Know Your Heart: A New Zealand Enemies to Lovers Romance (Far North Series Book 2)
Read Know Your Heart: A New Zealand Enemies to Lovers Romance (Far North Series Book 2) Online
Authors: Tracey Alvarez
Know Your Heart
Far North Book 2
Tracey Alvarez
Icon Publishing
New Zealand
Know Your Heart (Far North Book 2)
Copyright © 2015 by Tracey Alvarez.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Tracey Alvarez/Icon Publishing
PO Box 45, Ahipara, New Zealand.
www.traceyalvarez.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com
Cover Art by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover By Design
http://www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk
Know Your Heart - Tracey Alvarez -- 1st ed.
ISBN
978-0-473-32187-1
For the last 5+ years you’ve nourished my spirit at our weekly coffee lunches and listened patiently as I ramble on about the crazy people who live in my head.
You truly know my heart and love me anyway.
Heather, this one’s for you.
Contents
“I know who you are. What do you want?”
Savannah Payne blinked at the scruffy man in blue jeans filling up the front door of her hideaway house in Bounty Bay.
Granted, she hadn’t expected a warm Far North welcome, considering she planned to kick him off her property. She’d had an
a-ha
moment back home in Auckland yesterday as she packed her suitcases. Her cousin, Nate, had called a month ago when she was on location in the States, asking if an old university friend could stay in her house for six weeks to write his book. She’d agreed with a
mi casa es su casa
sort of thing, impatient to get back to filming the movie that would catapult her into the limelight once again.
But now, at twenty-seven years old, she found herself facing potential unemployment. And Nate’s friend was in
her
house.
A house she desperately wanted to curl up in and hide from the paparazzi who’d love the chance to snap a photo of Savannah Payne, failing actress.
Is there any truth to the rumors about the last years of your marriage? And Savannah, Savannah! How do you feel about being kicked out of your comeback movie role by an actress five years younger and twenty-five pounds lighter?
Karma, maybe?
Cue slathering on the charm, in order to get Nate’s friend out.
“Oh.” She slid up the oversized sunglasses onto her head and bared her teeth in what she hoped was an irresistible smile with enough wattage to turn the man’s frown upside down. “I’d like to have a little chat with you—I’m the owner of this property.”
“As I said,
Savannah
, I know who and what you are.” The man lounged in the doorway, making no move to invite her in or to come out to talk with her.
His pale-blue gaze skipped coolly up her length, from the tips of her suede boots to the long hair spilling over her silk shirt. Good thing after her latest humiliation she hadn’t succumbed to the ranks of the Sweatpants Brigade. Yet. Peering in the rear-view mirror a few minutes ago she’d taken the time to apply another coat of mascara and fluff up her travel-weary hair.
If you look confident
, her mother’s voice instructed in Sav’s inner ear,
you’ll be confident
—and when you were about to evict a stranger from your house, it seemed imperative to use every weapon at your disposal.
“So, Nate told you I owned the place?”
“Yeah.” Muscles flexed beneath his long-sleeved, grey Henley as he pushed his glasses up his nose.
The muscles were a surprise, but the tortoiseshell, hipster-style glasses on a guy supposedly writing a book?
Please
. What a stereotype.
“You’re friends from university days, aren’t you?” She kept her voice light and easy. Adopted a determined but pleasant
we’re having a nice, friendly conversation
kind of tone. “Nate and I spent a lot of time together back then, but I don’t remember you.”
Three years younger than her cousin, Savannah had still been in high school while Nate was off slogging away at his journalism degree. She’d often hung with him and his mates at his student flat. She caught another quick peek of impressive biceps as the man folded his arms. Wouldn’t she remember such a hottie amongst Nate’s friends?
“Why would you?” He huffed out a sigh. “Look, I’m right in the middle of something, so can we skip the school days memories?”
Behind her, in the thousands of acres of native bush surrounding the house, wind soughed through the trees, bringing with it the kiss of rain. She shivered in the spring air. She should’ve brought her coat from her hired four-wheel-drive, since apparently this guy had the manners of a man raised by jackals.
Savannah’s smile wavered. “Can I at least come inside? Gavin, isn’t it?”
A long pause. “Glen. Glen Cooper. And no, I’d rather talk to you out here.”
“But it’s
my
house.”
“Yep, it is.”
Yep? Yep, with folded arms and a thousand-yard stare? Surely, a guy supposedly writing a book could be a little more verbally forthcoming. “I’d like it back. My house, that is.”
“You’re asking me to leave?”
He had a voice like melted chocolate, the expensive Swiss kind. Rich, sinful, and liable to make a woman forget she was on a diet. She mentally shook her head. Nope. Not this woman anyway.
Obviously, she’d have to spell it out. “Yes. I’m asking you—very nicely, very politely—to leave my house. I need it.”
“Don’t you have a house in Auckland?”
“I’ve just had a hellish five-hour drive north to get away from it. I want to stay here.”
“I see. Unfortunately, there’s a problem with what you want. I’m legally your tenant.”
“Legally?”
Oh, hell. What had Nate agreed to?
“What are you, a lawyer?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”
It figured. Just as she figured most female clients would simper at his pretty baby blues and sexily tousled brown hair and concede to whatever up-tight lawyerly demands he’d have in the courtroom…or in the bedroom.
“I drew up a fixed-term tenancy agreement with Nate before I moved in a week ago,” he said.
Spots of rain peppered her head, splattered the deck around her. Sav inched a step toward the door then froze at the nearness of Glen’s bulk. She crossed her arms over her breasts, her nipples tightening to tiny dart points as the spots turned into cold drips.
“You did what?”
Nate hadn’t mentioned
that
on the phone. Or maybe he had, and Sav hadn’t paid attention…
“Nate thought it was a practical thing to do, as he was acting on your behalf.”
All very thoughtful of her cousin, but what did it mean in the scheme of getting Glen out of her house? “And this agreement states what?”
“That I am leasing your house for six weeks. According to the law, both parties must agree if they wish to terminate the contract. I don’t agree; therefore, you have a problem.”
Sav uncrossed her arms and fisted her hands on her hips. The man was turning out to be a giant pain in the backside. “You’re refusing to leave?”
“I’m refusing to leave before the date specified on the contract.”
He uncoiled from the casual lean and braced both hands high on either side of the doorframe, all refined power in strong, toned limbs. Sav backed up a step, heels clicking hollowly on the deck. Then she stiffened her spine. No man would make her cower again.
“I want you out of my house.”
“Not happening. I’ll leave on October eighteenth and not a day before. If you want to check the contract, Nate has a copy.”
Blood surged up her neck in a scalding tide, the now-steady patter of rain dribbling through her hair, soaking through her thin shirt and doing nothing to cool her down. “I’m calling my lawyer.”
“Try the front of the deck; it’s the only place to get cell coverage.”
When she clenched her jaw and fought not to snarl, his stubble-surrounded mouth peeled back in a grin full of straight white teeth.
Breathe. Focus. Switch tactics.
Sav donned her patented Savannah Payne smile again, complete with two cute-as-a-button dimples. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot.”
“Maybe we did.” He slid the glasses off his nose, folded the arms in carefully and hooked them over the Henley’s pocket.
There—his tone sounded a lot more reasonable. She smoothed her damp shirt over her hips, and his hooded gaze tracked her movements. Like a big, blue-eyed cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse.
Hah
. She was no timid mousy.
“Can’t we work out a reasonable solution? You’re paying rent, of course.”
“Four hundred a week, plus two weeks in advance.”
A bargain. Nate had nearly sold the property to a developer who’d planned to turn the house overlooking Bounty Bay into a celebrity resort. If that had happened, they probably would’ve charged at least four hundred
a night
to stay there. Then Nate had fallen in love with Lauren Taylor who owned the land next door. Nate had decided to sell the house to Savannah and keep the love of his life.
“I’ll refund everything you’ve paid. I can transfer the money right now.” Sav tossed her hair over her shoulder. It hit the back of her shirt with a wet slap. She swiped at her face again, and her fingers came away with black smears. Non-waterproof mascara—bane of her existence. So much for deciding she wouldn’t need the waterproof kind, thinking her tears, after slinking back to New Zealand, were all over.
“You’ll transfer the money, and I’ll just pack my bag and vacate the premises?”
“Most guys travel light.”
“True. I’ve barely unpacked.”
“Wonderful. I’ll pay for you to stay at the Sea Mist Resort in Bounty Bay tonight—with dinner at
Kai Moana
thrown in.”
He dropped his hands from the doorframe and stepped forward. Skin prickling, boots glued to the decking, Sav tilted up her chin to counteract the height difference.
“Sea Mist Resort, you say? Fancy.”
“Four stars.” The scent of him—warm male with the slightest hint of some spicy, exotic cologne—drifted into her nose. “Being still off season, I’m sure it won’t be busy.”
He smiled again, and her pulse danced a jig. Nate’s old buddy really did have a gorgeous smile. Not that she was noticing. His gaze swept down the length of her once more, but there was nothing heated or sensual in his examination. It was the indifferent study of a doctor—no, a surgeon—who’d seen women of countless shapes and sizes, and nothing about her slightly hourglass figure elicited an excited response.
He dragged two fingers and a thumb up and down his scruffy jaw. “You really don’t look like a movie star.”
“Because I’m standing in the rain, freezing.”
“Guess under these circumstances, you’d usually have some poor sap holding an umbrella over your head?”
“In these circumstances, I’d expect a man to have some manners and invite a lady in out of the rain.” She passed an irritated hand over her hair, which instead of being its usual bouncy, toffee-colored self, now had the texture of wet string.
“Used to men saying
yes
to you, aren’t you, Savannah Payne?”
Something in Glen’s edgy tone lifted the fine hairs on her nape. What, exactly, did that mean? People often assumed they knew her from the big screen—and now, because of her debut in the New Zealand TV drama,
High Rollers
, people assumed they knew her intimately, as if the small screen made her that much more accessible. People would be wrong.
Blue eyes drilled into her, the mocking angle of his jaw eliciting a flicker of…something…? She searched her memory.
Had
she met him before? A blur of faces from school days rattled through her mind. Buff, brown-haired guy with hipster glasses definitely didn’t ring any of her bells. She must be getting paranoid.
Savannah cocked her head. “I’m trying to negotiate a deal.”
“There’s no deal to be negotiated. I’m not one of your
yes-men
.” He made the words
yes-men
sound as if they were interchangeable with the words
man-whores
. “And since you were so generous with your offer of a night at Sea Mist, I’ll give you some legal advice. On the house. Unless you want to drag this through the Tenancy Tribunal court, by which time the fixed-term agreement will already be over, your best bet is to turn around and go back to the city. I’m not leaving until the eighteenth.”
Then he sauntered back inside, flicking a hand behind him to slam shut the door.
***
Sav stared at the door of
her
house and smothered the urge to stamp her foot. The rude, overbearing, arrogant son-of-a—she stalked off the deck, boot heels tapping out an echoing staccato beat. She strode across the gravel driveway to her car.
“Not leaving? We’ll see about that, Mr. Stuck-Up Lawyer.”
She made the drive to Nate and Lauren’s place in record time. Six months ago, Sav had spent a blissful week adding the finishing touches to the interior of her house, with an open invitation to Lauren’s for dinner each night. Just as well, because Sav’s cooking skills were better suited to throwing together a mixed green salad. And if she’d stuck to eating salad instead of dining out with her
High Roller
co-stars almost every night, she may’ve lost those pounds that had cost her the role of a drug-addicted, teenage mom.
Her hand clenched pale-knuckled around the parking brake. Squinting out at the grass between her car and Lauren and Nate’s deck, she flexed her fingers. Their house was nestled in front of a hill of native bush, with Sav’s property a short drive in one direction and Lauren’s brother, Todd, and his family also close by. The little, two-story house blazed with welcoming warmth and light.
A French door opened and a dark shape barreled onto the deck, barking like Armageddon had arrived, until Nate appeared. He laid a hand on the Rottweiler’s broad shoulders and peered at her rain-drenched windshield.
