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

by Tracey Alvarez

  Right. Let the words flow forth…

  His phone vibrated on the table, the first notes of some cheesy boy band hit bursting out of the tiny speakers—the song his sister-in-law had chosen as a joke. Jamie’s assigned ringtone was the creepy cello solo from Jaws, and Glen had picked Darth Vader’s heavy breathing for his father, James Senior. Those, he let go to voicemail. Erin’s calls he’d take.

  “Erin, how’re you doing?”

  “Not so good.”

  Glancing at his watch, he scrunched up his nose. Calling just after eight when she should’ve been getting his three nephews to school meant no, things couldn’t be going well.

  From the background came the sounds of grizzling. The youngest, four-year-old Mikey, was probably the culprit.

  “Ah. Trouble with the boys?”

  “They’re fine, well—”

  He heard her intake of breath, suspiciously wet sounding as if she’d been crying. Hell.

  “As fine as can be expected when their father has only been around twice to see them since we left. He’s been texting Tom and Reece—texting them, Glen!”

  “Erin, I’m sorry.” Glen closed his eyes.

  Jackass. His brother was a complete jackass.

  “Bad enough he forgot I existed, but his boys?” A loud sniff down the line.

  “I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten them, he’s just—”

  “Working? Yeah, I know. James is always working. Sometimes I wonder if he’s actually noticed we’ve moved out. It’s been nearly two weeks and he hasn’t rung me, hasn’t even sent me a goddamned e-mail since I sticky-taped the “honey, I’m leaving you” note to his home computer. Does he not care?”

  “I don’t think it’s that at all, Erin. He’s got his priorities screwed up.” Like Glen himself for the last ten years. Until he woke up on the morning after his thirtieth birthday with a woman whose name he couldn’t remember and who’d greeted him by asking, “So, you’re a lawyer? What kind of car do you drive?”

  A soft thud, the rattle of crockery. His sister-in-law, ever efficient, talking and making breakfast at the same time.

  “Has he called you?” she asked.

  Glen stared out over the miles of green, the tops of trees straining ever upward to reach the sun. In the distance, the faint, grey ribbon of road carved through the land, and a tiny, matchbox-sized car sped along it toward Bounty Bay.

  “He’s left a couple of messages on my phone,” he said finally.

  A soft sigh then a pause. “Let me guess. The messages were about work and what a loser you are for chasing a pie-in-the-sky dream.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, Glen. At least you have a dream.”

  His brother had a dream once too—marry the gorgeous Erin, whom he’d pursued unrelentingly until he’d won her heart, then settle down and have the perfect family. And Jamie had done it. He’d gotten the girl, the career, the flashy house and the healthy, happy kids—he’d held the dream in both hands and then let it slip between his fingers.

  Glen rose and paced to the deck’s edge, glancing over at Savannah’s caravan. She was outside on the grass, battling to raise the orange-striped awning. He turned his back and stared out at the view again. “I’ll talk to him.”

  He could almost hear Erin shaking her head.

  “No. No don’t you dare. If he wants me, he can come find me. He knows where we are.” There was the softest of sniffs.

  Glen’s fingers clamped around the phone. God, he hated it when women cried because he always ended up doing something stupid. “What can I do to help?”

  There must be something he could do to make up for being genetically related to his jackass of a big brother.

  She sucked in a shuddery breath. “You’ve already given us somewhere to stay. I can’t thank you enough for taking us in.”

  “We’re family.” And as family, he was sorely tempted to drive back to Auckland and roast Jamie’s ass. “You and the boys can stay as long as you need. Are they behaving for you?”

  “Reece’s okay; we’ve had a few talks. Mikey’s too young to understand what’s going on.”

  “And Tom?” The fifteen-year-old who reminded him so much of himself at the same age.

  Her breath caught. “He won’t talk to me at all. He’s sullen and angry and stays locked in his room.”

  “I think that’s kind of the norm for a teenage boy.”

  “Normal to hear him crying himself to sleep some nights? I don’t know how to get through to him, Glen. And with exams coming up, and the two-week school holiday starting next Friday…”

  Damn. “Erin—”

  A loud crash, instantly followed by a high-pitched wailing cut off his next words.

  “Mummm!”

  “Reece, you give that back to your brother right now—crud. I’ve got to go.”

  “I’ll take him.” He heard his voice say into the chaos.

  “What?”

  “Send Tom up here with me for the holidays. I’ll make sure he studies, but we can also hang out, watch movies and eat popcorn. It’ll give you a break if you’re not worrying about him.”

  “But your book—”

  “He’s fifteen, not four. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t need me supervising him every second.”

  “No, he’s pretty independent. Thank you, I know he’ll love spending time with you.”

  The smile was back in her voice, and Glen knew he’d done the right thing. It’d cost him, and he’d have to work his tail off this week before Tom arrived, but he’d done the right thing.

  “Let me know when his bus arrives. I’ll pick him up.”

  He said goodbye and disconnected the call.

  A sharp snapping sound snagged his attention, and he turned to see the caravan awning, lopsided and flapping in the breeze. Savannah, beneath it with her hands on her hips, stamped a spotted gumboot and uttered a word hot enough to turn Daisy from orange to red.

  He took two steps in her direction before he caught himself. Nope, nuh-uh, not gonna happen. He’d nip this instinct to save Savannah in the bud right now. She wanted him out of her house? Well, he wanted her off his lawn and far, far out of temptation’s reach.

  Because he had work to do.

  ***

  Under the shade of her wonky awning, Savannah rolled out phase two of her Remove the Stuck Up Lawyer plan. While Operation Know-Thy-Enemy hadn’t worked out well, she suspected one crucial thing. Glen Cooper was attracted to her. He didn’t want to be—just like she didn’t want to acknowledge the little zing zipping through her blood when he’d arrived at her caravan yesterday morning unshaven, grouchy, and looking like serious eye-candy in his unbuttoned jeans and gaping-open shirt—but he was.

  Phase two was all about exploiting that.

  Sav shook out her yoga mat and readjusted her mirrored shades against the afternoon sun. Time to get to work. She positioned herself on the mat, spread out in perfect view of Glen, who sat in front of the window in his office…Correction—seated in front of the window in her office!

  A lock of hair flopped over Glen’s glasses as his head remained directed down at his laptop, pounding away on his little book about killer elves and rainbow-farting unicorns. She couldn’t see his hands, but she knew what he was doing. Just as she knew the man was aware of everything she did.

  She rested her hands on her bare stomach beneath her boobs that were snugly encased in a hot-pink cropped sports tank but above the waistband of her stretchy yoga pants. Sav drew in a cleansing breath and filled her lungs—a.k.a. the girls. Slanting a glance at the window, she was rewarded with Glen’s gaze lasering red dots on her chest. Gotcha, Mr. Cooper.

  Cue frown lines on his forehead and then renewed efforts in a record-breaking speed typing attempt.

  Sav forced her lips to remain in a neutral line and assumed the Lord of the Dance pose, which forced the sports tank to work overtime in preventing the girls from spilling out. Another sneaky glance. Yep, playing to a captive
audience. Making sure to hold the pose for a good thirty seconds longer than normal, she smoothly twisted into the Warrior position. Just in case he wasn’t only a boobs fan, she’d grant him some butt time. The glutes display should set him back a few hundred words. Maybe she should’ve gone with her initial idea of doing her daily yoga/Pilates routine while wearing a bikini. Hell, she could’ve set him back a few dozen pages by the time he’d hit the bathroom for a cold shower.

  And…into a Side Plank, highlighting, well, everything. Then the Bridge, another demonstration of the power of Lycra, then into a series of positions that had her muscles straining and shaking, and she almost forgot her audience. Because while distracting Glen so he’d figure the city was a more palatable alternative was her goal, she still had stubborn pounds to shift.

  Rising out of a Downward-facing Dog, she caught sight of movement on the deck. Bare feet, khaki shorts, and a white tee stretched snugly over buff muscles. Glen portrayed cool indifference with a skill many of her actor friends would envy. He stood with a steaming mug in one hand and a gigantic muffin in the other.

  Sav’s nose twitched. Even from the distance between the deck and her yoga mat, the muffin’s sugar-encrusted top spilling over a red paper case called to her. Glen sauntered across the grass, and her heartbeat hiked up from a fast thud to a full-out sprint. Her nose twitched again. Sugar, spicy cinnamon, a subtle hint of apple, and the stronger whiff of a male who evidently sweated pure, female-bewitching pheromones.

  Glen stopped three feet in front of her.

  Oh, God. She didn’t know which she wanted a bite out of first—the giant muffin, whispering, “I’ll feel soooo good, baby,” or the man staring at her with a gaze so hot it should’ve given her sunburn.

  Her stomach gurgled, loud and demanding. Glen turned his head slightly, raising the muffin to his mouth and pausing to waft it under his nose. The groan that rumbled out of him struck her directly below her squawking stomach, somewhere that hadn’t been sexily squeezed hot and hard in a long, long time. His tongue flicked out to swipe along his top lip, the tip just missing the heavy stubble around his mouth. He bit a chunk out of the muffin’s plump side and chewed slowly, the whole time never dropping his gaze. Even though sunglasses covered her eyes, it felt as if the lenses between them had become invisible.

  As if he’d seen past her look-at-my-butt yoga pants and skimpy top and knew exactly what she was up to, exactly what made her weaken, and exactly how to turn the tables and distract the hell out of her. Worse—she didn’t know if the reason for the sensation of vulnerability was only him eating a forbidden treat.

  She mentally shook herself. “Been kissing up to Lauren, I see.”

  “She gave me a batch to freeze before she left.” He broke off a chunk and offered it to her. “And her muffins are better than any kiss.”

  Sav backed up a step before instinct took over and she ended up lunging for his hand. “Your sex life must suck then.”

  Apparently, she’d lost the ability to edit her words before they popped out of her mouth. A low, rumbling chuckle from Glen, which drew her gaze again to his straight white teeth, soft lips…

  She whipped her gaze back to the chunk of muffin as he raised it to his mouth. Surely, focusing on his mouth was less dangerous than the thousand-calorie muffin? Or was it?

  “Why aren’t you working?” she asked.

  “Coffee break. And I needed some fresh air, so thought I’d watch you doing your cute little stretches.”

  “It’s yoga and Pilates, buddy. Makes me strong and fit.”

  And, added to weeks of boxing training, self-defense classes, and sessions with a counselor, she was stronger than she’d ever been. She chose not to focus on Liam, not to give herself permission to dwell on the years of subtle—then not so subtle—verbal and emotional abuse. He’d ground down her joy and self-esteem, controlled her, and had gotten physical with her once—which was when Nate stepped in and protected her. Now she’d shed the dead and ugly skin of Savannah-the-victim, Savannah-who-thought-she-needed-Liam-in-her-life. It soothed her spirit, knowing she could take care of herself.

  He snorted. “If you want to get strong and fit, there’s plenty of work to do around the property, like cutting some of the overhanging trees back from behind your caravan or cleaning out the old barn.”

  She refused to glance at the overhanging branches of a big old gum tree, which, yeah, were overdue for a trim. “Putting a chainsaw in my hands. Now there’s an idea.”

  His lips parted in a smile that gave her that low, squeezy-hot feeling again, yet at the same time, niggled something in her memory. She’d seen that smile years ago. No. Impossible. Nate had a ton of university friends constantly coming and going from his life back when he’d been her best friend—sometimes her only friend—but she’d remember a sex-on-a-stick, dazzling smile like Glen’s. Wouldn’t she?

  “Just make sure you move the caravan first. Wouldn’t want you to drop a tree on it.”

  “You’re too thoughtful, but don’t let me keep you from writing your little heart out.” She added her sweetest smile. “I hope I wasn’t distracting you with my cute little stretches.”

  Glen’s gaze went from mocking to hungry. And not for baked goods.

  Poking the lion while practically wearing a meat bikini wasn’t the wisest idea. Sav’s heartbeat thrummed in her throat. For a beat, a glimmer of fear stole her voice. Flirting to reach the goal of getting Glen to leave was one thing; flirting and allowing the trickle of sexual awareness to surge into a flood was another. She couldn’t let a fleeting attraction distract her from her goals.

  “If you were distracting me, I would’ve drawn the blinds.”

  Before she could think up a witty comeback, Glen strode back to the deck.

  With a soft growl, Sav returned to her yoga mat and lay down, ready for some crunches. She tucked her hands behind her head and curled up, catching a glimpse of Glen entering her office and sitting down at the desk. He started to type, but this time, his eyes didn’t stray from his laptop screen.

  The man had willpower. Well, so did she. Sav did another set of twenty crunches.

  No pain, no gain, that was her motto.

  A warm little shiver skimmed down her spine at the memory of his hot gaze on her skin, which led to a new motto: No fantasizing about the pain-in-the-butt man in her house.

  ***

  There was only so much boob and booty a guy could stand. Hunched for hours over his laptop, determined not to glance up or move from the office, Glen now required a session with a chiropractor for the crick in his neck.

  Yes. Savannah Payne was that damn hot.

  And if she’d planned to make him lose his cool while trying to pound out a thousand words an hour, she’d succeeded.

  So mid-afternoon, he’d gone for a run. On the way back he’d caught Savannah doing her laundry behind the caravan. In a bucket. Not something you see every day, and the puffs of soap bubbles across her forehead would’ve been funny in other circumstances. Then she hung up a skimpy white thong on a portable clothes-drying rack, alongside a neatly pinned row of panties and bras, plus that mind-blowingly distractive pink tank top she’d worn earlier.

  He nearly ploughed into a tree.

  She looked up at the sound of crunching gravel, delivered a wide-eyed glance, and dragged out a sopping pair of yoga pants to hang in front of her lingerie. As if that helped to remove the image of Savannah wearing the white thong and nothing else.

  By four, she’d finished wash-day and dragged out a folding lounge chair. She set it up beneath the wonky caravan awning facing his office window, of course, and stripped to a white string bikini. While spring in the sub-tropical Far North was warm, and today had proven to be a scorcher, he didn’t doubt that Savannah was working on more than a tan. Tilting up the brim of her enormous straw hat, she gave him a little finger wave and sat down, exposing a mile of smooth, creamy skin.

  Glen fixed his gaze on the keyboard. If he only knew her as Sava
nnah Payne, actress, he could combat this tug of attraction with the logic of knowing she was using her sexuality as a bludgeon to beat him into changing his mind. Problem was, he also knew her as Savannah Davis, a pretty seventeen-year-old who’d had her share of shitty family crises, and a girl who’d once looked at him with a my hero light in her eyes. But she clearly didn’t remember the night he’d saved her ass, and he didn’t intend to remind her of it since he’d never completely gotten over that girl.

  The woman she’d grown into was proving just as troublesome to evict from his head.

  By five, he’d given up any pretense of writing and elected to have an early dinner. He’d been cooped up inside, since the sun on the deck was too intense during the day, making it impossible to write out there. But by early evening, the sun would’ve sunk far enough behind the huge copse of kauri trees to leave the deck cool enough to work.

  He uncovered the small gas grill and cranked it up, returning to the fridge to pull out a tray of marinated steak and a couple of locally made gourmet sausages. Nothing like barbecuing the hell out of some red meat to make a man forget his worries. Glen strolled onto the deck and set the sausages on the hot plate, the aroma of sizzling pork and spices causing his stomach to grumble. Picking up the tongs, he slanted a glance at Savannah’s eyesore of a caravan and in front of it, where she still lay stretched out on her chair.

  He couldn’t see her face; the floppy sunhat and the pages of what he assumed was a script blocked his view. Her foot, crossed over her other ankle, tapped out a restless rhythm. His mind flicked back to her face as she’d watched him eat the muffin this morning. Was he cocky enough to think the desire in her eyes flared for him? No—though the heat of her stare when she’d stumbled onto him working shirtless that first evening was unmistakable. But add the lustful muffin drooling to her request for non-fat milk and her get-fit yoga hour…a little payback via temptation was in order.