by Kwan, Coleen
Owen sprang to his feet, too. The rumors were all wrong. He didn’t want to build mean little town houses. He wanted something in keeping with the countryside, something spacious, peaceful, green. That was what he intended to say to Lethbridge, to soothe his concerns.
But instead what came out of his mouth was, “Is that your only concern? That the country club members might be a little inconvenienced?” Menace rumbled in the back of his throat, and he didn’t seem to have any control over it. “What about the people who can only afford a mean little town house? Where should they live, huh?”
Lethbridge wrinkled his nose. “Somewhere else, obviously.”
The base of Owen’s skull pounded. The tendons in his hands twitched. The sneer on the councilor’s face begged to be wiped out.
Owen never discovered what might have happened next because at that moment Paige sauntered in, looking like a million dollars. Judging by the bouncy sleekness of her blond hair, she’d just returned from the beauty salon. Her simple-but-pricey slip dress and dainty high heels showed off her Bambi legs. A silk scarf floated around her neck, tiny diamonds winked in her ears, lipstick gleamed on her lips. There was a lilt to her step.
In her arms she carried a glass vase filled with white roses. She halted as soon as she saw them. “Oh, hello. Didn’t realize you had company.”
“Paige?” Councilor Lethbridge sprang forward, surprise and relief on his face. “Why, Paige, it’s good to see you here.”
She set the vase down on a side table and politely shook hands with the councilor. In a concerned murmur, Lethbridge began to inquire about her parents, their whereabouts, and the status of the house, darting a few sour glances in Owen’s direction. Owen glowered at the man. Bad enough having the councilor question his presence in front of him, but what really got his goat was how long the man held on to Paige’s hand. The geezer was old enough to be her father, dammit. What a piece of slime.
Paige seemed to know how to handle Lethbridge. She made a few evasive remarks, and Lethbridge relaxed, even laughing in a horsey whine that made Owen grit his teeth. Lethbridge and Paige belonged to the same old-money, conservative club, while he would forever be the outsider. He’d never wanted to join their exclusive club, but not being a member was screwing his chances for Bandicoot Creek, and that he did mind.
With a curt nod to Owen, Lethbridge took his leave. When he was gone, Owen returned to the living room where Paige was rearranging the vase of flowers.
“I didn’t realize you knew Mr. Lethbridge,” she said conversationally.
“I don’t know him, and after today I doubt he ever wants to know me. But that’s okay. The feeling’s mutual.”
She flicked back a curl of shiny wheaten hair from her flawless cheek. “Why did you invite him over, then?”
“Because he’s a longtime member on the town council, and I thought I’d try to sell him on my Bandicoot Creek development, but it turns out I did more harm than good.” He frowned at her. She was so damn cool and gorgeous and untouchable. Like a fine porcelain sculpture—pale and delicate—while he was a lump of rock.
“Oh…” Her arched eyebrows were two perfect crescents above crisp gray eyes. “You wanted to schmooze him.”
“I wanted to punch him by the end of it.” He watched her hands weave deftly through the roses like darting fish. In contrast his hands were broad and callused. He raked them through the back of his hair. “He’s got the wrong idea about my development. He thinks it’s going to be an overcrowded estate of cheap, mass-produced town houses, but it’s not. It’s the complete opposite.”
“Why didn’t you set him straight?”
“Because he’s an arrogant pig.” Owen exhaled a growl. “He was appalled at the thought of working-class families settling near his damn country club. Didn’t want them anywhere near him. Shit, I’m one of those people, and Lethbridge knew it. He couldn’t have been more direct in his insults. I don’t belong here, that’s what he’s saying. I should just slink away and take my grubby business elsewhere because people like me aren’t welcome around here.” He paused, realizing he was breathing hard and his hands were fisted again.
Paige tilted her head to one side as she watched him intently. “Are you going to slink away?”
“Like hell I am. That kind of attitude just makes my heels dig in harder.”
“You want revenge.”
“No, I want a fair go, that’s all.”
She fiddled with the roses again, and he wondered what she was thinking. Did he have a chip on his shoulder? Is that why he was pushing his Bandicoot Creek dream so hard? If he were honest, he’d have to admit that was part of his motivation. He didn’t care about the exclusive club that people like Paige and Lethbridge belonged to, but he’d get some satisfaction from forcing his way in. A base need, but he was human after all.
Paige lifted her gaze to him. “Next time you talk to Mr. Lethbridge, let him lead the conversation. Allow him to feel he’s in control. People like him love nothing better than to talk about themselves.”
“I doubt there’s going to be a next time with him.” He sighed. Lethbridge was a goner. No point trying to woo him back. He’d have to get another contact, and the next opportunity to come his way he couldn’t afford to screw up.
“It gets easier, you know.”
“What does?”
“Selling yourself.”
“I want to sell my ideas, not myself.”
She lifted her shoulders. “But people learn about your ideas through you, and there’s nothing more powerful than a message delivered face-to-face.”
“That’s your job, isn’t it? Public relations, marketing. I never saw much need for it, but maybe this time I do.” He studied her with renewed interest. He’d never really thought about Paige and her job because she’d always looked like someone who didn’t have to work if she didn’t want to. “Tell me about your career. How did you get into it?”
“I earned my marketing and communications degree at university, and after I graduated, I got a job at Focus Marketing. It’s one of the biggest PR and marketing companies around. I did a lot of product launches, media campaigns, brand management.”
“And when you moved to London?”
Pressing her lips together, she returned her attention to the roses. “The PR business there is ten times bigger and so cutthroat.” She hesitated. “I found a job, but, well, I had other things on my mind.”
He understood. She’d been too preoccupied with Seth to concentrate on her career. Now that the dirtbag had left her penniless, and her parents didn’t seem in a position to help her, her career was even more important.
“So will you look up your old contacts at Focus when you’re ready to start your job hunt?” he asked.
She nodded, lifting her chin. “Oh yes. I worked hard for them.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they won’t hold that video against you. After all, you had nothing to do…” He paused as her head jerked up and her eyes widened.
“You knew…”
He couldn’t tell if that was hurt or embarrassment in her eyes, but he wished like hell he hadn’t caused it. “About the video? Uh, yeah. Heard about it. Haven’t seen it. Don’t intend to, either.” He stood rigid, the back of his neck growing hot, and hoped like hell his gaze stayed pinned on her face.
“Oh.” She breathed in slowly, then went back to the roses. By now the flowers were looking slightly mangled.
A surge of emotion swelled up in him. “Look, who cares about that frigging video? It just shows what a complete arsehole your ex is. You shouldn’t let it get to you so much.”
Her mouth turned down at the corners. Suddenly she wasn’t cool and elegant anymore, but bruised and wounded. “I know I shouldn’t, but sometimes I can’t help it.”
Her fingers crushed a flower petal, releasing the scent of roses. His chest ached with the urge to wrap his arms around her and protect her from the brutal, ugly world. He found himself stepping forward, the desire to hold he
r intensifying as he caught the telltale moistness in her lashes. Nearing her, he placed his hand over hers, trying to keep his grip soft, reassuring.
Her gaze flew up to clash against his, her eyes overbright, startled. Swallowing, he searched for the right words to convey his feelings but failed, and stared dumbly at her, her daintiness only making him feel clumsier. She’d always had this effect on him. It was black magic and highly annoying.
He could smell her perfume, some light, seductive scent. He slid his fingers over the back of her hand, relishing the fineness of her bones, eager to seek out the little pulse point on her inner wrist. The last time he’d touched her there, her pulse had scurried like a bunny, astonishing him. Now he wanted to see if he was affecting her again, just like she was him.
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 reluctan
tly. “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.”
