“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.
Chapter Two
He was a first class idiot. But then, Paige Kerrigan had always had that effect on him.
Owen punched his fist into one of the cushions strewn across the couch. He was in the den at the back of the Kerrigan mansion. When he’d hired his interior decorator, he’d been too busy—and not interested enough—to give her more than brief instructions and a tight deadline. She’d chosen furnishings in keeping with the grand mansion, but some of the touches were too fussy for him, like these silly scatter cushions.
He hurled the puffy cushion away from him. That’s what he should have done with Paige’s expensive luggage. Chucked the suitcases out of the house, followed by Paige, her ash-blond hair flying all over her pale, supercilious face.
Once a pool boy, always a pool boy.
Even when she was down and out, Paige knew just how to needle him.
Well, dammit, he wasn’t her pool boy anymore. He was a partner in a thriving company, making more money than he knew what to do with. And he was back here in Burronga to make an impact. When his real estate agent had told him the Kerrigan place was up for rent, he couldn’t believe his luck. He’d snapped it up, undeterred by the outrageous rent. Not that he’d been plotting his revenge on the Kerrigan family like some twisted villain, but there’d always been a festering rawness when he remembered his time here, so when the opportunity came, he’d reacted instinctively.
Only, he hadn’t experienced much satisfaction since moving in last week. Wandering around the mansion had brought back painful reminders of his late father. Unlike Owen, Derek Bellamy had never resented the Kerrigans. The car accident that had claimed his wife had left him with permanent brain trauma. Unable to return to his carpentry business, he’d been grateful for the caretaker’s job that Edward Kerrigan, Paige’s father, had offered him. But then, he’d never been the same after that car accident, never fully recovered his memories of the wife he’d loved, the family they’d had.
Owen remembered everything—his mother laughing, his father telling silly jokes, his baby sister Natasha gurgling and clapping her hands. They had been an ordinary, happy family until the day his dad had flipped his truck driving Owen’s mother to work in a hurry because he had an urgent job waiting. At least Natasha had been too young to remember those hard times. Now she was growing up fast, almost sixteen, the same age Owen had been when they’d moved into the caretaker’s cottage on the Kerrigan estate.
Tormented by his memories, Owen quit the den to prowl restlessly around the house. As if they had a mind of their own, his legs took him to the conservatory, where he circled the pool.
Here, many years ago, Paige and her school friends had giggled and gossiped and cast sly looks at him as he cleaned the pool. It seemed they always appeared when he had to check the chlorine levels, skim leaves out of the water dropped by the golden trumpet vine, or untangle the suction cleaner. He would try to ignore Paige and her clique, but without much luck. From the very beginning, her ice-maiden beauty had mesmerized him, tormented him. And she had known about his tongue-tied admiration and used it to torture him.
While he worked on the pool, Paige would saunter about the conservatory, her bikini-clad arse wiggling at him, causing him to choke. She’d seldom speak to him except to ask him to open the windows or fetch her a clean towel, always in that cool, don’t-give-a-damn, upper-class voice of hers.
Here, in a corner of the conservatory, were the potted ferns where one day, driven half mad by her flaunting and teasing and his surging adolescent hormones, he’d grabbed her by the wrist, drawn her into the foliage, and kissed her. Hard. She’d pulled free and slapped him across the face, her cheeks burning with outrage, before stalking off. But she hadn’t told her parents, and for a second or two during that stolen, outrageous kiss, he could have sworn her lips had responded to his.
What followed had been the strangest two weeks of his life. Two weeks he’d regretted ever since. Two weeks that had ended in total humiliation at the hands of Paige Kerrigan.
But now things were different. Now the tables were turned. Now he had the opportunity for a little payback. They said revenge was a dish best served cold. Well, his dish had been cooling for fourteen years.
Early the next morning, Paige slowly drifted back to consciousness. Cocooned by luxurious sheets and pillows, she felt cozy, safe, and comfortable. But a second later, everything came howling back, and the warmth ebbed away to be replaced by dull nausea in the hollow of her stomach.
She was trespassing in her own home, and she’d have to leave today. With a groan, she pulled the sheet over her head. Where could she go? Perhaps she’d risk her chances with Great-Aunt Lucinda. Did the carping relative know her parents had been forced to rent out their home?
At the thought of her parents, she smacked her palm against her forehead before jumping out of bed. How silly of her not to have tried to contact her mother last night! Her mother would be furious to find out Owen Bellamy was occupying her house. Maybe there was some way Crystal could get rid of him, some clause in the rental agreement he’d violated.
Paige’s fingers shook as she snatched up the phone on her nightstand and dialed her mother’s mobile number. Her parents were on a cruise in the Caribbean. She hadn’t the faintest idea what time it was over there, but this was an emergency. The call instantly went to voicemail. Sighing in frustration, Paige left a brief message before hanging up. It was no use trying to explain everything or leaving a contact number. She didn’t have a mobile phone anymore, and she had no idea where she’d be by this evening.
That thought chilled her even further. In an effort to keep the panic at bay, she sprang into action. A long shower in her en suite bathroom revived her. Afterward, she styled her hair and made up her face before dressing in a pair of skinny white jeans, a printed silk top, high-heeled white sandals, and a judicious amount of silver jewelry. Even if Owen was expelling her, she’d show him she hadn’t lost everything.
At a measured pace, she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen. There was no one around. The counters and sinks were cleared, the stove untouched, the fruit bowl empty. She opened the fridge, hoping to find some orange juice, but it held only a carton of milk, a half loaf of bread, and some Chinese takeaway leftovers.
“Morning.” Owen’s greeting came from close behind her.
She jerked around, nerves screeching at his sudden appearance. “I didn’t hear you creeping up.”
“I wasn’t creeping.” He looked miffed. “Must be these sneakers of mine.”
His chain-store canvas shoes were identical to the ones he’d worn in his pool boy days. His no-name brand jeans were faded, and not in a fashionable way. Clearly Owen didn’t place much importance on his clothes, even though money was no object to him these days.
“Where are you going in that getup?” He eyed her immaculate appearance with faint derision. “Off to do lunch at the country club with the girls?”
“I wouldn’t meet the country club’s dress code in this ‘getup.’” She wafted her polished fingernails at herself. “They’re very particular about who they let in.”
“I’m sure they’d make an exception for you, seeing as you’re a Kerrigan.”
She lifted a shoulder before changing the subject. “What’s happened to Daphne?”
“Daphne?”
“The housekeeper. Judging by the contents of the fridge, she hasn’t been around lately. She always makes sure the house is well-stocked.”
“Your mother fired her.”
“Fired her?” She winced.
“Well, maybe ‘let her go’ is the more polite term.”
Frowning, Paige continued, “You should get her back. She’s been with us for ages, and she knows how to keep this place running smoothly.” She indicated their Spartan surroundings. “You need a housekeeper.”
“Yeah, I realize that. I tried to rehire Daphne, but she’s moved on to a much better job. So I’m in the market for a housekeeper, and as a matter of fact I have a candidate in mind.” Folding his arms, he rested his hip against the kitchen counter. “You.”
She couldn’t have heard right. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
She felt her jaw slowly sagging. “Me?”