One Real Man (Entangled Bliss)(17)

“This doesn’t look like nothing.” An odd note deepened his voice. “Come on, we’ll do this in the kitchen.”

There was no point arguing, so she let him lead her into the kitchen where he sat her down at the table. He fetched the first aid kit and a large basin filled with warm water, and then proceeded to wash and dress her wound. She watched him work, his square, blunt-edged fingers gentle and nimble on her skin, his head bent forward as he concentrated on the task. Afternoon sunshine slanted through the windows, and in the silence the clock ticked louder and louder. The sight of her hand in his work-roughened palm unsettled her. Tingles raced along her veins, her throat narrowed, her legs grew warm. She wondered if he could hear how ragged her breathing was. This wasn’t good. She didn’t want to be attracted to Owen. He wasn’t her type, he wasn’t someone she’d mix with, he wasn’t even someone she liked all that much. But none of that seemed to check her body’s reaction to him.

She had to break the silence or she’d give herself away, for sure. “So you’ve patched things up with Natasha?” she asked.

His head lifted, and for a moment she glimpsed a dazed expression in his eyes almost as if he’d been lost in a daydream. He blinked several times before replying, “Yes, I think so. She promised to be more polite in general, and I assured her she wouldn’t be changing schools. I didn’t tell her about the Prada bag; I’ll let that be a surprise for her next week.” He paused to set down the cotton swab. “Thanks for helping me.”

“Oh, you know me and handbags.”

“No, I didn’t mean just the handbag, I meant thanks for helping me mend fences with my sister.”

She felt a telltale flush wash over her. How annoying that Owen’s approval could affect her so much! Try as she might to resist, the warmth and appreciation in his eyes sent her brain into a tailspin.

She said the first thing that came into her head. “You’re lucky to have a sibling. I’d have liked a brother or sister.” If she had, maybe that would have taken some of her mother’s focus off her, given her a little breathing space to figure out who she was by herself. At times she’d felt smothered by her mother’s attention, yet her father’s remoteness had hurt just as much.

Owen unwrapped a Band-Aid and carefully placed the bandage over her cut, smoothing the adhesive fabric against her hand. The pads of his fingers were warm, slightly uneven, masculineand quite mesmerizing. As he continued his stroking, she gazed down, caught up in the sensual rhythm, wanting him to glide his fingers over the rest of her skin.

His forearm pressed against hers. Next to her paleness, he was golden honey, the heft of his arm dusted with small, dark hairs, the muscles thick and well-defined. He was a hot and hunky builder, and she had a terrible urge to bend her head and coast her tongue across the hairs on his arm. What would he taste of? Salt and sweat and soap—common, everyday things made uncommon by who he was. But who was Owen Bellamy, anyway? Was he the moody pool boy she used to torment, or the rugged, blunt businessman she now worked for?

She shifted in her seat, and their gazes met and meshed. He felt it, too, she sensed. Felt the hum between them, the static flashing and flowing, the pull and the suck. Stronger than before, and this time she didn’t have the safety of her position. This time she was stripped bare, defenses crumbling like a sand castle collapsing into the crashing tide.

“Paige?”

His fingers slipped across her hand and found the telltale pulse hammering in her wrist.

So what if she found Owen attractive? He had a hard, sexy body and a way of staring at her that made her all skittish with excitement. So what if he was blunt and unpolished and not the type of man she’d ever dated in the past? After her marriage disaster, maybe he was just what she needed.

She leaned toward him, and beneath the table her knee bumped against his, the feel of his denim jeans against her bare skin spinning her senses. She couldn’t remember when a man had her so jangled up. Usually she was the coolheaded one, but with Owen she was all crazy with anticipation and desire.

“Yeah?” She fluttered her eyelids at him, her voice breathy, suggestive.

“Your pulse is racing. Do you have a fever?”

She blinked at him. She had a fever all right—for him. She was burning for his arms around her, for his lips upon hers, for the swooning kisses she’d devoured and then spurned all those years ago. But as she gazed at him, she began to see that she might have misinterpreted Owen. The heated mist in his eyes had faded, replaced by an amused sparkle. Was Owen laughing at her because he’d turned her on so easily?

She snatched her hand away. Oh, the indignity. “You’re not a doctor. Stop feeling me up.”

“I was just making sure the Band-Aid was on properly.” The glint in his eyes flared. He’d tested her defenses and found her weak spot.

“I’m going back to work.” She began to rise to her feet, but he forestalled her by wrapping his fingers around her wrist.

“Wait.”

She paused, praying for her restless pulse to behave.

“That cut looked pretty nasty. You shouldn’t do any more work on the cottage.” His grip firmed on her wrist. “In fact, you should just give up on the redecorating and move back into your bedroom.”

He made sense. The cottage was dour and Spartan, and painting was a grubby job she didn’t enjoy, and besides she wasn’t going to be here for very long. But the prospect of moving back into her old bedroom didn’t appeal to her as much as it once had. Moving back would be a step backward, returning to the person she once was, and that wasn’t what she wanted anymore. She didn’t want to be the old Paige Kerrigan again. Not completely. Yes, she wanted her former confidence and security, the savoir faire that carried her through life. But there were bits of her she’d rather leave behind, bits she’d been reminded of by Owen and his sister. Bits she wasn’t proud of.

She met Owen’s gaze and saw the lively speculation in his eyes. Huh. That was another reason to stay put in the cottage. Sharing the house with him could lead to all sorts of tricky situations. He got her engine spinning, no denying it, but she wasn’t going to let that run out of control like last time. Avoiding temptation was the sensible thing to do.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. She pushed to her feet, but instead of letting her wrist go, he stood, too, and his nearness made her gulp. He had such beautiful shoulders. Broad, powerful, well defined. She’d like to feel them, run her palms over— Heck, what was she thinking? She yanked her wrist free and attempted to step back, but somehow found herself trapped between the table, her chair, and Owen. “I can still use the scraper with my other hand.”

“What are you trying to prove?”

Oh God, why didn’t he move before she did something idiotic?

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I just like annoying you.”

A grin lit up his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “And you’re so good at that.”

For a second she was dazzled. He should smile more often. He could sell ice to Eskimos with that smile. “I’m good at a lot of things.”

“Yeah” His gaze zipped down her body, lingered on her bare legs, then flew back to her face. “I can see that.”

Heck, she had to stop flirting with him. She tried her usual maneuver of flicking back her hair and raising her chin to give him a cool stare. “Do you mind?” She waggled her fingers in the few inches separating them. “I need to get back to my scraping.”

For a moment he looked like he wouldn’t budge, but then he took a slow step backward. Paige breathed out a tiny sigh.

“Why don’t I help you?” Owen said.

“Wh-what? No,” she replied instinctively before she realized how jittery she sounded and added, “I mean, you must have better things to do.” She edged toward the door. “Oh, look at the time. I didn’t realize how late it was. I’ll probably pack it in for the day.”

“Sometime during the week, then. I’m sure I’ll have some spare time.”

“Yes, sure.”

But as she made her way back, she vowed not to let Owen anywhere near the cottage. If he started helping her and being nice to her, she might start flirting with him again and even do something crazy like kiss him. Worse, once she started kissing him, she might not be able to stop.





Chapter Six

“So you’re living here?” Councilor Lethbridge glanced about the living room before his suspicious gaze returned to Owen. “And what happened to the Kerrigans again?”

Owen had already explained the situation, but he simply repeated, “They’re away, but I don’t know where.”

The councilor seemed disappointed by his answer. Pursing his thin lips, he continued eyeing Owen and the room. Owen tamped down the sudden surge of irritation. He’d thought it a good idea to invite Phillip Lethbridge over for a midweek evening drink. The wealthy lawyer lived next door and was an influential member of the Burronga Town Council. He’d be someone to have on his side when the council voted on Bandicoot Creek, Owen had thought. But he hadn’t counted on the man’s mistrust.