One Real Man (Entangled Bliss) ) (13 page)

What was he talking about? Why did he sound like he was making long-term plans involving her?

“I don’t
want
to see you.” Her hands fisted at her sides. “Can’t you understand?”

He seemed unmoved, just rolled his shoulders. “I understand you’re feeling bruised after your divorce, but you gotta know I’m nothing like that ratbag you married.”

Seth. She had to scramble through her memories before she could drag up a blurry picture of her ex-husband. Already she was forgetting what he looked like. Owen had supposed wrong. She was well past the hurt of her divorce, she realized. Just a few weeks back she
had
been wounded and beaten down by the world, but since then something had happened. Without noticing it, she’d recovered. She didn’t feel the need to hide from the world anymore. The humiliation of the topless dancing video would linger on, a lesson to her not to let her guard down again, but she wouldn’t let it cripple the rest of her life. Even though she’d turned thirty, she was still young enough. She still had time to meet the right man and start again.

And Owen? He was so not the right man for her. But he stood before her, solid and large and vital, the broadness of his chest inviting her to lean on him, the power in his body hinting at the virility he could show her in bed. Her legs wobbled. She couldn’t believe it, but Owen was making her go weak at the knees. He’d done it once before, the teenager who’d kissed her senseless among the ferns…and now he was doing it again.

She drew herself up, scraped together her tattered dignity. “You and I have nothing in common besides a few lusty urges. I don’t think I can make myself any clearer than that.”

The passion slowly leached from his face, to be replaced by flinty coolness. “I guess I’ve overstepped the social niceties again. A lesson for me not to put a woman on my lap at the dinner table.”

Her nerves screwed tight. What a cold shrew she’d sounded like. No wonder she had that ice-maiden reputation. Usually it didn’t bother her, but now it did. She hated Owen’s thinking she was an unfeeling she-devil. But years of ingrained behavior were hard to reverse, especially when he regarded her with such coldness. And then it was too late as he turned away and shut her out with the wall of his back.

Too late to do anything, once again.

Chapter Nine

Owen walked out of the changing room and halted in front of Paige. “What do you think?” He gestured at the blue-gray silk shirt he wore.

Paige sat up on the sofa and took a quick gulp. “It’s nice…” Nice? Owen looked to die for in the new clothes she’d chosen for him. The soft fabric stretched across his body like a second skin, accentuating the hardiness of his build, while the tailored trousers hugged his hips to perfection.

“Bit tight around the shoulders.” Owen bunched his upper arms, drawing her attention to his biceps.

The shop assistant darted forward. “I have that in a bigger size.” He held up a second shirt. “Try this one, sir.”

Owen sighed. “Don’t I have enough shirts, anyway?” he said to Paige as he began to undo the buttons.

“It never hurts to have a few spare.”

“I can’t believe you actually enjoy this activity.”

He pulled off the shirt right in front of her, and her lungs clenched at the sight of his bare chest. Oh, he had no idea how much she was enjoying
this
. Owen’s torso and upper arms rippled with muscle, the result of all the years of construction work. As he reached for the larger shirt, she noticed the shop assistant also ogling Owen’s semi-naked body and immediately turned her head away, hoping she wasn’t as transparent as the eager young worker.

“This fits.” Owen swung his arms in front of the mirror. “Right. I’m done. Let’s go.”

He wasn’t even going to turn and check the rear view? Then again, from where she sat, she had a great view of his rear. No complaints from her.

“Don’t you want a tie to go with that shirt?” she asked.

“You pick one out for me while I get dressed.” He walked back into the changing room, already tearing at his clothes as if he couldn’t wait to get out of them.

She hunted through the collection of ties on the other side of the exclusive men’s boutique. Owen didn’t care what she picked out, but somehow it seemed important to choose the right one. It felt rather personal selecting things for him to wear. She could almost imagine herself sliding a tie around Owen’s neck, helping him achieve the perfect Windsor knot before they went out for dinner. Oh dear, she was picturing herself and Owen as a couple, reveling in their intimacy. She shut her eyes to stop her daydreaming. Her fingers squeezed around a tie, and she pulled it out without inspecting it.

“Really?
That
one?”

Her heart skipped a beat as Owen’s voice breathed in her ear. She glanced down at the red-and-yellow-striped tie in her hands.

“Perhaps I might suggest something like this?” The shop assistant held up an emerald-green tie embossed with a subtle pattern. “Accentuates the lovely color in your eyes, sir.”

Owen blinked. Paige schooled her lips not to twitch. “Thank you,” Owen said gravely to the shop assistant. “I’ll take it.” He handed over his credit card.

Outside on the sidewalk, Owen raised his eyebrows at Paige. “I’ll have to come back here the next time I need a new tie.”

“I’m sure he says something like that to all his customers.”

The corners of his lips lifted. “Probably, but it worked on me.”

She grinned back at him, and some of the tension she’d been holding eased out. She hadn’t been looking forward to this trip to Sydney. After her clash with Owen in the dining room, she’d dreaded the thought of spending so many hours in his company. On the drive up from Burronga, Owen had flicked on the radio almost immediately, but the music had only highlighted the silence between them. When they began their shopping, they were forced to speak with each other. Owen had been impatient to get it done as quickly as possible; she’d been keyed up, anxious to choose the right outfits, and seeing Owen close up and gorgeous had only twisted her more, reminding her of everything she wanted and couldn’t get—not on his terms, anyway.

But now Owen had smiled at her, and she felt a million times better.

“Where to next?” he asked her.

Paige glanced around them. They were in Paddington, the heart of Sydney’s trendy eastern suburbs, surrounded by fashionable boutiques. “Shoes,” she declared. “Definitely shoes.”

He half smothered a groan. “I knew you were going to say that.”

But he fell into step beside her as she led the way. A group of young women sauntered past them, Italian bags dangling from their arms, oversize designer sunglasses perched on their dainty noses. A middle-aged man in a cashmere sweater and soft loafers walked his Cavoodle dog on a tartan leash. Expensive SUVs lined the street.

“I guess you feel right at home here,” Owen said. “Your old stomping ground.”

This had been her old stomping ground two years ago. She’d rented an apartment in nearby Rose Bay, shopped for clothes here in Paddington, frequented the bars and restaurants in the area. But she couldn’t say she felt right at home anymore. Something was different, something about her. The sight of all these chic little stores got her animated, but not to the same degree as before. Previously, she would have been eyeing every shop front and passerby, but now something had changed.
She
had changed.

“Paige?”

She became aware of Owen gazing at her with a sympathetic expression.

“You’ll be back here sooner than you think,” he said.

Owen thought she was upset at being reminded of what she’d lost, that she missed all this. She did miss it, didn’t she? Why else was she meeting Mike today? Why else was she desperate to leave Burronga and her crappy housekeeping job? Because she wanted all this…this glamour and urban sophistication. Nothing at all to do with this maddening man in front of her, looking like he felt sorry for her.

“Yes.” She gave him a quick nod. “This is where I belong.”

Owen glanced at his phone. “Maybe we should forget the shoes. It’s almost noon. I wouldn’t want you to be late for your lunch meeting.”

She had a pretty good idea how her lunch with Mike would go—lots of wine and boozy gossip about who was doing what to whom, blah, blah, blah. After two years’ absence the names would have changed, but nothing else. In a blinding flash of insight it hit her that she didn’t want her old job at Focus Marketing. She didn’t want to go back; she wanted to move forward. Still, she couldn’t ditch the lunch. Mike would be able to fill her in on the current market. It would be useful to know what was happening, but she didn’t need to rush to their appointment.

“No,” she said to Owen. “Shoes are more important. We’re going to ditch those canvas sneakers of yours once and for all.” She hadn’t altered that much—his favorite shoes were awful and she was going to get him something stylish or die trying. Threading her hand through his arm, she pulled him along.

“You can’t get rid of them, you know,” he said. “I can still order them online.”

She laughed. The feel of Owen’s arm beneath her hand lightened her mood. “What are you so afraid of? Scared I’ll find shoes you’ll like?”

…

Mike drained his wineglass, looking self-satisfied. “We signed a new client yesterday. Can’t say who, but it’s a megabuck deal.” Picking up the wine bottle, he motioned toward Paige’s half-empty glass. “Can I top you up?”

“No, thanks.” Paige quickly shook her head. “I’ve had plenty.”

“Don’t tell me you’re on a health kick.” Her former boss refilled his glass to the brim.

“Is there anything wrong with being healthy?”

Mike grunted as he ran his gaze over her. “I gotta be blunt with you. You’ve let yourself go a bit.”

“Let myself go?” She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” He waved his hand. “Your hair, your clothes, your makeup, your nails. You used to be so polished and perfect. You were such a princess. No offense, but now you’re kinda fraying at the edges.”

Paige breathed in and out several times. They were in a dark, clubby restaurant, surrounded by other diners doing business lunches. She peered at her reflection in the smoky mirror on the opposite wall. Was Mike right? Had she let herself go? She couldn’t afford the expensive hair salon treatments anymore or the massages, facials, and pedicures she used to think essential. She hadn’t bought any new clothes or makeup in three months—unthinkable once upon a time. Her shoes were last season, her bag at least a year old. Yes, he was right. She wasn’t polished and perfect anymore, but maybe she didn’t want to be.

She lifted her head. “There’s nothing wrong with my brain. I’m still good at my job.”

“You were good at your job because you were good to look at.”

Her mouth fell open. “What?”

Mike shifted about in his seat. “Come on, Paige. You know the industry. Image is paramount.”

“But I have a degree in marketing—”

“So do hundreds of job applicants. I’m not saying you’re dumb—far from it—but if you want to come back to Focus you’ll have to smarten up. I mean, look at your nails. What have you been doing to them?”

She studied her nails. Sure, they weren’t long and French manicured, but they were neat and pretty enough in pink polish.

Mike leaned his elbows on the table. “Look, I’m trying to help you. I’m giving you some good advice. Even if you don’t want to work for me again, you’ll need to spruce yourself up before you start job interviewing.”

Paige pressed her lips together. “So you’re saying the only reason you hired me in the first place was because of the way I looked?”

“Yeah.” Mike shrugged, unapologetic. “And also because you’re Crystal Kerrigan’s daughter.”

Her heart shrank. “I see,” she forced through a tight throat. “I always suspected that might have been a factor. Thanks for confirming it.”

He gulped down some wine. “Hey, it’s a tough market, and your mother’s name got you a break.”

“I didn’t trade on my looks or my name. I worked damned hard for you.” He couldn’t deny that, she thought indignantly.

“Then you gave it up for that husband of yours.” His gaze dropped to her shirtfront. “And look how that turned out for you.”

Anger surged in a hot tide over her skin. Anger at Seth for being such a rat, anger at herself for being so foolish, anger at her ex-boss for leering at her. But she refused to lose it. This was the kind of dickhead behavior she’d have to cope with if she wanted to relaunch her career. If she couldn’t deal with Mike’s sleazy smirking, then she might as well remain buried in Burronga.

Beneath the tabletop she curled her hands into fists. “Thank you for reminding me, Mike. You’re all class.”

At that he had the grace to look sheepish. “Ah, jeez. I’m sorry, but I had to mention it.”

Had to? For a second she fantasized punching his alcohol-flushed face. Gathering her things, she rose from the table. “Nice seeing you again, but I really need to get going.”

“Um?” Mike stumbled to his feet, almost upsetting his glass. “But we’ve barely been here an hour. I thought you wanted to discuss your career.”

Not with him. He’d only hired her on her looks and connections. He’d never taken her seriously, she now saw. All her hard work and brilliant ideas, he hadn’t appreciated any of that.
A woman’s appearance is her best investment
. Her mother’s advice echoed through her head.
Men appreciate a woman who takes care of her looks
.

Yeah? But what if that was all they appreciated about her?

“Another time maybe.” She gave Mike a tight smile before hurrying out of the restaurant as fast as she could.

…

It started to rain as soon as they hit the freeway leading southwest out of Sydney. Owen flicked on the windshield wipers. The falling rain closed in on them, obscuring the outside world; they were cocooned inside his car, but the atmosphere didn’t feel exactly cozy. Paige sat just a few inches from him, but she’d never seemed more distant. Silent and still, she gazed out the rain-blurred window, though he doubted she saw much.

He blamed her remoteness on her lunch with her former boss. Before that, when they’d been shopping together, the strain between them had thawed. In the shoe shop, she’d talked him into buying several pairs of shoes and even found him some sneakers that were stylish—according to her. They’d had fun together, but then she’d gone off for her lunch appointment, leaving him to eat a burger at a local café. When she returned, all the fun had vanished from her, and she’d been silent ever since the start of their return trip. Not the overstrung silence of the morning journey; this time her silence was sad, depressed even.

“Was your ex-boss no help to you, then?” he asked, tiring of holding his tongue.

Paige lifted her head from the hand she’d been propping it on and aimed her gray gaze at him. “What do you mean?”

Answering a question with a question—she had to be hiding something. He shrugged. “It’s none of my business, but it’s plain your lunch meeting didn’t go too well.”

“Oh, it went well enough.” She tapped her fingers on the armrest. “Not exactly what I planned, but I learned a thing or two.” Her expression grew grimmer.

“Did he…?”
Did he mention the video?
Just in time he bit off the question, though it continued to burn on his tongue.

“Offer me a job?” Paige smoothed a strand of hair away from her forehead. “No, but even if he did, I wouldn’t take it.”

“Why not?”

“The details don’t matter. I don’t need Mike. I have other contacts I’ll approach once this Asquith weekend is over. I’ll get a job where my
marketing
skills count for something.”

Owen clamped the steering wheel tighter. Now he was sure the ex-boss had said something snide about the video. The idea of some greased-up dick making tacky remarks about her one and only slipup made his blood boil. If he’d been with Paige, he’d have made sure the guy treated her with respect. But one glance at her shuttered face told him she wouldn’t appreciate that. She didn’t need him to fight her battles; she didn’t need him for anything. Well, except for a quick roll in the hay to relieve the stress, but that was all.

She stared ahead, her face a porcelain mask. How could he get her to open up to him? Crap, he was becoming too needy around Paige.

In the drizzling rain they passed the turnoff that led to Jim and Heidi’s house, reminding Owen of what he was—a working-class man despite the fancy new clothes sitting in the back of his car. The smart threads were just a costume for a part he would play on the weekend. They weren’t who he was.