Know Your Heart: A New Zealand - Tracey Alvarez Page 0,32
shiver rippling through her when a cooler sea breeze picked up.
He stripped off the light fleece sweatshirt he’d grabbed out of his car earlier. “Here, put this on.” He offered the garment, expecting her to turn it down with a side order of snark.
“Thanks.”
She pulled it on. The sweatshirt hung loosely on her, the sleeves momentarily covering her hands until she pushed them up her arms.
Glen sucked in a harsh breath, memories of that night ten years ago crowding into his head. He’d given her his sweatshirt that night, too, and she’d looked like a child lost in a shopping mall as he’d driven her home. The next time he’d seen her, at Nate’s flat a few days later, she’d been cuddled up on his couch with Liam’s arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder. A possessive piece of work, even then. Savannah had given Glen a bland smile, her eyes filled with no recognition other than acknowledgment that he was one of her cousin’s many friends. Stupid to have believed his presence would trigger a memory of that night—and she’d probably binned his non-descript navy sweatshirt the next day.
Forget it. She continued to stare at the horizon’s black line. He’d more things to worry about than an event that had evidently meant so little that Savannah either couldn’t, or chose not to, remember. He needed to remove her distractingly hot bod from his life—using a light touch and hopefully avoiding any dig-in-heels resistance.
He cleared his throat. “This audition…wouldn’t you be better rehearsing with one of your actor pals?”
Like the ones who lived in multi-million dollar houses that overlooked Malibu or at the very least, Auckland city.
Savannah’s glance could’ve stripped paint.
Ah. Missed the mark of subtle hint, then.
“Nate’s agreed to read lines with me,” she said.
“Nate couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag,” he scoffed. “He couldn’t even score the part of a tree in his primary school play.”
“He’ll be fine.”
Forget subtly. “You’re miles away from anything up here—supermarkets, beauty salons…a decent fitness center with personal trainers, for example.”
Okay, laying it on a little thick. But another yoga session outside his window would siphon all his creative juices from brain to another region entirely.
Her eyebrows drew inward. “Exactly. No temptation to go to the twenty-four-hour supermarket at 2:00 a.m. for Hokey Pokey ice-cream, no friends pouting if I refuse to hit the pub and club circuit with them, no photos of me running with close-up photos of my thighs with red arrows pointing to oh my god, the horror, is that cellulite?”
Glen faced her, ignoring the ice slick coating the insides of his gut. He couldn’t imagine how humiliating it was to see unauthorized and unflattering photos virally spread across the internet, but the fact remained. He wasn’t going anywhere until he’d finished his book.
“Is being away from the city worth the inconvenience of living in a trailer and doing your laundry by hand?”
“If you weren’t so stubborn to accept my offer of a hotel—”
“Plus a bang up dinner at Kai Moana.”
Savannah threw up her hands. “How about I pay for a hotel room and dinner every night until your agreement runs out? You can write without disruption.”
“Hmmm.” He pretended to consider this, just to yank her chain a little bit more. Then he leaned forward, close enough to see a few specks of sand dotted along her cheekbones. “How about you learn to accept no as a non-negotiable answer? I don’t want to stay in a cramped hotel room when I have a beautiful bush retreat to work in.”
“It’s my house,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Not until the eighteenth, so you should consider the hotel.”
“I’m not staying in a hotel, goddamn it.” Savannah placed a hand in the center of his chest and gave him a little shove.
He rocked back on his heels, heart revving like a stuck motorbike throttle at the imprint of heat her palm left behind. An imprint that shot sparks down to his gut, and lower…
“I want you to leave.” Another shove.
Glen allowed her to shift him back another step, curious to see how physical Savannah would get.
“I want you out of my house.”
She raised her hand to push him again, but her fingers didn’t make it to his chest. Instead, they hovered, trembling, while her lips parted and a sigh escaped. He zeroed in on her mouth—Savannah’s bewitching, demanding mouth ordering him to leave—but the only phrase he’d focused on in the last few moments was I want you. That, combined with the