A STRANGE AND EERIE QUIET, like the

A STRANGE AND EERIE QUIET, like the aftermath of a tornado, descended over the parlor after Jade left with the children.
Jordan got no further than a shaky, “Well …” Her mind reeled, her thoughts in too great a disarray for coherent speech.
Had Owen really come to Rosewood to offer her a job when he had an undoubtedly top-notch in-house interior designer at his disposal? The notion staggered. She remembered him saying something about how his decorator was booked through the summer, but still, he must know scores of other decorators. Why would he offer the job to her, an untested, unknown entity? Finding a reasonable explanation for his motives was too difficult after Jade had so thoroughly muddied the waters.
What had prompted her normally hypercritical little sister’s about-face with regard to Owen? Jade couldn’t really believe that simply because Owen claimed he was here to give her a decorating project, that made him one of the good guys and that he should be rewarded with an invitation to dinner? And wasn’t it too cute of her to spout that line, “It’s the right thing to do,” to justify her meddling.
The prospect of having Owen stay for dinner didn’t alarm Jordan nearly as much as the idea of taking him on a tour of the third floor. Violence of any kind was abhorrent to her, but right now she could cheerfully throttle Jade for her nifty suggestion.
And she was definitely going to have to find a way to even the score with Jade for having pointed out how much Owen Gage resembled Clive Owen.
Darn her for being right on the money. The two men did share the same dark, rugged good-looks. The last thing in the world Jordan needed was to be thinking of Owen in movie star terms, especially as he had already assumed a leading role in a few of her sexual fantasies.
Hawk Hill might represent a terrific career opportunity, but she was not showing him the third floor. A sudden vision popped into her mind of Owen crossing the threshold of her bedroom, entering it, filling that intimate space with his masculine presence. No, a hundred times no.
Absorbed in her thoughts, she started at the sound of his voice.
“It sounds as if you’ve done quite an impressive job with the third floor.”
“Jade was exaggerating. A teen thing.”
When he simply smiled, she added a bit desperately, “Really, it’s basic stuff up there. I was on a very tight budget and had to do a rush job on the rooms because I wanted the children to be comfortable as quickly as possible after the divorce.” Oh, good one, Jordan. First denigrate your work and then bring your personal sob story into the mix to guarantee you sound as unprofessional as possible.
“That’s all to the good. It’ll be interesting to see the choices you made under less than perfect circumstances. I’d also like to see what you’ve done to create a family-oriented space since it’ll likely be a family that buys Hawk Hill.”
She didn’t budge. “It’s really messy up there. The kids have been home sick.”
At this he cocked a dark brow. “Are you going to tell me next that the CDC quarantined the entire floor? You are interested in decorating Hawk Hill for me, aren’t you?”
“Oh, all right. Come this way.”
Her aggrieved tone made her sound far more like her sister Jade than the coolly elegant and poised Jordan Radcliffe he’d come to know. Magnanimous in victory, he gestured politely for her to precede him.
“After you,” he said, careful to hide his smile as she strode from the room.
Even though Owen was retracing his steps, the grandeur of the double parlor still impressed. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you how much I like your home. It’s incredible.”
He saw her shoulders relax a bit. So he was right: the prospect of acting as tour guide to the rooms she and her children shared unnerved her. Well, he was more than happy to distract her by discussing Rosewood, though he found it rather sweet that she was in such a twist about showing him the upstairs quarters.
“I’d like very much to come back and study these rooms more carefully, perhaps make some sketches. The interior details are remarkable.”
She hesitated, perhaps torn between her pride in the house and her reluctance to have him in it. “I’ll have to ask Margot and Jade how they feel about that.”
“Of course.” He was pretty sure he’d get a yes vote from Jade. Now, after meeting the teenager, he was extremely curious to make the acquaintance of the fashion model. If Nonie’s antipathy was any gauge, she must be something. He wondered why Nonie wasn’t openly hostile toward Jordan, who was beautiful, talented, and smart; then he remembered the cheating husband. Pitying Jordan would be even more satisfying to someone like Nonie. He was suddenly damn glad that he’d asked Jordan to decorate Hawk Hill.
His steps slowed to admire the ornate molding over the doorframe.
Noting his interest, Jordan looked up. “Nice, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Some of the details, like the acanthus molding and such, were designed by John Butler in consultation with Francis and Georgiana. He sent them drawings in his letters and then modified them according to their suggestions. My mother, who loved this house and knew practically everything about it, used to show them to me.”
“The letters?” he asked, following her into the foyer. “Are you saying you actually have letters written by John Butler to your—what was he, your great-great-great-grandfather?”
“Tack on a couple more greats, I think, and you’ll have it. Yes, we’ve got his letters. His pattern book, too.”
He paused with his hand on the bottom of the carved banister to stare at her in astonishment. “You have his pattern book?” A book like this, with the architect’s drawings for a gamut of details from cornices, to windowsills and aprons, to mantels, was usually to be found only in a rare-book room of a great public library or a university collection.
“Yes. One of his descendants visited Rosewood and presented it to my great-grandfather as a gift. He thought it only right for us to have it as, according to family lore, even at the end of his career, Butler considered Rosewood his greatest artistic achievement. The pattern book’s in the library. I could show it to you now if you want to look at it,” she offered casually.
He very nearly took the bait. Jordan was too smart not to understand exactly what leafing through John Butler’s architectural designs would mean to him. So although on any given day he’d be willing to sell his soul to spend an hour poring over those pages, suddenly, bizarrely, doing so came in second to another wish: to go up to the third floor, with Jordan Radcliffe leading every step of the way.
Her reluctance, neither coy nor feigned, only made him more determined.
“Perhaps some other time,” he said, matching her studied casualness.
The smile she gave was more like a grimace.
What did she think he was going to do once they were up there? he wondered. Jump her bones? Come on, she should credit him with having a little more finesse than that.
Or maybe not.
There was nothing sexy about her clothes. Nevertheless, the sight of those long legs encased in black stretchy breeches, her trim calf muscles flexing and relaxing as she climbed the stairs, her rounded buttocks rising and falling—hell, even the curved arch of her bare feet as she pushed off the treads struck him as impossibly erotic. Now and again he caught that elusive scent which seemed to be Jordan’s alone. By the time they reached the second-floor landing, his heart was thudding heavily in his chest, desire coursing through his veins. Okay, so perhaps Jordan was right to worry about whether he could keep his hands to himself.
He followed her down a carpeted hallway to the back stairs, what would originally have been the servants’ stairs, which led to the top floor. Normally he would have been peering into every nook and cranny and slowing his steps past every open door. Hypnotized as he was by the subtle sway of Jordan’s hips, the only bedroom he wanted to spend time in was hers.
An hour or so with her naked beneath him would do nicely for the present. Even as the thought registered, a question blared in his mind: what in God’s name was he thinking, indulging in seduction scenes with this, of all women? But with arousal thrumming through him, a reasoned answer seemed unnecessary.
The servants’ stairs were narrower. In the confined space the sound of their breathing was as heavy as the pounding of their feet. He could feel the heat of her body. The light fresh scent of her filled his head.
She pushed open the narrow door at the top of the stairs and then turned with her palm flat on the edge of the door as if she might slam it in his face.
Smart of her.
A part of him was surprised by the strength of his attraction and how much he wanted to know what she would feel like in his arms. And he really wanted to see her naked. Unfortunately, rather than looking as if she might be interested in peeling off those breeches for him, she looked ready to jump out of her skin.
She quickly moved away, into the center of the room, and was gesturing with sweeping strokes of her arms. He suspected she’d fell him with a roundhouse punch should he venture too near. It was time to show her he was a civilized man. He drew a deep breath to clear his head of the way she smelled, the way she looked, and made himself focus on the room.
“So here it is. I decided to make this space into an informal living room and play area for the kids,” she said brightly, her cheerleader peppiness doing little to hide her nervousness.
“It’s nice. Very nice.” A sweeping glance was all he needed to recognize the skill she’d put into decorating the space. She’d made it a comfortable nest of colors and patterns, a room that charmed and invited.
He remembered Jordan saying that she’d been on a tight budget.