Hide Your Heart: A New Zealand Small Town Romance (Sexy New Zealand Beach Romance Far North Book 1) (8 page)

“I know you don’t want me next door, but returning to Auckland is not an option.” He tipped his chair back on two legs. “I’ll pay you a fair price to not deal with that tent every night.”

“I don’t need another demanding male under my feet.” Which must’ve been the lamest excuse in the history of lame excuses.

“I won’t get under your feet, and I promise not to be too demanding.” He laced his fingers behind his neck. “A meal and a shower at night, then I’ll disappear into your workshop. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Not know he was there? Merely sitting in the same room with Nate made her body buzz like a phone on vibrate. But…Sharing a meal with him in the evening would be the prime time to continue wearing him down.

Progress hadn’t been great so far, but it was still early days, and Taylor’s didn’t give up the fight that easily. She’d just instruct her wayward hormones to stop reacting to every intense, green-eyed stare he aimed in her direction. She’d pretend they could be friends, that she didn’t really like spending time with him, and that the little zing arcing through her when he smiled could be ignored.

Heavy footsteps on the deck made her jump.

“Mornin’, sis.” Todd blustered in through the open French doors, his gaze skipping from her shower-damp hair to Nate’s quite-at-home posture at her dining table.  “What’s he doing here?”

Drew hurried back into the kitchen to tug on his uncle’s hand. “Hi, Uncle Todd.”

“Uh, hi, squirt.”

Drew beamed. “Nate stayed here, and this morning he ate six whole wheat biscuits for breakfast.”

Her brother’s eyes bulged, his teeth snapped together, and his gaze ripped from Drew to Nate. The room’s testosterone levels skyrocketed.

“He slept in the workshop because his tent leaks like a sieve.” Lauren stood and stalked into the kitchen. “Take a chill pill.”

Todd snorted and folded his arms, continuing to glare at Nate. She picked up the pot and poured three coffees. Nate wasn’t really interested in her. His gentle caress last night didn’t mean a thing. Easy, uncomplicated flirtation was all. She replaced the coffee pot with a little more force than necessary. “Nate’s asked to board here for a couple of weeks.”

“Over my dead body.”

She moved around the counter, held out a coffee to her brother with her other hand fisted on her hip. “That can be arranged if you don’t back off. I was about to say yes.”

Todd’s jaw worked, but he kept his voice pitched low. “I failed protecting you once. I won’t let you get hurt again.”

Tension laced the air, so thick that it latched around her throat and squeezed. Lauren sucked in a deep breath to expand her lungs. “You can’t fight my battles for me.”

“Mummy, what’s board?”

Oh crap—Drew was still in the room. She looked down and stroked his head. “It means Nate will have his dinner with us at night and sleep in our workshop for a few weeks until his house is ready.”

“Awesome!” He bounced over to the table, unaware of the adult drama playing out around him. “We can play lots more games like Junior Monopoly, and checkers—” He paused, the tip of his tongue peeping out the corner of his mouth. “Are you a good fighter?”

Nate looked from her to Todd, who scratched his beard with a lifted, sardonic eyebrow.

Nate cleared his throat. “Yeah. When I have to be.”

Drew turned back to her, his expression that of a defense lawyer resting his case. “Told ya. Nate’s like Superman, he can fight battles and stop Daddy ever hurting you again.”

Her core body temperature plummeted, the heat staining her cheeks moments ago draining to icy sludge.

“That’s right, kid. No one’ll hurt your mum while I’m around.” Nate stood, his chair skidding backward.

The men exchanged glances, and then Nate’s gaze collided with hers.

“I’m going back to work,” he said.

“But your coffee—” She held out the mug, tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, because honestly, what could she say to make herself look less of a coward?

“I’ll take it with me.”

As she transferred the mug into his hand, Lauren’s fingertips brushed his, and the little jolt that zipped along her nerve endings made a liar out of her just-friends plan.

“Invoice me for a week’s board, and I’ll transfer the funds into your account tonight.” His brusque tone doused the tingles running up her arm.

“Daylight’s wasting,” he said to Todd.

With a nod in her direction and a quick ruffle of Drew’s hair, Nate strode out her back door.

Had she been railroaded into having an unwanted houseguest? A sneaked glance at Todd’s speculative stare stiffened her spine. Of course not. Nobody made her do anything she didn’t want to do.

At least, not anymore.

***

The next day, the devil on Nate’s shoulder suggested,
“Why don’t you take a break? Grab your camera.”

He and Todd had worked their butts off that morning, nailing down waterproof lining in preparation for the new roofing iron. Lauren arrived to finish clearing the driveway, as Todd drove off to buy more supplies. And after the second time he’d narrowly avoided flattening his thumb while trying to catch a glimpse of her chain-sawing, taking a short break seemed wise.

He jogged to his car, where his battered camera remained hidden under the seat. His fingers itched to slide over its smooth, curved sides. Other than a couple of quick, work-in-progress shots, he hadn’t taken any photos since his arrival.

So, he’d take fifteen minutes, twenty, max. He flipped the case open, lifted the camera out and slipped the strap over his head. More familiar, more intimate than a lover’s arms, the weight settled around his neck. “Come on baby, let’s see what’s out here in nowhere land.”

The chainsaw’s buzz ratcheted down, and Lauren, surrounded by bright yellow blooms of gorse, pulled off her safety goggles. The sight extracted every last molecule of air from his lungs. He instinctively lifted the camera to his eye, framed and shot two close-ups before she’d time to wipe her brow. His body reacted as his gaze dropped from the long line of her neck, to the graceful arc of her back as she stretched.

Quit it, you voyeur.

He shouldn’t look or even think about her that way. No matter how attractive she was, he didn’t have the time or inclination to unravel all of Lauren’s hidden complications.

Nate strode away, concentrating on the abundance of flora and fauna around his property. After ten minutes spent in fascination with the spiral of an unfurled fern and the zigzagging flight of a plump
kererū
, he circled back to his car, where Lauren still attacked the scrub. The sight of her framed in his viewfinder was an addictive lure he couldn’t resist.

Portrait. Lauren’s full lips pressed together in concentration, the curve of her cheekbone below the protective goggles. He swiveled the camera. Landscape. Lauren with the chainsaw raised, blade biting into a sapling. Zoom. Lauren’s face front on, her gaze hurling daggers through the lens.

Shit and hellfire.
Busted.

He lowered the camera as the chainsaw motor died. She stalked over with murder written in every furious pulse of her body. She stopped right in front of him, hauled off her goggles and ear protectors and dropped them.

“Why are you taking photos of me?”

His shoulder tipped forward. “You’re beautiful.”
Especially when you’re angry
. But he’d enough wisdom to keep
that
opinion to himself.

She ignored the compliment and bared her teeth. “You’ve no right to take my picture without permission.”

“Once a camera’s in my hand, I’ve every right to capture what’s in front of me.”

She made a noise low in her throat, which sounded suspiciously like a growl, and jabbed a finger into his chest. “The hell you have.”

Under the flush of temper, a smattering of freckles stood in stark relief against her skin, and the worry lines on her forehead were more pronounced. Curious. Did the scar make her camera shy? Nothing about her face, scar or otherwise, detracted from her natural loveliness. She ought to have a gallery of photographs dedicated to her.

A hummingbird flicker in his memory banks whispered then streaked away as she touched his camera.

“Delete them.”

He jerked it out of her grasp. “Hey, expensive equipment here; hands off.”

Lauren’s glare was keener than the chainsaw’s blade. “Delete, those, photos.”

Holding out a warning finger, he showed her the small camera screen and pressed play. The last image he’d shot appeared.

She glowered. “Delete.”

He pressed a button and the image disappeared, then he did the same with the second and third photo. He scrolled through another dozen photos of birds and plants, careful to stop before the first picture he’d taken of her. No logical explanation for it, he just couldn’t destroy them all.

The deadly gleam faded from her eyes and she dismissed him with a wave. “Fine. Carry on, but don’t take any more photos of me.”

He unhooked the camera from around his neck and placed it on the Range Rover’s roof. “Why not?”

“A lot of women don’t like being photographed if they’re sweaty and disheveled.” Her arms crossed snug under her breasts.

“I don’t believe it’s that, and, at the risk of repeating myself”—he closed the gap, stepping way into her personal space—“you’re beautiful, sweaty or not.”

Her upturned eyes widened, darting sideways as if she sought an escape route. Her tongue peeped out between sealed lips, and the afternoon sun highlighted the tremor of a pale blue vein in her neck. His gaze dropped. If she inhaled any more deeply, her breasts would meet his chest. The puff of her warm breath misted on his collarbone, and his hands flexed, burning with the desire to drag her flush against him.

“Step back, Nate. You’re crowding me.”

Ballsy and beautiful
. The male predator in him fought for control, aware of what the woman in front of him may’ve endured but equally aware of the magnetic sexual pull of her body swaying toward his. “Not this time.”

A breeze, warm and fragrant with the scent of her, flared into his nose, wrapped around his resistance and suffocated it. “I want to kiss you.”

“No.” A soft gasp, her hands unfolding quickly to brace against his chest. “No, you can’t.”

His palms trailed up her bare arms in a caress that sent shivers down
his
back. Lauren’s eyes blazed hazel fire, but she didn’t step away, though he did nothing to restrain her. Instead, her nails scraped across his shirt as her fingers curled into fists.

“Then you decide.” He wrapped his hands lightly around her upper arms. “Either hit me or kiss me. Those are your options.”

***

Could her body be any more traitorous?

Gooey mush. That’s what Lauren’s mind dissolved into. All logical thoughts vanished when Nate brushed those work-roughened hands along her skin, and her body—her traitorous body—arched toward his without consent.

Kiss him or hit him?

Her fingers flexed tighter on the sun-hot expanse of cotton across his chest. The rapid thunder of his heartbeat thrummed against her knuckles.

Yeah, she wanted to hit him, but dammit—she wanted to kiss him more.

“Can I do both?” The unfamiliar shot of lust-tinged huskiness in her voice prickled her scalp.

A glimmer of straight, white teeth. “Be my guest.”

She tilted forward, rose on tiptoes to counteract the height difference. Angled her chin and contemplated, with a sucked in breath, his full, firm lips shadowed by short whiskers. His intoxicating scent of sunshine, freshly laundered cotton and male musk fuddled her reasons for resistance.

One simple kiss.
What could it hurt?

Her eyelids slid shut as her mouth found the small hollow between his lips and chin, the warmth of his skin and the scrape of stubble sending a tingle down to her boot-clad toes. Coarse hair changed to the smooth texture of his mouth. He inhaled with a hiss, his fingers contracting on her arms. That she had any power to affect him caused a smile to quiver on her lips.

But when she pressed her mouth to his with a breathy sigh, everything known and controllable in her world spun off its axis, sucking her into a vortex she’d no hope of escaping. One simple kiss? Something must’ve shorted in her brain, because this kiss tap-danced all over
simple
.

His hand skimmed up her shoulder, spread across her nape into a possessive hold. A tug on her hip sent her lower body colliding into his obvious arousal. Demanding a response, his tongue darted into her mouth, retreated, returned and lingered. Her fingers slid around his neck and tangled in his silky hair, and she clung, even as her mind rebelled against total surrender.

She pulled back with a gasp for air and a plea. “Nate.”

He lightened his grip, and the hand on her hip clenched once in denial then sprang open, allowing her to step out of his arms.

Lauren bent to pick up her gear, her blood hammering. A car engine grew louder in the still air, severing the silence. Java appeared from the shade of the house and trotted over.