“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 what you’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.”