“Or walk off some of Kathy’s amazing Christmas dinner first?” Nate moved closer, the thread of warmth twisting through his words smothering another reason to keep him at a distance.
“A walk sounds good.” She took the bottle from him and set it on the outside table.
“Lauren?”
She paused for a beat then turned back to him.
“Will you tell me the rest? Will you tell me about how you got this?” He traced a gentle fingertip along her scar.
“I think it’s more that you can’t trust him.”
“You’d best decide quickly what sort of man he is.”
As Kathy’s words drifted through Lauren’s mind, she soaked in the sensation of his touch. Perhaps a little trust was due.
“Yes, but I’d better put some flip-flops on my feet, or I’ll end up falling all over you.”
His smile sent her heart and hormones into orbit.
Oh, she could fall, all right—fall big time. But it wouldn’t be because of her high-heeled sandals.
***
It seemed natural to steady her elbow as they stepped off the deck. It seemed natural to slide his palm down her forearm and twine their fingers together. It all seemed so natural, as instinctual as checking both ways before crossing a busy street, but the impact of her skin against his and the sight of her shy smile in the glimmer of moonlight just about knocked him off his feet. Natural, hell…Nate felt as if he were the victim of a hit-and-run collision.
Kid, you got it bad. Pull back before you fall off that bloody cliff you’ve been dancing along. Steve’s voice echoed in his head, as clear as if the man stood beside him.
But Nate could keep his balance. He’d never stumbled.
He and Lauren walked, following Java’s loping gait and the curve of her driveway. They talked of inconsequential things, and he was okay with that. He wouldn’t push. Yet.
By the time they strolled back to the garage door, he knew more about rebuilding a V8 engine than he’d ever wanted to. The woman was stalling. Big time.
He couldn’t pinpoint why he needed Lauren to trust him with her pain. Savannah had taken years to admit her husband was a verbally abusive deadbeat. Guess when you made yourself emotionally unavailable it was hard to open up.
But wherever this thing with Lauren was headed—and it couldn't go anywhere other than the land of temporary—she still needed to talk. He wanted to be the friend to her that he hadn’t been to Savannah when she needed him most.
Sure, he’d kicked Sav’s husband’s sorry ass, but Nate never went to her afterward and said, “I’m sorry for not being there for you, but I’m here now. Please talk to me.” He’d done the stereotypical guy thing—helped her with practical matters and avoided any mention of feelings.
He opened the garage door and flicked on the light. “Show me your dad’s car?”
“Good idea. I’ll start it up. It’s about time to give the motor a turn over.” She brushed past him and tugged the cover off the hood.
Good idea? The last time he’d asked to see the Cadillac she’d looked at him as if he’d demanded she strip naked and pole dance. Oh yeah, major-league stalling.
He helped her drag the cover back. Car wax and the fainter scent of leather upholstery tickled his nose. The car’s sleek lines couldn’t hold his attention. Not when Lauren’s dress slipped up her thighs as she climbed into the driver’s seat and kicked off her flip-flops.
“Hop in.”
“Want me to take off my shoes first?”
He gestured to her bare feet, which caressed the pedals. It made his groin twitch, imagining her feet sliding up and down his calves as she wrapped those endlessly long legs around his hips.
Whoa. Down, boy.
Nate dragged his gaze up to the gentle sway of Lauren’s hair as she shook her head.
“Dad always said life was for living and his car for driving. He didn’t want the Caddy shrink-wrapped in protective plastic and stuck in a museum. Or a garage.” She sent him a crooked smile while her hand stroked the steering wheel, her fingers clenching briefly at the three o’clock position. “I guess you should just hop in.”
He folded himself onto the low-slung bench seat, stretching out his legs while Lauren started the car and idled the engine. After a minute, she turned off the key, slumping back in her seat and watching her fancy metal keychain swing back and forth, back and forth.
Then she turned to face him, her bare thighs whispering on the leather.
“You said your friend, Steve, died of cancer. Were you with him?”
The unexpected change of topic punched into his gut. Sympathy flickered in her eyes.
“Yeah. I sat with him in the hospital for the last few days. I don’t think he even knew it most of the time.” He blew out a harsh breath. “It’s bloody torture watching someone die.”
“You cared a great deal about him.”
“Steve was my mentor. But more than that, my mate.”
“He would’ve known you were there.”
He rolled his shoulders to shake off the heaviness. “I like to think so. He had no one else.”
“Oh, Nate. I’m so sorry.”
“Were you with your dad when he died?”
She tucked her hands under her knees and a gut-deep sigh gusted out. “No. He had a heart attack when I was fourteen and at school. My brother was working for him then and had gone to the bakery for morning tea—he came back and found Dad on the workshop floor.”
“Must’ve been devastating for you all.”
“It took a long time for our family to recover, and it cut out Mum’s heart. It wasn’t until she had my career to focus on that she came out of her dark place.”
“The modeling.”
“Yes, the modeling.” She curled her legs up beneath her on the wide bench seat. “Without Dad there to temper her enthusiasm or to back me up after I told her I wanted to be a mechanic, not a model, I pretty much caved in and did what she wanted.”
“How old were you when you started?”
“Fifteen. Seventeen when we went to New York for the first time.”
Seventeen? Holy shit. Arriving in the Big Apple was overwhelming enough for an adult, let alone a teenager. “You were just a kid. Kind of a harsh adjustment from growing up in rural New Zealand.”
“It was exciting and non-stop and challenging—but to begin with, I had terrible bouts of homesickness.” She sighed again and smoothed the dress over her knees, which only emphasized her trembling fingers. “I’ll tell you about the night I got this scar, but first I need to know—what happened in that bar with Savannah Payne?”
Wow. He hadn’t seen a second topic-evasion coming, though with Lauren being Lauren, he should’ve.
Nate leaned back against the smooth leather. “You’ve never asked me what happened.”
She cocked her head. “It was none of my business...before.”
“And now it is, since we’ve unintentionally become involved in each other’s business, right?”
“Something like that.” She laced her fingers together on her lap and waited.
Steel cables of tension stiffened his back muscles. The truth would reveal just how self-centered and selfish he’d been. But since she was about to spill her guts to him—and make no mistake, he wasn’t leaving this car until she rid herself of her story—explaining his relationship with Savannah was only fair.
“Savannah Payne is my second cousin—our mothers are cousins. We never have and never will be romantically involved.”
Lauren’s mouth parted and then clamped shut, the flush of pink vanishing from her soft lips.
“We saw each other on the odd times my family came home from mission work and then got close after I arrived back in Auckland and enrolled in university. I’d give her a ride to play rehearsals and stuff when I got my driver’s license, and I’d turn up at her school productions. She was the bratty younger sister I never had—fun, carefree, the life of the party. That changed after she married he
r high-school sweetheart.”
Color leeched from Lauren’s cheekbones, and she hunched over.
“We lost some of that closeness over the years—conflicting schedules and lifestyles, all the usual pathetic excuses family has for losing touch with each other. She rang me after she and Liam decided to move back home; she was excited about getting a role in a new local drama. I’d flown into Auckland unexpectedly in between assignments, and after a little to-and-froing, she agreed to meet me for a drink. I wondered why she didn’t ask me back to their place”—he shook his head, rocks tumbling in his belly at the memory—“and why she arrived at the bar in sunglasses and a baseball cap.”
“She was hiding from her fans? Or from her husband?”
“My cousin loved being the center of attention; she loved meeting her fans. And as far as I knew at that time, things were a little strained with Liam but not...shit.”
He’d spare Lauren the force of his shock, his fury, and then the self-hatred he’d experienced when Savannah had reached for her wineglass and her sleeve had ridden up, exposing a ring of purplish-blue bruises on her arm. “They’d fought that morning about her meeting me. Liam had grabbed her arms, slammed her up against a wall. She’d calmed him down and then left the house to come meet me.”
“Was it the first time he’d gotten physical?” Lauren’s words came in jerky little spasms.
Nate made a conscious effort to unclench his fingers, balled into iron fists. “She told me it was. I was prying out more information about the mental and emotional abuse that she would, at least, admit to, when Liam tracked us down at the bar. He ordered Sav to leave with him, and she wouldn’t, so he dragged her from her chair.”
A trickle of sweat slid between his shoulder blades. Even thinking about Liam’s hand clamped around Sav’s wrist made Nate’s blood thrum and his vision darken. And that was his little cousin. Not knowing how Lauren’s ex had hurt her? His back molars ground together, while a volcano spewed lava through his veins.
“I’m not proud of the spectacle I made, but I’m not sorry for teaching the bastard a lesson.”
“He didn’t press charges?”
“Savannah didn’t want the media sharks getting wind of the situation, and her weasel of a husband didn’t, either. Liam didn’t press charges, and I kept my mouth shut—for Sav’s sake.” And for Sav’s sake, Nate hadn’t killed her husband. Instead, he’d helped evict Liam from her life and booked flights to Vegas to start quickie divorce proceedings.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Lauren laid a hand over his clenched knuckles, a soothing sensation like cool water on a fresh burn.
“Savannah’s lucky to have you in her life,” she added.
Lucky? Yeah, lucky Savannah had a cousin who didn’t notice she needed help because his head was stuck too far up his own ass. But that wasn’t going to happen with Lauren, because as Nate had promised Drew, nobody would hurt him or his mother while Nate was around.
Settling down with one woman is like volunteering to drop a noose around your neck, kid. Steve’s voice again, laughing at him.
Nate’s thoughts of vindication tapered off, and his fists unclenched. Was this thing with Lauren heading in that direction? Did he plan to stay in Bounty Bay, protecting and caring for her and her son, believing he could be part of their family? Would he relax the grip on his heart to allow any feelings other than sexual desire to slip in and take root?
Hell, no.
Steve had been right. The cards life dealt to guys like them didn’t include one marked “long term relationship.” So maybe the kindest thing he could do for Lauren was to step back. Pull away before he carved his own scar into her heart.
***
“Your turn.” Nate turned his hand over, lacing his fingers with hers.
Lauren didn’t pull away, but since it felt like rusty steel wool was crammed down her throat, she couldn’t talk, either.
“Jonathan hit you, didn’t he?”
She managed a small nod. “Up until that night, only a few times.”
“Only?”
“A few slaps to the face, grabbing my arms hard enough to leave bruises”—she winced at that, remembering Nate’s story of his cousin—“being a little rough when we’d make love.” Her chin dipped down, and she studied their linked hands. “I was so stupid, so naive. I couldn’t tell my mum—she adored Jonathan—and at the time, Todd and I weren’t close.”
“Did you have friends who could’ve helped?”
“He’d isolated me from my real friends over time, leaving me with only the wives of his business associates—women who were more interested in a sale at Saks than being my friend.”
“And Drew?”
Like wire was attached to her jaw, her chin lifted. “Jonathan never raised a hand to him; otherwise, friends or not, I would’ve left him.”
“What happened that night?”
Her stomach clenched, as if it were wrapped around her spine, but she forced herself to release a pent-up breath and begin. “It started with a cocktail party that I didn’t want to go to. Drew was off-color and running a slight temperature, but Jonathan wanted me on his arm, so we used our usual sitter and went.”
“Halfway through the party, I rang to check on Drew, and I heard him screaming and sobbing in the background. The sitter said he’d been vomiting and kept crying for me. Jonathan was deep in conversation with a business associate, so I just left, sending him a text on the cab ride home.”
Nate squeezed her fingers encouragingly. She gave him a half smile, and continued.
“I paid the babysitter and sent her off, then went straight to Drew. The sitter had changed him into clean pajamas, but his room still stunk of vomit, and the carpet—well, the carpet beside his bed was a mess. Jonathan arrived about five minutes after I did; he must’ve immediately noticed I was missing and caught another cab. He’d had too much to drink, but that was no excuse.” She pressed her lips together so tightly her teeth pinched into the soft skin.
“He stormed into Drew’s room, took one look at the carpet and screamed at Drew to get back into bed. Then he turned on me, raving like an insane person for embarrassing him in front of his colleagues. Jonathan screaming at our sick baby was the breaking point—I told him I was leaving.”
Her chest locked tight again, trapping a lungful of stale air. “That’s when he grabbed me around the waist and hauled me out of Drew’s bedroom. I fought and knocked a huge vase of roses off the hallway table. He slapped me a couple of times, and one of my fists connected with his nose, so he dropped me. I tried to crawl away, but he pulled me backward through the broken glass, and one bit sliced into my face.”
“Fuck.” A muscle pulsed in his jaw.
She had to finish now, to purge it all from her soul, or she never would. “Drew’s shrieks and the blood on the floor finally snapped Jonathan out of it. He let me go and staggered away, locking himself into his office. I was a complete mess, my face bleeding, my dress ripped, but I grabbed Drew and my passport and left. I never went back, and every contact we’ve had since has been through lawyers. He’s moved on with his life, remarried.” She pressed a fist to her mouth to stop her lips trembling. “He’s moved on, and yet some days, I feel as if I’m still trapped in that nightmare.”
“This is why you don’t sleep at nights.”
“It’s not as bad as it used to be.”
Nate’s thumb gently brushed over her other hand in soothing strokes.
Tingles charged up her arm, infusing her with warmth. Nate’s touch somehow did that—cleaned out all the bad stuff clogging up her mind, filling it instead with a surge of…happy. She blinked at him, filled with happy, with heat, with the sudden burning desire to climb into his lap and wrap herself around him so the tingles spread all over her body.
Her lips curved, as the memories of that night fizzled and retreated into sepia blandness. The man was magic. He could make her forget—Nate could make them both forget.
Sh
e shuffled closer, but as she did, he returned her hand back to her knee and said, “I’ll take a rain check on the nightcap. You head back up, get some sleep.”
That was it? After exposing her darkest, rawest secrets, he was blowing her off?
Lauren’s stomach plummeted like an out-of-control rollercoaster. “You want me to go to bed, alone? You don’t want to make love to me anymore?”
“Honey, it’s not like that.” His gaze raked over her bare shoulders and settled on her face. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea tonight.”
Words a woman didn’t want to hear after all but asking a man to make love to her.
Lauren studied his expression, a little like Java’s the one time he’d been confronted by a kitten wanting to play. Her dog had been unsure of how to deal with a tiny creature he could so easily damage with his affection. She suspected a similar scenario flickered through Nate’s mind, as a glance below the belt of his jeans indicated one part of his anatomy was apparently interested in playing.
He wanted her. She wanted him. And they only had tonight.
She slithered across the bench seat and straddled his lap, letting her lower body wedge snug against his. “Actually, I think it’s a great idea.”
This close, she couldn’t escape sensual overload. Rough denim jeans scraped her bare thighs. The rasp of their breathing sounded loud in the silence of the cavernous workshop.
His fingers clutched either side of her hips, and she still wasn’t certain if he fought to push her off or keep her pinned in place. Although she’d taken control of the situation—had thought she would remain in control—her body betrayed her, strength ebbing from her bones.
Her name squeezed out between his lips in a strangled croak, and his eyes, no longer the color of cool seaweed, flared the iridescent green of a jungle after a tropical typhoon.
She leaned forward, and her breasts brushed his chest, the nipples hardening into hot pebbled points aching for his touch. Running the tip of her tongue along his neck where his pulse bumped, she savored the taste of him as it invaded every part of her body, making him part of her cellular memory.
Hide Your Heart: A New Zealand Small Town Romance (Sexy New Zealand Beach Romance Far North Book 1) Page 13