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glasses set on the tray.
    Had someone else been invited? She’d been led to believe that this lunch—champagne notwithstanding—would be very much an interview for the job.
    Nonie, too, had spied the newcomer. She stood with an exclamation of delight. “Owen, darling! You made it! How good of you to make room for me in your busy day.”
    Trotting over to him, she gave this Owen person an enthusiastic smooch, laughing coquettishly at the geranium-red smudge she left on his lean cheek. Nonie was more than happy to dispense with arid cheek presses when a handsome man was involved.
    And handsome he was, even when wiping lipstick traces off his face with a pocket handkerchief, she conceded. Well-dressed, too, in dark gray flannels and a blue blazer that were both impeccably tailored; the dark brown leather shoes that peeked from beneath his trouser cuffs were polished and buffed. It took only a second more for her to catalog his thick, closely cropped hair, the strong line of his profile, and the confidence of his bearing to understand why Nonie was gushing over him.
    “Jordan, do come here and meet my darling Owen.”
    With an inward sigh, Jordan stood and approached Nonie and her “darling” Owen, aware that with every step she advanced, the man’s chiseled good looks came into sharper relief. It occurred to her that with the exception of Travis, her brother-in-law, she hadn’t been exposed to a really handsome man in months. No great loss, however. Thanks to Richard, Jordan was immune to men.
    “Owen, this is Jordan Ste—”
    “Radcliffe,” she corrected automatically.
    “Yes, of course,” she said with a tiny smile. “This is Jordan
Radcliffe
. She’s starting her very own interior design company and is here to give me some ideas for the cottage. Jordan, this is Owen Gage.”
    The name threw her. Owen Gage? Surely not—oh, Lord, it must be. Hadn’t the buzz a while back been that Noniehad hired Gage & Associates to do the renovations on the guest house? Of course Jordan had heard of him. She made a point of buying
Antique House
and
Architectural Digest
whenever his restoration and design projects were featured.
    But why had Nonie invited him today? Dumb question. Although Owen Gage must be twenty years her junior, Nonie had always been a fool for good-looking men.
    “Hello, Miss Radcliffe.” His tenor had a gravelly rumble to it, as textured as his gold-flecked brown eyes.
    “How do you do?” She must have put her hand out for him to shake, for suddenly it was wrapped in his own. An unwelcome jolt of surprise coursed through her at the feel of his warm skin pressed against hers. For what should be a strictly formal gesture, the sensation struck her as far too intimate. She tensed, only just managing to stifle the urge to snatch her hand away.
    At the flash of amusement in his deep-set eyes, she knew he’d felt her instinctive reaction to his touch. His firm lips curled and a dimple appeared by the corner of his mouth. “I’m very well, thank you,” he replied, only then freeing her hand.
    Owen Gage might be an excellent architect and builder, capable of exceptionally fine restorations, but he was a shade too cocky for her taste. He obviously believed he was God’s gift to women. She returned his smile with a cool, unimpressed look before fixing her attention on her hostess.
    “When Owen mentioned he’d be in town today, I couldn’t resist asking him to lunch,” Nonie told her brightly. “He did such a marvelous job on the guest cottage. You have heard of Owen, haven’t you, Jordan?”
    “Of course.” As if she could claim to be a decorator and
not
know that his restoration projects had won awards from preservation societies in the D.C. and Virginia areas. “I’m a great admirer of your work, Mr. Gage.”
    “Thank you. It’s always good to know my neighbors appreciate my firm’s work.”
    Neighbor?
What was he talking about?
    At her frown of confusion, he clarified, “I recently bought