Break Your Heart_A Small Town Romance

by Tracey Alvarez

  “FYI, any boy stupid enough to try it on with me if I didn’t want him would’ve ended up with his balls kicked so far up his ass they’d pop out his nose, you Neanderthal asswipe.”

  He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t prevent the grin from spreading across his face if he tried, and he couldn’t resist teasing her more. Damn, but she was an irresistible little spitfire.

  “I’m not a boy.” He lowered the tenor of his voice, allowing a sliver of huskiness into it that he liked to think of as his take your panties off tone. “And you’re not looking at me like I’m one either.”

  “What?”

  “You’re looking at me like I’m a man you want to knock boots with, but you’re too scared to ask for what you need.” He spread his hands. “Come and take it, baby.”

  A cute little crinkle appeared at the bridge of her nose. Then her eyes narrowed into dangerously thin slits, and for a second, Sam thought she’d step forward and rip out his tonsils. Instead the crinkles smoothed out and she grinned. No—she smirked at him.

  “Really, Sam?” she said. “You think that Barry White routine is gonna work on me?”

  “Yeah, pretty sure.” He flicked one hand up and down in the direction of his torso. “This is all yours for tonight and every night for the next six days.” She tracked the movement of his hand and, damn, if his cock didn’t twitch at the thought of her taking all that she wanted—so long as that involved hot, sweaty, mind-bending sex. With him. And Jesus, when had he started thinking of Vee like this?

  Her nose crinkled again, and her cupid’s bow mouth—that her daughter had inherited—

  twisted. Blue eyes, cool as a winter sky, met his.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” She rocked back on her heels. “Can we please be serious?”

  She thought he’d been joking. Of course, he had been joking. Sorta.

  “I’m always serious when it comes to enticing a woman into my bed.”

  Vee huffed out a laugh. “I’ll bet. Casual sex beats the effort it takes of actually getting to know a woman, right?”

  “That’s a little cynical.” Although she was closer to truth than he liked to admit. “And FYI right back at you, before you went all pōrangi I was about to say that you’ll be sleeping in here while I take the fold-out couch. I’m not a complete Neanderthal asswipe.”

  “Uh-huh.” The suspicion didn’t leave her gaze as she gave a pointed glance toward his king-sized bed. “I take it you’ve changed the sheets since the last enticed woman exited your bed?”

  “Touché. And yeah, fresh on this morning.” He wouldn’t enlighten her that he hadn’t invited a woman back to his house for months.

  “Good.” She crossed to the bed and perched on the end, smoothing an imaginary crease in the duvet cover. “Now seems like the perfect time to go over some house rules since we’ve established hell will freeze over before you and I burn up those bedsheets together.”

  “Have we established that?” He decided not to push his luck by sitting next to her and leaned instead against the closed bedroom door. “And really, more rules? You’re a bit of a stickler, aren’t you?”

  She tilted up her chin and folded her hands on her lap. With her hair neatly braided, her pretty flower-printed skirt smoothed over her knees, and her calves and ankles slanted to the right in what he thought of as a prissy duchess pose, Vee looked the epitome of the virginal Sandra Dee.

  “It’s better to make things crystal clear right from the beginning so both parties are aware of where the boundaries are.”

  “Go on, then. Tell me about these rules of yours.”

  And he wouldn’t tell her how little regard he had for rules. No virginal Sandra Dee act would convince him to keep his filthy paws off her silky drawers in his own house. Not if he was right about the simmering heat bubbling beneath her cool surface.

  She cleared her throat. “In addition to the ground rules we discussed—Ruby’s routine, who knows about us, and what, er, physical contact is appropriate in public—”

  The spots of color had returned to her cheeks, he was gratified to note.

  “I have a couple more,” she said. “When I’m in this room for the night, you stay out of it.”

  An expected request. He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll keep my creeping around to a minimum. But if you’re worried about my uncontrollable lust to see you in your jammies, there’s a lock on the door. Feel free to use it.”

  Her mouth pinched in. “I’m prepared to play housewife and cook dinner every night—”

  “Magnanimous of you.”

  “So no going out after work with the guys,” she continued. “You come straight home to me.”

  He brushed off the small warming sensation that coming home to Vee invoked, because no way in hell could he tolerate a woman dictating his could and could nots. “That’s a bit ball-busterish. What’s wrong with having a beer with my mates?”

  She pulled a face. “Nothing at all if you’re a single guy. But you’re trying to convince the Wrights that you’re a man madly in love—and madly in love men don’t go to the pub every night. They actually want to go home to their women and spend time with them.”

  He guessed madly in love men might. He couldn’t say for sure since he’d never been madly in love. Madly in lust, yeah. He’d skipped more than a few beers in his time to be with a woman who drove him crazy in the sack. But he’d never hung around for long spending time with her afterward. “Okay. Home for a cooked meal every night, that’s doable. I like to eat.”

  “I’ve noticed,” she said drily.

  “Anything else? Rules usually come in threes.”

  “Rule number three. When Ruby’s around we drop the act. We’d only confuse her more than she already is.”

  “You’re confusing me. Which act are we talking about?”

  She shot him a guarded glance. “Don’t make me spell it out.”

  He folded his arms, spikes of tension crawling across his shoulder blades and knotting tight at the base of his neck. “No, spell it out for me. Which act do we drop? The one where we pretend to be madly in love—your words, not mine—or the one where you pretend you don’t like me?”

  It hadn’t bypassed his attention that Vee kept an invisible wall between them when they were around each other. It hadn’t been obvious for years because they’d had very little reason to socialize with each other after she and Tui drifted apart, but you couldn’t avoid someone for long in Bounty Bay. Since they’d started to mix in the same circles again he’d noticed she was watchful behind her platonic smiles, never quite engaging with him, never quite relaxed in his presence. And he’d assumed her reactions were the leftovers from the big brother to her best friend teasing-but-prickly triangle that had formed when they were kids.

  “The one where I pretend I don’t like you?” She rose gracefully to her feet, somehow managing to look as fearsome as a warrior in her dress and summery flip-flops. “I’ve known you all my life and I like you just fine, dumbass. But news flash, Sam—not every woman in a twenty mile radius finds you half as irresistible as you think you are.”

  “Ouch. My irresistible ego is bruised.”

  The way she said she liked him fine didn’t, in fact, sound like she liked him much at all. It made him feel like a twelve-year-old boy who’d been passed a note saying the girl he liked didn’t like him back. And that, goddamn it, irritated him like a sprinkling of sand in the crotch, because this was Vee. Always underfoot growing up, always tagging along with him and his brother’s plans because she and Tui had just wanted to hang with the older kids. Then somewhere along their shared history, when he was old enough to pull his head out of his ass long enough to think critically instead of with his dick, he’d wondered if Vee had seen him as more than Tui’s big brother. If that’d been the reason for her bitchiness throughout high school and awkwardness of their minimal interactions with each other since. Then he’d dismissed the thought.

  “Good.” She brushed her hands down her thighs. “It�
�s agreed. As far as Ruby’s concerned, Mummy and Sam are just civil adults coexisting in your house for a week. We’re roommates, nothing more.”

  “Civil adults coexisting. You shiny-eyed romantic, you.” Sam moved away from the bedroom door and flicked it open. “So what’s for dinner, roomie?”

  Vee stared at the lock on Sam’s bedroom door as if it were potentially booby-trapped with explosives. She’d said a polite good night twenty minutes ago, leaving him sprawled on his couch, watching the last few scenes of some blow ’em up action movie. After checking on Ruby, who was still fast asleep after tiring herself out with collecting shells and making sandcastles on the beach that afternoon, Vee slipped into Sam’s room to get ready for bed.

  She changed into her sleep tank and boxer shorts in record time, trying not to be resentful at having to wear anything at night when it was so damn hot. When she’d asked about air-conditioning earlier, Sam had opened a few windows to catch the ever present sea breeze. Helpful, buddy, real helpful.

  She reacted to heat and humidity in the most attractive of ways—flushed and splotchy skin, hair clinging flatly to her damp head and neck, sweat pooling between her boobs. She caught a glimpse of herself in the wall mirror. Ugh was the only word to describe it.

  Shooting another death glare at the bedroom door, she crossed to the massive bed and peeled back the cover. She sat and bounced a little to test the mattress’s firmness. Like Baby Bear’s bed, it was just right. She picked up one of the pillows, gave it a token sniff, and was relieved it only smelled of freshly laundered linen—not Sam. He hadn’t lied about changing the sheets, which were crisp, white, and a high thread count quality which Vee only dreamed about having on her bed.

  She fluffed the pillow and set it back down. Heat or no heat, Sam on the couch or not, she was determined to enjoy tonight sleeping on a big hotel-like bed.

  But first, to lock or not to lock—that was the question.

  Kind of a moot question because Sam would no more sneak into a woman’s bedroom knowing he wasn’t wanted any more than he would dress up in Ruby’s tiara and stage a tea party. The thought made her smile. Unlocked then. Neither were horny teenagers who couldn’t be trusted alone in a house together. Speak for yourself, a little voice whispered in her ear, then whined.

  Whined?

  Vee cocked her head. Another whine—from outside her window. She slid off the bed and tugged open the drapes. Below the old-fashioned sash windows and highlighted in the triangle of light from the bedroom lamp sat Turbo. He whined again, and that was when she spotted something hanging from the dog’s jaws. Something black and made of nylon.

  “What have you…” She pressed her nose against the glass for a closer look. “Is that my…dammit, Turbo.”

  Yep, the mutt who’d barely moved that whole afternoon had somehow found the energy to amble around to the front of the house. There, he’d evidently discovered the row of swimsuits and towels hanging over the back deck rails to dry after their swim at the beach.

  And whose swimsuit had he chosen to steal and was dangling from the mutt’s mouth?

  Vee shoved the sash window and it flew open. She grabbed the sill and poked her head out. “Turbo! Give me that. Bad dog.”

  Turbo gave her a hangdog look and shook his head from side to side, her swimsuit flopping around, likely covered in the thick ropes of drool she’d seen leaking from his mouth earlier. That’s okay, Sam had a washing machine. Doggy drool was no problemo.

  Not knowing terribly much about man’s best friend, maybe the bad dog comment didn’t go down well since people who owned dogs tended to think their mutts actually understood human gabble.

  Bending down, she slid her arms out of the window toward Turbo and made kissy-face noises. “Come on, Turbo-boy. Who’s a good dog, then? A good, good dog.” She snapped her fingers a few times—wasn’t that what you did to get a dog to move, or was that hailing a taxi? Turbo whined again, took a shuffling step backward, and planted his furry behind on the deck.

  Just out of reach.

  Vee swore and edged her upper body farther out of the window, her belly balanced on the sill, her tippy-toes barely making contact with the hardwood floor, but her fingers almost, almost touched the—

  A scraping sound then a cool weight settled on her lower back, pinning her half in, half out of the window like a bug.

  “You have got to be bloody kidding.” She didn’t need to twist around to see the sash had slid back down in its track. Turbo evidently thought this was funny enough to spit out her swimsuit and bay loud enough to wake the dead.

  “Shhhhh, dog!” Vee braced her palms against the wall of the house and tried to wriggle her butt backward. Tried and failed, because—ouch—that sash window was kinda heavy.

  Turbo wagged his tail and dipped his head, nosing her swimsuit across the deck.

  “Aha,” she crowed, hooking a finger under a shoulder strap. She’d only lifted it a few inches off the deck when Turbo pounced—that’s right, pounced.

  Like a puppy.

  His butt was in the air, teeth clamped on her swimsuit’s gusset, head whipping from side to side as Vee struggled to hold on. Yep, the dog who had a circuit of bed, food bowl, corner of lawn to poop on all afternoon and evening, suddenly wanted to play tug-of-war.

  “Give it back, you rotten little pooper scooper.” She bared her teeth at him and growled.

  Turbo waggled his tail even harder.

  “Now, that’s a battle you’ll never win.”

  Sam’s voice came from farther along the deck. Vee froze but didn’t let go of her swimsuit now that she had both straps wrapped around her fist. Through the strands of her hair that had fallen over her face, she spotted a tall, inky silhouette leaning oh-so-casually against the house.

  “Wanna bet?” she muttered and gave one last almighty yank on the suit. “Let it go!”

  Dog and swimsuit skidded across the decking, the latter showing a number of jagged tooth holes which the light shone though as she attempted to haul it up out of Turbo’s reach. But Turbo wasn’t giving up and he sat awkwardly on his haunches, teeth clamped down, hound dog eyes once more full of make me, human.

  Typical stubborn bloody male.

  A shrill whistle cut through the still night. “Turbo.” Sam’s voice was gruff and no nonsense. “Drop it.”

  She and Turbo exchanged one more defiant stare then the dog whuffed softly—a canine curse under his breath, she imagined—and opened his mouth. The swimsuit’s crotch dropped out of the animal’s jaws and hit the deck with a soggy plop. Vee’s victory was short-lived as she bunched it up in her fist—ew, it was soaked with spit—and found her core muscles had gone on strike, leaving her to hang like a soggy towel over the window frame.

  The soft whisper of bare feet on wood drew closer. “In your bed, now. Good boy,” Sam said.

  Turbo waddled away, disappearing around the front of the house. Two tanned feet stopped in front of her. “Need a hand?”

  “I’m good. Just enjoying the fresh air.”

  His chuckle—gruff and edged with something more than just amusement at her predicament—rolled over her. Tiny hairs rose on her nape, and her tank top, which after multiple washes had lost most of its elasticity, bunched up above her waist. One false move and she’d be flashing Sam the girls.

  “If you don’t need any help, I’ll head off to bed.” The feet moved out of her line of sight.

  “Wait—” She huffed out a sigh, using the last of her wobbly arm strength to raise her upper body from the sill.

  Sam leaned against the railing, his arms folded across his chest. His bare chest. And as an aside, it was so unfair that men could walk around half naked without getting arrested for indecent exposure. And with a body like Sam’s it really was indecent to expose so much ripped, sculptured muscle because it triggered a whole bunch of indecent triple-X thoughts inside her brain. And dear Lord, the blood was just rushing into her head now.

  “Help,” she said and sagged back agai
nst the wall.

  “I’ll have to come inside to get the window up. Did you lock the bedroom door?”

  “No, I didn’t lock your stupid damn door.” As if in retribution for her snippy response, her tank top shifted higher. Some of that fresh sea breeze tickled her left nipple. Oh. Crap. “Can you hurry up? Please?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and sent up a little prayer to the patron saint of modesty that Sam wouldn’t notice the nipple-gate happening right under his nose.

  Prayers were answered when his feet moved away and shortly afterward the door behind her creaked softly. Footsteps padded into the room and then stopped short before they reached her.

  Vee sucked in a jerky breath, every one of her God knew how many because she hated biology butt muscles tensed. The tensing butt muscles also reminded her that her sleep shorts had climbed snugly into her butt crack, settling in for the duration. Cool though the sea breeze was, it couldn’t keep the hot surge of blood from spreading like a crimson tide down her body.

  “If you’re pausing to take a photo of my ass for Facebook,” she said, “I’d sleep with one eye open tonight.”

  “Lucky for you I haven’t got my phone on me,” Sam said.

  Goose bumps popped up on her thighs—and probably my ass cheeks, she grimaced—as her body sensed Sam moving closer. Either his skin or his giant ego emitted a force field of warmth. Even though no part of him bumped against her as he wrestled the window sash upward, little prickles of sensation zipped up and down her spine.

  “Nothing wrong with my photographic memory, though.”

  That caused a cheek clench that nearly catapulted her through the window. “You’re enjoying this just a little too much.”

  His reply was another rough chuckle and a screech as the raised window locked into place. “Sorry. I forgot to mention this window is a bit dicey. But in my defense, I wasn’t expecting you to try and climb out of it.”