Believe in Me: A Rosewood Novel (26 page)

He wanted to reach out and haul her into his arms and cover her petal-soft lips with his and drink in the taste of her. He wanted to run his hands over her supple curves and cup that sweetly rounded ass he’d been trying not to stare at, and draw her tight against him until they formed a perfect whole.

But this wasn’t the time or the place. He wasn’t about to risk frightening the filly she was working so hard to train. Though his body ached, he made himself settle for the satisfaction of seeing her blue eyes widen as their gazes remained locked and hearing the telltale catch in her breath, which matched his own erratic breathing.

He thanked God for his self-control when just then the sound of three squealing voices reached them, calling for their mommy. If his kiss hadn’t frightened the filly, Jordan’s jumping out of his arms as if zapped by a Taser the instant she registered their approach certainly would have.

An adult voice was with them. “Ned said Mommy was in Plain Songs’ stall. Which one is that, Kate?”

“It’s down here.”

“No, Max, no running or skipping in the barn. You know better. We all walk
quietly.
”

Then Owen heard the single squawk of “Mommy!” belonging to the littlest one, Olivia, and wished he’d scanned the broodmares’ barn for an emergency exit.

Interestingly, he wasn’t the only one who was dismayed by the Peanuts gang’s impending arrival. Jordan had first paled and then turned an endearing shade of pink, a clear announcement of her flustered state—and probably not the look she was hoping for.

Unaccustomed to scouting for people three feet and under, he saw the babysitter first. A twentysomething with a coronet of blond braids and glittery, multicolored dangly earrings, she wore a tie-dyed T-shirt with the name of a rock band he’d never heard of and a pair of jeans that had likely come with all those rips the day she bought them. The jeans were rolled up to mid-calf, exposing a pair of beat-up paddock boots with no laces. An interesting look. He decided to dub it “Heidi abandons the Swiss Alps to rock out at Bonnaroo.”

She was holding on to Olivia’s hand, preventing the toddler from careening full tilt into her mother. But even with her arm being tugged and yanked, she sized him up. Then her gaze slid to Jordan. She’d have had to be blindfolded to miss her employer’s heightened flush. Returning her attention to him, she flashed him a broad smile along with an impish wink. All that was missing from that not-so-subtle signal of approval was to give him a hearty thumbs-up.

Jordan’s babysitter was one hell of a boost to his ego, he thought, hiding a grin. He hoped she didn’t find out the tragic truth that nothing had happened between Jordan and him. But what were the men Jordan dated like to make her beam as if he were a special treat? Difficult to believe he could be so vastly superior.

“Hey, Jordan, hope we’re not interrupting,” she said.

Jordan shook her head a little too vigorously. “Owen and I had just finished.” Though he wouldn’t have thought it possible, her flush deepened. What would she look like if they’d actually done something? Damn if he wouldn’t like to find out, and sooner rather than later. “Owen, this is Miriam Banner, my babysitter and lifesaver. Miriam, this is—”

“The architect. Yeah, Jade texted me,” she said with that approving smile again. In his mind’s eye, he had a sudden image of Jade and Miriam teaming up and wreaking havoc on the male population, fallen bodies littering the landscape. “You lucked out, Jordan. I took an architecture course in college and my prof had a potbelly and wore the same bow tie all semester. I think he slept in it. You don’t look like the type to sleep in a bow tie,” she told him.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said gravely.

“As it was intended. Sorry if we’re a couple of minutes early, Jordan. The kids couldn’t wait to see you and Doc Holliday.”

Kate and Max were dressed to ride. Olivia, too, he supposed, though she was wearing blue jeans with an elastic waist. Maybe they didn’t make jodhpurs that small.

“Can we come in and pat Penny, Mommy?”

“Of course, Kate, but let me take Olivia first.” At that, Miriam scooped Olivia up and held her out to Jordan who settled the tot on her left hip. Kind of like hanging a sword on the left side, it allowed Jordan to use her right arm to hold the filly. So Owen was surprised when she asked him to take Penny’s lead.

“Uh, sure,” he said.

“Has Owen been helping you, Mommy?”

“Yes, he’s been a big help, Kate. Pat Penny right here, along her shoulder, Max. That’s right, make nice long strokes with the flat of your hand.”

“We help, too, don’t we, Mommy?”

“Yes, you do,” she said with a smile.

“Is Owen going to watch us ride?”

All eyes turned on him. Christ, even Penny and Plain Song seemed to be awaiting his response. “You know, I think I’m going to take a rain check and go up and look through John Butler’s pattern book.”

“What’s a rain check, Mommy?”

“Owen is saying that he’d like to watch your lesson another day.”

“Okay. We can play with him after our lesson. I want to show him my twains.”

His smile felt stiff. Playing “twains” held as much appeal as a tooth extraction. The solution would be to keep an eye on his watch. Forty-five minutes with John Butler’s drawings and then he’d hightail it out of Rosewood before any Lilliputians could besiege him.

Jordan seemed to read his thoughts as easily as if he’d written them on his forehead. “We’ll have to see, sweetie. He may have to leave before you and Kate have finished riding.”

Jordan Radcliffe was one smart woman.

The only hitch in the plan to allot forty-five minutes to John Butler’s architectural designs was that the book was amazing, each drawing more detailed than the next, and far too absorbing for Owen to tear his eyes away and check the passing minutes on his wristwatch. He was studying the seashell whorl of the capitals of an Ionic column, when he realized he was no longer alone in the sun-filled library. He blamed the thick carpet for muffling the thud of their little sock-covered feet and failing to alert him. Before he could bolt, the chair where he’d been sitting peacefully and happily, not bothering a blessed soul, was surrounded.

“Hiya, Owen. Want to play with my twains now?”

“I’m afraid I can’t today.”

Max was undaunted. “How about Twistuh?”

Owen didn’t even know if he was supposed to substitute
r’
s for
w’
s with that word. What was the kid talking about? And why were the two who couldn’t talk the ones who were so voluble? Kate, as usual, was staring at him with solemn blue eyes so much like her mother’s.

“Twistuh’s weally fun,” Max pronounced as if this might be the tipping point.

“I’m sure it’s terrific fu—” The word became a curse that he somehow managed to swallow despite Olivia’s sneak attack. While he’d been busy fending off Max, she must have been crawling beneath the desk to hurl her solid rubber body against his knees. Before he knew it she’d climbed onto his lap.

That was alarming enough. But then, with a demonic chortle, she reached a hand out toward John Butler’s book.

Oh no, there was no way he was going to let those grubby mitts near the priceless book. Owen jumped to his feet, taking Olivia with him. It wasn’t as if he could very well drop her. She might stumble and crack her head on the leg of the table or on the corner of the chair. Somehow he didn’t think Jordan would take kindly to his giving her kid a concussion.

“Uh, where’s your mom?” he asked Kate, the only one capable of providing an intelligible answer.

“She’s still at the barn.” He had to strain to catch her quiet response, but maybe that was because of the blood pounding in his head. Olivia had her arms clamped about his neck and was squeezing it like he was a villain in a James Bond movie. The kid was strong as hell.

“Miriam?” he asked in strangled desperation.

“She’s making our lunch.”

“She told us we could play until she called us,” Max chimed in.

As there wasn’t a single
r
in that sentence, Owen understood it just fine.

“So what d’ya wanna play, Owen?”

Oh, Christ.

* * *

Jordan wasn’t sure, but if she had to bet she’d have laid money down that it was a Hoagy Carmichael tune that was being played on the grand piano in the far parlor. Only one person could be playing it, as Ellie had gone home and Miriam, though a music lover, listened to it rather than made it. Furthermore, her tastes leaned more toward Nirvana and Phish. She moved quietly, not wanting to disturb him and risk having him stop.

He played beautifully. The quicker parts of the arrangement never caused his agile fingers to trip. Not even Kate and Max sandwiching him on the piano bench or Olivia plunked down in the middle of his lap hindered him, so fixed was his concentration. Maybe that was the point. He was able to ignore their presence by focusing on the music.

Whatever his motive, he was obviously an accomplished pianist. She could have sat and listened to him for hours. She wasn’t alone in her appreciation, either. Rapt, Kate and Max watched his fingers dance over the keys, their heads tracking the fleet movement of his hands. Even Olivia sat quietly, as if she, too, understood better than to join in by pounding the ivories. Incredible.

Jordan remained where she was, memorizing every detail of the scene, knowing this was a moment to preserve in her heart; too many flew by in the rush of a day to vanish before one recognized its special beauty.

The song came to an end and Owen raised his hands to hover over the keyboard. She suspected that if Olivia hadn’t been planted in his lap, they’d have moved to rest there, a gesture born of childhood piano recitals. The little she knew of him was already sufficient for her to guess that his parents would have been very gung ho when it came to that particularly hellish ritual in a child’s music instruction.

“That was pretty, Owen,” Kate said softly.

Her daughter had excellent taste.

“Play another one,” Max demanded, and Jordan frowned
slightly until he remembered to tack on “Please” to his request.

“You sure it’s not lunchtime yet?”

Max shook his head. “Miriam will come and get us.”

When Olivia gave a hearty bounce on his lap, Owen grimaced. “All right. But you guys have to sit still.”

Her mouth fell open as even Olivia quieted. It seemed Owen’s talents extended beyond the myriad ones she’d already imagined.

She recognized the tune instantly. It was Cole Porter’s “You’re the Top,” and the choice suited him. She could easily picture him: dark and heart-trippingly handsome in a tuxedo with a coupe of champagne placed within easy reach. Instead of her three children crowding him, a bevy of beautiful women were draped seductively over the piano, each one hoping that when the time came, he’d play his clever fingers over her. She knew very well the desires those fingers could arouse.

The tableau was all too vivid. So when he struck the last note, Jordan wasn’t in the least bit sorry. She stepped forward, knowing the movement would catch his attention.

He nearly leapt over the bench in his haste to transfer Olivia into her arms.

Relieved that the image of Owen as the sophisticated playboy was momentarily banished, she gave him a smile. “Thanks for entertaining them.”

“I wasn’t sure about ‘Twistuh’ so I thought this was the safer bet.”

“Yes, I’d say Cole Porter is more your speed. Not that Twister doesn’t have its appeal.” Shifting her attention momentarily to her two older children, she said, “Lunch is ready, kids.”

Max gave a whoop and tore off after Kate, while Olivia practically threw herself out of Jordan’s arms in her determination to follow her siblings. Jordan and Owen watched as she thundered after them.

“Your children are rather high-energy,” he observed with a studied mildness.

“Actually they’re pretty typical in terms of energy. They’ve only destroyed a couple of antique pieces,” she answered, biting back a laugh at his horrified expression. “Just kidding. They know to save their more vigorous play for outdoors.”

Together they followed the children back toward the kitchen.

“So this game Max likes is called Twister,” he said, stressing the “er.” “What is it?”

“Twister’s a great game, although somewhat difficult to describe. Not your average board game. You’ll have to play sometime. Would you like some lunch? It’s not much, I’m afraid. Grilled cheese sandwiches accompanied by a salad for the grown-ups.”

“Thank you, but no. I should be going. There’s some office work I’ve been neglecting. It’ll probably take me right up to dinner to get everything done to my assistant’s satisfaction. I can wait for you to fill out the tax form, though.”

“All right. You’re having dinner in town?”

“Yes. At the Grille.”

“Oh.” Enough said. He was having dinner with a woman. The Alexandria restaurant was expensive and delicious with a tasteful décor and soft lighting, in short too romantic to waste on another man. Although it was really none of her business whom Owen took where, a perverse impulse prompted her to add, “She’s lucky—everything is delicious there.”

“Yes,” he replied with an easy grin, not looking the least bit discomfited that she was guessing the gender of his dinner companion when she was pretty sure he’d been contemplating kissing her in Plain Song’s stall a little over an hour ago. It had taken nearly every second of those sixty minutes for Jordan to overcome her ridiculous disappointment that he hadn’t.

Her own smile felt stiff. She’d already figured out that Owen was far from monkish in his habits. So that meant the annoyance freezing her features was for herself as much as it was for him. She should know better than to be attracted to a man who could even
act
like he might want to kiss her when he had a date later that evening in Alexandria.

While she was being painfully honest, she had to acknowledge that a good dose of dejection was mixed into her annoyance. Jordan couldn’t stop thinking that since Owen
hadn’t
attempted to kiss her, it was because she was unable to inspire anything more than a fleeting sexual interest in a man.