She tried to pull her hand from his, but he wouldn’t let her.
‘But now I know differently. I know you’re not a gold-digger, Callie. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth sooner. At first it didn’t seem to matter, but now...’ One broad shoulder lifted. ‘Now it does. I know our relationship isn’t going to develop into anything, but kissing you with that deception hanging over my head...’ He stared down at their linked hands. ‘It felt like a shabby thing to do. If our positions were reversed, I’d want to know the truth.’ He met her gaze. ‘I want you to know I trust you. I don’t exactly know why, but it seems important that we get at least that much settled.’
Very slowly, she nodded. ‘I’m glad I know the truth.’ She pulled in a breath. ‘After what Fiona did, I can even understand why you kept it from me.’
His lips twisted. ‘There’s a hardness in me now that never used to be there.’
That perfectly described how she’d felt ever since Dominic had betrayed her trust so badly.
He squeezed her hand. ‘And you know what? No woman deserves to deal with that. I need to deal with it myself.’
Ditto, she thought.
She glanced about the summerhouse. ‘I’d be lying if I said a part of me isn’t disappointed that we’re being so sensible, but...there are ghosts here. I can almost feel them. Did my mother dance with my father under these same chandeliers? Did they kiss? Did Frances and Richard dance here?’ She swallowed, buttressing her resolve. ‘And look what happened to them. It feels like a warning not to follow in their footsteps.’
After several beats he lifted his head, his eyes hooded and unreadable. ‘Friends?’
From somewhere she found a smile, and while it didn’t ease the burn in her body, it eased the burn in her soul. ‘Yes, please.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘THIS IS AMAZING!’
Callie beamed at him, and Owen did his best to check the elation her delight sent coursing through him. It was pointless getting all het up. It was pointless wondering what it would be like to make love with her or—
Stop it!
But it didn’t matter how often he reminded himself of what she’d said at Ellerslie about not being ready for a relationship, he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind. It didn’t matter how often he told himself he wasn’t interested in a relationship either, he couldn’t stop from wondering what if?
And that spelled trouble.
He dragged in a breath. It had only been five days since they’d returned from Ellerslie. This feeling would fade soon enough. He just had to wait it out.
‘You even have the theme music!’ She clapped her hands. ‘You’ve stitched all the sequences together so seamlessly. Owen, this must’ve taken you ages!’
‘Nah,’ he lied. ‘I just pulled it together while I was between other jobs. Doing a bit here and there.’
He’d spent a ridiculous amount of time on her video. He’d enjoyed watching her animated face on the screen and the quick, expressive movements that she made with her hands as she explained how she was unravelling the mystery of her family tree.
He’d watched a load of old episodes of the TV series—both the British and Australian versions—so he could get the opening sequence just perfect and adjust the transitions in a way that would highlight Callie’s familiarity with the programme, and therefore her suitability for the position she was applying for.
She spun to him now, her hands clasped beneath her chin. ‘Thank you so much. This is a hundred times better than I could’ve managed on my own.’
In that moment he didn’t begrudge a single second he’d spent on the project. ‘It was a pleasure.’
‘All that’s missing...’
Her sigh had his gut clenching. All that was missing was the identity of her father. He wished he could give her the answer.
‘But this—’ she gestured to his computer ‘—is fabulous.’ The corners of her mouth turned mock woeful. ‘You do know they’re going to ask me who put this together and then thank me nicely for applying and come headhunting you.’
He laughed. ‘They’re going to take one look at your video and have you signing on the dotted line before you can say Mystery Family Trees. Once you get the job, do you know where you’ll—?’
‘I’ve tracked Richard down,’ she blurted out.
He fell down into the chair beside her. ‘What?’
‘He lives in Larchmont.’
Larchmont was less than an hour’s train ride away. ‘Have you contacted him?’
‘Not yet.’
A hard stone lodged in his chest. ‘But you plan to?’
Her eyes implored him to understand. ‘It’s my last chance.’
He wanted to argue against it—wanted to order her to stay away from the man. Except, of course, he had no right to do any such thing.
‘Frances’s letters haven’t shed any light on the subject?’
Her gaze slid away and her shoulders tensed as she shook her head. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about the contents of those letters, but he refused to pry or force a confidence. On the surface Callie acted bright and breezy and cheerful, not to mention maddeningly capable, but every now and again he glimpsed her bafflement, her hurt, and her worry. It had his every protective instinct roaring to life.
‘The man sounds like a real piece of work, Callie. He might not even talk to you.’
‘I know. It’s just... I feel I have to at least try to follow every possible lead...give myself every possible chance of discovering the truth. Even if it means meeting with people I’m convinced I won’t like.’
Her life had been turned on its head when she’d lost her job—and not just her job but her boyfriend too. And then being given the news of her grandmother’s death—a grandmother she hadn’t known existed...
He understood her need to regain some control, and he admired her for shifting her focus and striving to win her dream job. She was determined to come back bigger, better and stronger. And he wanted to help her.
‘He might try to extort money from you in return for information.’
Her nose curled. ‘I hadn’t considered that.’
He leaned towards her, sandwiching her hands lightly between his. ‘Don’t go alone. Let me come with you.’
Her relief was palpable. ‘I was hoping you’d say that. I’d really appreciate it. I wasn’t going to ask...you’ve done so much already—’
‘We’re friends, Callie. It’s what friends do.’
Just for a moment her gaze caught on his mouth. Her lips parted and her breath hitched and every red-blooded cell in his body fired to life.
She snapped away, slipping her hands from his. ‘Oh, is that the time? I need to pop out and grab some bits and pieces for the party.’
She wouldn’t meet his eyes as she rattled on about the chores she had to do, and he bit back a curse.
‘Is it okay if I leave Barney with you for another couple of hours?’
‘Of course. Is there anything I can help with?’
She shook her head, but finally sent him a smile. ‘It’s mostly under control. Everyone I’ve invited is coming. You will be there at seven to help me greet everyone, won’t you?’
‘You bet.’ Her party was this coming weekend. He’d even found himself kind of looking forward to it. ‘Do you want to have dinner here tonight?’ They’d fallen into the habit of her eating with him most evenings. He tried to keep his voice casual. ‘It won’t be anything fancy—just pasta.’
Her eyes dropped again. ‘Thanks, Owen, but not tonight. Barney and I are having a quiet night in. I need to wash my hair.’
It was for the best. He knew it was. But that didn’t stop him wishing otherwise or having to fight the urge to change her mind. He—
‘Owen?’
He dropped back with a thud. ‘Sorr
y, what were you saying?’
Her smile was gentle. ‘Just thanking you again for...that.’ She gestured to his computer.
‘No problem at all. I’ll see you later, Callie.’ He pulled his chair across to the computer and opened a work file. He didn’t glance at her again. ‘You can let yourself out, right?’
‘Right,’ she echoed.
She was right. They needed to start spending less time together, not more. If he wasn’t careful, when Callie left New York he’d find a hole had been left in his life—one he’d never be able to fill—and he wasn’t opening himself up to that kind of heartache. Neither he nor Callie needed trouble.
* * *
Owen glanced around Callie’s apartment, alive with music and people, chatter and laughter.
‘So, after I’d read the letter she slid beneath the door,’ Stuart was saying, ‘I felt that darned ashamed of myself that I did a whip-around and we bought her that plant as a housewarming gift.’
A large cheese plant in a cheery white pot, with a big yellow polka dot ribbon tied around its base, sat in pride of place on a low table by the front door.
Stu was the third person that evening to tell him about the letter. Apparently Callie had written to each of the residents, informing them of the deal she’d made with Owen in relation to the apartment block, assuring them that nothing would change. She’d done it in plain, unadorned English, without fuss or fanfare, and she couldn’t have found a better way to endear herself to the little community.
Stu pointed. ‘Look, there’s Angus.’ He waved over the proprietor of the local bar, The Three Bells.
Owen stared at him. ‘How do you know Callie?’
Angus clapped him on the shoulder. ‘She’s been unofficially tutoring Micah and some of her pals in the afternoons.’
Micah from the park was Angus’s daughter? How had he never made the connection?
‘And in return I’ve been plying her with some of New York’s finest craft ales.’
That made him laugh. ‘You’ve discovered her fondness for beer?’
‘She has a very discerning palate,’ he said with a grin, glancing around. ‘Micah and her friends should be here somewhere.’ He lifted his hand in a wave when he spotted them. ‘I promised Lian I wouldn’t let them stay out too late.’
Stu and Angus ambled off to top up their drinks. Owen glanced over at Josephine, Eliza and Betty, but they were in animated discussion with Claude and Jilly from downstairs. So he made his way across to Mr Singh, who sat on the sofa with Barney.
‘How are you holding up, Mr S?’ he asked, lowering himself down beside the older man carefully, so as to not jolt him. It was only his second day out of hospital. Both he and Callie were keeping a close eye on him, not wanting him to wear himself out.
‘It’s done these old bones good to come out to a party. It’s been a long time...’ He trailed off. ‘She’s a grand girl.’
He followed the older man’s gaze to where Callie was busy refreshing her guests’ drinks. She wore a dark red dress that was neither showy nor racy, but still somehow managed to shout exuberance and good cheer. When she turned too quickly the skirt would flare out, giving beguiling glimpses of her thighs. Owen had spent a significant portion of his evening doing his best not to notice. Likewise, he tried to ignore how the line of buttons that went from the vee of her neckline to mid-thigh made his fingers tingle.
‘She’s promised to come walking with me and Barney every day.’ He ruffled the dog’s ears. ‘She says she misses him. I know it’s just an excuse. She has a kind heart. But she shouldn’t be wasting her time on an old man like me.’
‘Don’t let her hear you saying that. She doesn’t consider spending time with you and Barney a hardship. She likes you. You’ll be short-changing her and yourself if you think otherwise.’
‘Ah, lad, you’ve a kind heart too. You and Callie are two of a kind.’
Something squeezed tight in Owen’s chest—something hot and sweet and intense and gentle and carnal all at the same time.
He glanced at Callie and his mouth went dry. Straightening, he stared about the apartment—really stared. While it couldn’t be denied that the new coat of paint had freshened it up, everything else remained the same—the configuration of the furniture, the ornaments and vases and knick-knacks, the pictures on the walls—and yet the apartment seemed completely different. Transformed. And that was due to its new occupant. Callie had a life and vitality that infused the place, as well as the people around her.
Yearning drilled through him. Not just the hot edge of desire and attraction, but something quieter and stronger. The pulse in his throat started to pound. The longer he gazed at her, the clearer everything became. Frances had been imprisoned by fear and regret. Wasn’t he in danger of making the same mistake?
A woman had betrayed his trust and he’d allowed that one act to cast him adrift on an ocean of suspicion and mistrust. Even though he knew Callie wasn’t like Fiona, wasn’t after his money or the financial security he could give her, he continued to hold tight to his...his prejudice—he couldn’t think what else to call it—because it had helped him to feel safe.
His hands clenched and unclenched. Safety hadn’t brought Frances happiness.
The hardness he’d been carrying like a ball of concrete inside him melted now, as if it were nothing but wax, spreading warmth and a new sense of possibility through him.
He wanted Callie—and not just for a fling. Finally he had the courage to admit that to himself. He didn’t want to lose her when she started her new job. And...wouldn’t that job mean she’d be based in the States? Between research trips she’d have to live somewhere, so why not right here, where she’d already formed a community?
He didn’t have a crystal ball. He couldn’t predict where things between them might lead. But instinct told him that if he didn’t fight for Callie now he’d regret it for the rest of his life. He trusted his instincts again now, with a fierceness he refused to dismiss.
* * *
Callie glanced up when the apartment door opened and a bubble of something light and happy rose through her when she saw it was Owen, returning after having organised cabs for the last of the partygoers. She’d been aware of him all evening—intensely aware—and her awareness didn’t dissipate now, even though the crowd had.
He grinned, and she did her best to keep her feet on the ground and not float up towards the ceiling.
‘Your librarian friends are going to have sore heads tomorrow,’ he said.
She concentrated on collecting up paper plates to put in the recycling. ‘So are a few people in the apartment block. I’ll be tiptoeing around in the morning, so I don’t disturb Jean below.’
She straightened and pressed her hands into the small of her back. She’d been on her feet all evening, and felt as if she hadn’t stopped. Yet when Owen looked at her like that—all warmth and admiration—energy flowed back into her limbs and she swore she could dance till dawn.
‘It went well, don’t you think? Most people seemed to have a nice time.’
He laughed and started gathering up glasses. ‘Callie, it was a major success. Everyone had a ball. I can’t remember the last time I was in a room with that many people who all looked happy to be there. How many guests did you have—forty...fifty?’
‘Give or take.’ She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. ‘When was the last time you were actually in a room with forty or fifty people?’
He paused, consternation chasing across his face.
‘Hey...’ She almost reached out to touch his arm, but that seemed unwise. ‘I was only joking.’
He shook himself. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve been to a party.’
‘They’re not really your thing, huh?’ She’d sensed that the moment she’d told him she was throwing one, but he hadn’t complained or tried to get out of it. He’d been a
good sport.
‘I enjoyed this one, though.’
She found herself dangerously happy about that.
They cleaned the apartment in silence for a bit. When she told him he didn’t have to help, he waved her protests aside. She didn’t protest again. She liked having him here.
‘What was the last party you did go to?’ she asked eventually.
He tied a knot in the top of the last garbage bag before turning back to face her. ‘My engagement party.’
Gah! Talk about putting her foot in it.
His eyebrow lifted. ‘You?’
‘Oh...um...a few colleagues at the university threw a leaving party for me.’ She grimaced. ‘It wasn’t the best party I’ve ever been to. I wasn’t exactly in a party mood at the time.’ She moistened dry lips. ‘I’m sorry about your engagement, Owen.’ She dug out a smile. ‘Would you like a beer?’ She’d been careful not to drink too much tonight. ‘I think we’ve earned one.’
‘Sure.’
They collapsed on the sofa, side by side, and in unison kicked their shoes off and lifted their feet to the coffee table.
He took the top off her beer and handed it to her. ‘The fact I enjoyed tonight’s party more than my own engagement party probably tells you all you need to know.’
‘Like you said before, at least, unlike Frances, you didn’t marry your mistake. And I can’t tell you how glad I am I kicked my own mistake to the kerb back in Australia.’
They clinked bottles and drank.
‘You want to know something odd? Tonight I realised I wasn’t angry any more. Somewhere along the line I’ve chalked Fiona up to experience.’
She stared at him. Really? How had he done that? She was still fuming about Dominic. ‘What happened between the two of you?’ She held her breath and waited. If he didn’t want to talk about it, she wouldn’t pursue it.
He stilled, a strange light in his eyes. ‘You really want to know?’
With a dry mouth, she nodded. ‘But, I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it...’
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