One Real Man (Entangled Bliss)(14)
But she couldn’t confess any of this to Owen. She twisted her head sideways, unable to bear his accusing glare any longer. “Why are you still hung up on this?” She waved her hands impatiently. “It happened so long ago. What does it matter anymore?”
“It matters to me. You thought you could use me and toss me aside like a dirty tissue. And then when I turned up at the dance, you acted like I was a dangerous thug so you could get rid of me.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You treated me like garbage. It matters.”
“You—you were causing a scene.” Her throat was so tight she had trouble breathing.
She and Eric had been dancing when Owen had suddenly thrust himself between them. Ignoring Eric’s protests, he’d focused on her, demanding she talk to him, and when she refused, he’d grown louder until the teachers had intervened. She remembered the searing embarrassment that had engulfed her as the other students watched on avidly. She remembered the smug censure from Astrid and the chagrined coolness from Eric. Of course the gossip had reached her mother’s ears and resulted in a Big Scene, where Paige had had to relive the humiliation all over again. If Owen had set out to knock her off her perch, he couldn’t have chosen a better way.
But as she looked at him now, she glimpsed the hurt in him hidden beneath the suffusing anger, and the discovery made her heart pang in a novel, disturbing way. He’d suffered, too. Her mother had wanted to fire Owen’s father, but for once Paige’s father had intervened and refused to get rid of the blameless caretaker. Owen’s decision to move to Sydney seemed to solve the problem, and any guilt she’d felt about that had been overwhelmed by relief that the whole sordid episode was over. But it wasn’t over for Owen, she saw. After all these years he still bore the scars from that dance, and she was responsible—mostly. The realization felt like a needle in her chest.
“I guess I was partly to blame,” she said, the words stiff, reluctant. His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything, so she forced herself to continue, “I should have ended things with you before the dance, told you about Eric. That was my fault.”
He exhaled slowly and the shutters seemed to come down on his expression, as if he’d hoped she’d say something else. “Yes, that was your fault.” He riffled his fingers through his hair again, looking perplexed. “But you should have known you couldn’t stir me up the way you did without some consequences.”
She nodded. “I know that now.”
“Do you? Because I’m not sure you do, judging by that foot thing you just did.” He waggled his finger at her bare feet, the warning glint back in his eyes. “You can’t tease me and think you can get away with it. I’m not your sixteen-year-old pool boy. You start flirting with me again, I’m going to react, and you might not find me so easy to handle this time.”
All the air seemed to be trapped in her lungs. She couldn’t breathe in or out. All she could do was stare at Owen’s set expression and know he meant business. The thought of handling him, of him handling her, sent her blood pressure soaring. A minute ago she hadn’t just enjoyed teasing him—deep down, she’d wanted him to respond. She’d wanted him to lose control and grab her, kiss her. Again. Good God, she still had the hots for the grown-up pool boy. Still couldn’t help herself around him.
She managed to rest one hand on her hip, casual-like. “Oh please, I was just joshing you back there. Don’t take it seriously.”
He frowned, looking confused, and rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache coming on. “I’m not the smooth type. When it comes to women, I don’t go in for games.”
“What do you go for in women, then?”
As he blinked in surprise, she gave herself a mental head slap. Why ask him such a leading question? But nevertheless she found herself hanging on for his answer.
“I like a woman who’s straightforward,” he said slowly. “Someone who’s natural, confident, easygoing, friendly.”
Sounded like a Labrador. She bit her lip. “Looks-wise?”
“Looks aren’t important.”
“Uh, well, that’s a lie.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“Men who say looks aren’t important are just plain lying. Or else they’re blind. Which you aren’t.”
He scratched the underside of his chin for a few moments, contemplating her seriously. “Okay, let’s just say looks aren’t as important as character. In fact, for me there’s no faster turnoff than a woman who puts her looks first. I can’t stand those fake Barbie doll types who spend all their time checking themselves in mirrors.”
“Are you having a dig at me?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
He cocked his head sideways, clearly enjoying her indignation. “Well, Paige, you do look like the high-maintenance type. That hair of yours screams salon treatments, your clothes are all designer stuff, and you’re never without your makeup.”
She shook her hair back, reminded that she’d soon need another salon treatment that she couldn’t afford. “It’s not a crime to have some pride in one’s appearance.”
“I didn’t say it was. But you don’t need to spend a fortune on your appearance. Without all that primping you’d look even more beautiful.”
She stared at Owen, dazed by his compliment. It was a compliment, wasn’t it? A backhanded kind of compliment. He’d called her beautiful, despite her primping. What was the matter with her? Plenty of men had admired her; she knew how to handle praise. So why did Owen’s make her so tongue-tied? Damn, she didn’t care for the feeling.
“You say that now, but you’d be horrified if I let myself go.” She was lucky enough to have good bone structure and a lean frame, but she had to work on the rest. Don’t ever let your appearance slide, her mother had always drummed into her. That’s a slippery slope to oblivion and loneliness. Crystal never let up on her beauty regimen, and Paige had been raised with the same rules. “Maintaining my appearance is important to me and my career. My public relations career.”
His eyes traveled up and down her length, critical, as if he wanted to rearrange her. Her mother used to study her like that, too, but she could see Owen’s thoughts were veering in the opposite direction. “I guess you’ve been brought up that way, and you’ll never change.”
Her heart dipped. She’d grown accustomed to her mother’s constant critiques, but Owen’s was different altogether.
“Who says I want to change?” she retorted, stung by his assessment.
He shrugged, cooling, withdrawing from her. “Just a thought, seeing how your life hasn’t turned out the way you expected.”
“It’s just a little speed bump. My life will get back on track soon enough.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Of course.” She arched her eyebrows. “What else?”
His shoulders were stiff again. He was her speed bump, she thought, annoyed by him. And she would get over him very quickly.
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”
There was an odd finality to his words, and silence fell again. Owen picked up the long-handled net. Paige pushed her feet into her shoes.
“Good night.” Paige turned toward the glass doors leading out onto the patio. From there she would follow the stone path down the garden and through to the rhododendron walk, where her cottage huddled.
Her hand was on the doorknob when Owen said, “Paige, wait.”
She paused and turned.
The net hung loosely from his hand, dripping onto the stone flagging. “I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly. “It’s not fair to put you in the caretaker’s cottage. You’re not used to that sort of thing. You can move back into your old bedroom here, first thing tomorrow morning.”
Her shoulder blades clicked as her back stiffened. He meant well, she realized, but it was also kind of insulting.
“Oh, no thanks. I wouldn’t want you thinking I was high maintenance or anything.”
“Look, that wasn’t” He exhaled loudly and pressed his lips together. “Do you want your old bedroom or not?”
Oh Lord, of course she wanted her old bedroom. Of course she wanted plush carpet, a decent-sized bed, a moth-free closet, and a proper bathroom. She wanted all that, but not enough to stomach the satisfied gleam that would no doubt appear in Owen’s eyes the second she accepted.
“I don’t,” she airily declared. “I’m enjoying giving the cottage a makeover. You don’t mind if I get some paint and wallpaper for it, do you?”
He frowned at her. “Use the credit card, but if the cottage needs work then you shouldn’t be there. Move back into the house.”
She shook her head. She didn’t realize she could be so stubborn, but something about Owen made her hell-bent on staying in the cottage. “It’s not my house anymore. I’ll stick to the cottage.”
“But are you sure you’re up to it? Those nails of yours aren’t meant for painting or wallpapering.”
She waggled her nails. After her trip to the budget nail salon they didn’t look too bad. “They’re not meant for scrubbing bathrooms and loading dishwashers either, but I’ve managed.”