Know Your Heart: A New Zealand Enemies to Lovers Romance (Far North Series Book 2) (13 page)

Daisy’s tiny shower didn’t cut it.

Sav set the alarm on her phone for forty minutes, giving her a decent wallow in this watery heaven, with time left over to clean up any breaking-and-entering trace evidence. What Glen didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Though really, how could one break and enter her own adorable bathroom, complete with tub, multi-jet shower, and enough space to extend her arms without touching both of Daisy’ claustrophobic walls?

Sav turned on the jets and closed her eyes. The water gushed against her sore muscles, unfurling the pockets of tension that had gathered in her body over the last week.

Pure bliss.

“Enjoying yourself?”

A gruff male voice, lit with amusement and something else, pierced her bliss bubble.

She jerked, butt slipping on the bottom of the bath. Hot water surged over her head.

Oh, crap!
Ohcrapohcrapohcrap
!

Feet skidding on slippery acrylic, Sav struggled into a sitting position and hugged her knees, snorting water out of her nose.

Her blurred gaze flew to the open doorway and Glen’s rangy body filling it, forearms braced on the frame, a smile on his mouth that could only be described as predatory.

And she was the prey lined up in his cross-hairs. Dripping, choking, buck-naked prey…

“Just how long”—she paused to emit a body-wracking cough—“have you been spying on me?”

“Spying?” He crooked an eyebrow.

“What would you call it?” She hugged her knees tighter, hoping her legs and the churning water gave her
some
coverage.

“An unexpected treat.”

The power of his grin hit the soft, wet target between her thighs.

She snorted, but the sound came out more of a choked gurgle than cool disdain. Dammit, why couldn’t she have chosen bubble bath instead of oil? Then she’d have more than delicious-smelling water to conceal body parts she’d rather not expose to public enemy number one. If only he still
felt
like the enemy, instead of the first man to challenge and intrigue her in a long, loooong time.

Glen sauntered to the bath, positioning himself in a wide-legged stance on her fluffy white bathmat. His gaze slid over her wet skin, his icy-blue eyes no longer cool, but warm—thawed to a tropical blue. He hit the stop button and the rumble of the jets faded as he crouched, resting his elbows on the tub rim.

“But to answer your question”—his deep voice lifted tiny hairs on her arms to attention—“I’ve been here long enough that what’s under your pink jogging top is no longer a mystery.”

She sucked in a breath that turned into another cough, and a convenient excuse to avert her gaze to her kneecaps, poking out of the water like two cartoon desert islands.

“Why are you back so soon?” Her gaze zipped to the bathroom door. “And where’s your nephew?”

“With Nate and Drew, working on a tree house. I forgot my wallet, so imagine my surprise when I returned to find the door unlocked and Goldilocks in my bath.”

“Imagine,” she muttered. “Even though it’s technically my bath.”

“Not while your tenant is in residence.” He clicked his tongue. “You’re busted.”

The water cooling on her shoulders and arms did nothing to temper the flush of heat sweeping through her. She’d been caught red-handed—or bare-assed and red-faced if she insisted on blunt truth. And while her first reaction of dying from embarrassment remained an option, she refused to cower and cringe. As he’d said, the mystery of what lay under her clothes was gone—if not today, then certainly in the glimpses he would’ve seen on the big screen. Wasn’t her cleavage, the length of her thighs, the curve of her ass open to public consumption?

“You caught me fair and square.” She forced her arms to go as limp as over-cooked spaghetti and let go of her knees. Warm water spilled over her breasts and stomach as she reclined back in the bath. His gaze didn’t flicker from her face, but his eyebrows stitched together in a frown.

“So what’s my punishment?” she asked.

Her voice sounded loud and brittle in the silent room, the only other sound the slosh of water settling around her.

“A photo splashed over the internet? Or, avoiding the nasty legalities of my B&E in exchange for a quick grope?”

“You think that badly of me?” he asked softly.

She narrowed her eyes, ignoring the cool little stone of uncertainty that plunked into her stomach. “What else should I think while I’m naked and you’re looming over me?”

He rocked back on his heels, but again, kept his gaze on her face. Willpower extraordinaire. “Am I frightening you?”

Flippancy dissolved on her tongue, words jamming her throat as her previous flare of confidence fizzled. She crossed her arms over her breasts, and shook her head, turning her face to the wall, tendrils of steam caressing her cheek.

He breathed out a sigh. “You’re right. I am looming over you, and this is totally inappropriate. I’m sorry.”

Shame swamped her at the ring of sincerity in his voice. He was correct—this
was
inappropriate. Like it or not, Glen was her tenant. She shouldn’t be in her house when he’d expressly asked her to stay out of it. A part of herself she didn’t like had gambled on this attraction between them giving her a get-out-of-jail-free card, and that was wrong.

His footsteps squeaked away, then came the sound of the bathroom door closing softly.

Sav surged to her feet and grabbed the fluffy towel from the heated rail. She wrapped it around herself and hurried out of the bathroom, stumbling to a halt as she caught sight of him in the hallway by the front door.

“Glen?”

He paused, one hand on the door handle, the other holding a black wallet. “I’m leaving now. Go back to your bath.”

“I’m sorry. Sneaking into the house is indefensible. I’ve no excuse, other than to admit you were right. I couldn’t do without my little luxuries.”

“So instead of asking, you decided to take what you wanted?”

His cool stare raked from her flushed face to her feet, which were surrounded by a growing puddle of bathwater. Tightening her grip on the towel’s upper edge, Sav picked carefully down the hallway and stopped in front of him. Up close, she could’ve smoothed the frown lines from his forehead or touched the pulse flickering near his jaw.

“You would’ve said no.”

She didn’t need to close her eyes to picture his smirk if she’d dared admit she was desperate for a bath and then a shower, where she could shampoo and condition her hair without running out of water.

“Because I’m the kind of man who’d enjoy some payback.”

“I didn’t mean that.” She dropped her gaze to his throat and the bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Yeah, you did. And I’ve done little to show you otherwise.”

She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Nate wouldn’t have remained friends with someone lacking in moral character. You’re a good man.”

The certainty of the verbalized thought reverberated through her. She was speaking the truth. Besides, Nate had grown choosy about his friends—no way in hell would he hold his tongue about her living under Glen’s nose if he thought the man was a threat.

“Good? Moral?” He gave a soft snort and shoved the wallet into the back pocket of his jeans.  “There’s nothing good or
moral
in what I thought about when I saw you in that tub.”

“What…?” She licked her lips, grimacing at the faint chemical taste of bath oil. “What did you think about?”

He stared hotly at her for three loaded beats then closed the remaining gap between them. His chest bumped into her fist, which still clutched the towel edge.

“I thought about how much I wanted to climb in with you, clothes and all, and I calculated the time it would take to have you screaming my name as you came undone in my arms. I thought about if I should stop at the pharmacy for protection after I got Tom’s backpack.” He breathed in raggedly. “But then I thought I was probably just another asshole trying to get into Savannah Payne’s panties.”

Her breathing, already driven fast and light with the hard gallop of her heartbeat, fluttered unevenly. She uncurled her fingers from the towel edge and rested a palm on his chest. The solid warmth of him under her fingers awakened something inside her that flexed, tentatively expanding into a tiny glow. “Who do you see when you look at me?”

“A sex goddess.”

She scrunched her nose, and the corner of his mouth kicked up. Half a smile—that was a good sign, right?

“I’m teasing.” He tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear, and his fingers lingered.

The gentle touch sent pleasurable shivers on dual paths down to her nipples, then they re-joined in a hot throb between her thighs.

“I see a woman who looks just as good dripping wet as she does in her pretty yellow dress. I see someone who only lets a few people she cares about catch a glimpse of the heart underneath impenetrable armor”—his thumb stroked over her cheekbone—“I admit, I don’t care much for Savannah Payne, but Savannah Davis? I like her. And I badly want to know her better.”

“In the carnal sense?”

He touched his forehead to hers, warm skin pressed to her chilled flesh. “In every sense.” Then he pulled away after a brief touch of his lips.

Glen opened the front door. “I’m leaving before I remember I haven’t had sex for six months and do you up against the wall anyway.” He nodded over her shoulder. “Go on back to your bath, but the next time you sneak inside, it better be into my bed.”

Resisting the urge to drop the towel and tempt fate, Sav braced her trembling legs. “You should take a trip to the pharmacy.”

Glen gave her a hundred-percent smile that if she’d currently had any on, would’ve incinerated her panties to ashes.

Chapter 7

Whoever claimed Bounty Bay was a secret paradise on earth hadn’t experienced a spring storm.

Glen closed his laptop, stood, and stretched the kinks out of his shoulders and back. With Tom asleep on the office futon after a couple hours of begrudging study, Glen had thrown another split log onto the fire and propped his feet on the coffee table. Time to work.

Dark clouds had gathered from the south as he’d driven back with Tom’s backpack a few hours ago. Outside, wind screamed around the corner of the house and exploded through the trees, sounding like an army of crazed cheerleaders shaking their pom-poms.

He crinkled his nose. Cheerleaders and pom-poms? If that was the best analogy he could come up with, his dad’s opinion of his writing being a time-wasting hobby was right. Before he could travel down that well-worn and thorny path, a sharp bang from the back of the house snagged his attention.

Shit.

He hustled down the hallway into his bedroom and pressed his nose to the window. The faint pool of light spilling out from his room cast a large rectangle on the ground between the house and Savannah’s caravan, but not enough to see what caused the bang. Only Daisy’s black outline and the towering, swaying silhouettes of the trees behind it were visible.

Another gust blew around the house, and the little caravan shuddered.

Screw it. The world’s biggest sucker for Savannah-the-damsel-in-distress would have to go out in the pouring rain and check her caravan wasn’t falling in around her ears.

He could, at least, guarantee it wasn’t her awning, since ignoring her protests of independent womanhood, he’d manhandled the damn thing down earlier. Then he’d politely suggested she pack up her flamingos and butt-ugly gnomes before the wind sent them hurtling through one of the house windows. Her pretty green eyes had narrowed into her
bite me
glare, but she’d tidied away her crap without a word while he’d fought with the wind and awning.

He’d been tempted to invite her inside for the night, since Daisy was so ancient she probably leaked like a bastard, but after a “Thank you, Glen,” sweet enough to trickle through his blood like melted honey, she shut the door in his face. Glen grinned as he tugged on his jacket, imagining the look on her face if she’d spotted the jumbo sized box of condoms hidden amongst his groceries that he’d picked up that afternoon. Couldn’t blame a guy for dreaming…

Gumboots on, jacket zipped to the neck with hood pulled low over his eyes, Glen switched on his flashlight and stepped out onto the deck. Wind slammed into his face and blasted past him, chased by a volley of raindrops that stung like shotgun pellets. He strode off the deck and onto the grass, water splashing up over his gumboots as the ground struggled to absorb the deluge. Another gust howled past, and the flashlight beam located the source of banging—Savannah’s portable clothes-drying rack in a bent, tangled jumble of metal on its side behind the caravan. She must’ve forgotten to store it.

His gut tightened as rain continued to slant down, fat, cold drops that pelted against his jeans, soaking them in an instant. He’d had half an ear tuned for a knock on his door all evening, waiting for Savannah to swallow her pride and just ask if she could shelter inside for the night. Her stubbornness surprised him again. Surprised and irked more than it should’ve.

He dragged a hand down his wet face and shook his head, trying to gather some sort of composure. Though he’d discovered the source of the banging, he couldn’t, in good conscience, forgo making sure Savannah was okay.

Nate had already been up a couple of hours ago to try to convince her to stay with him and Lauren for the night. From the look on Nate’s face as he’d raised a hand in farewell to Glen before hopping back in the Range Rover, Savannah had sent her cousin away with a flea in his ear. Why she hadn’t wanted to go with Nate instead of toughing it out on her own…

Glen stumbled to a halt outside the caravan’s door.

Perhaps she’d been waiting for him to invite her into his house…maybe even into his bed. Warmth coiled around his chest and gave a little squeeze.

You are such a goddamn idiot, Coop.

Glen banged on the door. “Savannah?”

Shuffling noises from inside, then the snick of a lock unlatching. The door opened, and he grabbed it before it banged against the caravan’s side. Inside was pitch dark, except for her dinky penlight torch directing a fine beam of light onto fluffy pink socks. He aimed the beam of his bigger flashlight up legs covered in baggy white fleece to arms folded defensively across a pile of papers—her script. There was enough light now to see Savannah’s outfit had a white hood tugged low over her face…and droopy bunny ears attached to it.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he blurted.

“It’s a wo-wo-onesie. Lauren and Drew gave it to m-m-me. It’s the w-w-warmest thing I’ve got.” She took a half step back from the door. “Sh-sh-shut the door. You’re letting in m-m-more cold air.”

He didn’t need a thermometer to tell Daisy resembled a jumbo-sized icebox. His stomach clenched so hard it squeezed up into his chest cavity. “Jesus, Sav. Get your boots on and come inside with me.”

“No, I’m—”

“Don’t you fucking dare tell me you’re fine.” He climbed onto the step and got hold of her arm—taking care to keep his grip gentle but
you-are-so-coming-with-me
firm. “You’re sitting in the dark and you must be halfway to hypothermia if you’re voluntarily wearing a bunny suit, so get over yourself and come—”

An explosive crack echoed through the valley, splitting the night. Glen hauled Savannah off her fluffy pink feet and ran. A whooshing noise surrounded them, followed seconds later by a bone-jarring crunch as something big and leaf-covered slammed into the caravan.

Leaves and broken-off chips of wood and twig pinged off his back as he sprinted for the deck, Savannah’s hand gripping his jacket with anaconda strength.

He leaned against the house wall, shifting position so he had a better hold of her in his arms. She shivered, pressing into him. Her nose felt like a rounded ice cube, and little hiccuppy sobs puffed against his throat.

“Hey, you’re okay. It was just a tree.”

“Uncle Glen?” A strained voice came from behind the window at his back. “What’s happening?”

“I’m outside with Savannah,” he yelled, pitching his voice above the wind. “A tree just fell on her caravan.”

Savannah squeaked in dismay and tried to arch around. He pushed away from the wall and climbed the steps onto the deck. One glimpse of the new silhouette on the lawn—half caravan shaped, half wild branches—told him she was better off not seeing the damage until morning.

“It hit D-d-daisy?”

“It sure sounded that way,” he said. “But there’s nothing more we can do tonight. Let’s get you inside.”

The outside lights came on, and he blinked in the sudden brightness. He glanced down through squinted eyes at the fleece-covered woman in his arms. She still clutched her script, the wind ruffling the paper. Her fingers relaxed on the back of his jacket, and she gazed up at him, a floppy, pink-lined ear drooping in her face. She nudged it away with the corner of her script, and the wind caught her hood, tearing it off and exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck.

“You k-k-keep doing this, don’t you?”

“What?”

Footsteps thudded down the hallway toward the door. Tom to the rescue.

“Saving me.” Her mouth twisted into a shaky smile. “S-s-saving me when I think I don’t need saving.”

His racing heart tripped and fell into his rubber boots. Had she remembered it was him that night?

“First when I nearly slipped over in your kitchen,” she said. “Now when a tree almost squashes me. I’m such a klutz.”

Tom saved Glen the need to formulate a reply by flinging open the door. The boy leaned his weight against it to keep it pinned open. Glen edged past and Tom shut the door, cutting of the worst of the wind’s screaming.

“Are you okay?” his nephew asked as Glen lowered Savannah to her feet.

He had to order his fingers to behave, as the temptation of curvy woman who still smelled of summer flowers and ripe berries made him want to keep his hands on her. Even if she was covered in a bunny suit.

“I’m fine,” he said distractedly, one hand lightly resting on Savannah’s upper back.

“I meant
Savannah
.”

Glen aimed a glance over his shoulder in time to catch Tom’s exaggerated
duh
! eye roll.

Savannah hugged her script tighter against her chest and attempted a game smile, but she still shook like a marathon runner after a race. “I’ll be okay.”

“Once you’ve had a hot shower and some dry clothes.” Glen crooked a finger at Tom. “Go and grab a change of my clothes for Savannah, and one of your fleeces and a pair of socks. You’re closer to her size than I am.”

Tom looked scandalized then his face split into an ear-to-ear grin. Glen could almost read the boy’s thoughts, as if they scrolled in neon letters across his forehead:
Savannah Payne is gonna be wearing my clothes. Legendary
!

Glen lowered his eyebrows into a menacing
V
, so Tom dialed the smile down to a smirk and hurried along the hallway.

“On it,” he called, ducking into Glen’s room.

Glen switched his gaze back to Savannah, frozen in place against the hallway wall, protectively curled around her script.

“C’mon,” he said. “Have a hot shower, and I’ll put your script near the fire where it’s warm. It’ll dry out in no time.”

“My caravan’s ruined, isn’t it?” Her lower lip trembled, and she pinched her mouth together, wrenching her face away from him to stare down the hallway. “Guess I’ll be going back to Auckland, after all. You win.”

Guess he had. So why didn’t he feel like punching the air in triumph? Because he’d never wanted to win this way—with Savannah reduced to a small, shivering shadow of herself. And now that she’d somehow slit a hole in his tough outer shell, he wasn’t sure he wanted to win at all. Not if it meant her going back to Auckland. Not if it meant he’d never see her again…

He stepped closer and gently clasped her chin, turning her face to his.

Flashing with temper, sparkling with laughter, soft with kindness, hard with determination, smoky with arousal—he’d experienced all of those emotions in her eyes. Now her green irises, with the pretty flecks of gold near her pupils, were dull. Defeated. Tank empty.

He hated it.

“The one thing you’ve never been is a quitter, diva. Don’t start now.”

A spark lit deep in her eyes, and her upper lip curled slightly away from her teeth.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’ve never been a quitter because I’ve never known when to quit. No, no, not me. I applied to the New Zealand School of Drama when everyone said I’d never make it as an actress. I went to audition after audition, wouldn’t quit when I got knocked back. Then I worked my tail off, movie after movie, refusing to believe my golden days were over. No one would label me a quitter.”

She placed cool fingers on top of his and drew his hand away from her chin. “But the downside of
not
being a quitter? Marrying Liam, even though I didn’t really love him, then
staying
married to him when a sensible woman would’ve divorced him years ago.”

He took a step away from her, conscious of Tom rummaging through drawers down the hallway. “Ending a long term relationship isn’t an easy thing.”

Especially if one of the people involved was an ambitious, manipulative dickhead who’d do anything to hold onto what he considered his property. At least, that had been Glen’s opinion of Liam on the few occasions he’d run into him when they were younger. He imagined the teenage 1.0 Liam hadn’t improved much in the adult 2.0 version.

“No.”

“Sweatpants, tee shirt, woolly socks,”—Tom stepped out of his room mid-sentence with a stack of clothes—“and an ugly orange fleece my mum insisted on packing. Sorry.”

Savannah eased away from Glen, placing her script on a small hallway table then taking the clothes from Tom.

“Thank you, Tom. It’s very kind of you to lend me your clothes.” Her light, easy tone demonstrated how quickly Savannah switched masks from vulnerable to cheerful.

“No worries.” Dimples appeared in the boy’s cheeks. “Though they’re not as cool as your onesie.”

She flicked Glen a sideways glance. “And thank you too, Glen.”

And in one sentence, politely spoken without a trace of the vulnerability she’d shown moments before, Savannah reduced him to her unwanted tenant who’d helped out in a tight spot.

***

Showered, dressed in Glen’s baggy sweats and tee shirt, and wearing Tom’s socks, Savannah made her way to the family room. She’d slipped back on the panties she’d worn beneath the onsie but minus a bra, unfortunately, since the underwire was the first to hit the laundry pile at the end of the day.

Could’ve been worse, she told herself, as she spotted Glen stretched out on the couch in front of the fireplace. She could’ve been au naturel when Glen found her. As a reminder that ‘Glen’ was a trigger word, her nipples gave a happy little tingle. Sav folded her arms over her breasts—in case the tingle showed—and perched on an armchair.