Know Your Heart: A New Zealand - Tracey Alvarez Page 0,18

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