Know Your Heart: A New Zealand Enemies to Lovers Romance (Far North Series Book 2) by Tracey Alvarez Page B
Authors: Tracey Alvarez
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She’d been burned by the media once too often after Liam had leaked strategic personal information to them to try to boost her flagging popularity.
So once again, Savannah adopted a smile she didn’t feel like smiling and angled her chin. “The public—those who troll trashy magazines or websites wanting to know the contents of my trash, or what my father’s address is, or the details of my sex life—can bite me.”
Glen’s gaze smoldered, suggesting that he, for one, was curious about her sex life.
“You tell ‘em, love.” Robbie chuckled and stabbed a finger at her. “People need to mind their own shit—pardon my French.”
The kettle began to wail, and Josie rose from her chair. “Amen to that. While we’re waiting for Robbie to boil up that cray, I’d love to hear about L.A, Savannah. I’ve always wanted to go there.”
***
Savannah slotted into easy conversation with Robbie and Josie—a surprise to Glen. Guess his assumptions her interactions with locals would be strained and awkward were grounded in bias toward the woman. After a brief stumble when her ex-husband was mentioned, Savannah had continued to relate to the elderly couple as if they were old, dear friends. Her self-depreciating sense of humor over some of Hollywood’s ridiculousness had him feeling like a jackass.
Apparently, the public weren’t the only ones who neglected to look beyond the toothpaste-ad smile and dreamy green eyes to the warm, funny, and forthright woman beneath. Had he also misjudged her? Or was this just another character role she’d donned in a scheme to soften him up and convince him to leave?
They’d left the house to wait for Robbie to gas up the tractor and bring it around. Savannah wanted to help with the clean-up, but Josie wouldn’t have a bar of it, asking only for a photo of her and Robbie with Savannah so she could show her grandchildren. Savannah had obligingly posed then hugged the woman goodbye.
Now, Glen and Savannah stood on the beach in front of the Aldridge’s little cottage, the tide having retreated to expose the rocky reef needed to return home. Glen pretended to study the distant line of white breakers in the moonlight. Correction. That’s what he was doing—staring at the sea. Because pretense suggested he’d have to admit to his awareness of the faint scent of summer berries rising off Savannah’s skin. Or the way her hair had curled in the humidity. Or the 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
So once again, Savannah adopted a smile she didn’t feel like smiling and angled her chin. “The public—those who troll trashy magazines or websites wanting to know the contents of my trash, or what my father’s address is, or the details of my sex life—can bite me.”
Glen’s gaze smoldered, suggesting that he, for one, was curious about her sex life.
“You tell ‘em, love.” Robbie chuckled and stabbed a finger at her. “People need to mind their own shit—pardon my French.”
The kettle began to wail, and Josie rose from her chair. “Amen to that. While we’re waiting for Robbie to boil up that cray, I’d love to hear about L.A, Savannah. I’ve always wanted to go there.”
***
Savannah slotted into easy conversation with Robbie and Josie—a surprise to Glen. Guess his assumptions her interactions with locals would be strained and awkward were grounded in bias toward the woman. After a brief stumble when her ex-husband was mentioned, Savannah had continued to relate to the elderly couple as if they were old, dear friends. Her self-depreciating sense of humor over some of Hollywood’s ridiculousness had him feeling like a jackass.
Apparently, the public weren’t the only ones who neglected to look beyond the toothpaste-ad smile and dreamy green eyes to the warm, funny, and forthright woman beneath. Had he also misjudged her? Or was this just another character role she’d donned in a scheme to soften him up and convince him to leave?
They’d left the house to wait for Robbie to gas up the tractor and bring it around. Savannah wanted to help with the clean-up, but Josie wouldn’t have a bar of it, asking only for a photo of her and Robbie with Savannah so she could show her grandchildren. Savannah had obligingly posed then hugged the woman goodbye.
Now, Glen and Savannah stood on the beach in front of the Aldridge’s little cottage, the tide having retreated to expose the rocky reef needed to return home. Glen pretended to study the distant line of white breakers in the moonlight. Correction. That’s what he was doing—staring at the sea. Because pretense suggested he’d have to admit to his awareness of the faint scent of summer berries rising off Savannah’s skin. Or the way her hair had curled in the humidity. Or the 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
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