One Real Man (Entangled Bliss) )

by Kwan, Coleen

  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.

  She looked up in surprise. “Your sister?”

  “You don’t remember Natasha?” His brows drew together in a sharp vee.

  Paige scrambled through her memories and came up with a vague image of a chubby toddler. She couldn’t remember much more than that.

  “She’s quite a lot younger than you, isn’t she?”

  Owen nodded. “Natasha turned sixteen last month. She’s at a boarding school nearby, but now that I’ve relocated, she’ll be spending some time here, too.”

  “Is that why you moved from Sydney? Because of your sister?”

  “She’s one reason, but mainly it’s work. I’m overseeing a big new development here in Burronga, and I have a few projects farther north.” He leaned back in his chair and softly drummed his fingers on the wooden tabletop. “So d’you think you can handle being my housekeeper?”

  The skepticism in his tone had her bristling. “Of course,” she retorted. “Do you think you can handle me being your housekeeper?”

  He lifted a forefinger. “Let’s get one thing straight. The dynamics between us were very different fourteen years ago, but don’t go thinking that gives you any kind of special license with me. If I hire you, I expect the same respect I get from all my employees, got it?”

  The unveiled warning made her shiver. She should have known better. Hadn’t she baited him once too often all those years ago and paid for it with the most blistering kiss she’d ever received? A kiss that had ripped her apart and triggered a thrilling, frightening frenzy she couldn’t control…? No, don’t think about that. Don’t think about how Owen had made her feel during those tumultuous two weeks. That wasn’t her. For days he’d taken advantage of her weakness, and when the situation threatened to get out of hand, she’d been forced to end it in the bluntest way possible. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t.

  “Paige? Earth to Paige.”

  She forced away the memories and gave him a brisk nod. “Yes, I heard you, and I’m not asking for any special treatment.”

  “The job pays fifteen dollars per hour, four to five hours per day, five days per week. If I need you to work on weekends, you get time and a half. That suit you?”

  She stopped her jaw from dropping just in time. Was that the going pittance for housekeepers? But it was obvious Owen wasn’t kidding. Despite her effort to stifle her incredulity, he must have sensed it because he continued, “There are extras. You’ll have the use of a car and a mobile phone, and accommodation is included.” He paused before adding, “The caretaker’s cottage is available. You can have that.”

  A choking noise bubbled out of her mouth. “The—the caretaker’s cottage?” she spluttered. She should have guessed he’d want to taunt her by putting her in his former home.

  “Yeah, it’s behind the rhododendron walk, remember?” His penetrating gaze never left her face. “You must know it.”

  “Of course.” She had only the faintest recollection of a small, whitewashed building huddled behind a thick hedge of rhododendrons. She’d never been interested in the caretaker’s cottage, but now it appeared that would be her home for the next few weeks. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “It was good enough for me and my dad and my sister.”

  Yikes, she didn’t care for that barb in his voice. For all his denial, Owen was hell-bent on grinding home his advantage over her. Well, just because their roles were switched, that was no reason for him to think he was better than her. No matter how down on her luck she was, she was still Paige Kerrigan, and she wouldn’t let him forget that.

  She lifted her head to give him her frostiest stare. “And it’ll be good enough for me.”

  …

  Using his hand to shade his eyes from the glare, Owen gazed across the paddocks where a few goats picked their way over the badly eroded slopes. The man standing next to him did likewise, and for a few moments they studied the landscape in silence broken only by the distant squawk of yellow-crested cockatoos.

  “Well?” Owen turned to his companion. “What do you think?”

  Nate Hardy rested a boot against the sagging wire fence and gestured toward the small, weed-choked creek winding through the lower fields. “So that trickle of water is Bandicoot Creek?”

  “Yep. It’s a good name for our development. Bandicoot Creek. Makes you think of countryside, peace, greenness, tranquillity.”

  “Good for marketing. People moving to Burronga are looking for all that.”

  “And that’s exactly what they’ll get here, once we rehabilitate the creek and fix the erosion problems. This won’t be a cheap, dreary, cookie-cutter suburb or an energy-guzzling, exclusive gated community. It’s going to be eco-sensitive, spacious, and affordable at the same time.” Enthusiasm rose in Owen as he warmed to his subject. “We need a development like this in Burronga, something a little more egalitarian than what we currently have.”

  Burronga, a prosperous midsize country town, had always attracted its fair share of wealthy people, who favored multimillion-dollar acreages like the Kerrigan place. The not-so wealthy made do with old weatherboard houses or modest town house developments. There wasn’t much in between, but Owen was determined to change that.

  Nate slanted him a cynical look. “Ever wonder if there’s a reason for that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like maybe the rich dudes prefer it that way. Makes them feel more exclusive without having upstarts crowding out their view. And these are the people on the city council, with the power to veto developments like Bandicoot Creek.”

  Owen studied his companion more closely. Technically, Nate Hardy could be classified as one of the “rich dudes” these days, as he’d made a fortune in investment banking before returning to Burronga for a simpler life. But Nate came from the wrong side of the tracks, just like Owen, and didn’t show any inclination to jump the social divide.

  Nate owned a garden landscaping business and also did financial consulting for a few select clients, which was how Owen had gotten to know him. They’d been working together for only a few months, but already they were more than just business colleagues, and Owen had come to value Nate’s opinions.

  “They won’t veto Bandicoot Creek,” Owen said in reply to Nate’s doubts. “It’s a great proposal. It’ll be good for jobs and good for the environment. Right now this land is hardly fit for those goats over there. How can anyone not agree it’s an excellent idea?”

  Shaking his head, Nate clapped a hand on Owen’s shoulder. “Mate, haven’t you learned yet? It’s not what
you know, it’s who you know that’s important. You have to go out there and sell yourself to the knobs that matter. You have to be prepared to do a lot of schmoozing.”

  Owen muttered a curse. Schmoozing was as alien to him as the opera. He had no small talk, no capacity to flatter, to lie, to pretend. He was who he was, take it or leave it. That was how he’d always operated, and he’d done all right so far.

  “I can’t stand phonies,” he said. “Especially rich phonies.”

  “Anyone else in your company who could do the schmoozing for you? How about Jim McCarthy?”

  At sixteen, Owen had been apprenticed to Jim McCarthy, an old building buddy of his dad’s. He’d worked unstintingly for Jim, grateful for the chance to quit Burronga and keen to help out his dad in any way he could. In his spare time he’d completed a business diploma, and increasingly Jim had included him in the company decisions, until last year Jim had offered him a partnership in McCarthy Construction.

  “I have a lot of respect for Jim,” Owen said, “but I doubt he’s any better at schmoozing than I am.” Jim bought his clothes from Kmart, went to the greyhound track every week, rolled his own cigarettes, and when forced to, could out-cuss anyone on a building site. “He’s left all the selling of this one to me.”

  Nate grunted. “That’s a heck of a responsibility he’s given you.”

  A sixty-million-dollar responsibility. All resting on his shoulders. Owen tensed his back as if he could already feel the obligation weighing on him.

  “Bandicoot Creek was my idea in the first place,” he said. “The land was going cheap, even though it’s a sizable investment for us. I know it’s stretching our finances beyond comfort level, but sometimes we have to take risks.”

  And the rewards would be sweet. By pulling off Bandicoot Creek, he’d be able to thank Jim for everything he’d done for him, plus he’d prove to everyone else in McCarthy Construction that he was worthy of the partnership. And then there was Heidi, Jim’s twenty-three-year-old daughter. Bandicoot Creek would help soothe some of the guilt Owen felt over her and that unfortunate New Year’s Eve incident.