reaction by tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.
He didn’t move, continuing to glower. “Daisy? You named a butt-ugly orange caravan Daisy?”
“No, the guy I bought her from named her Daisy. And don’t be rude; she’s a classic piece of Kiwi history.”
Glen’s jaw clenched hard enough to crack walnuts. She’d bet ten bucks that if the rock music wasn’t so damn loud, she’d hear his molars grinding.
She swung her rubber-booted feet out of the car, but he still hadn’t moved. Meaning she was almost nose-to-nipple with him. It was quite a nice nipple, too, outlined under his tee shirt like it was, but if the man didn’t back up in the next thirty seconds, she would pincer it as if her fingers were long-nosed pliers and twist.
“Would you mind, terribly much, to move out of the way?”
His nostrils flared once and he stepped aside.
“Thank you,” she said, extra sweetly, and climbed out.
He stalked back to the house, disappearing through the front door. Moments later, the rock music cut off, and he returned, his brow smooth and his lips relaxed into a neutral line. Lawyer face on, she surmised. Well, he was playing with the big league when it came to masking emotions.
“What are you planning to do with that caravan?”
He could’ve been asking about the weather, except for a tell-tale twitch under his right eye.
She pointed to the large clearing of flat grass at the back of the house, surrounded by native bush that almost—but not quite—hid the old barn from the main house. “See that spot over there by the big old gum tree? Or do you need your glasses?”
“I only use the glasses for work. I can see the spot just fine.”
“Good. Because that’s where Daisy and I will be staying for the next five weeks.”
The air crackled between them. If she touched one of his arms, now folded across his chest, would she get a zap the way she sometimes did touching the car door?
But instead of zapping her, he tilted his head. “I don’t think so.”
Sav ran her tongue around her top teeth to check none of her Saucy Red lipstick stained them, then pulled her lips back in a wide smile. “You misunderstand me. I’m not asking your permission; I’m telling you what’s going to happen. You rented my house, but I own the thirty acres surrounding it. And since Daisy will be parked beyond the required distance of ten feet from the house, I’m not breaking any laws.”
His eye twitched again.
“You really think you’ll last five weeks in that tin can?” His voice was frostier than a yummy watermelon Margarita. The man had icy control now he’d gotten over his initial surprise, that was for sure.
“Daisy’s got everything I need to be comfortable.”
“Why are you doing this? Are you really that desperate to get your own way?”
Her spine stiffened. “Let’s get one thing straight; just because you’re buddies with Nate, doesn’t mean you know me. So go ahead and judge—suits like you always do.”
“Suits like me?” His lip curled in one corner.
“Wearing jeans, stubble, and trendy spectacles doesn’t make you a laid-back bohemian writer”—but she had to admit the jeans and stubble and even the damn glasses did make him a little bit smoking hot—“because you can’t help but show a typical Suit’s narrow-minded arrogance every time you speak.”
One eyebrow lifted above his cool-blue eye. She hadn’t meant to go on the offensive. Just something about his smug, hipshot stance made her control slip.
He didn’t appear offended at her outburst. In fact, he showed her a row of straight, white teeth. Some would call it a smile. She knew better—it was a challenge.
“Three weeks, diva,” he said. “Three weeks before you cave without your hairdryer, wi-fi and bubble baths.”
Tiny hairs rose erect on her nape at the sarcastic nickname. Her father used to call her his little diva or his little star. Up until that night ten years ago when she’d sobbed down the phone line to London, ordering him to never, ever call her that again.
“You surprise me. I thought you’d only give me a week.”
“I don’t underestimate your pig-headed determination. You didn’t get where you are in your career by being a quitter, but even stubbornness has its limit. Enjoy your cramped quarters.” He walked backward a few steps then paused. “The house is off-limits to you, by the way—and that includes my front deck for cell phone coverage. If you want to make a call, I suggest you climb