omitting the tiny spark of attraction she’d felt as Glen had stood in the doorway of her house. “I offered to put him up at the Sea Mist and buy him dinner. Where’s he from, anyway—Auckland?”
Nate nodded. “He has an apartment in Newmarket, the kind of place Laur and I would worry about taking Drew for fear of him getting grubby fingerprints on something.”
“Ick. Figures.”
She could just imagine it. Minimalist look on steroids, devoid of any of the personality of her little, eclectic, 1930s restored villa. Funny that the man who would live in such prissy surroundings would appear unshaven and dressed in old jeans worn thin on the knees, buttery soft and clinging to his long legs… Sav blinked. She must be coming down with a chill after that arrogant, scruffy man refused to invite her inside.
“I’d never have convinced him to stay in your place if he wasn’t legit.”
“You convinced him?”
Sheepish was the only word to describe Nate’s glance. “He needed the peace and quiet, and as far as I knew, you were meant to be out of the country until the end of the year. He never would’ve agreed to come up if he’d known you’d be around. He was pretty adamant about that.”
“Was he now?”
Nate opened his mouth then snapped it closed, faint spots of color rising above the line of stubble on his jaw. “Look, he’s not a psycho, all right? Trust me. He’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, well, this good guy has gone all lawyerly over this agreement he drew up and refuses to budge.”
Nate ran a hand through his dark hair and offered up a non-committal grunt.
“And don’t tell me I should go home to Auckland, Nate, I can’t. Since the media got wind of Hayley Snow replacing me, I’ve had news vans parked outside 24/7. The day before yesterday, I caught a photographer in my back yard, and my phone’s ringing non-stop. I bought this place off you as a bolt hole, and now I actually need to use it as one.”
“Savvy.” Resigned affection in every nuance of her nickname, Nate sighed. “You should’ve called me; I could’ve gone and talked to him before you drove up.”
“You’ve already done so much for me in the past. I wanted to take care of this myself. Any reasonable person would’ve responded to my polite request—”
“You were polite?” Nate slanted a sly grin in her direction. “Really?”
“Best behavior, I swear. I was positively charming, and it didn’t make one bit of difference. I have to get this part. If I return to the city, I’ll be harassed by the media and tempted to let my friends talk me into going out every night instead of working my tail off on this role. Not to mention Mum hovering, making unhelpful suggestions every five minutes.”
When Nate’s grin widened, Sav bundled up the knee rug and hurled it at his head. “Of all the old uni pals you could’ve picked, you had to plant this butthead in my house.”
He caught the rug with a chuckle and stood. “Boy. Glen made a hell of an impression on you, huh?”
Sav bared her teeth, and Nate held up a palm, backing toward the door.
“Okay, okay. He’s my friend; I got him in there, and I’ll go try to convince him to leave.”
***
The blank screen mocked Glen, the cursor pulsing in a silent snicker as his fingers remained static on the keyboard. The words had flowed from brain to laptop almost faster than he could type before she showed up.
Glen flexed his fingers and tried again. Tap, tap, tap—freeze. He just couldn’t stop thinking about her. Standing on the deck, with her long hair turning dark in the rain, damp clothes clinging to outrageous curves. A transformation from pissy diva to bedraggled waif in less than five minutes. A beautiful, bedraggled waif, grown into her looks from when he’d last seen her in the flesh as a wild seventeen-year-old—and she’d been stunning even then.
An engine rumbling up the driveway had him slapping the laptop shut. He looked out of the window in the spare room, which currently doubled as his office. The window overlooked a few old gum trees keeping back the sprawl of native bush, and a large clearing of grass. A dirt path at the far end of the lawn led to an old, ramshackle outbuilding. Savannah’s car pulled up to where the grass met the gravel driveway, the wipers sweeping rhythmically back and forth over the windshield. She’d only left