One Real Man (Entangled Bliss) )

She’s right where he wants her…

Amidst an ugly divorce and an even uglier scandal, Paige Kerrigan has returned to her parents’ estate to hide out until things blow over. While she’s enjoying a late-night naked swim, however, she’s shocked to find Owen Bellamy— her family’s former cute pool boy—standing poolside. Now he’s all hot, grown up, and renting the Kerrigan property…and he’s definitely
not
forgiven Paige for how she used to treat him.

Once, the beautiful but spoiled Paige Kerrigan was everything Owen wanted. Now she’s broke and Owen finally has his revenge...by offering her a place to stay as his
housekeeper
. Yet Paige isn’t the person he remembers. Instead, she’s far more than he imagined, and far more irresistible than is safe. But the last thing Owen can afford is to give his heart to the same woman who once broke it.

One Real Man

a Real Men novel

Coleen Kwan

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Coleen Kwan. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at
www.entangledpublishing.com
.

Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit
http://www.entangledpublishing.com/category/bliss

Edited by Kate Fall

Cover design by Jessica Cantor

Cover art by Shutterstock

ISBN 978-1-63375-107-1

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition February 2015

Chapter
One

Someone had broken into his pool conservatory.

Owen Bellamy’s soft-soled sneakers made no sound as he moved down the darkened corridor that linked the main house with the conservatory. Arched metal columns and soaring panes of glass enclosed a twenty-meter pool. A golden trumpet vine twisted around one of the columns. With the only illumination coming from the underwater lights, shifting shadows filled the cavernous space. The intruder swam down the length of the pool at a brisk pace, making no attempt to mask his or her presence.

Too stupid or too brazen?

Owen eased through the open door. The crisp evening outside wasn’t exactly swimming weather, but the water in the pool was kept at a steady 82 degrees Fahrenheit year-round. Many years ago, a lifetime ago, it had been one of his chores to keep the water temperature of this pool steady. He’d been bawled out a couple of times for neglecting to do so, and his father had had to apologize for him.

He stopped just inside, in the shadow of some potted ferns, as he caught sight of two huge suitcases, bulging at the seams, and next to them a large handbag and a pile of clothing. Jeans, white T-shirt, lace bra, white G-string, flat leather sandals. A young woman’s clothes. Expensive, too, judging by the shoes and handbag. So he had a rich girl skinny-dipping in his pool. She’d probably wandered into the wrong house. But how could she have gotten in when he’d locked up earlier? Had she broken in just for the hell of it? Whoever she was, he wasn’t going to put up with any crap from her. He knew all about spoiled princesses.

His gaze zeroed in on the woman freestyling toward him. She swam head down, the wake from her strokes blurring her body. He couldn’t make out her features, but there was something very familiar about her… Then, as she tilted her head sideways to gulp in air, recognition slammed into him, driving all the breath from his lungs.

Paige Kerrigan
. Rich, beautiful, spoiled Page Kerrigan—the owners’ daughter who’d once ruled this pool house, the princess who’d mocked him in front of her friends, the tease who’d kissed him behind these same ferns and then rejected him for someone else—was swimming naked in his pool.

Memories roared in his brain, sending painful spasms through his muscles. Her splashing thrummed against his eardrums. His eyeballs felt hot and tight as he tracked her progress. Soon, very soon, she would reach the end of the pool, and she didn’t have a clue who was waiting for her.

He strode over the bundle of clothing and stopped at the edge of the pool. His chest thumped hard.

She reached the wall of the shallow end at full speed. Stretching out, she slapped her hand onto the pool edge, breathing hard as she stood. As her upper body rose out of the water, moisture sluiced down her curves, turning her skin smooth and slick like liquid honey.

Oh God… Owen’s lungs seized at the sight of Paige’s wet breasts. For the life of him, he couldn’t wrench his gaze away. Then her earsplitting shriek broke the spell as she flung her arms around her torso.

“Who the hell are you?” she yelled. “Get the frig out of here before I call the police.”

Owen blinked. That wasn’t the reaction he’d expected, but then again he’d never been able to read Paige. “Funny,” he drawled, “that’s exactly what I was about to say to you.”

Her gray eyes widened in puzzlement before stunned recognition flashed through them. “O-Owen? Owen Bellamy?” Her arms tightened around her chest. Retreating a few steps, she flicked back her wet hair with a toss of her head. “What are you doing here? Surely you don’t still clean the pool?”

His mouth thinned. Despite being caught off guard, she’d found his weak spot, as always. But he wasn’t the caretaker’s son anymore; he wasn’t the awkward sixteen-year-old in awe of the owners’ gorgeous, pampered daughter. He was an adult—successful and wealthy—and he’d had plenty of beautiful women since her.

Folding his arms, he pinned her with a cool stare. “This pool happens to be mine now.”

“
Your
pool?” She let out a light, incredulous laugh.

He grimaced at her snicker. “Yeah, my pool and my house. You’re trespassing on my property, Paige.”

Arms still wrapped around her torso, she lifted one shoulder. “I’ve never heard such nonsense. My parents would never sell our home, not in a million years—”

“I’m renting the place.”

“Renting?”

“Uh-huh. Signed a one-year lease just last week.”

“But—but—I don’t understand.” A dumbfounded expression gripped her face.

For a second Owen almost felt sorry for her. Obviously she’d been kept in the dark by her parents, or more precisely her mother, the dominant force in the Kerrigan family.

Paige shook her head forcefully. “My mother would never rent her home to you.”

She was right. As keen as Crystal Kerrigan might be to rent out her mansion, she would have balked at signing it over to her former caretaker’s son, the moody teenager who’d caused so much embarrassment to her precious daughter. But luckily, McCarthy Construction, the private company in which Owen now owned a share, was the lessee on the rental agreement.

“Too bad,” he retorted, “because she has.” The lease was watertight; he’d made his lawyer double-check every clause.

A deep line creased her forehead. Despite her scowl, he couldn’t help noticing that she looked amazing. Her teenage prettiness had matured into something dazzling. Her smooth ash-blond hair was slicked back, revealing an oval face with sculpted cheekbones, a straight, narrow nose, and lips with a perfect Cupid’s bow. Large gray eyes fringed with thick lashes studied him suspiciously. Her neck was slender, her shoulders and collarbones delicate. Her arms banded across her chest didn’t conceal the fullness of her breasts, while the semi-opaque water hinted at the rest of her body. What an incredible body…

Heat seeped through him, a flickering trail of desire. Owen bit the inside of his cheek. Fourteen years ago, Paige Kerrigan had kept him tossing feverishly at nights, and tonight her effortless, haughty beauty was wreaking the same havoc. Why did she still affect him so much?

He stared down at her. “So are you going to tell me what you’re doing in my pool?”

…

Paige shivered, not just from the water cooling on her skin, or Owen Bellamy gazing down at her, but also the way her heart had lurched at his sudden reappearance.

Owen Bellamy.
Oh my God
. When she was sixteen, every glimpse of Owen had scrambled her wits. His father had been the caretaker, just one of the many staff employed by her parents, and Owen, the same age as she was, had helped out with his dad’s chores. He should have been practically invisible to Paige, but she’d found it impossible to ignore him, as much as she tried, and oh boy had she tried.

Soon after the school dance debacle, Owen had left Burronga, their quaint country hometown, and moved to Sydney to start a building apprenticeship. She’d prayed never to see him again, had made a huge effort to forget him, and she’d succeeded. She hadn’t thought about him in years.

But now, without warning, he was back in her life, a life that had gone spectacularly off course in the past year. And he’d just seen her naked boobs. God, could life get any better? These breasts had already caused too much mayhem in her life.

“Uh, do you mind if I get dressed before we talk?” she asked, rubbing her cold upper arms.

“Go right ahead. I don’t mind.” He stood there, not looking like he’d move any time soon.

Through his spread-out legs, she glimpsed her clothing next to her suitcases. “Really? You’re going to stand there and watch?”

One corner of his lips lifted briefly. “You used to like me watching, didn’t you?”

Oh God, why did he have to bring that up? Years ago, his clear green eyes had tracked her faithfully as she’d sauntered around the pool in her skimpy bikini, aware of the effect she had on him and excited by her strange new power. But even then, she’d sensed the force behind his reserve, and in the end she’d found out that she couldn’t tease him with impunity.

“But I’m not wearing anything,” she protested, flustered by his eyes, her memories.

“So I noticed.”

Oh, he was so infuriating she wanted to stamp her foot. Which was hard to do when she was in a pool, buck naked in front of her former pool boy.

She tilted up her chin. “You know, I’ve drunk about a gallon of coffee today and haven’t visited the bathroom for hours. If you keep me waiting here in
your
pool, I might just have to
go
here…”

His eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would. I can’t hold on for—”

“Yes, you can.” He pivoted on his heel and walked to the door, where he halted with his back to her.

Shivering, she hoisted herself out of the pool and hurried to her clothing. With no towels around, she had no option but to yank her clothes on over her wet skin. The jeans chafed her legs, and a whiff of chlorine clung to her hair. She really needed a warm shower, but if Owen was the rightful tenant, she’d have to leave. Where could she go at eight o’clock at night? She couldn’t afford a hotel, but—

“Are you decent yet?” Without waiting for her reply, Owen spun around. Those rapier-sharp eyes scanned her from top to toe. Did he like what he saw? Hard to tell… Wait, why did she care at all what he thought of her?

“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.”