One Real Man (Entangled Bliss) ) (9 page)

But before he could find out, she pulled away from his grasp. She flattened her lips, blinked, and the moment was lost. She didn’t look lost or hurt anymore; she was back to being Princess Paige.

“I bought a new vase,” she said briskly, chin up.

He stared at her blankly.

She tapped the vase on the table. “I stopped by Ally’s gift store this afternoon and couldn’t resist this vase.”

“Yeah?” Slowly her words sunk in. “You visited Ally?”

“We had a little chat. I love her store. The roses came from the garden—don’t tell Wilkins.”

He really had to take more fish oil or something to make his brain work faster. Where had that soft, vulnerable version of Paige disappeared to? And now she’d been chatting with Ally? “I’m having a hard time imagining you and Ally together,” he confessed.

She rolled her eyes at him. “I bought a vase from her, that’s all. It’s not like we’re suddenly BFFs.” She repositioned the vase on the table. “I don’t have space for this while I’m painting the cottage, so I thought I’d leave it here in the meantime.”

With a brief nod at him, she left the room, her silk scarf floating over her shoulder, leaving Owen feeling as if he’d been grasping at smoke.

…

For once she was in a hurry to reach the caretaker’s cottage. It might be plain and barren, but it was away from Owen. As she entered, she caught her reflection in the small mirror hanging in the tiny hallway. Even in the unflattering glare of the naked lightbulb, she knew she looked good. This afternoon she’d dressed up, had her hair done. For the first time in ages she’d felt like her old self—confident, groomed, fortune tilting her way.

She’d even popped into Ally’s gift store and ended up having a surprisingly pleasant chat with Ally. The glass vase took her fancy, so she’d bought it without regard to her bank balance, as she used to do. She’d brought it home, filled it with flowers, and decided it was too nice for the half-finished cottage. So she’d gone to the main house and bumped into that sleazy old neighbor, Mr. Lethbridge.

But he wasn’t the reason she was agitated now. It was all Owen’s fault. When he confessed to knowing about that awful video, she hadn’t known where to look. Even if he was telling the truth about not having seen it, the fact that he knew mortified her beyond reason… And when he’d touched her hand again, her heart had surged with such incredible emotion: hope. Hope that he would make good the promise of his actions and kiss her for real this time. Hope, followed by shame at her desperation.

Luckily she’d drawn back and shown him she was still in control. But next time she might not have the mental fortitude.

She glanced at the paint cans in the corner. Why was she spending so much time fixing up the cottage when she should be trying to find a new job in Sydney? She’d been procrastinating, but she couldn’t put it off forever. And the way she’d wanted Owen to kiss her so badly made it more urgent to think about the future. Tonight she would spruce up her CV and use the internet to check out any potential jobs. Then tomorrow she should call her previous boss at Focus Marketing and set up a lunch meeting.

The less time she spent here in Burronga, the better.

…

Decrepit. Run-down. A dump.

A dozen adjectives milled in Owen’s head as he stood in front of the caretaker’s cottage. The roof and walls looked sound enough, but the building was grim and uninviting. While his father was alive, he’d kept the cottage and its surrounding patch of garden shipshape, but now the place wore an air of gloomy neglect. The faded front door stood ajar. As he stared at it, a faint shriek came from inside.

He barged his way inside, the memories receding. The living room was stripped of all furniture. Paige stood pressed up against one wall, frozen, her expression horrified.

“Paige?” He was at her side in an instant. “What is it?”

She gestured past him with a shaking finger. Glancing around, he could see nothing except a large moth fluttering against the window. “That?” he asked, a little confused. How could a harmless insect scare her that much?

“Yes.” She gulped and made a visible effort to control herself. “It flew out when I lifted a newspaper. I know it’s silly, but I have a fear of moths.”

Owen was about to say something, but the paleness of her complexion shut him up. He moved to the window and gently trapped the moth between his cupped hands. He walked outside to release it before returning to the living room.

“Thanks.” She pulled a self-deprecating face as color returned to her cheeks. “I really should get over my phobia.”

An uneasy memory came to him. “Is that why you yelled at Wilkins last week? Because you wanted bug spray for the moths?”

She nodded. “I went overboard then.”

If he’d known the reason behind her meltdown, he wouldn’t have chewed her out so much. He frowned as he recalled how furious he’d been with her. “You should have told me,” he said awkwardly. “I wouldn’t have lectured you.”

He gazed at her anew. She was dressed for labor in old jeans and a faded T-shirt, her hair bundled up beneath a polka-dot bandanna. Her hands and arms were dusty, while a smear of dirt graced one cheek. He swallowed, resisting the urge to wipe away the smudge with his thumb.

“I don’t like talking about it.” Shrugging, she walked over to a stepladder. Clearly the subject was over.

“This is the first time I’ve seen this place since I moved in.” He glanced about at the moldy cornices, rough walls, grimy windows. “I didn’t realize it was so run-down.” His unease grew as he pictured Paige moving in here. It must have seemed like a dungeon to her. He’d wanted to teach her a lesson in humility, but he’d gone too far.

“It wasn’t this bad when I was living here,” he felt compelled to say. Hell, why couldn’t he enjoy his revenge more? Maybe because he didn’t like being as callous as the Kerrigans had been to his family. Maybe because the moth had terrified her so much.

“I guess no one’s lived here since your dad passed away.” Using her forearm, she pushed away the hair that had fallen over her eyes.

“You can’t live here,” he said decisively. “You’ll move back into the main house. I insist.”

She didn’t seem to care for his authoritative tone. Resting one foot on the stepladder, she glanced about her. “I should have this room all prepped by the end of the day. Then I can start with the painting.”

“Since when do you know anything about prepping and painting?”

“Since I asked for advice at the hardware store. They gave me some pamphlets and all the right equipment. The guys there were really helpful.”

I’m sure they were
. He bit off the acid retort.
Of course she’d have the store men falling over themselves to help her
. He gave himself another mental kick. Shoot, he had to stop these jealous thoughts about Paige.

“Why do you want to do this at all? It’s not like you’re going to be here long.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe I need to prove something.”

“To me? Show me how petty I am for banishing you here?”

She rolled her eyes. “Hey, not everything’s about you.”

He smiled reluctantly. “Okay, so if not me, who, then?”

“Well, maybe it is you, just a little.” Picking up a rag, she slowly wiped her hands. “But mostly it’s for me. I need to prove to myself that I can do this. To most people painting a couple of rooms is probably no big deal, but to me…” She halted, and it was as if she suddenly remembered who she was talking to. Straightening, she tossed the rag aside, her introspective mood vanishing. “Actually, it
is
you. You sent me here to teach me a lesson, didn’t you? You thought I’d take one peek at the place and shriek in horror. You expected me to throw a tantrum and refuse to stay here. Well, I haven’t done any of that. I’ve stuck it out, and I’m going to turn this hovel into my own little castle.”

Why did she have to go all haughty on him? For a few moments there she’d been soft and open and vulnerable, and he’d loved seeing her like that, but now the icicles had returned.

“Okay, I tried to punish you, and it backfired. You don’t have to continue, though.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Your old bedroom at the house has screens in the windows. No moths there.”

For a moment she hesitated, but then her expression firmed. “No thanks.” Grabbing hold of the stepladder, she began to shove it toward a corner of the room.

He jumped forward to help her. “You’ll mess up your hair.” They were only inches apart, so close he could see the flecks of silver in her eyes that made them sparkle so mesmerizingly. Without a lick of makeup on, she looked young and tender.

“I’m not going to a soiree anytime soon.” She stopped and let her side of the stepladder thunk down. He followed suit, watching as she examined the ceiling above them where a cloud of mold bloomed. “I’ll have to get bleach onto that.”

Owen shook his head. “Let me do that for you.”

“Why? After cleaning your house, you don’t think I can handle a bit of mold?”

She had a point. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt protective of her; maybe after witnessing how she’d handled Councilor Lethbridge, he had a newfound respect for her.

“Okay, go ahead,” he said. “I’ll hold the ladder for you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Maybe, but I’ll hold it anyway.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “You just want an excuse to examine my butt.”

“Do I need an excuse?” He couldn’t help grinning.

The look she gave him was withering, but the spark in her eyes hinted she wasn’t completely offended. How could she be?
She’d
brought up the subject of her butt. She picked up a spray bottle and a fresh rag and mounted the ladder. As her denim-clad arse drew level with his eyes, he found himself gripping the ladder for mental support. Yeah, she had a fantastic bottom, all right. Whether in workaday denim or a racy bikini, it was pert and inviting, and having it just inches away from his face sent a rush of heat through his body. He’d seen plenty of cute bottoms, but this was Paige’s, and it was hypnotizing him.

“Why did you come here?” Paige’s voice floated down.

“Um?” There was a small tear in her jeans just below her butt, and each time she moved, he caught a glimpse of soft skin.

“To the cottage.” She started attacking the mold with her rag. “Did you come here for a reason?”

He twisted his neck up. She had one arm outstretched toward the ceiling, causing her T-shirt to ride up and reveal a slice of her abdomen. He stared, every optical nerve trained on the graceful arc of her stomach, the smoothness of her skin, the delicate structure of her rib cage. Paige was a dancer soaring to the sky, so near and yet so far. Her position above him, eyes focused upward, while he gazed after her, symbolized their whole relationship—if it could even be termed a relationship, this strange link between them.

“Owen?” As she looked down at him, he wondered if she could sense what was going through his mind, but she just rested her hand on her hip. “Is this just a social call?”

He cleared his throat, recalling why he’d wandered down here in the first place. “I told you I’d help you here, but I also came to tell you I’m having a couple of guests this weekend. They’ll be arriving Friday evening and staying until Sunday afternoon. I’d like you to make up two guest rooms, and I’ve got a list of shopping I need you to do.”

“Weekend guests.” She looked curious. “A boys’ weekend? Should I be warned of anything?”

“It’s my senior partner in the company, Jim McCarthy. He’s sixty-one and goes to bed at ten every night, so I don’t think you have to worry about a boys’ weekend.”

Jim McCarthy was more like an uncle to him than a business partner. It would be good to gain his input on their Bandicoot Creek project. They’d visit the site, pore over the plans, and argue over details.

“And the other guest?” Paige asked.

“Jim’s daughter, Heidi. She works for the company, too.” Guilt wormed in his stomach at the mention of Heidi. If only he’d handled the New Year’s Eve situation with her better.

“Is there anything special I should get for her? Some nice hand lotion, perhaps?”

“Um? No, thanks, but you don’t have to go out of your way. Heidi isn’t into that kind of girlie stuff.”

“I see.” Paige’s eyes narrowed. “What is she into, then? Dirt bikes and laser tag?”

Christ, now he’d managed to insult both women simultaneously. He focused his thoughts on Heidi McCarthy. He’d known her ever since he’d started his new life in Sydney. She was six years younger than him, kind, freckled, unpretentious.

“She likes cooking and knitting.”

Heidi was like another younger sister to him. If only she viewed him like an older brother.

“I see.” Paige gave him a long, cryptic stare, then, with a shrug of her shoulders, she lifted her spray bottle and gunned it at the patch of mold. “I hope they enjoy their stay.”

For several minutes she attacked the ceiling, her body rocking back and forth. Owen clamped his jaw as her hips swayed about, almost brushing his cheek. He’d stopped thinking about Heidi. He’d stopped thinking about anything except the woman wrecking his senses.

“Oof!” Breathing hard, she dropped her arms to her sides. “This is exhausting!”

She clomped down the ladder, flexing her limp arms, her face flushed with exertion. Strands of damp hair stuck to her forehead, and the smell of bleach clung to her clothes, but even tired and sweaty, to Owen she was a pearl.

“Let me help.”

He reached for her. At the same time, she caught her foot in the stepladder and toppled toward him. Instinct took over. He wasn’t even conscious of moving as he caught her. Only when his palms made contact with her arms did he realize what he’d done, and then there was no going back. He slid his hands up, relishing the bareness of her upper arms. She blinked up at him.

Her hands were flat against his chest—he felt their cool imprint through the thin cotton of his shirt—but she didn’t push him away. Instead she stood there in the circle of his arms, a question leaping in her eyes. “Owen?”

Yesterday when things had heated up between them, she’d quickly doused the flame. But today was different. Today she wasn’t spick-and-span Princess Paige; today she was disheveled and sweaty and a little annoyed with him, and the way she murmured his name in that husky voice fried all his remaining restraint.