Believe in Me: A Rosewood Novel (6 page)

He’d seen a few tantalizing glimpses of the house in a
Vogue
photo spread that an assistant had brought into his Alexandria office to show him. One of the Radcliffe sisters was a fashion model and had agreed to a photo shoot in the ancestral home. Now he remembered seeing in the spread a picture of Jordan, as well. That he should have noticed her at all was nothing less than remarkable. He’d been scouring the photographs for details of her ancestral home, not for images of its owners.

Indeed, if someone had asked Owen a mere hour ago which would hold greater interest, meeting a direct descendant of Francis Radcliffe, who’d commissioned Rosewood in 1840, or getting a chance to explore the mansion inside and out, his answer would have been immediate. I’ll take door number two.

But that was before he’d met Jordan. To say he found her intriguing was an understatement. When he’d shaken her hand earlier, he’d felt the slight trembling of her fingers clasped in his and caught the flash of feminine awareness in her wide blue eyes. Yet rather than acknowledge that they were two individuals who recognized a spark of attraction between them—he was always more than happy to admit any interest in a beautiful woman—she had abruptly gone all prickly on him.

Her dislike seemed a bit too determined when all they’d done was shake hands, and so to Owen she was that much more interesting. From Nonie’s pointed comment, he’d already figured out that she was divorced, so what was the big deal?

Owen didn’t consider himself particularly conceited, but he was rather accustomed to being liked by the opposite sex. He was decent-looking. He took care of his teeth and trimmed his nails. It wasn’t hard to keep in shape by supplementing the
manual labor he put in on his renovation projects with visits to the gym. But most likely the reason women seemed to gravitate toward him was because he’d always been comfortable around them. It was a trait developed early, fostered by the long string of au pairs and nannies his parents hired to care for him as they traveled the world.

By the age of six, Owen had already tapped into the winning combination of using the right words and a few disarming grins to convince almost any woman to do his bidding. Back then, he’d basically been aiming for another slice of cake and an extra half-hour of playtime in the park. At thirty-six, his tastes had evolved, but he still greatly enjoyed playtime.

The women he dated did, too.

Jordan Radcliffe, of the flawless skin, fathomless blue eyes, auburn hair, and willowy figure, was doing everything she could to let him know she wasn’t remotely interested in engaging with him in any kind of activity, recreational or otherwise. Indeed, from the conspicuous lack of interest she displayed, she was letting him know that she considered him about as interesting as dry rot … actually, probably less.

Perhaps it was for the best. He made it a point to avoid women who fairly screamed complicated, no matter how petal-soft their skin. He preferred his affairs to be straightforward, mutually enjoyable, and brief. Brevity was key. Let a relationship continue too long and the woman developed an unfortunate tendency to make plans.

And the only plans that interested him were architectural. He’d worked his hide off to make Owen Gage & Associates one of the best architectural preservation firms in the area. While he liked contrasts and depth in art and architecture, he had no intention of making room in his life for a woman who had “complexity” written all over her.

A shame, because Jordan Radcliffe smelled really good. Owen was still trying to identify the beguiling scent he’d breathed in as he’d escorted her to the dining room and
then held her chair for her. The fragrance was light and fresh and, well, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what made it so different from the perfumes women generally favored, but he liked it.

He told himself he should be grateful that she’d made it abundantly clear she didn’t want him anywhere near her sweet-smelling self. Otherwise he might be tempted to ignore his established rules of engagement.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like another cup of coffee, Jordan?”

“No, thank you, Nonie. Lunch was absolutely delicious.”

Nonie immediately switched her attention back to him, and as he was seated opposite Jordan, he caught the sneak peek she gave her wristwatch. The tiny slip in manners made him grin. She’d been the epitome of politeness throughout the meal—a careful, formal etiquette that he suspected she used as a shield. The possibility that Jordan might be as bored as he by Nonie’s monopoly of the conversation made Owen wonder what else went on behind that perfect front.

“And you, Owen, darling? More coffee?” Nonie asked.

“Not for me either, thanks. I should be going—”

“Oh, but you
must
stay. I planned to take Jordan to the cottage and hear her ideas for how I might decorate it. I want you to come, too.”

The stunned look on Jordan’s face must have mirrored his own. He’d gotten to know Nonie Harrison fairly well over the months his team had worked on restoring her guest cottage, but she continued to amaze him. Was she really that ignorant of the basic notions of professional courtesy? Probably not, he concluded. A spoiled rich woman, she simply wanted what she wanted and never saw any reason why she shouldn’t have it.

“I’m sure Jordan would rather share her ideas without—” he began as Jordan said, “Perhaps tomorrow would be a better time for us to discuss—”

“Nonsense.” Nonie silenced them both with a wave of her diamond-ringed hand. “Why ever would she mind having you accompany us? You did such a fabulous job on the cottage. I want to be certain the finishing touches will be just as wonderful. You understand, Jordan, don’t you?”

Yes, she did understand. Nonie had set up the lunch and the so-called interview as an elaborate cat-and-mouse game. Her insistence that Owen listen while she presented her decorating ideas was one more way of toying with her. Nonie had obviously decided it would be amusing to see whether she would fall apart at the prospect.

Although it was like being a first-year art student and having her paintings examined by Michelangelo, Jordan wasn’t going to back down. She hadn’t sat through this awful lunch, doing her darnedest to ignore the hundred little things about Owen Gage that she really did
not
want to notice about him—such as the tantalizing contrast of the dark hair sprinkling the back of his long-fingered hands and the snowy white cuff of his shirt sleeve, or how the lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes and bracketed his mouth deepened whenever he smiled—to give up on the commission now.

“Of course I have no objection to Owen hearing my ideas,” she said, bringing the tally of today’s lies into the double digits.

“There, you see, Owen? She doesn’t mind at all. Let’s go over to the cottage right now, shall we? Oh, this will be so much fun!”

A mini replica of the main house, the intimate scale of the guest cottage made it resemble a pastel petit four pastry. As they walked up the flagstone path that led to the cottage, Jordan took in the freshly refurbished wood-and-stucco exterior, noting the meticulous repair. Owen Gage & Associates had done a superb job, she admitted to herself, and she fully expected the interior to reveal the same level of craftsmanship.

Owen opened the front door for them. Nonie entered first, chattering away as she did. Jordan, who’d been examining the carved doorframe, followed more slowly. As she stepped over the threshold, she was stopped by his hand.

Her brows drew together in a questioning frown as she instinctively pulled her arm away from the warmth of his fingers. With an effort, she resisted the urge to rub the spot on her arm that still tingled from the momentary contact. She really wished he’d stop with all this casual touching. “Yes?” she asked.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about the awkwardness of the situation. I don’t think Nonie realizes—”

That shows how little you know her
. “Please don’t apologize. Your presence makes absolutely no difference to me.” A part of her couldn’t believe how rude she had just been. She wasn’t usually churlish. But few people succeeded in irritating her with so little effort. Indeed, he was so irritating that she decided she wasn’t going to apologize for the remark. Her chin rose defiantly.

If he was offended, he didn’t show it. “Well, I won’t worry then,” he said.

She caught the thread of amusement in the low rumble of his voice. What could he possibly find so entertaining, she wondered, before stifling a gasp as he suddenly leaned forward.

His strong-boned face was far too close. For some reason, though, she stood rooted to the spot, watching as his angled head came even nearer.
My God, was he going to kiss her?

Mere inches away from her trembling lips, he halted his progress and simply inhaled. Deeply.

Jordan nearly jumped out of her skin. Had he just
sniffed
her?

“What … what are you doing?” The words came out in a panicked rush that matched the speed of her pulse.

His smile was as innocent as a choir boy’s. “Nothing. I was trying to identify your perfume.”

“I … I’m not … I’m not wearing perfume.”

His face was still far too close. The gold chips glittered in his dark eyes, brilliant and mesmerizing. They made her system go haywire. She couldn’t move, not even to take half a step backward.

“Are you sure?” He frowned. “How strange, because you smell wonderful.” That he sounded abstracted, as if he weren’t intentionally trying to fluster her, only rattled her more.

“I—” She had no idea what to say.

She was saved by Nonie, who called out, demanding to know what was holding them up.

Owen straightened, a smile playing over his lips. “I guess it’s time to show us what you’ve got, Jordan.”

Okay, now she was truly convinced he was playing some kind of mind game to throw her off balance. Perhaps he was exacting revenge for her earlier comment. Her dislike ratcheted up a notch. And, no, her antipathy had nothing to do with the fact that this man had been able to make her heart stop and then pound like a kettledrum just by bringing his classically carved face a warm, coffee-laced breath from hers.

With a parting glare she turned and strode in the direction of Nonie’s voice, determined to ignore Owen Gage and to dazzle Nonie Harrison. The former now seemed the greater challenge.

Afternoon sunlight poured in through the living room’s twin Palladian windows, illuminating the space and highlighting the restored plaster moldings and decorative columns. Beneath Jordan’s feet the parquet floor was freshly sanded and finished. Its warm honey tones gleamed. She stopped in the center of the room, taking in the airy proportions and the vertical rhythms created by the windows
and columns and the large marble fireplace on the opposite wall.

If this were her home, Jordan thought, she’d do as little decorating as possible, letting the architectural details speak for themselves.

But Nonie’s aesthetic was best described as “more and more is more,” so the trick to satisfying her tastes would be to suggest just the right number of knickknacks and patterned silks, without burying the elegance of the interior space under a mountain of visual clutter.

The feat would have been challenging enough without Owen listening in. Stationed by one of the windows, he was peering intently out at the garden as if fascinated by the reddish-green leaves on the still bloomless rosebushes. She supposed she should be grateful that he was attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible, yet somehow she couldn’t muster even a smidge of gratitude. His silent presence was too distracting. And she was furious with herself for continuing to notice him at all—he was the last person she should be thinking about at a time like this.

The time had come to act like the professional she was supposed to be. If that weren’t enough inducement, she reminded herself that the sooner she finished talking to Nonie about design ideas for the cottage, the sooner she could say good-bye to Owen Gage. With luck she’d never see him again.

She took a moment to fish a notepad and fountain pen from her large leather tote. Fixing a bright smile on her face, she said, “The restoration work is simply wonderful, Nonie. I can’t wait to see the other rooms. Let me give you an idea to consider. When I started thinking about the décor for the cottage, I realized it might be neat if we could create a pretty, carefree echo of the style you’ve achieved in the larger house.”

“How interesting. Tell me what that would look like.”

“Well, as the cottage is a smaller version of the main
house, I’d like to connect the spirit of the two houses so that when your guests and family are here in this space, it’ll be like an extension, a riff on Overlea.”

Nonie’s brow furrowed, a feat considering the number of botox sessions she’d had. “But I don’t want just a repeat of what I have.”

“Of course not,” Jordan agreed lightly. “The purpose of the guest cottage is very different—you don’t want, for example, to worry about things being broken or damaged here, so we should select pieces and fabrics that are a bit more playful, carefree, and above all
maintenance
free.”

“And what about colors?”

“Well, I know how much you like lavenders and blues. I think that palette would go especially well in this room. We could work those colors into the fabrics and keep the walls an off-white with an accent trim for the woodwork. The whites will keep your blues and lavenders purer and also enhance the wonderful sense of light and air in the room.”

“I like that. And what about over here by the fireplace?”

“Bookshelves.”

“Bookshelves?” Nonie repeated vaguely.

She nodded. “One of the joys of staying in someone’s home is discovering the library, a wonderful mix of classics and all different kinds of genres, and then curling up with a book in front of the fireplace. We can place two wing chairs and ottomans on either side of the fireplace and have the sofa over there. Your guests will have lots of room to curl up with a book in the afternoon between lunchtime and cocktails—those hours when, as a hostess, you really value your privacy. Remember, the mission of the cottage is that it’s as much for
you
as it is for your guests.”