One Real Man
by Coleen Kwan
Copyright © 2015 by Coleen Kwan. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
Someone had broken into his pool conservatory.
Owen Bellamy’s soft-soled sneakers made no sound as he moved down the darkened corridor that linked the main house with the conservatory. Arched metal columns and soaring panes of glass enclosed a twenty-meter pool. A golden trumpet vine twisted around one of the columns. With the only illumination coming from the underwater lights, shifting shadows filled the cavernous space. The intruder swam down the length of the pool at a brisk pace, making no attempt to mask his or her presence.
Too stupid or too brazen?
Owen eased through the open door. The crisp evening outside wasn’t exactly swimming weather, but the water in the pool was kept at a steady 82 degrees Fahrenheit year-round. Many years ago, a lifetime ago, it had been one of his chores to keep the water temperature of this pool steady. He’d been bawled out a couple of times for neglecting to do so, and his father had had to apologize for him.
He stopped just inside, in the shadow of some potted ferns, as he caught sight of two huge suitcases, bulging at the seams, and next to them a large handbag and a pile of clothing. Jeans, white T-shirt, lace bra, white G-string, flat leather sandals. A young woman’s clothes. Expensive, too, judging by the shoes and handbag. So he had a rich girl skinny-dipping in his pool. She’d probably wandered into the wrong house. But how could she have gotten in when he’d locked up earlier? Had she broken in just for the hell of it? Whoever she was, he wasn’t going to put up with any crap from her. He knew all about spoiled princesses.
His gaze zeroed in on the woman freestyling toward him. She swam head down, the wake from her strokes blurring her body. He couldn’t make out her features, but there was something very familiar about her… Then, as she tilted her head sideways to gulp in air, recognition slammed into him, driving all the breath from his lungs.
Paige Kerrigan. Rich, beautiful, spoiled Page Kerrigan—the owners’ daughter who’d once ruled this pool house, the princess who’d mocked him in front of her friends, the tease who’d kissed him behind these same ferns and then rejected him for someone else—was swimming naked in his pool.
Memories roared in his brain, sending painful spasms through his muscles. Her splashing thrummed against his eardrums. His eyeballs felt hot and tight as he tracked her progress. Soon, very soon, she would reach the end of the pool, and she didn’t have a clue who was waiting for her.
He strode over the bundle of clothing and stopped at the edge of the pool. His chest thumped hard.
She reached the wall of the shallow end at full speed. Stretching out, she slapped her hand onto the pool edge, breathing hard as she stood. As her upper body rose out of the water, moisture sluiced down her curves, turning her skin smooth and slick like liquid honey.
Oh God… Owen’s lungs seized at the sight of Paige’s wet breasts. For the life of him, he couldn’t wrench his gaze away. Then her earsplitting shriek broke the spell as she flung her arms around her torso.
“Who the hell are you?” she yelled. “Get the frig out of here before I call the police.”
Owen blinked. That wasn’t the reaction he’d expected, but then again he’d never been able to read Paige. “Funny,” he drawled, “that’s exactly what I was about to say to you.”
Her gray eyes widened in puzzlement before stunned recognition flashed through them. “O-Owen? Owen Bellamy?” Her arms tightened around her chest. Retreating a few steps, she flicked back her wet hair with a toss of her head. “What are you doing here? Surely you don’t still clean the pool?”
His mouth thinned. Despite being caught off guard, she’d found his weak spot, as always. But he wasn’t the caretaker’s son anymore; he wasn’t the awkward sixteen-year-old in awe of the owners’ gorgeous, pampered daughter. He was an adult—successful and wealthy—and he’d had plenty of beautiful women since her.
Folding his arms, he pinned her with a cool stare. “This pool happens to be mine now.”
“Your pool?” She let out a light, incredulous laugh.
He grimaced at her snicker. “Yeah, my pool and my house. You’re trespassing on my property, Paige.”
Arms still wrapped around her torso, she lifted one shoulder. “I’ve never heard such nonsense. My parents would never sell our home, not in a million years—”
“I’m renting the place.”
“Renting?”
“Uh-huh. Signed a one-year lease just last week.”
“But—but—I don’t understand.” A dumbfounded expression gripped her face.
For a second Owen almost felt sorry for her. Obviously she’d been kept in the dark by her parents, or more precisely her mother, the dominant force in the Kerrigan family.
Paige shook her head forcefully. “My mother would never rent her home to you.”
She was right. As keen as Crystal Kerrigan might be to rent out her mansion, she would have balked at signing it over to her former caretaker’s son, the moody teenager who’d caused so much embarrassment to her precious daughter. But luckily, McCarthy Construction, the private company in which Owen now owned a share, was the lessee on the rental agreement.
“Too bad,” he retorted, “because she has.” The lease was watertight; he’d made his lawyer double-check every clause.
A deep line creased her forehead. Despite her scowl, he couldn’t help noticing that she looked amazing. Her teenage prettiness had matured into something dazzling. Her smooth ash-blond hair was slicked back, revealing an oval face with sculpted cheekbones, a straight, narrow nose, and lips with a perfect Cupid’s bow. Large gray eyes fringed with thick lashes studied him suspiciously. Her neck was slender, her shoulders and collarbones delicate. Her arms banded across her chest didn’t conceal the fullness of her breasts, while the semi-opaque water hinted at the rest of her body. What an incredible body…
Heat seeped through him, a flickering trail of desire. Owen bit the inside of his cheek. Fourteen years ago, Paige Kerrigan had kept him tossing feverishly at nights, and tonight her effortless, haughty beauty was wreaking the same havoc. Why did she still affect him so much?
He stared down at her. “So are you going to tell me what you’re doing in my pool?”
…
Paige shivered, not just from the water cooling on her skin, or Owen Bellamy gazing down at her, but also the way her heart had lurched at his sudden reappearance.
Owen Bellamy. Oh my God. When she was sixteen, every glimpse of Owen had scrambled her wits. His father had been the caretaker, just one of the many staff employed by her parents, and Owen, the same age as she was, had helped out with his dad’s chores. He should have been practically invisible to Paige, but she’d found it impossible to ignore him, as much as she tried, and oh boy had she tried.
Soon after the school dance debacle, Owen had left Burronga, their quaint country hometown, and moved to Sydney to start a building apprenticeship. She’d prayed never to see him again, had made a huge effort to forget him, and she’d succeeded. She hadn’t thought about him in years.
But now, without warning, he was back in her life, a life that had gone spectacularly off course in the past year. And he’d just seen her naked boobs. God, could life get any better? These breasts had already caused too much mayhem in her life.
“Uh, do you mind if I get dressed before we talk?” she asked, rubbing her cold upper arms.
“Go right ahead. I don’t mind.” He stood there, not looking like he’d move any time soon.
Through his spread-out legs, she glimpsed her clothing next to her suitcases. “Really? You’re going to stand there and watch?”
One corner of his lips lifted briefly. “You used to like me watching, didn’t you?”
Oh God, why did he have to bring that up? Years ago, his clear green eyes had tracked her faithfully as she’d sauntered around the pool in her skimpy bikini, aware of the effect she had on him and excited by her strange new power. But even then, she’d sensed the force behind his reserve, and in the end she’d found out that she couldn’t tease him with impunity.
“But I’m not wearing anything,” she protested, flustered by his eyes, her memories.
“So I noticed.”
Oh, he was so infuriating she wanted to stamp her foot. Which was hard to do when she was in a pool, buck naked in front of her former pool boy.
She tilted up her chin. “You know, I’ve drunk about a gallon of coffee today and haven’t visited the bathroom for hours. If you keep me waiting here in your pool, I might just have to go here…”
His eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would. I can’t hold on for—”
“Yes, you can.” He pivoted on his heel and walked to the door, where he halted with his back to her.
Shivering, she hoisted herself out of the pool and hurried to her clothing. With no towels around, she had no option but to yank her clothes on over her wet skin. The jeans chafed her legs, and a whiff of chlorine clung to her hair. She really needed a warm shower, but if Owen was the rightful tenant, she’d have to leave. Where could she go at eight o’clock at night? She couldn’t afford a hotel, but—
“Are you decent yet?” Without waiting for her reply, Owen spun around. Those rapier-sharp eyes scanned her from top to toe. Did he like what he saw? Hard to tell… Wait, why did she care at all what he thought of her?
“Didn’t you say you needed the bathroom?” he asked.
“Did I? Oh, that can wait.”
“I thought as much.” He continued to stare at her, like he always had, only this time he purposely wanted to disturb her. And he succeeded. Tiny prickles raced up and down her spine.
“Tell me what’s going on,” she burst out, unable to bear his scrutiny any longer. “Why are you renting my parents’ house? Don’t you live in Sydney these days?”
Sighing, he jerked his head toward the house. “Let’s go into the kitchen. Then you can tell me whatyou’re doing here.”
The ominous tone in his voice had her back stiffening, even as she knew she had no choice but to obey his command. Head held high, she picked up her handbag and stalked out of the conservatory. She’d meant to leave her suitcases behind, but a clacking noise alerted her that Owen was pulling her luggage along. She walked into the main house and through to the kitchen.
Although her mother never cooked, she’d always had the kitchen renovated every few years. It made for good publicity to have Crystal Kerrigan, the TV chat show host, photographed in her kitchen doing homey things like lifting out a batch of fresh scones, never mind that her mother didn’t know how to bake and wouldn’t let such fattening food past her lips anyway. The kitchen was currently done up in French provincial decor. The limewashed cabinetry and the enormous chandelier hanging from the artfully distressed rafters were familiar, but the vast oak refectory table in the center of the room wasn’t.
Owen motioned her toward the heavy ladder-back chairs. “Take a seat.”
She sat at the table. He took the seat opposite her and rested his arms on the polished wood. He linked his fingers together, the shrewd, assessing expression returning to his eyes.
“How did you get into the house?” he asked.
“The spare key hidden in the garden.”
“Spare key? Where’s it kept?”
“Under the stone crane just outside the conservatory.”
“So you just walked in and disarmed the alarm system.”
“I used the old code.” She looked at him pointedly. “You can’t have changed it.”
“I’ve been meaning to do that.” He frowned at her. “Where’s your car? I didn’t see it in the driveway or the garage.”
“I took a taxi.”
His green eyes widened incredulously. “From where? Not all the way from Sydney?”
Situated in the rolling green hills of the Southern Highlands, Burronga was a two-hour drive from Sydney. If she’d hired a taxi for the journey, it would have cost her hundreds of dollars.
“No,” she said. “I got the taxi from the train station.”
Still the disbelief shone from his eyes. “You caught the train? You?”
The base of her neck grew warm. “Oh, lay off the sarcasm, will you? Yes, I came down from Sydney on the train.”
Her flight from London had landed in the afternoon. From the airport, she’d caught the train to Central Station, then changed to the Southern Highlands line. She had arrived here exhausted and jet-lagged, dragging two bulging suitcases, her only possessions in this world. The spare key unlocked the outer doors of the conservatory. As soon as she’d seen the cool, inviting waters of the pool, she’d stripped off and dived in, seeking to wash away her tiredness and worries.
“You didn’t tell your parents you were coming here?” Owen studied her with frank curiosity.
“They’re used to me coming and going when I please.” She faked a lackadaisical shrug. “I don’t need to tell them every single detail of my life.” Like the fact that she was flat broke, or that her life was a mess and the thought of having to start all over again made her break out in a cold sweat. She didn’t need to tell her parents any of that. Especially not her mother.
Owen leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. His hands were broad and tanned, the backs flecked with light hairs, the fingernails square-cut and blunt. Worker’s hands.
“Where’s that husband of yours?”
Her lungs constricted in a sudden spasm. She’d anticipated his question, yet still it affected her, much to her disgust. “Ex-husband, you mean,” she retorted.
His hands dropped to the tabletop. His thick dark eyebrows shot up. “Since when?”
“Since I divorced him, what else?”
He let out a soft whistle. “You can’t have been married more than a year. I never thought you’d be the type for a quickie marriage.” He paused, and for the first time that night, a sheepish look came over him. “Uh, sorry. That was tactless.”
Maybe, but he was only voicing what other people thought. Owen had never been the courteous type. He didn’t mince words, and strangely she didn’t mind on this occasion.
“No need to apologize.” She laced her fingers together, keeping her tone even. “Seth and I were married for a year before we separated, so I’m not quite up there with Kim Kardashian.”
“Seth…” Owen mused, rubbing his chin once more. “Seth Bailey, right? Yeah, I remember reading about your wedding extravaganza in some women’s magazine while I was waiting in a checkout line. You had a huge marquee on the front lawn of this house.”
Paige felt her lips thinning at the mention of her “wedding extravaganza.” Was it really less than two years since that event? How worked up she’d been as the big day drew near. Her mother’s celebrity status had meant a glossy magazine was willing to pay for exclusive rights to the wedding. She’d hesitated, not wanting her day to be turned into a circus, but her mother had persuaded her to agree. After all, Paige was a minor celebrity in her own small way, after her half dozen appearances on Crystal’s show chatting about the goings-on of the Sydney social scene. As part of her PR and marketing job, Paige attended plenty of parties, and her boss was happy for the extra TV exposure.
Paige had been secretly terrified that something would go awry with the wedding. Just a couple of weeks before the big day, she’d discovered that Seth had kept a secret from her. He’d been previously engaged, to a local girl from Burronga no less, and had jilted her on their wedding day. That should have been enough warning that Seth Bailey wasn’t the right man for her. But she’d pushed aside her worries, partly because she believed Seth genuinely loved her, partly because, after all the hoopla, canceling her wedding at such short notice was unimaginable.
“I remember reading you and the husband were moving to London,” Owen said. “Is that where you’ve been since the wedding?”
She nodded. “Seth’s still there.”
Seth, a stockbroker, had wanted to work in London for years. Well, he’d gotten his wish. He was with one of the top brokerage firms in the City, swimming with the biggest sharks in the business, raking in big bonuses and blowing it all on coke and gambling. How quickly her marriage had disintegrated. Working insane hours and spending all his free time with his colleagues, Seth had become a stranger to her, and the more she tried to bridge the chasm between them, the more he distanced himself from her. He didn’t need her anymore; in fact, he didn’t want any reminders of his past life. With breathtaking abruptness, he had moved out of their apartment and filed for divorce. She’d barely accepted he was gone when that awful video had surfaced and shown her how little he thought of her.
A quiver started in her chin. No, no, no. She was not going to break into tears over her feral ex. Especially not in front of Owen Bellamy. He would love to see her crack, but she’d be damned if she gave him that satisfaction. Clamping her jaw, she fixed her gaze on him, defying the weakness inside her.
“Anything else you want to know about my doomed marriage?” she challenged him.
He blinked slowly, heavy eyelids masking his expression. “Anything else I should know?”
Her jaw ached as her molars ground together. Did Owen know about the video? Her stomach did a nauseous heave. Seth, eventually ashamed of what he’d done, had assured her that all copies had been erased from the internet, but how could he be so sure? Everyone knew once something was on the Web, it was there for life, that any lecherous computer geek could track down the file and view it. Had Owen done that?
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” The words rushed out of her, frosty and abrupt, as she always was when the situation turned tricky. Ice queen, some people called her, but that was just how she was made.
As the planes of Owen’s face hardened, her heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t the callow teenager she could lord over anymore. He’d grown up, his youthfulness maturing into smoldering masculinity—crisp dark hair, glimmering green eyes, broad shoulders filling a casual blue shirt, a smattering of stubble across his square, stubborn jaw. Not someone she could trifle with.
If he knew about that humiliating video, he gave no sign of it. Maybe he was waiting for the right moment to embarrass her.
“Still the same Princess Paige, huh?” His mouth curved down at the corners. “Well, I can’t say it was a pleasure catching up with you. Why don’t I call you a taxi?”
Panic jumped in her throat. “Wait a minute. We’re not done yet. You haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
“I told you already. I’m renting this house for the next year. Or should I say, my property development company is.”
“You own a company?” She didn’t mean to sound so incredulous.
His eyes narrowed. “I’m a junior partner. McCarthy Construction.”
Paige shook her head. “I still don’t understand how you managed to get our house.” Something was going on, something her mother had hidden from her.
“It really has nothing to do with you, Paige.”
His coldness touched a raw nerve in her. She jumped to her feet, the chair screeching against the terra-cotta tiles. “I don’t care if you have a triple lease for a hundred years! This is my home. My home, understand?”
The shaking in her hands spread to the rest of her body. If there was one constant in her life, it was this home. This was her safe house, her place of retreat, her sanctuary. Here, nothing bad could happen to her. And now this…this pool boy was telling her it had nothing to do with her.
Spinning on her heel, she stalked out the kitchen and made her way upstairs to her old bedroom. As she slammed the door shut, she realized she’d stormed to her room through force of habit. She had no right to be here, and besides, her room had completely changed. Everything familiar had been carted away, replaced by a few pieces of strange furniture—a double bed, a nightstand, an armchair by the window. This was no longer her room, and everything she owned in the world was crammed into those two suitcases downstairs, if she didn’t count the miserable few hundred dollars in her bank account. Christ, she didn’t even have a mobile phone anymore. Who would have thought that would ever happen to her?
A knock sounded at her bedroom door. Her head jerked up. Owen. Come to throw her out, no doubt.
“Paige? Can I come in?”
At least he hadn’t barged in. Get it together, girl. Don’t show him any weakness.
She smoothed down her damp hair, straightened her rumpled T-shirt. “Come,” she called out.
He entered and stopped just a few paces in. He glanced around, curiosity plain in his expression. “Huh. Not too girlie in here.”
“You’ve never been in here?” she said.
“No.”
“Not even when you moved in?”
“No.”
“Who decided on this furniture?” She gestured around her.
“The interior decorator I hired. I didn’t have the time, so I left the decisions to her.”
The room wasn’t hers, but it was stylishly furnished, and the big, soft bed looked inviting, reminding her muscles of the grueling journey she’d endured that still wasn’t at an end. As she pulled her attention away from the bed, she caught Owen studying her with those unsettling green eyes of his.
His attention never wavered from her, and silence fell between them. He’d never been one for chitchat. As his scrutiny continued, she found herself growing antsy.
“Paige, are you in some sort of trouble?”
The unexpected gentleness of his tone cracked her facade like nothing else could. She’d braced herself for sarcasm or aloofness, but not this. Her chin quivered dangerously again. She sank her fingernails into the flesh of her palms, willing the lump in her throat to subside.
“Trouble? Me?” She forced a laugh. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on, quit trying to pull the wool over my eyes. You’ve sneaked back to your parents’ home without telling anyone. That’s not like you. Something’s happened, I can tell.”
She folded her arms. “You’ve never believed in beating around the bush, have you?”
He shrugged. “Okay, so I don’t have all the social niceties, but I do know something’s not right with you. Did your ex bleed you dry? Have you run out of money?”
She dug her nails into her arms as Owen’s bluntness drilled through her defenses. “I—I may be a little short at the moment, but—but it’s only temporary until I start working again.”
“You’ve got a new job lined up?”
Her fingers twined around a lock of hair. “Not…exactly…”
“You’re job hunting?” His expression grew puzzled. “I wouldn’t have thought there were many marketing jobs in this town.”
He knew her line of work; she hadn’t expected that. “I’ll be job hunting in Sydney, of course.” She twisted her hair tighter. “I just came here for a few weeks to rest and—and work on my CV…”
And to hide away. To lick her wounds in private. The truth was, she’d lost her mojo, that hard-fought, shiny confidence she projected to the outside world. In Sydney, she’d made a relative success of her chosen occupation. She’d worked for a top marketing firm and garnered a solid reputation. She valued her career, but at the moment she couldn’t face the fast-paced harbor city and the heaving pool of competition she’d once swum in. When that mortifying video had surfaced, she’d been so sickened and ashamed, she’d shut down her email and Facebook accounts. She hadn’t contacted any of her old Sydney friends—who knew which ones were genuine?—and she didn’t have the guts to face them. Not right now, not the way she was feeling.
Owen reached up and disentangled her fingers from her hair. “You’re going to give yourself a bald patch if you keep on torturing your hair like that.”
“Oh.” Her hand tingled from the brief contact with his fingers. Gripping her hands behind her back, she cleared her throat and forced herself to say matter-of-factly, “So, yes, I’m temporarily out of a job, but it’ll only be for a month or so. And I’ll be out of here as soon as I’ve called a taxi.”
“Where will you go?” He didn’t seem as relieved as she thought he’d be.
Her brain flashed through the possibilities. Since she’d moved to Sydney nine years ago, she’d only kept up with past friends from Burronga sporadically. Too infrequently to suddenly impose on them with her suitcases asking to stay the night. There was always Great-Aunt Lucinda… She shuddered. No, she couldn’t bear the lectures.
“Uh, I’m not sure.”
“I saw Astrid Sherwood in town the other day. Weren’t you two best friends at school?”
Astrid? Christ, not Astrid. Not in a million years. Back in high school she’d been flattered when Astrid, the undisputed queen bee of their class, had allowed her into her elite circle of friends. For a while, Paige had led a charmed social life, but after the fiasco of the school dance, she and Astrid had avoided each other, their friendship over without a word exchanged.
“That was a long time ago. I don’t want to bother her.” Paige shrugged. “I’ll check into a hotel.” And use up a few more of her precious dollars.
Owen fell silent again. Unnerved, she turned to pick up her handbag, which she’d tossed on the bed.
“You can stay the night.”
His abrupt offer had her swiveling back. “Excuse me?”
“It’s late,” he said gruffly. “Stay the night. You can organize something in the morning.”
She pursed her lips. “You don’t have to sound like you’re having your teeth pulled.”
“You know me. Mr. Charming. Well?”
What choice did she have? “I’ll stay, then.” Slowly she inclined her head. “Thank you.”
A dimple flashed in his cheek for a second. “Now who sounds like she’s having her teeth pulled?”
Paige blinked. “Did you just smile at me?”
“Me? Smile? Nope, must have been a muscle tic.”
He had smiled at her. Owen had never been a big smiler. But just for a second there, his smile had transformed his face, making him younger, friendlier, sweeter. Oh Lord, what was she thinking? Owen was not a sweet guy. When she was sixteen, he’d pulled her behind the ferns in the pool house and kissed her without warning. For weeks he’d shadowed her, repeating that kiss, and then he’d gate-crashed her high school dance and embarrassed her in front of her date and her entire class. He was not sweet. He’d been a pox on her adolescence.
“You’re giving me the stink eye.” His voice cut through her turbulent memories. “You should smile more often.”
“I smile plenty when I have a reason to.”
“No need to get all snippy. I just offered you a bed for the night, remember? I even brought your suitcases upstairs. They’re outside the door.”
“So you suspected I might need a bed?” That was sweet of him—no, she had to stop thinking that.
“It’s a big house. Plenty of spare bedrooms.”
“And where are you sleeping?” A disturbing possibility crossed her mind. “You’re not…you’re not using my parents’ bedroom, are you?”
The corner of his lip curled. “Don’t worry. Your parents’ bedroom felt like a concert hall to me. I’m using one of the smaller guest suites. Does that make you happy?”
“I’m sure you’re more comfortable there.” Her words came out more stiffly than she’d intended.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to put on too many airs and graces. Who knows when I might lose everything?”
She gritted her teeth. “Precisely. You never know what might happen in the future.”
“True. But if I suddenly became penniless, I could always go back to cleaning pools. I haven’t forgotten that.”
The dangerous sheen in his eyes warned her. He hadn’t forgotten anything that had passed between them fourteen long years ago, even though she’d made such an effort to erase the events from her memory. Why couldn’t he let the past go like she had? Why did he have to needle her with it? She’d suffered too, thanks to him.
Words burst from her mouth, born of frustration, humiliation, exhaustion. “Once a pool boy, always a pool boy, I suppose?”
The pupils in his eyes shrank to pinpricks as his expression chilled. Why was she so mean to Owen? Suddenly her heart was pattering all over the place. Was he going to change his mind and throw her out of the house? His mouth flattened to a thin line.
“Good night, princess,” he bit out and left the room.
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