Teach Your Heart: A New Zealand Opposites Attract Romance (Far North Series Book 3)

by Tracey Alvarez

  Gracie couldn’t keep her eyes from widening. “You were a jock? Oh. My. Gawd.”

  Owen’s mouth twisted like she’d shoved a lemon wedge between his lips, but his eyes twinkled. “Stereotyping, much? No, Ms. High School Musical, I wasn’t a jock. Or a nerd or a goth. I was just a normal kid who played cricket in summer, rugby in winter, got average-to-good grades, and played Need For Speed on friends’ PlayStations whenever I got the chance.” He sighed. “Actually, I was trying to be a normal kid. I wanted to fit in, but I never did except with the Ngata brothers. But once Sam and I hit the last two years of high school, girls suddenly became a lot more interesting.”

  “I bet they did. And I bet they found you just as interesting, a good-looking guy like you.”

  Water splattered against her bare shoulder as he dragged his hands out of the pool and slicked them over his head. “Hell, no. You should’ve seen me at sixteen with my ripped jeans, high tops, and a spiked haircut that required substantial amounts of product”—He gave her a lopsided grin, droplets sliding down his face and dripping off his jaw. “Scratch that.”

  Gracie laughed. “I think you would’ve been adorable. So who was your crush in high school?”

  “Amanda Jenkins. She had green eyes, dimples, and blond-hair down to her hips.”

  “I hate her already,” Gracie said. Only half joking.

  “She played lead guitar in an all-girl rock band and also started a community vegetable garden on school property. She surfed, played a killer game of chess, and we hung out a bit one summer. She also had a laugh like a jackal, so when I asked her to the senior ball, half the school heard her.”

  “Now I really hate her. And at sixteen, that must’ve sucked ass.”

  “It put a massive dent in my ego. I pretended to shrug it off and made plans to go stag with a couple of other guys, but on the night of the ball, I faked food poisoning and stayed in my room.” He slanted a glance at her. “See? Pathetic and clichéd.”

  “Rejection hurts at any age.” Under the water, Gracie laced her fingers with Owen’s. “And one day, Morgan, like any other girl, will have some thoughtless boy hurt her feelings. But she’ll learn to deal with it.” She tilted her head. “Is Amanda’s rejection the reason you haven’t officially asked me out on a date?”

  “I’m not still sixteen.”

  Owen squeezed her fingers and smiled a smile that patently wasn’t that of a shy teenage boy.

  “But I obviously suck at that sort of thing,” he added.

  “Obviously.” Her heartbeat gave a little revving jump and her stomach quivered. “So what if I ask you to be my plus one at Glen’s wedding next weekend? Natalie has offered to take the kids for the night, so you don’t need to worry about them.”

  “I’d love to be your plus one. I wasn’t worried about the kids, but we’ll have the whole night alone together…”

  Yeah, there was that. A night without their usual three cute chaperones around… Gracie’s face reheated. “We can both be adults about our first unsupervised date.”

  Who was she trying to convince? She was worried, excited, and desperate to “jump his bones,” as he’d so delicately put it earlier.

  But before she could kiss him until the sting of Amanda’s rejection once again faded to a sepia memory, a splash-splash-splash-giggle interrupted them as William, Morgan, and Charlie dropped three hermit crabs into Owen’s lap.

  Chapter 15

  Owen sipped his third beer of the night and listened to Gracie’s eldest brother drone on past the three-minute mark—no, wait, four now—during his best man’s speech. According to Gracie, big brother James had loosened up a little in the past year. Owen hated to think what James Cooper, Jr. had been like before someone removed the stick from his ass. But then, when James Cooper, Senior, had gotten hold of the mic, it explained why Gracie had avoided her father for most of Glen and Sav’s wedding.

  And speaking of Gracie…

  He hadn’t stopped staring since the moment she’d appeared on the petal-strewn aisle at Crimson Cove Estate’s private beach in the Bay of Islands. So much for former movie star Savannah Payne stealing the show as the bride. He’d barely noticed the “awwws” as Savannah’s honorary nephew, Drew, strutted to the wedding pavilion with his ring cushion. And Owen had mostly tuned out the couples’ vows and exchanging of rings. He only saw Gracie in her dark red dress, with her hair in loose, tumbling curls, her smile wider and sunnier than another stunning Far North autumn day.

  Gracie had left at the crack of dawn that morning in her yellow Beetle for the hour- and-a-half drive to the Bay of Islands, where she’d met up with Savannah and Lauren. He’d arrived in Crimson Cove a couple of hours before the ceremony, once he’d dropped the kids off at Natalie’s.

  Owen had gone to the estate’s reception to pick up his room key and discovered he was in the cottage next to Gracie’s. Since Savannah and Glen had booked out the estate, including the eight luxury cottages for the wedding party and overseas guests, he wasn’t complaining. But like hell would he sleep in his eight-hundred-dollar-a-night bed alone tonight, regardless of what Gracie’s big brother had to say about it. Even if she didn’t want to do anything but talk or fall asleep in a champagne-induced haze, he still intended to spend every hour of darkness at her side.

  He just had to get through this wedding reception.

  After approximately sixty hours, the speeches were over, the couple had posed for more photos cutting the wedding cake, and the bride and groom had moved onto the dance floor. Nate and Lauren, and Gracie and James joined them for the second song. Owen continued to watch James steer Gracie around the dance floor like a determined tugboat, until the three beers Owen had consumed made themselves known.

  He slipped out of the reception room and into the cooler hallway that led to the restrooms. Bumping into Nate’s brother-in-law, Todd Taylor, outside the restroom, Owen was waylaid with surf talk and the 1970s Ford Mustang Todd and Lauren were restoring. By the time Owen ducked into the bathroom, the music had changed again.

  After washing his hands, he crinkled his nose at his reflection. Much as he disliked dancing—while his fingers could perform a subcuticular stitch blindfolded, his foot coordination was a danger to anyone on the dance floor—he would man-shuffle his ass off if it meant having Gracie in his arms until it was socially acceptable to sneak away.

  Owen returned to the hallway and glanced over to the open doors bracketing a fairy-light-and-flower-decorated veranda that spanned two sides of the estate’s main building. Some fresh air to clear his head sounded like a perfect antidote to quickly drunk beer and Gracie’s elderly aunt, who had spent ninety percent of the reception dinner discussing her cat’s renal problems.

  He stepped outside and sat on one of the wicker chairs positioned against the whitewashed walls, breathing in the scent of the estate’s prized rose gardens. From the veranda, Crimson Cove—named for the flowers on the native pohutukawa trees that blossomed in early summer—spread out before him. Starlight and the string of garden lights along the paths toward each private cabin lit up the sandy curve of the beach below.

  Movement and the click of heels on the polished wooden floor inside the doors at the veranda’s far end snared his attention. As did Gracie’s voice.

  “Dad, now’s not the time.”

  “I’m merely asking why you haven’t replied to my e-mail about another potential junior position in Auckland since you blew off the first one, and why you’ve avoided me all day.”

  The hairs on Owen’s nape prickled at the older man’s tone.

  Gracie appeared in the far doorway, her father’s bulk blocking her from view a moment later. They moved to the edge of the veranda, Gracie’s arms firmly folded across her chest. Maximum defense pose.

  “I haven’t been avoiding you. For God’s sake, it’s Glen’s wedding day. Can’t you focus on being happy for him and Savannah?”

  “Not when my daughter is throwing her life away.”

  “You
can’t be serious.” An equal measure of hurt and frustration colored Gracie’s voice. “How am I throwing my life away? I’m paying off my student loan—”

  “By being a nanny? You might as well be working in a fast-food joint.”

  “I like working as a nanny,” Gracie said. “And as for your junior position, I’m not interested. I already have a job, and another lined up if I decide to stay.”

  Owen’s heart kicked sharply in his chest.

  “And it’s a big if,” she continued.

  James Senior gave a rumbling grunt low in his throat. “Dependent on whether this doctor fellow is prepared to take a gamble on you, Grace. I can’t imagine why he would when you bounce from one thing to another. But maybe some stability and structure is what you need. He is a doctor, after all. You could do worse.” He chuckled dryly before his tone sharpened. “And so could he, not that he’s likely to notice any other woman with you spilling out of that dress. What the hell were you thinking?”

  Gracie jolted a step back from her father. Even from Owen’s dark corner of the veranda, her spine straightening to vertical rigidness was obvious.

  Owen rose to his feet, blood punching through his veins like lava.

  Gracie’s father had been scrupulously polite when they’d been introduced, giving Owen a firm handshake and following it with a self-depreciating-but-in-good-taste lawyer joke. As if the man had a sense of humor. Well, maybe he did. But if it was at his daughter’s expense, then Gracie’s dad was an asshole, no matter how fancy his education or how expensive the tailored suit was he wore.

  “I’m going inside,” she said.

  Owen stepped forward, but Gracie whipped around in a flurry of red skirts and disappeared. He fisted his hands as James Senior continued to stare out at the bay. Owen didn’t lose his shit easily or often. He’d only once in his medical career come close to violence, when some drunken asshat, who’d already beaten his wife unconscious, showed up at the ED trying to finish what he started. But he badly wanted to stalk over to Gracie’s father and give him a verbal ass-kicking and force him to apologize. That James thought Owen was good enough for his daughter because of his occupation didn’t surprise him. But how the man could think any guy wouldn’t be the luckiest human being on Earth to even have a shot of making his daughter smile just blew Owen’s head wide fucking open.

  Before he could make a move, Gracie’s father went inside. Owen counted to one hundred slowly then followed.

  ***

  “May I cut in?”

  Gracie glanced up from Glen’s buttonhole rose she’d focused on while her brother guided her effortlessly around the dance floor. Owen’s gaze, laser focused on her, caused her to fumble a step.

  Glen paused, his forehead crumpling. “Okay? Or is he the reason you look as if you’re one step from needing a criminal lawyer?”

  Gracie gave him a little shove. “That’d be Dad’s pep talk I just escaped from.”

  Glen swore under his breath, removing his hand from Gracie’s waist.

  “Here,” her brother said, stepping aside. “Hands where I can see ’em at all times, and leave room for the Holy Spirit.”

  “What am I? Fifteen?” Owen gave Glen a mock glare, but there was no heat in it—not like the fireball that swept through Gracie when his gaze switched to her. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.”

  Oh, he’d take good care of her, by diluting her father’s poison that still flushed through her system. Of that, she had no doubt. She slid her hand up Owen’s crisp white shirt, curving her fingers around his neck, fingertips stroking the warm skin of his nape.

  He tugged her closer—definitely not leaving any room for the Holy Spirit—and set a hand on her waist.

  “Hey. I can look after myself,” she said.

  He smiled down at her. “Sure you can. But taking care of people is kinda my thing.”

  Gracie swayed against him, and he shifted his weight to mimic her movements, all six feet of muscled sexiness moving with her. Forget about the fancy footwork her brothers displayed on the dance floor; she’d take Owen’s side-to-side shuffle any day. She tilted her face, pressing her nose into the strong tendons of his throat. The barest hint of stubble regrowth tickled her skin, and, Lord, he smelled divine enough to sink her teeth into.

  “You’re gonna take care of me, huh?” She didn’t expect him to hear her over the music, yet he did.

  “Just as soon as we can get out of here.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “And I don’t know how much longer I can wait. I haven’t been able to stop imagining you out of that incredible dress.”

  Fingertips trailed up her bare back, and Gracie shivered. Owen chuckled, a rough, ragged sound, and her nipples pebbled in response.

  “Let me rephrase that,” he murmured. “Your dress is pretty, but it’s you that looks incredible. It’s you I can’t wait to touch in every place I’ve been dying to touch for weeks. It’s you who shortens my breath and makes my heart beat arrhythmically. Say the word, and I’ll take care of you for the rest of the night.”

  And then? What happened after tonight? Gracie forced the thought aside as she gripped Owen’s shoulder. She wanted him just as badly. It didn’t matter what happened after tonight. But the flutters in her belly would neither confirm nor deny if she was truly convinced.

  “Glen’s planning to make his exit in an hour, just prior to the bar shutting,” she said. “The other guests will start leaving soon after.”

  “That’s our cue.”

  The gruffness in Owen’s tone caused Gracie’s chin to jerk up. The way he stared at her…as if an hour would be pure torture. She tested her lower lip with her teeth, and his gaze shot down. His hungry gaze.

  Pure. Torture.

  “I think we’d better stop dancing now,” she said.

  “Is that what we’re doing?”

  His hips arched forward a fraction until she could feel that, yeah, dancing was not all they were doing. Gracie released her grip on his neck as the next song began to play—something upbeat, something that would’ve made them look odd if they’d remained sandwiched together.

  “One hour,” she said. “Meet me by the back path.”

  The crushed shell path that wound through the gardens and alongside the beachfront. All the way to the king-sized bed in her luxurious bungalow. Then, before she could change her mind and twine around him like ivy again, Gracie fled back to the bridal table for some liquid patience.

  She spotted Owen leaving a few minutes after the bride and groom. While the last remaining guests surrounded the bar for one more drink, Gracie counted to sixty two times over, then whispered a quick “Good night” to her eldest brother, then Nate and Lauren.

  She tugged the pashmina shawl around her shoulders, walking under the fairy lights on the veranda. Her nose full of the scent of roses, and butterflies in her stomach chasing each other in swooping circles, Gracie hurried around the corner and…

  Into a warm wall that swept her briefly off her feet.

  “Slow down.” Owen laughed and set her down again. “There’s no rush.”

  His words didn’t help, not a bit, because her legs trembled, and her ankles wobbled in her high heels.

  Oh—there was a rush going on. A big rush.

  For the past hour, he’d stayed at a close but discreet distance from her, charming the socks off the other wedding guests when introduced, and remaining with them in easy conversation if someone else wanted Gracie’s attention. It wasn’t Savannah’s gorgeous acting pals Owen chose to talk to, but Gracie’s elderly aunt with the feline fixation. Or Gracie’s nephew Tom, who was at an awkward age where he was too old to sit with the kids but not quite old enough to hang out with the single guys. After that hour of anticipatory torture, Gracie wanted Owen tenfold as much as she had dancing with him.

  His smile warmed her from her tingling scalp to the demanding heat between her legs, which grew hotter as he slid an arm around her waist, guiding her down the short flight of stairs
to the path. They strolled along, the garden lights helping them navigate in the dark. She was painfully aware of Owen’s side pressed into hers and the stomach butterflies went nuts, hurtling into her lungs so she could barely breathe in the brine-and-rose-scented air.

  He’s unlikely to notice any other woman with you spilling out of that dress.

  Her father’s words mainlined into her, contaminating every good thing that had happened at Glen’s wedding. Suddenly, the thought of making love to Owen in her room, spotlighted in the strategically placed lighting above the big bed, awoke every insecurity she’d battled against since her teens.

  Thanks, Dad. She really didn’t want to be thinking about her insecurities moments before Owen rocked her world.

  Gracie stumbled to a halt in front of a gap in the trees. Through the neatly trimmed punga ferns, small waves hissed onto the beach.

  “Can we take a breather?” she asked.

  “Sure.” Owen’s hand slipped off her waist, and his fingers threaded through hers. “Why don’t we sit for a while?”

  He led her through the trees to a grassy bank overlooking the private beach. Gracie shot him a sideways glance. There’d been no impatience woven through his tone—no frustration, no why is this crazy chick sending me mixed messages condemnation. She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t impatient or frustrated, because she was. Not for failing to have a butt six inches smaller, or boobs six inches bigger. She was frustrated because she needed to know—but didn’t quite believe—that Owen wanted her for more than her body. That he valued her not only because she challenged him or made him laugh, or for her ability to talk Charlie off the razor’s edge of another tantrum. But that he valued and wanted her for her.

  He shrugged off his jacket and laid it on the grass then sat next to it and patted the silky lining. “I need to confess, I overheard you and your father talking earlier.”

  The faint glow of the garden lights behind and the sprinkle of stars overhead weren’t bright enough for Gracie to analyze the expression on his face. How much had he overheard? Her saying she’d consider staying in Bounty Bay? Her father’s unintentionally cruel comments, which had resulted in Gracie’s usual mode of dealing with pain—running away?