by Laura Moore
“I’m sure Jordan would rather share her ideas without—” he began as Jordan said, “Perhaps tomorrow would be a better time for us to discuss—”
“Nonsense.” Nonie silenced them both with a wave of her diamond-ringed hand. “Why ever would she mind having you accompany us? You did such a fabulous job on the cottage. I want to be certain the finishing touches will be just as wonderful. You understand, Jordan, don’t you?”
Yes, she did understand. Nonie had set up the lunch and the so-called interview as an elaborate cat-and-mouse game. Her insistence that Owen listen while she presented her decorating ideas was one more way of toying with her. Nonie had obviously decided it would be amusing to see whether she would fall apart at the prospect.
Although it was like being a first-year art student and having her paintings examined by Michelangelo, Jordan wasn’t going to back down. She hadn’t sat through this awful lunch, doing her darnedest to ignore the hundred little things about Owen Gage that she really did not want to notice about him—such as the tantalizing contrast of the dark hair sprinkling the back of his long-fingered hands and the snowy white cuff of his shirt sleeve, or how the lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes and bracketed his mouth deepened whenever he smiled—to give up on the commission now.
“Of course I have no objection to Owen hearing my ideas,” she said, bringing the tally of today’s lies into the double digits.
“There, you see, Owen? She doesn’t mind at all. Let’s go over to the cottage right now, shall we? Oh, this will be so much fun!”
A mini replica of the main house, the intimate scale of the guest cottage made it resemble a pastel petit four pastry. As they walked up the flagstone path that led to the cottage, Jordan took in the freshly refurbished wood-and-stucco exterior, noting the meticulous repair. Owen Gage & Associates had done a superb job, she admitted to herself, and she fully expected the interior to reveal the same level of craftsmanship.
Owen opened the front door for them. Nonie entered first, chattering away as she did. Jordan, who’d been examining the carved doorframe, followed more slowly. As she stepped over the threshold, she was stopped by his hand.
Her brows drew together in a questioning frown as she instinctively pulled her arm away from the warmth of his fingers. With an effort, she resisted the urge to rub the spot on her arm that still tingled from the momentary contact. She really wished he’d stop with all this casual touching. “Yes?” she asked.
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about the awkwardness of the situation. I don’t think Nonie realizes—”
That shows how little you know her. “Please don’t apologize. Your presence makes absolutely no difference to me.” A part of her couldn’t believe how rude she had just been. She wasn’t usually churlish. But few people succeeded in irritating her with so little effort. Indeed, he was so irritating that she decided she wasn’t going to apologize for the remark. Her chin rose defiantly.
If he was offended, he didn’t show it. “Well, I won’t worry then,” he said.
She caught the thread of amusement in the low rumble of his voice. What could he possibly find so entertaining, she wondered, before stifling a gasp as he suddenly leaned forward.
His strong-boned face was far too close. For some reason, though, she stood rooted to the spot, watching as his angled head came even nearer. My God, was he going to kiss her?
Mere inches away from her trembling lips, he halted his progress and simply inhaled. Deeply.
Jordan nearly jumped out of her skin. Had he just sniffed her?
“What … what are you doing?” The words came out in a panicked rush that matched the speed of her pulse.
His smile was as innocent as a choir boy’s. “Nothing. I was trying to identify your perfume.”
“I … I’m not … I’m not wearing perfume.”
His face was still far too close. The gold chips glittered in his dark eyes, brilliant and mesmerizing. They made her system go haywire. She couldn’t move, not even to take half a step backward.
“Are you sure?” He frowned. “How strange, because you smell wonderful.” That he sounded abstracted, as if he weren’t intentionally trying to fluster her, only rattled her more.
“I—” She had no idea what to say.
She was saved by Nonie, who called out, demanding to know what was holding them up.
Owen straightened, a smile playing over his lips. “I guess it’s time to show us what you’ve got, Jordan.”
Okay, now she was truly convinced he was playing some kind of mind game to throw her off balance. Perhaps he was exacting revenge for her earlier comment. Her dislike ratcheted up a notch. And, no, her antipathy had nothing to do with the fact that this man had been able to make her heart stop and then pound like a kettledrum just by bringing his classically carved face a warm, coffee-laced breath from hers.
With a parting glare she turned and strode in the direction of Nonie’s voice, determined to ignore Owen Gage and to dazzle Nonie Harrison. The former now seemed the greater challenge.
Afternoon sunlight poured in through the living room’s twin Palladian windows, illuminating the space and highlighting the restored plaster moldings and decorative columns. Beneath Jordan’s feet the parquet floor was freshly sanded and finished. Its warm honey tones gleamed. She stopped in the center of the room, taking in the airy proportions and the vertical rhythms created by the windows and columns and the large marble fireplace on the opposite wall.
If this were her home, Jordan thought, she’d do as little decorating as possible, letting the architectural details speak for themselves.
But Nonie’s aesthetic was best described as “more and more is more,” so the trick to satisfying her tastes would be to suggest just the right number of knickknacks and patterned silks, without burying the elegance of the interior space under a mountain of visual clutter.
The feat would have been challenging enough without Owen listening in. Stationed by one of the windows, he was peering intently out at the garden as if fascinated by the reddish-green leaves on the still bloomless rosebushes. She supposed she should be grateful that he was attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible, yet somehow she couldn’t muster even a smidge of gratitude. His silent presence was too distracting. And she was furious with herself for continuing to notice him at all—he was the last person she should be thinking about at a time like this.
The time had come to act like the professional she was supposed to be. If that weren’t enough inducement, she reminded herself that the sooner she finished talking to Nonie about design ideas for the cottage, the sooner she could say good-bye to Owen Gage. With luck she’d never see him again.
She took a moment to fish a notepad and fountain pen from her large leather tote. Fixing a bright smile on her face, she said, “The restoration work is simply wonderful, Nonie. I can’t wait to see the other rooms. Let me give you an idea to consider. When I started thinking about the décor for the cottage, I realized it might be neat if we could create a pretty, carefree echo of the style you’ve achieved in the larger house.”
“How interesting. Tell me what that would look like.”
“Well, as the cottage is a smaller version of the main house, I’d like to connect the spirit of the two houses so that when your guests and family are here in this space, it’ll be like an extension, a riff on Overlea.”
Nonie’s brow furrowed, a feat considering the number of botox sessions she’d had. “But I don’t want just a repeat of what I have.”
“Of course not,” Jordan agreed lightly. “The purpose of the guest cottage is very different—you don’t want, for example, to worry about things being broken or damaged here, so we should select pieces and fabrics that are a bit more playful, carefree, and above all maintenance free.”
“And what about colors?”
“Well, I know how much you like lavenders and blues. I think that palette would go especially well in this room. We could work those colors in
to the fabrics and keep the walls an off-white with an accent trim for the woodwork. The whites will keep your blues and lavenders purer and also enhance the wonderful sense of light and air in the room.”
“I like that. And what about over here by the fireplace?”
“Bookshelves.”
“Bookshelves?” Nonie repeated vaguely.
She nodded. “One of the joys of staying in someone’s home is discovering the library, a wonderful mix of classics and all different kinds of genres, and then curling up with a book in front of the fireplace. We can place two wing chairs and ottomans on either side of the fireplace and have the sofa over there. Your guests will have lots of room to curl up with a book in the afternoon between lunchtime and cocktails—those hours when, as a hostess, you really value your privacy. Remember, the mission of the cottage is that it’s as much for you as it is for your guests.”
Nonie laughed in delight. “You’re so wonderfully clever, Jordan. Isn’t she clever, Owen?”
He turned from the window and his gaze settled on her. “Yes, she is.”
Why did her cheeks have to warm like a schoolgirl’s simply because he hadn’t said her ideas were garbage?
“This is tremendous fun! Now, tell me what you envision for the other rooms, Jordan. And in case I forget, when we get to the bedrooms, I’d want one of them to have a younger look.”
Jordan nodded easily. “Jane Churchill has some exquisite papers and fabrics for children’s rooms. They’re so beautiful and classic an adult would love falling asleep surrounded by them, too. That sort of flexibility is important when you’re decorating a guest house. I brought a sample book of her papers and fabrics to show you as well as some other designers I thought you might like.”
“You are a marvel, Jordan. Truly.”
An hour and a half later, the three of them were back outside the cottage. Nonie, if anything, seemed even more bubbly and vivacious than before. She spun about on her heels to clasp Jordan’s hands in hers and squeeze them enthusiastically. “What a darling you’ve been to come and share all your ideas for the cottage. I’m quite impressed. I have a feeling it’s going to look so wonderful I’ll want to move in myself,” and she gave a trill of laughter.
Although Jordan mustered a smile, her brain felt too much like a wrung-out sponge to formulate an intelligent reply. It wasn’t so much Nonie’s endless quizzing over the past ninety minutes that had worn her out but rather the constant tension of knowing that Owen was listening to her every answer. She had tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter what he thought of her ideas. To no avail. Even now she was fighting the urge to turn and face him so she might gauge his reaction. Of course, doing that would involve looking at him directly, and after the way he’d managed to rattle her in the foyer, she thought that would be a really bad move. After doing her best to impress Nonie, she wasn’t going to blow it by losing even an ounce of her composure.
Besides, she didn’t need validation from him. She’d done a great job, and she was sure she’d sold Nonie on her ideas. The excitement of landing her first commission was enough to boost her flagging energy.
“I should be thanking you, Nonie, for the chance to work with such a lovely space. I think I’ve gotten a pretty good idea of what you want for the cottage. Would you like me to come by later this week so we can get started? With summer coming, I’m sure you’ll want the cottage ready sooner rather than later.”
“You are so right. But I’ll have to consult my calendar to see when I have a free moment. My schedule is craziness itself. Why don’t you call me tomorrow? Perhaps I’ll have a better idea then.”
“Of course.”
Nonie’s smile widened. “You are so understanding.”
Stowing her notepad and fountain pen in her tote, she hitched the thin leather strap of her purse over her shoulder and picked up the tote. “I should really be going.”
“So soon? We’ll walk you to your car,” Nonie said, before linking her arm through Owen’s in order to walk beside him up the narrow flagstone path and begin an animated discussion about the color schemes and patterns Jordan had proposed for the bedrooms.
Forced to follow in their steps, Jordan told herself to overlook Nonie’s rudeness and to concentrate instead on how great it felt to have earned her first decorating commission all on her own. Besides, the last thing she wanted was to walk next to Owen and have the sleeve of his jacket brush her arm. No, indeed, she was quite happy where she was.
At the front of the house, next to where she had parked the Range Rover, sat a silver Audi TT coupe. Of course that would be the car he drove, she thought. Sleek, powerful, and dynamic, it was an amazing driving machine. How galling that whenever she was behind the wheel of her minivan and an Audi TT zipped by, she’d be filled by a wild, secret car lust. She’d even flirted with the idea of asking Richard to trade in his Lexus for one. Thank God she hadn’t—the money was better used for the child support Richard had agreed to pay.
Nonie unlatched herself from his side to offer her another air kiss.
“Thank you for the delicious lunch, Nonie,” she said. Pinning a polite smile on her face, she extended a hand to Owen. “Good-bye.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Jordan. I hope to take you up on the offer of a tour of Rosewood very soon.”
When pigs have wings. He was sorely mistaken if he believed she was going to invite him into her home. Confident that this was the last time she’d be troubled by the likes of Owen Gage, she hardly even stiffened at the tingle of awareness that coursed through her when his strong hand engulfed hers.
Owen watched Jordan Radcliffe climb into the Range Rover, appreciating the way her silk skirt rose up her leg. Not only did she smell good, she had excellent legs. He’d even go so far as to pronounce the entire package very fine. The fact that she’d remained pointedly noncommittal when he’d again brought up the subject of visiting Rosewood didn’t prevent him from wondering what it would feel like to run his hands up the length of those shapely legs. Would they be as silky soft as the skin he’d already touched? Would the back of her knees and the gentle slope of her calves carry the same beguiling scent he’d inhaled earlier?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the car engine turning over. The Rover’s window lowered, and she stuck her arm out to wave good-bye. “Thanks again!”
“I’ll be expecting your call tomorrow, don’t forget now!” Nonie said.
“I won’t,” she promised with a cheerful smile before driving off.
He’d lay odds that her expression wouldn’t be nearly so sunny when he showed up on her doorstep. The knowledge didn’t bother him in the least. He decided he liked seeing Jordan Radcliffe with her back up. Thank God the lunch was over. He turned to Nonie. “Many thanks for the lunch,” he said with an easy smile.
“You can’t possibly leave yet. We need to discuss how soon you can start decorating the cottage for me.”
Surely he’d misheard her. “But you’re giving the commission to Jordan Radcliffe.”
Nonie gave a delighted laugh. “Why, Owen, whatever made you think that? How utterly silly. Now, come back inside and we’ll talk.”
“LISTEN, NONIE, I don’t—No, thanks,” he said, declining the offer of a scotch from the crystal decanter Nonie held aloft. “What you’re doing makes no sense at all. Jordan Radcliffe’s ideas for the cottage were excellent.”
“Hmm, yes,” she murmured as she sat down on the sofa next to him. “They were good, weren’t they? But your decorating department would have access to all the same designs and fabrics, isn’t that so?”
His shoulder brushed the sofa’s silk upholstery as he shrugged uncomfortably. “Yes, but—”
“Then there’s no problem. All you need to do is tell your decorator to use Jordan’s ideas for the rooms.”
She must be joking. He shifted to look at her fully. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. It’s not especially ethical, you see.”
“Not ethical? Don’t be ridicul
ous,” she scoffed. “Why shouldn’t I use her ideas? It’s not as if I signed a contract or said I’d actually hire her.”
He frowned. If Nonie wanted to be sneaky and underhanded, that was her business, but he didn’t appreciate being drafted into playing her game.
“I don’t understand what’s going on here. Why would you want to hire my firm? Jordan Radcliffe just spent close to two hours going over every square foot of the cottage with you. It’s clear she’s got taste and that she’s detail-oriented and is enthusiastic about the project. Plus her fee will be significantly less than my firm’s,” he said, certain this last would sway her as no other argument could. While Nonie demanded top-of-the-line workmanship, she did her utmost to avoid paying for it.
The irony of the situation didn’t escape him. For the first time since starting his company he was advising a client to hire the competition—the competition being a woman who didn’t even want to give him the time of day. But his conscience balked at taking what by all rights should be someone else’s commission.
From Nonie’s silence he thought he’d succeeded in convincing her, but then she shook her head.
“I suppose it’s true that I’ll have to pay more for your work, but then again I’m hiring a name when I choose Gage and Associates. Jordan’s a dear thing, and I do feel wretched about the sordid melodrama enveloping her family, but really, how far should one take sympathy?”
Apparently not far enough to give a friend a job, he thought and glanced pointedly at his watch.
She didn’t take the hint. “You’re aware of what happened to the Radcliffes?”
“Yes, I heard about the parents dying in a plane crash last year,” he said with thinly veiled impatience. The tragedy had been enough to make him decide against imposing upon the family with a request to visit Rosewood. And he’d been incredibly busy. In addition to renovating Nonie’s cottage, he’d been juggling three other restoration projects and designing a Georgian colonial for a couple who’d bought some land over in Warren County. Signing the purchase agreement for Hawk Hill, and knowing that Rosewood was just up the road, had reawakened his interest in seeing whether the storied mansion lived up to its reputation.
