by Laura Moore
She was standing by the table where she’d placed the vase of flowers, adjusting the arrangement. She lingered at the task, fiddling with the stems, adjusting the arrangement, and then stepping back to study the effect.
“That was extremely impressive, the way you talked the little one down.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Pretty routine stuff, actually. I’m sure if you cast your memory back you’ll remember your mom doing much the same.”
His mother? Not likely. She had things to do: articles to write, important people to meet, parties to attend. In all probability the nannies his parents hired had possessed those skills. Honestly, though, he couldn’t remember ever even contemplating a temper tantrum. His parents would have made sure to spoon-feed him instructions about the proper protocol for a career diplomat’s offspring with his baby cereal. “I was an only child. My mother’s job description didn’t call for the same level of involvement or finesse.”
“An only child?” She turned to face him. For a moment she was silent, as if pondering that fact, though why that would be an important piece of information was beyond him. “I’ve always thought being an only child was kind of sad.”
He shrugged. “It might have had its drawbacks but it had advantages, too.”
She looked unconvinced. “I know my childhood would have been a lot harder without my sisters. Even now, I don’t know what I would do without them.” A door slammed and she checked her watch. “Speaking of which—”
“Hey, everybody, I’ve been released from the salt mines,” a voice rang out. “Jordan?”
“In here,” she called out before explaining, “It’s my youngest sister, Jade, back from school.”
Ah, yes, this was the one Nonie wanted locked up in a juvenile detention center.
The younger sister strode into the room with the snap and crackle of a fast-approaching storm. It wasn’t due, however, to her I-don’t-give-a-crap deep pink hair color, shocking though it was. It was the raw sexuality she exuded that made one think of a night filled with lightning strikes. A sexuality made all the more potent for her obliviousness.
No wonder Nonie despised the teen. The older woman would give her eyeteeth to possess a tenth of the kid’s high-octane sex appeal.
Owen thanked his lucky star that he wasn’t the type of guy who lusted after jailbait, like Nabokov’s character Humbert Humbert. He had definite age requirements for his bed partners. They needed to be old enough to have actually seen an LP record and have voted in at least two presidential elections. He liked women, not girls.
Besides, Nonie was right: Jade Radcliffe definitely looked like trouble—that is, for the guy who fell for her. He had no doubt she was the sort who would put a man through the wringer.
None of this meant that Owen was blind or that he couldn’t appreciate the sensuality of Jade’s lithe figure or the intensity of her jewel-like gaze as it swept over him with open curiosity even as she began speaking to Jordan.
“So are Thing One, Two, and Three ready to go? The clock’s ticking.” She tapped a huge, ugly watch strapped to her delicate wrist.
“I sent them off to the bathroom to wash up after their snack. They just need to put on their boots and they’ll be ready to go. And I talked to Olivia. She’s very sorry about taking your keys. I don’t think she’ll be playing with them again.”
“She better realize this is strike two. One more time and I’m going to have to get seriously tough with her.”
Owen wondered exactly what getting tough with a chubby-cheeked linguistically challenged tot entailed.
“Wow, those are really nice flowers you picked up. Are we planning a party, or did Margot score a mega contract?”
“No party plans, no new contract,” Jordan replied. “Owen brought these. Jade, this is Owen Gage. Owen, this is my sister Jade.”
“Hi there, Owen Gage,” she said, friendly enough as they shook hands. But then her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Whoa, wait a minute. Aren’t you the architect who stole the decorating job Jordan wanted with Witch Harrison? That’s, like, so lame.”
It was a toss up as to who was more embarrassed by the question, Jordan or him. “Nonie was already my client—” he began as Jordan simultaneously answered, “Jade, I told you it’s not that big a deal.”
She shot them both down with a derisive snort. “What total BS. Mrs. Harrison should have given you the job, Jordan. He must know it, too,” and she gave a toss of her magenta head in his direction. “Or he wouldn’t have brought you half a freakin’ garden.”
“I bought her the flowers because—”
Once more Jordan’s answer edged him out. She was obviously accustomed to the teen’s rapid-fire delivery. “He only brought me the flowers because I flung my iced tea in his face and called him a jer—” she stopped, the word hanging unfinished in the air, a bright flush stealing over her face, clearly appalled at her admission.
Not so her sister. “You called him a jerk? Good one, sis,” she said approvingly. “That was really ballsy of you. But FYI, guys don’t give you flowers after you dump a drink on them. It’s far more likely he gave you the flowers because he’s suffering from a major guilt trip. Or else it’s because he likes you. So which is it, dude?” she asked, pinning him with her green gaze.
He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
“Wow, such eloquence.” She snorted again. “Cripes, are men losers.”
Jordan pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jade—” she began in a weary tone.
“What? You’re a great decorator and the local talent. It’s not right for him to get away with muscling the little guy out of the marketplace.” Shifting her attention back to him, she said, “You should see what Jordan’s done to the third floor. Take him upstairs, Jor—”
“No! That’s really not—” and there Jordan stalled.
This time it was Owen who won the “who could respond to Jade faster” contest.
“I’d be happy to see what your sister’s done on the third floor, though I’m already well aware of how talented she is. Actually, that’s one of the reasons I’m here—to ask Jordan if she’d be willing to decorate Hawk Hill for me.” It wasn’t even a lie. With Emily booked through the fall, he’d been wondering what to do about the interior. It had occurred to him that he could contract the job out. And why not take advantage of the “local talent,” as Jade had so charmingly put it?
It was immensely satisfying to have rendered both sisters speechless with one simple announcement. Score one point for the male gender, Owen thought.
Jade recovered first. “You’re going to hire my big sis to do the interior of Hawk Hill?”
“If Jordan wants the job.”
“Cool.”
“The project is a bit more involved than Nonie Harrison’s cottage.”
“Jordan can handle it, no hay problema. You should do it, sis.”
“I … uh …” Jordan’s voice was faint.
“Maybe you’re not a total loser after all,” Jade informed him. Then, with the speed of a ricocheting bullet, she switched topics. “God, I’m starving. The burgers they served today looked like shoe leather. Hope there’s something to raid in the cookie jar. What are we having for dinner?”
“Baked red snapper with spinach and cherry tomatoes, and parsleyed baby potatoes,” Jordan replied.
“A Margot meal,” she pronounced with revulsion. “Can’t imagine anyone will be having seconds, which means there’ll be enough food to invite your new boss to dinner.”
“I don’t—He’s not—”
“ ’Cause not only is he your new boss, he’s our new neighbor and good-looking in an older guy kind of way. You know who Owen here reminds me of? Clive Owen, the actor you liked so much in that Queen Elizabeth flick you made me watch over and over again.”
“Jade, I don’t really think—”
“You don’t see the resemblance? Well, maybe not.” Jade gave a careless shrug. “Sorry, Owen. I guess my big sister doesn�
��t think you’re that studly after all. But no matter, as the most important reason to invite him, Jordan, is it’s the right thing to do. Neighborly. And you and Margot are all about doing the right thing, aren’tcha?” She paused, letting this last sink in, perhaps just waiting until Jordan’s lips tightened in exasperation. She wasn’t disappointed.
The kid was masterful, playing her sister expertly. And Owen sensed she wasn’t finished.
“You’d be doing Travis a favor, too. He’d probably dig having a guy other than Max to talk to—and could you tell me where in Toledo those brats of yours are?” she demanded.
Just then the pounding of feet on the parquet floor reached them. “At last. Any longer and I would’ve had to charge you overtime.”
Jade, obviously savvy about her wrecking ball of a niece, prevented Olivia from barreling straight into her by catching her under the arms. Holding her wriggling frame firmly in place, she glanced over at Jordan. “Diaper?”
“Dry.” Jordan answered with the voice of someone who’d just stepped off one of those gigantic roller coasters.
“All rightie then.” With a practiced motion she hoisted the toddler onto her hip. “You guys ready to rock and ride?”
The two older children nodded vigorously, while Olivia squirmed and squawked with terrifying glee.
“I guess we’re outta here then. You coming down to the ring?” At Jordan’s dazed nod, she said, “Good, ’cause Travis and Margot will want to meet Owen before dinner. And don’t forget to show off the third floor. It might help you negotiate a higher fee. You’re going to have to start shopping for another pony pretty soon, you know.”
Ignoring the excited cries her comment generated, she turned to him. “Nice to meet you, Owen.”
He answered her impish grin with a broad smile. “A pleasure, Jade.”
A STRANGE AND EERIE QUIET, like the aftermath of a tornado, descended over the parlor after Jade left with the children.
Jordan got no further than a shaky, “Well …” Her mind reeled, her thoughts in too great a disarray for coherent speech.
Had Owen really come to Rosewood to offer her a job when he had an undoubtedly top-notch in-house interior designer at his disposal? The notion staggered. She remembered him saying something about how his decorator was booked through the summer, but still, he must know scores of other decorators. Why would he offer the job to her, an untested, unknown entity? Finding a reasonable explanation for his motives was too difficult after Jade had so thoroughly muddied the waters.
What had prompted her normally hypercritical little sister’s about-face with regard to Owen? Jade couldn’t really believe that simply because Owen claimed he was here to give her a decorating project, that made him one of the good guys and that he should be rewarded with an invitation to dinner? And wasn’t it too cute of her to spout that line, “It’s the right thing to do,” to justify her meddling.
The prospect of having Owen stay for dinner didn’t alarm Jordan nearly as much as the idea of taking him on a tour of the third floor. Violence of any kind was abhorrent to her, but right now she could cheerfully throttle Jade for her nifty suggestion.
And she was definitely going to have to find a way to even the score with Jade for having pointed out how much Owen Gage resembled Clive Owen.
Darn her for being right on the money. The two men did share the same dark, rugged good-looks. The last thing in the world Jordan needed was to be thinking of Owen in movie star terms, especially as he had already assumed a leading role in a few of her sexual fantasies.
Hawk Hill might represent a terrific career opportunity, but she was not showing him the third floor. A sudden vision popped into her mind of Owen crossing the threshold of her bedroom, entering it, filling that intimate space with his masculine presence. No, a hundred times no.
Absorbed in her thoughts, she started at the sound of his voice.
“It sounds as if you’ve done quite an impressive job with the third floor.”
“Jade was exaggerating. A teen thing.”
When he simply smiled, she added a bit desperately, “Really, it’s basic stuff up there. I was on a very tight budget and had to do a rush job on the rooms because I wanted the children to be comfortable as quickly as possible after the divorce.” Oh, good one, Jordan. First denigrate your work and then bring your personal sob story into the mix to guarantee you sound as unprofessional as possible.
“That’s all to the good. It’ll be interesting to see the choices you made under less than perfect circumstances. I’d also like to see what you’ve done to create a family-oriented space since it’ll likely be a family that buys Hawk Hill.”
She didn’t budge. “It’s really messy up there. The kids have been home sick.”
At this he cocked a dark brow. “Are you going to tell me next that the CDC quarantined the entire floor? You are interested in decorating Hawk Hill for me, aren’t you?”
“Oh, all right. Come this way.”
Her aggrieved tone made her sound far more like her sister Jade than the coolly elegant and poised Jordan Radcliffe he’d come to know. Magnanimous in victory, he gestured politely for her to precede him.
“After you,” he said, careful to hide his smile as she strode from the room.
Even though Owen was retracing his steps, the grandeur of the double parlor still impressed. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you how much I like your home. It’s incredible.”
He saw her shoulders relax a bit. So he was right: the prospect of acting as tour guide to the rooms she and her children shared unnerved her. Well, he was more than happy to distract her by discussing Rosewood, though he found it rather sweet that she was in such a twist about showing him the upstairs quarters.
“I’d like very much to come back and study these rooms more carefully, perhaps make some sketches. The interior details are remarkable.”
She hesitated, perhaps torn between her pride in the house and her reluctance to have him in it. “I’ll have to ask Margot and Jade how they feel about that.”
“Of course.” He was pretty sure he’d get a yes vote from Jade. Now, after meeting the teenager, he was extremely curious to make the acquaintance of the fashion model. If Nonie’s antipathy was any gauge, she must be something. He wondered why Nonie wasn’t openly hostile toward Jordan, who was beautiful, talented, and smart; then he remembered the cheating husband. Pitying Jordan would be even more satisfying to someone like Nonie. He was suddenly damn glad that he’d asked Jordan to decorate Hawk Hill.
His steps slowed to admire the ornate molding over the doorframe.
Noting his interest, Jordan looked up. “Nice, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Some of the details, like the acanthus molding and such, were designed by John Butler in consultation with Francis and Georgiana. He sent them drawings in his letters and then modified them according to their suggestions. My mother, who loved this house and knew practically everything about it, used to show them to me.”
“The letters?” he asked, following her into the foyer. “Are you saying you actually have letters written by John Butler to your—what was he, your great-great-great-grandfather?”
“Tack on a couple more greats, I think, and you’ll have it. Yes, we’ve got his letters. His pattern book, too.”
He paused with his hand on the bottom of the carved banister to stare at her in astonishment. “You have his pattern book?” A book like this, with the architect’s drawings for a gamut of details from cornices, to windowsills and aprons, to mantels, was usually to be found only in a rare-book room of a great public library or a university collection.
“Yes. One of his descendants visited Rosewood and presented it to my great-grandfather as a gift. He thought it only right for us to have it as, according to family lore, even at the end of his career, Butler considered Rosewood his greatest artistic achievement. The pattern book’s in the library. I could show it to you now if you want to look at it,” she offered casually.
Her reluctance, neither coy nor feigned, only made him more determined.
“Perhaps some other time,” he said, matching her studied casualness.
The smile she gave was more like a grimace.
What did she think he was going to do once they were up there? he wondered. Jump her bones? Come on, she should credit him with having a little more finesse than that.
Or maybe not.
There was nothing sexy about her clothes. Nevertheless, the sight of those long legs encased in black stretchy breeches, her trim calf muscles flexing and relaxing as she climbed the stairs, her rounded buttocks rising and falling—hell, even the curved arch of her bare feet as she pushed off the treads struck him as impossibly erotic. Now and again he caught that elusive scent which seemed to be Jordan’s alone. By the time they reached the second-floor landing, his heart was thudding heavily in his chest, desire coursing through his veins. Okay, so perhaps Jordan was right to worry about whether he could keep his hands to himself.
He followed her down a carpeted hallway to the back stairs, what would originally have been the servants’ stairs, which led to the top floor. Normally he would have been peering into every nook and cranny and slowing his steps past every open door. Hypnotized as he was by the subtle sway of Jordan’s hips, the only bedroom he wanted to spend time in was hers.
An hour or so with her naked beneath him would do nicely for the present. Even as the thought registered, a question blared in his mind: what in God’s name was he thinking, indulging in seduction scenes with this, of all women? But with arousal thrumming through him, a reasoned answer seemed unnecessary.
