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.
Flames flickered low in the fireplace, the bed of embers the only other light in the room aside from an end table lamp.
Glen cast her a sleepy stare. “Better?”
“Much better. Now I can talk without my molars clacking.”
“Good to hear.” He stretched his arms over his head, muscles playing beneath his tanned biceps, bulging into two smooth mounds as he laced his fingers behind his neck. “I’ve changed the linen in the bedroom. I’ll crash here for the night.”
On a couch that couldn’t contain six-feet-plus of male without his feet propped up on the arm? The couch folded out into a bed, but not a comfortable one for a guy as big as Glen.
“That’s very sweet of you, but I’m a much better fit. You look hideously uncomfortable.”
He crossed his ankles, nearly taking out the end lamp. “I’ve slept on worse than this.”
“Not since uni days, I’ll bet.”
The grin he sent her caused her blood to flow like a tide to the moon’s beckoning. A lethal current that dragged her under with a sudden weariness. Kind Glen, thoughtful Glen, was a lot harder to resist than abrasive, pain-in-the-butt Glen.
“Please don’t argue,” she said softly. “It’s late, and I’ve caused enough drama. I just want to go to sleep, and the couch looks perfect. I don’t even need to fold it out.”
He watched her for a beat or two, while the wind whistled and howled, lashing the house.
“All right.” Glen uncoiled to stand in one smooth movement. “You know where I am if you need anything else.”
She offered up a smile she hoped appeared grateful, and with a nod, he left.
Sav switched off the lamp and lay down, the seat cushions still deliciously warm from Glen’s body heat. Adjusting a fuzzy mohair rug over her legs, she turned her face toward the fire, forcing her churning thoughts to focus on the flames. The house creaked and yawned as it settled for the night, and her eyelids drooped.
Ghosts of dreams, of crashing trees and howling wind, hauled her out of a light doze and sent her heart racing. She cracked open an eye in the pitch-black room. The last of the embers had died. Wriggling onto her back, she sighed. The cushions beneath her now felt as if they’d been constructed with hay-stuffed sacking. She tugged the rug higher over her shoulders, needing to recreate the warmth and comfort of Glen’s arms as he carried her into the house. Her nose crinkled, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Yeah, right—warmth and comfort…shivering, soaked, and dressed like the da
mn Easter Bunny.
Yet her body still insisted she’d been warmed and comforted by his presence, and it nagged that it’d like to be again.
Tonight.
Savannah dumped the throw rug to the side and stood. Then sat.
What am I, crazy?
Then stood.
Yup. A card-carrying crazy woman with a middle-of-the-night craving for the man sleeping in her room.
She sat. Really?
She would sneak into Glen’s bed…and what? She stood.
And…snuggle on her pillow-top, king-size mattress with its four-hundred thread count sheets and a pure New Zealand wool duvet inner…and go to sleep.
That was all the snuggling she’d do.
Savannah edged out of the family room, trailing her fingers over the shadowy lumps of furniture. Down the hallway, socks whispering on the wood floor, she paused outside the master bedroom. The door was ajar, and with a cocked head, she identified the soft, whuffly breathing of a man deeply asleep.
She slipped into the room and closed the door. Rhythmic breathing continued as she tip-toed across the room, keeping her hand extended to locate the foot of the bed. Her fingers connected with the cover, and she lightly ran her nails over the smooth fabric until she encountered the bump of a foot—then farther until she found the second foot.
She bit back a groan. Dammit. Glen was spread eagle in the middle. Typical. Almost the biggest bed on the market, and a guy would still choose to sleep dead center.
She followed the bed to the corner and up to the nightstand. There was enough room for her on the edge, and thanks to the extra dollars spent on an anti-roll mattress, she wouldn’t even wake him crawling under the covers.
Sav stripped off the socks and track-pants and piled them within easy reach on the floor. When her internal alarm went off at 6:00 a.m., they’d be in reach for a quick getaway. She slipped under the duvet, curling onto her side. Nearly two weeks on Daisy’s off-the-shelf mattress made her pillow-top feel as if it were filled with cloud fluff.
Sav melted bonelessly onto the smooth sheets and closed her eyes.
A palm dropped onto her waist and squeezed gently. “Busted twice in a day? That’s got to be some kind of record.”
Her eyes popped open at Glen’s sleep-scratchy voice, but she didn’t flinch. Turned out he was a lighter sleeper than she’d anticipated.
Oops.
Her lips curved on the pillow. Yeah, she’d wanted to get caught after all.
Sheets rustled, and thanks to the anti-roll mattress, she couldn’t feel him inching toward her, but the tiny hairs on her spine did and rose with anticipation.
“Are you cold?” The weight on her waist lightened as he lifted his hand and ran his fingertips up her bare arm to the tee shirt sleeve.
“No.”
Oooh, no. Not cold at all. Currently experiencing a hot flash. Especially in one part of her anatomy.
“Was the couch uncomfortable?”
His voice was closer this time, and he didn’t sound sleepy at all.
“A little.”
“Or did you need something?”
He chuckled, a low rumble that flicked her burners from low to high. If sexiness was based purely on voice alone, that last sentence would’ve shot off the graph.
Yes, she could admit it now. She’d needed something. Or someone. Him, specifically. Could she trust Glen enough to admit it out loud? To ask for what she needed?
Men like to pursue, her mother’s voice whispered in her inner ear. Clever girls let men chase them. So play a little hard to get, be a little mysterious, keep them guessing as to what you want so they’ll try to please you. Love is a game, darling.
A game that hadn’t worked out well for her mum. Monique had stayed at home, immaculately groomed in stylish clothes, waiting for Savannah’s father to walk in the door after piloting one of his international flights. She was a 1950s parody of a wife, charming, beautiful, and a little aloof. But she’d lost the game when her husband fell in love with his good-natured, pretty flight attendant. Her parents separated when Sav was fourteen, her father and his pregnant girlfriend, Rachel, moving across the world to settle in London.
Savannah had never been a game player, and if she’d had better advice on relationships, maybe she wouldn’t have ended up marrying her first and only boyfriend.
“Sav?”
His hand dropped away from her arm, probably because she’d been silent and tense for the last ten seconds, as if the tendons stretched under her skin had transformed to steel cables.
“I was just teasing. Go to sleep; you must be exhausted.”
She rolled over to face him. At least she thought she was facing him—in the darkened room, it was hard to tell—then her hand connected with hot, smooth skin. Her fingertips skimmed over a flat nipple and he inhaled on a hiss.
“I’m not exhausted, and I can’t sleep.”
She wriggled closer, and her bare knee brushed another sleep-warm part of his body. Judging by the hair prickling her kneecap, she guessed his leg.
“I need…” Her hand slid over the wall of his chest to his shoulders, reveling in the muscles bunching there.
From his shoulders, continuing upward, her fingers traversed silky skin until they encountered heavy stubble, then inward, tracing her index finger along his bottom lip.
“This…” Sav arched up, the scruff on his jaw bristling against her lips. She darted light kisses along his lower lip, scenting his skin, teasing herself more than him. “This is what I need.”
Even over the storm raging outside, Glen’s deep-throated hum of approval was loud enough to hear. The hum saying, help yourself, then.
An offer she couldn’t refuse.
Sav touched her mouth to his. Warm lips under hers, the softest stirring of his breath, rapid enough to give her a tiny thrill knowing she wasn’t the only one affected. Tentative for the first few moments, part of her braced for him to switch gears and take charge. But he didn’t. Glen remained still, allowing her to explore his contours, parting his lips to fit hers only when she flicked the tip of her tongue against his.
A ragged groan as their tongues collided, and she lost herself in the sensation of wet heat. The lazy dance of his mouth moving on hers, the slide of his tongue, testing and teasing her control, she kissed him until she’d have to think really hard to know her own name. She hadn’t been lost in a man’s kiss in a long time. The act of losing yourself required a level of trust she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Threading her fingers into Glen’s hair, Savannah melted onto his chest and his hand settled on her hip, bunching the shirt up to her waist. Long fingers stroked the bare skin above her panties, moving slowly upward until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast. Sav instinctively pulled her breasts away to give him access to her nipples—two puckered nubs begging for his touch. But dammit, his hand didn’t move higher; he just deepened the kiss until the room spun like she’d drunk champagne at bedtime. She tangled her legs with his, bringing her lower body into contact with cotton boxers containing a delicious hardness.
Oh yeah, he was good, too damn good—nothing at all awkward about the man’s game. He’d given her control, put the decision of how much she wanted in her hands.
And now she wanted so much her body quaked with it.
Oh, God, her nipples weren’t the only thing begging to be touched.
He felt amazing, hard enough and hot enough to burn off her panties with one downward shift of his hips into the juncture of her thighs. The feel of his erection wedged intimately into her stomach stole what remained of her breath but a sliver of sanity returned. A buzz-kill of sanity. She was in bed with a man she’d known less than two weeks, rubbing up to him like a stripper on a pole.
But before she could break the kiss and retreat, Glen pulled back with a grumbly sound deep in his throat.
“Hey.” His ragged breath blew a strand of hair off her flushed cheek. “Are you sure about this getting so serious so fast?”
The erection wedged against her announced he wouldn’t mind getting even more serious in the next few minutes.
She put a little distance between them, squirming her hips backward. His hand dropped away from under her shirt. No body parts touching was the only chance she had of rational thought returning.
“Not as sure as I was a few moments ago.” She wished she could see his expression in the darkness. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be a cock-tease.”
He made a startled choking sound. “Jesus, Sav.”
Now would be a great time for another tree to come down. Preferably one that’d crash through the bedroom window and put her out of her misery.
“You’re not a cock-tease—although, hell, ignore anything dumb I say for the next minute as all the blood’s drained from my head.”
“You did tell me to climb into your bed the next time I snuck into your house.” She couldn’t prevent a note of defensiveness from sharpening her voice. That the smallest perceived rejection from him could sting was not a good sign.
“I did,” he agreed.
“I called your bluff too soon.”
“There’s no bluff, Sav. I want you in my bed. That’s kind of obvious, considering.”
A smile warmed his tone and gentle fingers brushed another strand of hair off her forehead. “But I hadn’t imagined this would be the circumstance.”
With her being a homeless, uninvited houseguest. She stiffened as the bedroom wall gave another shudder. She wasn’t the only houseguest—“With Tom sleeping next door?”
“No, with you still rattled from earlier events.”
“I’m fine.” But her belly performed a series of shaky somersaults at the memory of the storm and the tree crushing her caravan.
“Uh-huh. Okay, Ms. I’m fine, roll over.”
“Um…what?”
Visions of his naked body pressed up against her from behind rolled across her mind in a hot wave. She licked dry lips as the belly somersaults turned into triple twists. Ohhh-kay. Guess she really wasn’t ready for things to get that out of hand.
“I’m not normally a cuddler, but I’ll make an exception. Roll over.”
Know Your Heart: A New Zealand Enemies to Lovers Romance (Far North Series Book 2) Page 12