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

by Tracey Alvarez

  “You seem to make a habit of overhearing my conversations.” Gracie slipped out of her heels and sank onto the jacket, curving over herself and hugging her knees. “Guess you figured out I have daddy issues, then.”

  A low rumbling grunt rose from Owen’s chest. “After meeting him, I can understand why.”

  She echoed back a soft grunt, and seconds ticked by as they stared at the endless surge and retreat of the ocean.

  “I disappoint him,” she said. The knowledge was a small unhealed scar on her heart, but she wouldn’t let it hold her back any more tonight. “He ordered a compliant, highly intelligent daughter, who’d fulfil his plans by raising a powerhouse of executives to take over for him one day and never embarrass him. But he got me instead, and I failed every one of his expectations.”

  “You’ve exceeded every one of mine.” Owen’s hand slipped under her wrap and traced a warm path up and down her spine. “And thank God you’re not compliant and weak-willed.”

  She loosened her grip on the wrap, and he leaned over to press his lips to her shoulder.

  “Though compliant in some things could be considered a bonus,” he said.

  She turned, caught the gleam in his eyes, and smiled. The stomach butterflies amplified as her gaze traced over his broad shoulders and down his chest to where his shirt had come untucked from his suit pants. She opened her fingers, and the wrap slithered off to pool behind her. Sliding her fingers into his hair, she dragged his mouth closer.

  “Bend me to your will,” she murmured.

  “Is that another way of saying ‘have your wicked way with me’?” He cupped her chin, dragging a thumb across her lower lip.

  Gracie parted her mouth and flicked her tongue against his thumb. The escalating thud-thud-thud of her pulse competed with the bass of the estate’s sound system and the wedding guests who hadn’t gotten the hint to leave yet.

  “I guess it is. Be wicked, Owen.”

  She pulled his mouth onto hers, marveling at his soft, firm lips and how perfectly they melded together.

  Their kiss went from teasing to sensual, Owen’s tongue dancing against hers, the taste of him as decadently addictive as the dessert she’d savored earlier. And like the chocolate and fresh raspberry mousse, she had to restrain herself from asking for a second helping.

  Owen lowered her onto his jacket, bracing himself above her on his elbows. Gracie worked on the tiny buttons of his shirt, her fingertips fumbling until her knuckles brushed his smooth chest. She continued to pop open one button after another, working her way down to his waistband. She skimmed fingertips over the rigidly held muscles crisscrossing his abs, and Owen pulled back, sucking in a breath. He dropped a hand over hers to prevent her fingers from unzipping his fly.

  “Should we head back?” he asked.

  Gracie smiled as her fingers found something hard and taking up a lot of room in the confines of Owen’s pants. She stroked her palm down his length and was rewarded with another sharp inhale and a muttered curse. Restraint was totally overrated.

  “Or not.” He shifted his weight so more of his big body covered hers.

  God, he felt amazing—all hard, and hot, and demandingly male.

  “Live a little,” she said, tackling his fly with renewed vigor.

  “I think you’re going to kill me, woman,” Owen said.

  Gracie struggled to free him from his underwear—something clingy that emphasized just how much of him there was to free. “Luckily, you’re trained in CPR. Not that it’ll help you much.”

  The sound he made, as she wriggled her fingers between the stretchy fabric and found him straining and silky hot, was half groan, half laugh. She wrapped her fingers around him and stroked him until his ragged breathing drowned out the hissing waves and the distant party music. Owen gently disengaged her hand and rolled onto his back, dragging her on top of him.

  “Here?” he asked.

  “Here,” she said.

  He palmed her butt and gave it a little squeeze—then froze.

  “No panty line…no panties?”

  He skimmed a hand all over her bottom, cupping her dress against her bare, slightly chilled skin. Well, her butt cheeks were chilled, but everything between her legs was hot with the passion-fueled chain reaction speeding through her system.

  “Nope,” she said. “They’re in my purse.”

  She leaned over and scooped up the small sparkly evening bag dumped beside her wrap. Small, but big enough to fit a lipstick, a pair of panties and…Gracie popped open the clasp and withdrew a little foil square. “Along with this.”

  “You are wicked,” Owen said.

  She ripped open the packet.

  “Wicked and sexy and so beautiful my head’s spinning,” he added.

  Gracie sheathed him as she continued to straddle his hips, Owen’s hands roaming up and down her thighs. His thumb delved through the soft curls of her sex, gliding through her slickness to where she throbbed in time with the thunder of her heartbeat.

  She wanted him—right here, right now—and she rose, knees digging into the dew-damp grass. She braced one hand on his chest and with the other, eased the tip of him inside. The feel of him, the aching fullness as her body stretched around him, stole her breath. It made her dizzy for a moment when the wanting settled into her core as an ache only he could ease.

  He touched her again, circling the tiny bundle of nerves—stroking, rolling, lightly pinching, until Gracie whimpered and sank greedily onto him in one fluid motion. Deep, so deep. Pulses of bright sensation zigzagged through her as he arched, gripping her hips, thrusting into her over and over.

  She fisted the edges of his shirt, and he bowed up, wrapping his arms around her, wedging their upper bodies together, her nipples pressed painfully into the broad expanse of his chest. He kissed her, hot and insatiable, his tongue mimicking the tiny thrusts of his body captured inside her. His fingers skipped down her spine and found the zipper tab of her dress. The straps slipped off her shoulder as the bodice loosened, her breasts shifting against the satin lining, her nipples budding even tighter as the cool night air teased them.

  He lowered himself back to the grass, and her breasts swung free—but only for a second, and then his hands cupped them, making her internal muscles tighten deliciously around him. Owen arched up once again, this time his mouth closing hotly over the tip of her breast, sucking and swirling his tongue until she moaned and ground her hips in small, restless circles.

  “You’re everything I’ve ever fantasized about.” His hands skimmed up her hips and spanned her waist as he rocked into her again. “Everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  Even in the starlight, his eyes glowed with sincerity. She believed him—believed she could somehow be this amazing man’s everything. The catalyst of his desire awoke the tremors of a fast-approaching climax. He met her stroke for stroke until the pleasure was too much—he was too much—and she flew apart, his name on her lips. She sagged forward onto warm, damp skin. Owen’s arms banded around her as he continued to thrust into her…once, twice, and the third time with a shuddering groan.

  Her face buried in Owen’s throat, his pulse bumping double-time against her nose, Gracie froze at the sound of crunching footsteps from behind the trees.

  “Did you hear that?” a man asked.

  Nate!

  She jerked upward, gaze clashing with Owen’s, who didn’t seem all that bothered by the threat of discovery.

  “I thought I heard moaning from those bushes.” Nate spoke again, followed by the sound of rustling leaves.

  “It’s just a possum, baby. Come on.”

  Lauren’s voice, warm and filled with laughter, drifted over to them. More rustling sounds, then the crunch of shells fading into the distance.

  “But possums don’t groan.”

  Gracie heard Nate’s faint complaint as Owen’s lips peeled back in a smile, his teeth gleaming in the dim light.

  She covered his mouth and glared—a highly ineffective warning, b
ut she didn’t dare speak since she was, after all, almost butt naked. She’d never live it down if Glen ever found out.

  “Not a word,” she whispered. “And stop grinning.”

  The mouth under her palm stretched wider. Then Owen tugged her fingers away and whispered back, “I can’t help it. I’ve one hell of a memory now that’ll make me smile every time I think about it.”

  With his other hand he ran his fingertips down her spine and palmed her bottom.

  Gracie dipped her head and kissed his beautiful mouth—probably the only way to stop him from talking.

  “A memory worth the dry-cleaning bill to remove the grass stains from your shirt and pants?” she asked after they finally came up for air.

  “Hell, yeah. Even worth the sand fly bites popping up on my ass.”

  He chuckled as Gracie squirmed to try to pull down her dress.

  “What say we go back to your room?” He pushed her hair off her shoulder and nibbled her neck. “And I’ll take care of you some more.”

  Chapter 16

  “We really should get up,” Gracie said. “I need to shower all over again.”

  Owen tucked his chin and glanced down at her, naked and curled into his chest. Damp strands of Gracie’s citrus-shampoo-smelling hair tickled his nose. He slid a hand over her lush curves that he’d spent most of the early hours of this morning worshiping and gave her cute ass a squeeze.

  “Me, too. But give me a minute. I’m still seeing a long tunnel with a bright light at the end.”

  Gracie snorted and rolled away, slipping out of the big, rumpled bed. She scooped up his discarded white shirt from the night before and slipped it on, turning to point an accusing finger.

  “This time we aren’t conserving water by showering together. It’s a miracle I’m still able to remain upright—and we’ve got twenty minutes before brunch. So get your butt out of bed and go back to your room before my brother comes looking for us.”

  “I can’t get dressed.” Owen rose up on his elbows, admiring the view as she bent down to pick up her dress, discarded on the floor. “You’ve got my shirt. Better hand it over.”

  Gracie mock-glared at him, her hands raising to pull the edges of his shirt together. She paused, something sweeping over her face like a cloud that momentarily dimmed the summer sun before the breeze sent it scudding across the sky.

  Doubt, embarrassment, hesitation…

  Gracie’s brow crumpled, her gaze fixed on his.

  Affection, confidence, trust…

  Her forehead smoothed, and a sweet, sinful smile curved her mouth as she flicked open the shirt and slid it off her shoulders. Before he could lunge out of the tangled sheets after her, she tossed it at his head and vanished into the bathroom.

  “Nineteen minutes,” she shouted from behind the closed door. “And remember, Glen is pretty handy with a sword.”

  Owen chuckled and rolled onto his side. French doors opened out onto a stunning view of pohutukawa trees and the cerulean-blue bay. He stretched, muscles aching pleasurably. Even the sand fly bites on his ass made him smile like he’d been sucking down nitrous oxide.

  It’s a miracle I’m still able to remain upright.

  Oh yeah. Miracle was right. A miracle he could walk, too.

  With a groan he swung his legs out of bed. He hunted around it for his pants, and hauled them on. A miracle he’d never felt happier, more relaxed, more grounded, more whole than he did this morning. He mimicked Gracie’s cynical snort, but his skepticism was at half strength at best.

  Men of science—men of medicine—don’t believe in miracles, he told himself as he collected the rest of his clothing and stepped outside the cottage. Miracles were for crystal wavers and faith healers and parents who cried “it’s a miracle” when their drunk twenty-year-old son survived his car’s close encounter with a power pole. Feeling good wasn’t a miracle. It was a natural male reaction to the release of the hormone dopamine.

  Only not all the feel-good emotions coursing through his body could solely be attributed to a night of great sex. Not when his damn heart punched his ribs every time Gracie smiled at him. Not when he couldn’t think of her for even a moment without smiling back.

  Owen crossed the crushed-shell path to the adjoining cottage and slipped inside, heading straight to the bathroom. Shower, shave, and food—that’s what he needed to get this crazy idea he was falling in love with his nanny out of his head.

  Twenty minutes later, he and Gracie—who’d arrived on his doorstep looking tastier than anything on the breakfast menu—walked into the estate’s separate dining room, which had been set up for a combined family brunch. Sixteen pairs of eyes from Glen’s and Savannah’s families flicked to the doorway as he and Gracie entered.

  Note to self: When attending a family brunch with the woman you’ve made love to for the past eleven hours, try not to be the last to arrive.

  “Morning. Sleep well?” Glen said from the center of the long dining table.

  Beside him, Savannah laid her hand on his arm, as if in warning.

  Glen grimaced and gestured with his coffee cup toward two empty chairs. “We saved you some seats.”

  Which were opposite Gracie’s father and older brother, Jamie. Bloody fantastic.

  Dredging up some bedside manners, Owen pasted on a smile and said to Gracie, “Sit down. I’ll grab you a cup of tea.”

  “My hero,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. But she sank into one of the chairs. “Yes, I slept well. And you, brother dearest?”

  Owen missed Glen’s response as one of Glen’s young nephews whined about wanting Nutella on his toast, and conversation resumed around the dining table.

  After delivering Gracie’s tea and depositing a full-to-the-brim coffee at his place setting, Owen returned to the breakfast buffet and loaded up a plate. Damn, but he was starving. And from the smirk on Nate’s face as he squeezed into the chair next to him, the photojournalist with an eye for detail had guessed why Owen needed so much fuel.

  Gracie’s father, however, had no compunction about interrupting a man about to make short work of a cooked breakfast.

  “Just how serious are you about my daughter, Doctor Bennett?” he asked as Owen was about to bite into the most divine-smelling spiced sausage link he’d ever encountered.

  He called on all the years’ experience he’d gained from being interrupted by medical emergencies while eating and opened his mouth to respond.

  Gracie set her teacup down in its saucer with a sharp click. “That’s none of your business, Dad.” Her voice remained as calm as if her father had asked her opinion on the likelihood of rain that day.

  James Cooper, Sr. leaned back in his chair and adjusted his perfectly straight tie. “I’m just curious. He’s met your family, Grace. When are you going to meet his?”

  He arched a graying eyebrow, the gaze beneath it slicing through Owen’s tangled emotions like the proverbial butter knife sitting on the table.

  Meet his parents? In their hippy-dippy house bus that had seen better days? And even in those better days, the Rambling Gypsies had been a giant green embarrassment.

  Gracie’s elbow bumped into his as she dropped her hands under the table, knotting them in her lap. “Owen’s mother is recovering from major surgery,” she said, lifting her chin.

  “I am aware of that. But all the more reason to visit while you don’t have the grandchildren with you,” James said smoothly, aiming another knowing glance at Owen. “Whangarei is only an hour’s drive from here.”

  Gracie shot Owen a sideways glance. “We could drive down this morning before we head back to Bounty Bay. I’d love to meet your parents.”

  And they’d love to meet her. Maybe too much.

  Owen had brought a woman home to meet his parents once during his last year at Auckland School of Medicine. His mum lasted fifteen minutes before she proudly showed her a dog-eared copy of a book of natural childbirth practices which included photos of Owen’s birth—which still mad
e him throw up in his mouth a little, and he was a bloody doctor. If the photos weren’t enough, the woman’s darting eyes and slightly curled upper lip as she’d squeezed into the bus’s dining booth were indications their dating days were numbered.

  First and last meet-and-greet the parents.

  But Gracie? She’d already casually chatted to his parents for the past five weeks when they’d called to talk to their grandkids. And later, his mum had peppered him with questions about his nanny. Owen just hadn’t let it slip that the woman living with them—and dominating his thoughts every waking moment—was anything more than that.

  He couldn’t risk screwing things up or scaring her off. He wanted Gracie to meet his parents…eventually. When he’d figured out how to control the circumstances. When he’d figured out what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

  Owen shook his head. “That would be great, only Mum and Dad will be at church this morning.”

  Church being the Church of Nature, aka Dad working in the little vegetable garden they’d established behind the bus, while his Mum gave directions.

  “First time back since her operation,” he continued. “She’s looking forward to it.” Oh. But church services are usually finished by midday… “And afterward, they’ve been invited out to lunch with some missionaries back from…” Where the hell did missionaries go to these days? Owen rubbed his fingertips across his dampening forehead. “Bangladesh or Nepal—somewhere like that. They could be gone most of the afternoon, talking about…missionary stuff.”

  A flicker of bemusement crossed Gracie’s eyes, but she quickly covered it with a cool smile.

  “Another time, then,” she said and stood. “The buffet smells delicious. Excuse me.”

  Owen gripped the fork still in his hand hard enough to bend it. God, he’d blown it with her, he’d—

  Gracie squeezed his shoulder, and her eyes now showed nothing but easy warmth. “Want some toast while I’m up?”