is.”
“Knowing is a two-way street. Tom has to be willing to let his dad see who he really is. That’s damn scary for a teenager.”
“Damn scary for anyone.”
She cocked her head. “Ever let your dad see who you were?”
“You mean, is Tom’s implication correct? Did I sell out?” He grimaced. “Yeah, I pretty much did. After Mum died, the fight to pen the great New Zealand fantasy novel died too. I took a gap year and backpacked through Asia and Europe, the biggest show of rebellion I’d ever staged against my father. By the time I returned to Auckland, I’d changed. Witnessing what life was like for people in third world countries and seeing the destruction of the world’s most precious resources, I thought I’d found a way to stomach following my father and brother into law.” He laughed, a bitter, cracked sound that no one would mistake for a sign of humor. “Anyway. All this sharing is making my estrogen levels skyrocket. I need to get back to my book.”
“Will that help in working off your mad?”
His gaze slipped to her butt filling out the seat of her jeans.
She must’ve caught his sneak peak, because her mouth curled knowingly. “You could come for a run with me, burn off some of your frustration with exercise.”
“That’s not the first example of ‘burning off frustration’ that comes to mind.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows lifted in exaggerated innocence. “It’s not?”
“About a fifteen-minute walk away in the bush there’s a natural swimming hole. How about you and I go for a swim while Tom’s at Nate’s?”
“You do realize it’s not summer? The water’ll be freezing.”
“Yep. But it’s more fun than a cold shower.”
Her lips twitched, the soft fullness of them causing another part of his anatomy to react the same way.
“I suppose you think we’ll go skinny dipping.”
“Entirely up to you. I’m wearing shorts—minimizing the risk of you laughing at any shrinkage.”
Her eyes danced, and he hoped that the weight of her unpleasant memories had begun to lift.
“You in?” he asked. “It’ll help work off the lunch I made you.”
“Pancakes?”
His gut clenched briefly at the lustful flare in her eyes. A man—or a woman—should be free to have a pancake without counting bloody calories. “Smoked salmon salad, sorry.”
The flare of lust faded, and she jumped down from the work bench. “That’s very kind. I’ll cook dinner tonight.”
He must’ve made a small sound of disbelief, because she punched his arm. Hard.
“Hey, I can cook.”
The temptation to kiss her until one of them cried “uncle” was overwhelming. So he took a giant step away, pretending to avoid another blow—when really, her fist had injected pure lust into his system. Sav—his recreational drug of choice.
“Just for that”—a finger stabbed in his direction—“I’m shoving you into that freezing water when we get to the pools.”
Then Savannah snatched up her script and flounced out of the barn.
Chapter 11
Somehow, Savannah’s nervousness about this swimming trip rivaled how she usually felt the week before the Golden Globe nominees were announced. So, while Glen hammered away at the keyboard, and Tom completed his promised after-lunch study, Savannah tried to decide what to wear.
Ridiculous, really. They’d salvaged most of her possessions out of Daisy before she was hauled away—including a swim suit and bikini. She stood in the master bedroom in front of the chest of drawers half filled with her clothes—Glen having insisted she keep her stuff there instead of dumped on the office floor.
Now she dithered, twitchy and unsettled. One piece costume? She held it up to her body, glancing in the full-length mirror.
“Hi,” she said to her reflection. “I’m Ms. Don’t-touch-my-tits, and I only intend on swimming.” She switched to the bikini. “Hi. I’m Ms. Easy-access, and I intend to get laid.”
Savannah groaned and threw both swimsuits onto the bed.
“Bye, Sav,” shouted Tom, and the front door slammed.
Crap. That was her cue to make up her mind. Stern or slutty? Savannah stripped off her clothes and waited for inspiration.
A knock on the door. “You ready?”
Inspiration in the form of a sexy-voiced male.
“Just getting changed,” she said.
Stern or slutty? Stern or slutty?
A low chuckle flowed over her bare skin. “I’m calling swimsuits optional.”
“Like hell.” But she reached for the bikini and tugged on the bottoms.
Slutty, then.
Another laugh. “Meet you outside in five.”
He was waiting on the deck with bottles of water and towels when she finally emerged, wearing the bikini with running shorts and a tee. For the first time since she’d arrived in Bounty Bay, self-consciousness blossomed into ugly blooms. Not