, come on, Owen. What did you expect? Did you think I’d take
you
to the school dance?”

She’d never meant to say it that way, but it was too late to recall her words. Owen’s face chilled to granite.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact I did.” His shirt tightened as he folded his arms, biceps like rock. “I thought you would take me instead of some smarmy, wimpy pretty boy.”

She swallowed, her throat like sand. Eric Jensen had been everything Owen wasn’t—smooth, charming, rich…and most importantly, safe. Even though he had every girl at school swooning over him, he hadn’t once troubled her pulse rate. She’d gone with him to the school dance because he’d asked her, and everyone would think her insane if she turned him down. But mostly she’d done it because she was desperate to break free of her warped fascination for the brooding pool boy, and Eric Jensen was the quickest way of getting her message across.

But she couldn’t confess any of this to Owen. She twisted her head sideways, unable to bear his accusing glare any longer. “Why are you still hung up on this?” She waved her hands impatiently. “It happened so long ago. What does it matter anymore?”

“It matters to me. You thought you could use me and toss me aside like a dirty tissue. And then when I turned up at the dance, you acted like I was a dangerous thug so you could get rid of me.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You treated me like garbage. It matters.”

“You—you were causing a scene.” Her throat was so tight she had trouble breathing.

She and Eric had been dancing when Owen had suddenly thrust himself between them. Ignoring Eric’s protests, he’d focused on her, demanding she talk to him, and when she refused, he’d grown louder until the teachers had intervened. She remembered the searing embarrassment that had engulfed her as the other students watched on avidly. She remembered the smug censure from Astrid and the chagrined coolness from Eric. Of course the gossip had reached her mother’s ears and resulted in a Big Scene, where Paige had had to relive the humiliation all over again. If Owen had set out to knock her off her perch, he couldn’t have chosen a better way.

But as she looked at him now, she glimpsed the hurt in him hidden beneath the suffusing anger, and the discovery made her heart pang in a novel, disturbing way. He’d suffered, too. Her mother had wanted to fire Owen’s father, but for once Paige’s father had intervened and refused to get rid of the blameless caretaker. Owen’s decision to move to Sydney seemed to solve the problem, and any guilt she’d felt about that had been overwhelmed by relief that the whole sordid episode was over. But it wasn’t over for Owen, she saw. After all these years he still bore the scars from that dance, and she was responsible—mostly. The realization felt like a needle in her chest.

“I guess I was partly to blame,” she said, the words stiff, reluctant. His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything, so she forced herself to continue, “I should have ended things with you before the dance, told you about Eric. That was my fault.”

He exhaled slowly and the shutters seemed to come down on his expression, as if he’d hoped she’d say something else. “Yes, that was your fault.” He riffled his fingers through his hair again, looking perplexed. “But you should have known you couldn’t stir me up the way you did without some consequences.”

She nodded. “I know that now.”

“Do you? Because I’m not sure you do, judging by that foot thing you just did.” He waggled his finger at her bare feet, the warning glint back in his eyes. “You can’t tease me and think you can get away with it. I’m not your sixteen-year-old pool boy. You start flirting with me again, I’m going to react, and you might not find me so easy to handle this time.”

All the air seemed to be trapped in her lungs. She couldn’t breathe in or out. All she could do was stare at Owen’s set expression and know he meant business. The thought of handling him, of him handling her, sent her blood pressure soaring. A minute ago she hadn’t just enjoyed teasing him—deep down, she’d wanted him to respond. She’d wanted him to lose control and grab her, kiss her. Again. Good God, she still had the hots for the grown-up pool boy. Still couldn’t help herself around him.

She managed to rest one hand on her hip, casual-like. “Oh please, I was just joshing you back there. Don’t take it seriously.”

He frowned, looking confused, and rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache coming on. “I’m not the smooth type. When it comes to women, I don’t go in for games.”

“What do you go for in women, then?”

As he blinked in surprise, she gave herself a mental head slap. Why ask him such a leading question? But nevertheless she found herself hanging on for his answer.

“I like a woman who’s straightforward,” he said slowly. “Someone who’s natural, confident, easygoing, friendly.”

Sounded like a Labrador. She bit her lip. “Looks-wise?”

“Looks aren’t important.”

“Uh, well, that’s a lie.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Men who say looks aren’t important are just plain lying. Or else they’re blind. Which you aren’t.”

He scratched the underside of his chin for a few moments, contemplating her seriously. “Okay, let’s just say looks aren’t as important as character. In fact, for me there’s no faster turnoff than a woman who puts her looks first. I can’t stand those fake Barbie doll types who spend all their time checking themselves in mirrors.”

“Are you having a dig at me?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

He cocked his head sideways, clearly enjoying her indignation. “Well, Paige, you do look like the high-maintenance type. That hair of yours screams salon treatments, your clothes are all designer stuff, and you’re never without your makeup.”

She shook her hair back, reminded that she’d soon need another salon treatment that she couldn’t afford. “It’s not a crime to have some pride in one’s appearance.”

“I didn’t say it was. But you don’t need to spend a fortune on your appearance. Without all that primping you’d look even more beautiful.”

She stared at Owen, dazed by his compliment. It was a compliment, wasn’t it? A backhanded kind of compliment. He’d called her beautiful, despite her primping. What was the matter with her? Plenty of men had admired her; she knew how to handle praise. So why did Owen’s make her so tongue-tied? Damn, she didn’t care for the feeling.

“You say that now, but you’d be horrified if I let myself go.” She was lucky enough to have good bone structure and a lean frame, but she had to work on the rest.
Don’t ever let your appearance slide
, her mother had always drummed into her.
That’s a slippery slope to oblivion and loneliness.
Crystal never let up on her beauty regimen, and Paige had been raised with the same rules. “Maintaining my appearance is important to me and my career. My public relations career.”

His eyes traveled up and down her length, critical, as if he wanted to rearrange her. Her mother used to study her like that, too, but she could see Owen’s thoughts were veering in the opposite direction. “I guess you’ve been brought up that way, and you’ll never change.”

Her heart dipped. She’d grown accustomed to her mother’s constant critiques, but Owen’s was different altogether.

“Who says I want to change?” she retorted, stung by his assessment.

He shrugged, cooling, withdrawing from her. “Just a thought, seeing how your life hasn’t turned out the way you expected.”

“It’s just a little speed bump. My life will get back on track soon enough.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Of course.” She arched her eyebrows. “What else?”

His shoulders were stiff again.
He
was her speed bump, she thought, annoyed by him. And she
would
get over him very quickly.

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”

There was an odd finality to his words, and silence fell again. Owen picked up the long-handled net. Paige pushed her feet into her shoes.

“Good night.” Paige turned toward the glass doors leading out onto the patio. From there she would follow the stone path down the garden and through to the rhododendron walk, where her cottage huddled.

Her hand was on the doorknob when Owen said, “Paige, wait.”

She paused and turned.

The net hung loosely from his hand, dripping onto the stone flagging. “I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly. “It’s not fair to put you in the caretaker’s cottage. You’re not used to that sort of thing. You can move back into your old bedroom here, first thing tomorrow morning.”

Her shoulder blades clicked as her back stiffened. He meant well, she realized, but it was also kind of insulting.

“Oh, no thanks. I wouldn’t want you thinking I was high maintenance or anything.”

“Look, that wasn’t…” He exhaled loudly and pressed his lips together. “Do you want your old bedroom or not?”

Oh Lord, of course she wanted her old bedroom. Of course she wanted plush carpet, a decent-sized bed, a moth-free closet, and a proper bathroom. She wanted all that, but not enough to stomach the satisfied gleam that would no doubt appear in Owen’s eyes the second she accepted.

“I don’t,” she airily declared. “I’m enjoying giving the cottage a makeover. You don’t mind if I get some paint and wallpaper for it, do you?”

He frowned at her. “Use the credit card, but if the cottage needs work then you shouldn’t be there. Move back into the house.”

She shook her head. She didn’t realize she could be so stubborn, but something about Owen made her hell-bent on staying in the cottage. “It’s not my house anymore. I’ll stick to the cottage.”

“But are you sure you’re up to it? Those nails of yours aren’t meant for painting or wallpapering.”

She waggled her nails. After her trip to the budget nail salon they didn’t look too bad. “They’re not meant for scrubbing bathrooms and loading dishwashers either, but I’ve managed.”

Still Owen appeared skeptical. “We’ll see. If you need any help with the cottage, ask Wilko.”

She gave a noncommittal nod, doubting that the vinegary geezer would be willing to help her. She’d redo the cottage by herself and show Owen she wasn’t just a decorative piece. Why that was so important to her, she didn’t care to examine too closely.

Chapter Five

“Well? What do you think?” From his driver’s seat, Owen twisted around to gauge his sister’s reaction to the Kerrigan house. It was Saturday morning, and he’d picked up Natasha from her boarding school just outside Burronga for her first visit to his new home.

Natasha glanced about and shrugged. “Oh, yeah, it looks cool.”

Owen steered his car up the driveway. The house gleamed like a jewel embedded in a cushion of clipped gardens. “There’s an indoor pool and a home theater room.”

“Mm, like Gretel’s house, except she also has stables and a dressage ring. She invited me there next weekend, did I tell you?”

Owen suppressed a sigh. He didn’t like the way her lukewarm reaction to the house got to him. Part of the reason for leasing this place was Natasha. He wanted her to be bowled over by the new home. But it seemed it was nothing special to her because all her friends had mansions, too. One of the side effects of sending her to an elite school like Argyle House.

As soon as he brought the car to a halt, Natasha sprang out and headed for the house, leaving Owen to carry her oversize duffel bag. It felt very heavy for just a weekend stay.

Inside, she seemed more impressed by the soaring foyer and the sweeping staircase. “This is all right.” She nodded, twirling about as she inspected the crystal chandelier above them.

Owen dumped her bag on the floor and watched his sister. Sixteen and fast growing into a beauty, she had long, shiny brown hair, a pert face, and a slender frame. She also wore way too much eyeliner and mascara, and her hem showed off a lot of leg. He frowned at the skirt. Wasn’t it too short for a sixteen-year-old? He was contemplating saying something when Paige appeared. She had an apron over her jeans, her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a rag and a tin of something in her hands. Natasha slowly stopped spinning when she saw Paige.

Owen made the introductions. “This is my sister, Natasha. Natasha, this is Paige Kerrigan, the housekeeper.”

“Hello,” Paige said with a polite smile.

“Hi.” Natasha waved, not paying much attention as she reached for the beeping mobile phone in her pocket.

“It’s Saturday,” Owen said to Paige. “You don’t need to do any cleaning today.”

She held up the tin of furniture wax. “There were some marks on the dining table from last night.”

“You’ve hired a cleaning service, haven’t you? Let them take care of it.” For some reason the idea of Paige cleaning up after last night’s party irked him.

“They start next week. It’s better to clean the wood as soon as possible.”

Now she was giving him housekeeping tips? He started to say something but was interrupted as Natasha whirled back to him, her face alight with eagerness. “Can Gretel come over this afternoon? She wants to see my room.” She beamed a winning grin at him. “Pleeeze?”

Owen sighed. He’d been looking forward to spending time with his sister, but he guessed sixteen-year-olds had other priorities. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

Natasha squealed, shot off a reply on her phone, then looped her arm through Owen’s. “Show me my room.” She dragged him to the staircase. “I hope it has an en suite bathroom and a nice view and lots of closet space…” Pausing, she glanced at her weekend bag still on the floor and then at Paige. “Oh, Paige, would you mind…”

Paige blinked, looking puzzled for a moment before a faint blush rose in her cheeks. “Of course,” she murmured, moving toward the bag.

Before she reached it, Owen had already scooped it up. “Got it.” He tugged at Natasha’s sleeve. “Your room’s this way.” He couldn’t get his sister away from Paige fast enough. He was embarrassed, he realized. Embarrassed at how Natasha was treating Paige.

“You do know who Paige is, don’t you?” he asked when they were alone upstairs. “She used to live in this house with her parents when Dad was the caretaker, remember?”

“Oh, right…” Natasha nodded. “I thought she looked a bit funny for a housekeeper. But how come she’s working for you now? Did she lose all her money?”

“Something like that.”

“That sucks.” Any other opinion Natasha might have had was lost as they entered her bedroom and she let out a squawk of delight. She rushed about, inspecting every corner of her new domain, while Owen watched with a smile, gratified by her response. “Not bad, not bad at all,” she pronounced, bouncing up and down on the sleigh bed that she’d requested. “It’s just as big as Gretel’s room.”

Owen was fast growing tired of that girl’s name. “Why am I hearing so much about this Gretel? What happened to your old friends?”

“I still see them now and then.” Natasha waved her hand. “But I don’t have much time since Gretel and I started hanging out.” She burbled on about her new friend for what felt like an hour to Owen. From what he could determine, Gretel was a kingpin in the dynamics of the boarding school, and to be allowed into her inner orbit was a real honor. He didn’t like the sound of Gretel but held his tongue, unwilling to criticize too early.

“I gotta sort out my clothes!” Natasha unzipped her duffel bag and pulled out a plastic bag bulging with garments. “Is Paige still downstairs? I need this laundry done in a hurry.”

Owen straightened up from the wall he’d been leaning against. “If you’re in a hurry, you can do it yourself. The laundry room is downstairs next to the kitchen.”

“But I don’t have time and I don’t know how,” Natasha wailed. “And why hire a housekeeper if you’re not going to use her?”

Was his sister turning into a spoiled brat? Owen tried to check his rising temper. “Come on, Natasha. It’s not hard doing your own laundry. I’ll show you how to use the washing machine.”

“Do I have to?” She huffed before she realized Owen wasn’t kidding. “Oh, all right,” she grumped, heaving the bag of dirty clothes into her arms.

In the laundry room she followed his instructions, looking bored and impatient, but afterward when he showed her the rest of the house, including the conservatory housing the pool, she perked up.

“Nice.” Natasha nodded her approval with the pool. “I can wear my new bikini.”

“I don’t want any wild parties in here,” Owen said quickly, imagining the conservatory teeming with rowdy teenagers, but at his sister’s crestfallen expression he relented. He wanted her to have friends over, and the pool house was made for entertaining. He added, “At least, not until I’ve met a few of your friends.”

“Oh, you’ll like Gretel,” she replied with supreme confidence. “Everyone does.”

I’m not everyone
. Owen tried to tamp down his reaction. Why was he being such a grouch? He’d always wanted the best for his little sister. She’d had it tough growing up without their mother and then losing their dad when she was ten. Their dad’s cousin had looked after her because Owen was working crazy hours in Sydney and in no position to take care of her, but he’d tried his hardest to give her every possible advantage. When she was fourteen he’d enrolled her at the exclusive Argyle House and paid for all her extracurricular activities like horse riding lessons and ski trips to Japan. She’d never wanted for anything.

And if she took his wealth for granted, wasn’t that good? Wasn’t that better than the way he’d grown up, underprivileged and yearning for what he couldn’t have? Wasn’t it preferable that she didn’t have to claw her way to the top? It was, he decided. Natasha was a great kid and a little spoiling wouldn’t ruin her.

Gretel arrived midafternoon. Natasha behaved like an overzealous puppy around her friend, while the perfectly groomed Gretel was laid back, unfazed by the house or Owen’s presence.

“Hiya,” she greeted him with a casual finger wave before Natasha dragged her upstairs.

Another pampered princess, Owen thought as he retired to his study to do some work. Another spitting image of sixteen-year-old Paige the way she’d given his jeans and T-shirt the once-over and indicated by the faintest of sniffs that they were lacking in style. Well, Gretel could eat his shorts.

He lost himself in some paperwork, only resurfacing when he became aware of the noise coming from the pool house, which sat across a courtyard from his study. Music blared, girls squealed, water splashed. It sounded like Natasha had invited her entire class over despite his wishes. The back of his skull began to ache. Hell, living with a teenager was proving harder than he’d reckoned. Priming himself for an onslaught of teenagers, he loped to the conservatory to find only Natasha and Gretel there. He shook his head. How could just two girls generate such a ruckus?

Gretel lounged on one of the daybeds while Natasha sashayed up and down in time to the music.

“Told you that bikini would look good on you, Tash,” Gretel drawled. “Finn is going to go wild when he sees you at my pool party.”

Owen felt a giant scowl knitting his forehead. Why did Gretel call his sister “Tash”? And no way was he letting his baby sister prance around in that skimpy bikini for a boy called Finn! He marched into the pool house.

“Oh, hi.” Gretel waved at him languidly.

Natasha halted, a guilty expression flitting across her face quickly replaced by bravado. Jutting her hip, she struck a pose in front of him. “Like my new bikini?”

He drew in a breath, ready to unleash his lecture, but before he could Paige brushed past him carrying a pile of fresh white towels. She plumped them on the table next to Natasha and rested hands on hips. “Here you go. Clean towels for everyone.” There was the faintest trace of exasperation in her voice.

“Thanks.” Natasha glanced uncertainly at Gretel, then back at Paige. “Uh, we’d like a bowl of popcorn, please. And a couple of Cokes, too.”

Owen saw Paige inhaling deeply, just as he had a second ago. Her shoulders rose, the ends of her ponytail quivered, her lips thinned. “Sure…”

“No.” The word snapped out of him like a gunshot. He walked over to the stereo and yanked the cord from the socket, plunging the pool room into silence. Turning, he fixed his gaze on his nervous-looking sister. “Last time I checked you weren’t paralyzed. If you want popcorn and Cokes you can fetch them yourself from the kitchen. And that goes for pool towels, too.” He was conscious of Gretel staring at him, and Natasha making a fish mouth at him, but he didn’t stop. “Paige is not here to be at your beck and call, understood?”

A red tide of mortification overwhelmed Natasha’s face. “I j-just asked for a few things! And Paige didn’t seem to mind.”

That was the other thing bugging him. Why did Paige go along with his sister’s Lady Muck behavior? She had no trouble telling him to go stick it, so why not Natasha?

“
I
mind,” he growled.

An ornery look came over Natasha. “She’s the housekeeper, isn’t she? That’s her job.”

Natasha did a defiant hair toss while Gretel looked on, avid. Paige just stood there, hands behind her back, looking like she took orders every day. Something rose in Owen’s throat, something irate and frustrated. He felt like grabbing the towels and hurling them into the pool. Hell, why was he so confused all of a sudden? Paige
was
his housekeeper, and fetching towels and snacks was what he paid her to do. Nothing complicated about that. But something about his sister’s behavior sent his temper over the edge.

He glowered at Natasha. “Is that what they teach you at that fancy school of yours? Do I spend forty grand a year so you can learn how to treat people like crap? If this is how you behave nowadays then I’m pulling you out of Argyle House and sending you to the local high school. Maybe that’ll bring you down a peg or two.”

Her cheeks turned white. “You wouldn’t,” she choked out. “I couldn’t stand going to the local school. Ugh!”

“I went to that school, and there’s nothing wrong with it.” His temples were pounding. “You might learn a little humility there.”

Natasha’s shoulders heaved. “You’re horrible. I hate you! I wish you’d never moved back here.” Bursting into tears, she ran from the conservatory.

Without a word Gretel rose to her feet, glared at Owen, and followed after Natasha. In the sudden silence, he shifted his attention to Paige.

She tilted her head to one side. She didn’t seem too affected by the argument. “Well, that’s going to cost you. I’d say a Prada bag at the very least.”

He massaged his temples. “What?”

“Or maybe you’ll have to go the whole hog. A weekend shopping trip to Sydney. You’ll hate it, but at least you’ll get to spend some time with her.”

“You’re talking about Natasha? Why the hell would I want to reward her bad behavior?”

“Um, let’s see…” Paige tapped a finger against her chin. “You humiliated her in front of the queen bee, you threatened to drag her away from the home she’s had for several years, and you’re willing to throw her in with a bunch of kids who’d poke fun at her and make her life a misery. So, yeah, I think you have some making up to do.”

He hauled in a few much-needed breaths. “Why are you defending her? She behaved like a brat, ordering you to fetch towels and drinks for her. She treated you just like…”

“Like I treated you?” She arched an eyebrow. “Is that why you went so hard on her? Because she reminded you of me?”

“Yes,” he growled, feeling cornered and not knowing why. “But why am I the bad guy in this? I’m just trying to teach my sister a few life lessons.”

She straightened the towels, not answering him right away. “You need to be more diplomatic about it, not such a bull in a china shop.”

“Huh, well there’s nothing diplomatic about that statement.”

“Oh, Owen,
we’re
way past diplomacy.”

He jutted out his jaw. “Natasha knows what I’m like. I call a spade a spade.”

“She’s sixteen. Girls that age are very sensitive about how they appear in front of their peers.”

Not just girls. Boys were sensitive, too. He had the memory of Eric Jensen and his mates snickering as he was manhandled from the school hall etched into his brain for all eternity. Paige was right, dammit. He should have taken Natasha aside before criticizing her, not chew her out in front of Gretel. He’d behaved like a Neanderthal and lost the advantage of being in the right.

He uttered a part groan, part sigh. “How do I buy a bloody Prada bag and how much should I spend?”