“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 thisthis 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. “Notexactly”
“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 notyou’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.”