 
# Hide Your Heart

## Bounty Bay Book 1

## Tracey Alvarez

## Icon Publishing

# Contents

Also by Tracey Alvarez

From The Author

Newsletter

Glossary of Maori Words

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

Connect

About the Author

Acknowledgments

# Also by Tracey Alvarez

**Stewart Island Series**

Book 1 In Too Deep (Piper & West) FREE

Book 2 Melting Into You (Kezia & Ben)

Book 3 Ready To Burn (Shaye & Del)

Book 4 Christmas With You (Carly & Kip)

Book 5 My Forever Valentine (Short Stories)

Book 6 Playing For Fun (Holly & Ford)

Book 7 Drawing Me In (Bree & Harley)

Book 7.5 Kissing The Bride (Shaye & Del Wedding Story)

Book 8 Saying I Do (MacKenna & Joe)

Book 9 Home For Christmas

Book 10 Bending The Rules (Tilly & Noah)

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**Bounty Bay Series**

Book 1 Hide Your Heart (Lauren & Nate)

Book 2 Know Your Heart (Savannah & Glen)

Book 3 Teach Your Heart (Gracie & Owen)

Book 4 Mend Your Heart (Natalie & Isaac)

Book 5 Break Your Heart (Vanessa & Sam)

Book 6 Tame Your Heart (Tui & Kyle)

Book 7 Trust Your Heart (Alli & Tanner)

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**Single Titles**

Quake

Beneath The Christmas Stars

Love Everlasting

# From The Author

Welcome to New Zealand!

Land of Lord of the Rings and the All Blacks rugby team, breathtaking landscapes, and laid-back friendly people who refer to ourselves as 'kiwis.' I hope you'll enjoy your visit with me as we travel to the subtropical Far North of New Zealand. This area of the North Island is close to my heart, as is the Maori culture.

So, _kia ora_ and happy reading!

* * *

Tracey A.

# Newsletter

Want to keep up-to-date with new releases, special subscriber only promotions and other news/cool stuff?

* * *

Click here to sign up to Tracey Alvarez's newsletter.
Hide Your Heart (Bounty Bay Book 1)

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.

* * *

Cover Art by Sunset Rose Books

https://www.sunsetrosebooks.com

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Hide Your Heart - Tracey Alvarez -- 1st ed.

ISBN 978-0-473-31945-8 (E-pub)

ISBN 978-0-473-31946-5 (Mobi)

  Created with Vellum
_For Toni...my best friend in 'Bounty Bay.'_

_You've always had my back and cheered me on._

_Thank you. Love you, hun. xx_

# Glossary of Maori Words

These are simplified for the sake of brevity.

* * *

_aroha_ \- love

_hangi_ – traditional New Zealand Māori method of cooking food using heated rocks buried in a pit oven

_kai_ – food

_kai moana_ – seafood

_kauri_ – largest forest tree in New Zealand

_kererū_ – New Zealand wood pigeon

_kia kaha_ – be strong/stay strong

_manuka_ – a common native bush/small tree

_pohutukawa_ – Evergreen tree that produces brilliant crimson flowers around Christmas time in New Zealand

_teina_ – younger sister

_whānau_ \- family

# Chapter 1

Lauren Taylor smacked the steering wheel. "Right. It'd better work this time, or I'll kick the bumper so hard it'll pop out the exhaust pipe."

Giggles erupted from the passenger seat and she shot her four-year-old son, Drew, a weary smile. Her station wagon had skidded off the gravel road in the rain, and the front wheels were wedged in a muddy ditch. After stuffing branches under the tires for traction, Lauren had returned to the driver's seat cold, wet and gritting her teeth at her own stupidity. Raised in New Zealand's subtropical Far North, she knew better than to trust the unpredictable summer weather.

She turned the ignition key, and the engine coughed to life. "Please, _please_ work this time."

Remembering Todd's instructions, Lauren trod on the clutch and slotted the gearstick into reverse. "C'mon, old girl, you can do it."

The steady pressure on the gas pedal as she teased the clutch pulled the car backward over the branches in jerky hops. Mud-slicked tires hit another slippery patch, and one wheel rotated with a high-pitched hum. Lauren kept her foot down, as if sheer will alone could drag them from the ditch. Black smoke poured from the tail pipe. The motor stalled, the station wagon sliding back into the thick mud.

She leaned her head against the seat. Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes.

Drew patted her arm. "Don't cry, Mummy. We can stay in the car tonight and have a 'venture. I'll be okay without my nightlight." His voice quavered on the last word.

Ever since they'd fled their Manhattan apartment two years ago, Drew needed his nightlight to keep the multi-limbed monsters in his head at bay. But better his imaginary monsters than the one on two legs who still stalked Lauren's nightmares.

She squeezed her son's hand. "Don't worry. It'll take more than mud to stop me from tucking you up in bed tonight."

Java jumped over the stack of luggage in the back seat, and a warm tongue licked the back of her neck.

"Back you go, boy." Lauren pushed the dog's black and tan head away from her shoulder.

Java whined but returned to the rear of the car.

Lauren ruffled the spill of dark curls across Drew's forehead and undid his safety belt. "Mummy'll get out again and have another go. Taylors never give up the fight, do they?"

Drew shook his head and grinned. "Never, ever."

No. Never, ever again. "I won't be long."

Rain pounded the roof, a relentless roar drowning all other outside sound. With a bracing breath, Lauren opened the door and lowered a foot straight into ankle-deep mud.

"Why don't you move back to Bounty Bay with us?" She mimicked her brother's cheerful voice. "You'll have privacy galore, surrounded by native bush seething with history."

History? More like prehistory. Even the cellphone coverage up here was spotty at best.

_Great idea, Todd._

Lauren climbed out and slammed the door before the wind could snatch it from her hand. A howling gust hurled a volley of raindrops at her face. She smoothed her hair and swiped rain, like cool tears, from her eyes. Fists on hips, she sloshed around to the hood to consider her predicament. Though her first attempt hadn't worked, it wasn't too shabby an effort. For a city girl.

Except she was no longer a city girl.

She grimaced at her watery reflection in the windshield. A clump of mud inched down her cheek, and her tee shirt clung in sodden wrinkles. Oh, if the tabloids could see her now.

With an unladylike snort, Lauren smeared the mud off her face. Back to business—more _manuka_ branches ought to do it. She braced her knee to climb out of the ditch, but a chunk of dirt shifted and collapsed beneath her foot, wrenching her ankle to the side as it slid backward. Lauren sprawled on the road and her startled cry flushed a family of quail from the bush.

"Mummy? Mummy!" Drew's muffled shouts were followed by a frantic knocking on the car's window.

She rolled over to wave at him and sent him a shaky thumbs up.

Lauren used her shirt to blot the blossoming specks of blood on her palms. Goddammit that stung! Teeth clenched, she tested weight on her ankle, but jolts of agony arrowed up her left leg. Walking home was not an option.

She crawled onto the road and using the car's hood, hauled herself upright.

Drew wound down the window, his nose peeping through the small gap. "Mummy, are you okay?"

Stuck on a little-used road in the rain with daylight fading? She was anything but okay.

Lauren forced a breezy note into her voice. "I'm fine, sweetie, just a little ouchy."

The unmistakable rumble of an approaching engine catapulted her heart into her ribs. Teeth mashing her lower lip each time her left foot touched the ground, Lauren hobbled to the center of the road. A black Range Rover crested the hill. Caught in the beams of the headlights, she raised a hand and squinted at the vehicle.

Too expensive, too fancy, and too clean for a local's.

The pitch of the motor dropped as the Range Rover coasted to a halt a dozen feet behind her station wagon. Wipers swept rhythmically across the glass, blurring her view of the driver.

The engine died, and Lauren's stomach twisted into macramé-tight knots. She debated the wisdom of letting Java out to stand beside her. Injured and facing a stranger on a deserted road, she figured the dog's stocky body and wicked incisors would be reassuring.

Drew's nose and palms pressed against the misted windows, as he no doubt watched her move farther away from their car. No...Better if Java stayed with her son. Nobody would hurt Drew with a hundred pounds of Rottweiler protecting his family.

Nobody would hurt Drew, period.

A huge blue and white umbrella unfolded out of the vehicle, followed by two legs clad in a masculine-sized pair of gumboots. The driver nudged the door shut and ploughed through the downpour like a striped galleon, only his oilskin coat and denim-clad calves showing. He stopped in front of her and lifted the umbrella so it covered them both. Wiping rain from her eyes, Lauren glanced up—way up—into startling green eyes.

"Looks like your car is well and truly stuck. Do you need a hand?" His gaze travelled down, and his brow creased. "Wait a sec—are you hurt?"

"W-What?" Lauren's thoughts leaped to the raised scar on her cheek, the first thing most people noticed. But no, the man's gaze didn't shift above her legs. Of course he was talking about her injuries. One vertebra at a time stiffened as she transferred her weight onto her good leg. "It's not that bad."

"You've grazed your knees, and your ankle's starting to swell." His tone was that of a teacher explaining a difficult concept to a child.

He stared down at her, and his advantage of at least three inches made her feel dainty at five-foot-ten. The suggestion of broad shoulders under the oilskin caused a pearl of sweat to gather on her top lip.

He was too big, too close, and too vividly male.

"Really, I'm fine." Lauren half-turned toward the car. "I just need someone to—"

"Sure, hold this a moment." He shoved the umbrella handle into her hand and crouched at her feet.

"What are you doing?"

He looked up. Blue-tinted light and shadow played over the slight kink marring his otherwise patrician nose. One wisp of brown hair in the center of his forehead flicked off in a winsome cowlick, but nothing else about his cool expression gave any indication of a matching personality. Her eyes widened, riveted to the long fingers reaching for her ankle.

_A tall, dark-haired man with large hands_...She forgot to breathe as memories flashed into her mind.

_The perfume of red roses clogging her throat, mixed with the feral stench of fear—her fear. The coppery taste of blood slick on her tongue. A hand clinching her ankle, grinding bones together as he dragged her along the parquet floor._

The man's fingertips brushed a trail across her puffy flesh. Lauren's head spun in carousel circles.

"Don't." She lurched backward, jolting her full weight on her injured ankle. Her knees buckled, and her vision blurred into hazy greens and greys.

A hand gripped her elbow as the world tilted sideways, and then arms scooped her up against a broad chest. She blinked, cold rain and sheer determination keeping her from fainting.

A car door slammed, and a dog barked.

"Put my mummy down, you big bully!"

Her son ran toward them, his trembling fists raised in a boxer's stance as he tried to defend her. Jagged pieces of her heart plummeted to the ground.

Drew stomped on the man's instep with his little gumboot. "Put her down or I'll—I'll set Java on you."

The arms supporting her knees and upper back flexed. A voice grunted by her hair, whether in laughter or pain she couldn't tell. Slight movement as the man twisted to stare behind his shoulder. Java's bark turned into a growl.

"Your mum's hurt. I don't think she can stand by herself at the moment."

The man's voice sandpapered her skin, abrading what remained of her nerves. She wriggled in an attempt to ease out of his arms. Java's growls exploded into a series of deep, echoing barks, but the man didn't flinch or loosen his grip. He was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Stone chips rattled as Java edged closer.

"Drew? It's okay." She kept her voice pitched in a calming monotone. "I got a little bit dizzy, and Mr.—?"

"My name's Nate."

"And Nate caught me when I started to fall." Lauren pushed her hand against a chest with all the flexibility of sculptured marble. Did he have to hold her so tightly?

Drew cocked his head and stared in solemn silence. She could almost see his thought process, using four-year-old logic to determine whether this adult was trustworthy.

"And you are?" the man asked.

She slanted a peek at his chin, and another cloud of dizziness fuzzed her mind. Good question. Who was she, really? Sexy Lexy, short-lived catwalk darling? Alexandra Lauren Knight, the mogul's ex-wife? Or just Lauren Taylor, Drew's mum and nobody noteworthy?

Lauren inhaled the subtle spice of the man's cologne. It did nothing to calm the storm manifesting inside her. " _Ms_. Taylor."

A beat passed, a gap of expectation as if he waited for more information or the innate friendliness of most New Zealanders. Well, he would wait. Uncomfortable as this situation had become, she didn't owe him access to her world.

Java advanced into her line of vision, hackles lifted in a spiked trail along his spine.

She held out a palm. "Java. Friend."

Java's growl tapered off to a loud pant, and Lauren breathed easier. The last thing she needed was a publicity circus should her dog attack.

"I'm all right now. You can put me down."

The eyes that clashed with hers were the color of seaweed eddying under a turbulent ocean, but beneath their cool depths she detected a shimmer of humor.

He tilted his face toward her car. "Lady, you've proven you're not fit to stand, let alone drive."

"I'm quite capable—"

Before she could finish her argument, a hand tugged on the hem of her shirt.

"Mummy," Drew stage-whispered. "It's almost night time. Can we go home now?"

Nate's car could tow hers from the ditch, but unable to put any weight on her left ankle, she couldn't drive a stick shift. She swallowed her unease, lifting her chin in response to the man's quizzically raised eyebrows.

"I'd be grateful if you'd stop at my brother's house and let him know where we are. He's ten minutes farther along the road."

Drew tugged on her shirt again. "I don't wanna stay here. Can't the man take us home? It's not far."

"Drew, he'd already be going out of his way by stopping at Uncle Todd's."

"I'm happy to take you both home."

Her scalp tingled as she scanned the man's face, trying to gauge his intentions. His eyes reflected only keen intelligence, but intellect sometimes masked a violent nature. A lesson she'd learned the hard way.

Nate lowered her to the ground and stepped away to pick up the umbrella from where it had fallen into a puddle. "You and your boy have nothing to fear from me."

"I don't even know your last name."

"Fraser. Nathan Fraser but I go by Nate."

"Nate Fraser?" She scanned his face, the ripple of unease inside her muting from shout to whisper as recognition dawned. "As in the photographer?"

"I'm a photojournalist." He shook out the umbrella, offered her the glimmer of a smile. "Photographers capture nouns; photojournalists shoot verbs."

"You published a book of photos a couple of years ago?"

He nodded. "You've heard of me—so you don't need to be afraid, right?"

"Right." Though the idea of getting into his car chilled her blood, at least they'd have Java with them should he try anything funny.

"So, how about you make up your mind before it's pitch black outside?"

Drew wrapped his arms around her leg. "Mummy, I want to go home now."

Lauren wove her fingers through Drew's mop of hair. "I know, sweetie."

Nate didn't say a word, just crooked an eyebrow.

She pulled her soaked jacket closer together and straightened her shoulders. "Thank you. We'd appreciate a ride home."

In the distance, over mist-shrouded _kauri_ and _totara_ trees, thunder grumbled through the valley. An omen of turbulent weather still to come.

"If I help you to my car, will your dog decide I'm fair game?"

"Only if you make a threatening move toward us."

He huffed out a sigh, offering her his arm. "Lean on me and you can hop."

Ten minutes later, the Range Rover's headlights passed over the bogged station wagon. Wipers swept fans of rainwater off the windshield, clearing the blurred landscape outside before the next deluge splattered across the glass. Lauren pulled the borrowed blanket around her shoulders, fighting not to let her teeth chatter. Drew yawned in his booster seat behind her, squashed between rescued luggage and Java panting at his feet.

Nate stopped in front of a closed gate across the road and hauled on the parking brake. She moved toward the door handle, remembered her ankle, and froze mid-reach.

"I'll get it." His voice was a study in exasperation as he flung open his door and plunged into the rain.

She swiveled in her seat. "How're you doing, my big boy?"

Drew shrugged while pulling on Java's jowls. The dog licked his hand and continued to pant.

"Okay."

"That's good. You were a bit scared of Nate, but he was only trying to help."

Drew's eyes were far too knowledgeable for those of a four-year-old. "I thought he was a bad man. Like Daddy."

Lauren focused on the throb of her ankle. Anything to block out the hurt his words caused. "I know. You're my big, _brave_ boy."

"Is Nate..." Drew's fingers latched onto Java's collar. "Is he a good guy?"

Lauren turned to stare through the windshield so Drew couldn't see her expression.

Rain glistened on Nate like liquid mercury in the headlights, shimmering over the bold planes of his profile as he unlatched the gate. Straightening, he looked back at the car. The force of his gaze released a flurry of butterflies low in her stomach. He moved with purpose, not with the casual swagger more suited to the stockman coat he wore.

"Yes. I'm sure he's a good guy." If he wasn't, it wouldn't matter after tonight. "We're very grateful to him that you don't have to carry me _all_ the way home, aren't we?"

Delighted she'd coaxed another giggle from him, she still wore a smile as Nate climbed back inside. His eyes locked with hers, direct, intense, and assessing. Lauren dropped her gaze, staring at her reddened fingers wrapped around the blanket's edge. Rain dripped off his coat onto the leather seats. The silence stretched, wind hissed and wailed, the engine purred.

He drove through the gate, stopped, and got out to re-latch it.

"Mummy, can we have monkey-roni for dinner?" Drew said after Nate walked away.

Lauren blew out a quiet breath. "Sure. Monkey-roni and cheese it is."

"Yay."

After a moment, Drew's head slumped to one side, his eyelids drooping. His fingers slid from Java's jowls and curled on his lap. The weight on her shoulders lightened. Her son was coping, so she'd pull up her big-girl panties and endure this awkward situation for a little longer.

When Nate returned to the car, Drew's snuffles had evened out into a rhythmic snore.

Nate fastened his safety belt and looked over his shoulder. "That was fast. Your boy must've been tired."

Lauren followed his gaze. "He's always been able to conk out no matter what stressful situation he's in, just like that." She snapped her fingers for emphasis. "I wish I could fall asleep so quickly."

The instant the words slipped off her tongue, she regretted revealing anything of herself, and she jerked her head toward her window. Nate drove into the oncoming darkness, his shadowed profile offering no trace of emotion when she risked a sideways glance.

She directed him to turn off into her driveway fifteen minutes later. Thunder boomed overhead, and flashes of lightning lit the yard in front of her house to brilliant pewter, the headlights paling to insignificance.

He killed the engine, and intermittent spots of rain dripped on the roof.

Nate flicked on the overhead light and held out his hand. "Pass me your keys. I'll open up and help you inside."

Drew smacked his lips sleepily in the back seat. Lauren gripped the straps of her handbag, warring with the urge to remain in control. Damn it, what choice did she have?

She rummaged through her purse, found her keys, and dropped them into his palm. "The gold one opens the back door on the other side of the house. If you follow the deck around past two sets of French doors..."

He dangled the keychain under the tiny bulb. "' _Kia_ _Kaha_.'" A wry note reverberated through his voice as he read the commonly known Maori phrase. "Do you need a reminder to 'be strong,' Ms. Taylor?"

His speculative stare pinned her in place. The luxurious amount of space between their seats suddenly felt cramped and claustrophobic. A tidal flow of warmth heated her cheekbones.

She swallowed a snippy comeback and set her jaw. "The keychain was a gift from my sister-in-law, and yeah, on some days, I do."

Neither blinked as their gazes clashed under the steady drip, drip, drip of rain. Then Java whined, pawing at the door.

A muscle in Nate's jaw twitched. "Today was one of those times, I imagine. Let's get you all inside."

A swooning woman, an agitated kid and a ridiculously named Rottweiler that looked as if it'd enjoy gnawing a chunk out of his leg. Not what Nate had in mind when he'd come north from Auckland this afternoon. In good conscience, he couldn't have driven past, but playing the Good Samaritan was proving to be a pain in the ass. He wanted a hot shower, a cold beer and to be left the hell alone for the next seven weeks.

After unlocking her back door, he scooped the woman out of his car and trudged through the rain. Tucked away at the base of a hill covered in native bush, the house was small but welcoming. He stepped into an open-plan kitchen and dining room, where timber countertops and brickwork provided a rustic touch. Two couches covered with striped Mexican blankets, and fresh-cut flowers on top of a circular dining table gave the living room area a homey feel.

Nate helped the woman onto a kitchen chair and propped another under her injured ankle. He wasn't getting that shower and beer anytime soon.

"Before I go back for the kid—"

"His name's Drew." Her voice was devoid of the earlier flare of passion.

"Got it. So, before I get Drew, do you have any bags of frozen veggies in your freezer?"

"Sorry?"

You'd think he'd asked an intimate question. Shaking his head, he walked past her into the kitchen. "Never mind."

Nate opened the fridge and scanned the contents. Vegetables, yogurt, and stuff in neatly labeled containers that looked way too healthy lined the shelves. Maybe she was on one of those no-fat, no-taste, no-bum diets?

But the tactile memory of her pressed to his chest was only a heartbeat away. His fingers had accidentally grazed her breast while preventing her from collapsing on the road, and he'd cupped her firm thighs carrying her around. No...some wonderfully wicked curves hid under those baggy clothes.

He found green beans in the freezer below and wrapped the bag in a dishtowel.

"Here, Ms. Taylor, a make-do icepack." Nate settled the dishtowel-wrapped beans on her ankle.

The muscles along her calf coiled tighter than old-fashioned rolls of film. Was everyone living in this godforsaken backwoods so edgy?

"Oh. Thanks." She slanted him a glance from under dark lashes. "I guess you should call me Lauren."

Defrosted a little, had she? "You're welcome, _Lauren_. And here"—he patted the pocket of his coat and drew out her key ring—"your keys."

Her gaze narrowed then flew wide. "I just remembered—you didn't use my keys to unlock the gate, so where did you get a set to our private road? My brother and I are the only landowners who have access."

Back to being prickly and suspicious again. "You're not the only landowners anymore. Didn't the local grapevine tell you someone bought Old Mac's land?"

" _What?_ "

He captured and categorized the emotions flickering across her face the same way he would've with his viewfinder pressed to his eye. Line up the shot, frame by frame. Disbelief, click. Recognition, click. Fear, click. The struggle for control. Click.

Bright overhead bulbs spot lit her widened hazel eyes. Her nut-brown hair curled in wet clumps, framing the slight flush on her high cheekbones, one of which bore a raised, crescent-shaped scar. Not an in-your-face beauty but she possessed a haunting loveliness that stirred something in him. Strangely familiar too.

When her shocked silence threatened to suck all the oxygen from the room, Nate scrubbed a hand over his face. "Look, I'd better bring in your boy. Will he be okay if he wakes while I'm carrying him inside?"

Lauren's shoulders hunched forward. "He's a pretty solid sleeper once he's out. He'll be fine and, ah, thank you."

He hesitated, out of his element in her neat-and-oh-so-cozy kitchen, with its framed herb watercolors and a collection of crayoned pictures stuck to the fridge. Outside the French doors, Java sat with his nose pressed to the glass, his black eyes tracking every move. The dog didn't worry him, but the kid's terrified face and raised fists? That did his head in.

Nate moved past her to slip back on his gumboots.

Out from the roof's shelter, rain dribbled down his collar and soaked with icy efficiency into the legs of his jeans. Java followed, claws clicking on wood as he kept pace.

"I'm not gonna hurt your kid, mutt." He hustled down the deck steps and across the grass to his car. "Because the sooner I get him inside, the sooner I can leave."

Asleep, the kid slumped against the booster seat in a state of relaxation only animals and the very young could achieve. Once he'd figured out how to release the straps on the contraption keeping the boy bound in place, Nate found maneuvering the boy into his arms was as easy as picking up a sack of potatoes. Only potatoes didn't wrap tiny arms around your neck and snore against your shoulder.

He retraced his steps, keeping the sleepy boy close to his chest as he toed off his gumboots at the back door. The sound of a beep and the tinny, recorded voice following it had him cocking his head.

"Hey, sis. Hope your visit with Louisa and the kids was fun. We're sneaking away for a night while Sophie's at a sleepover, and we'll pick up the Camaro on the way back. Catch ya tomorrow."

Lauren jabbed a button on the small machine beside her and leaned back in her chair. He stepped inside, walking past the island countertop that split the kitchen and dining room in half.

Next to a brick archway sectioning off the darkened area behind it was a raised fireplace. And a fire needed to be lit sometime soon, because a rash of goose bumps dotted the kid's skin.

He laid the boy on a couch, plucked a throw blanket from the back of it, and draped it over him. "Your brother's not home?"

"No."

"Better call a friend."

"Yes, I'll do that." Her gaze darted to the left, the tip of her tongue swiping across her top lip. "I appreciate all you've done."

"You do have a friend to call?"

"Of course." She studied her thumb, rubbing her index finger along the side of the nail over and over. "We'll be fine. Don't worry about us."

The boy was asleep but shivering under the blanket in his rain-blotched tee shirt and shorts. Nate's attention shifted back to Lauren and the dishtowel-wrapped bulge on her ankle. He had spotted steep stairs through the first set of French doors he'd walked past. How would she navigate those? _Not your problem_ , a voice hissed in his ear. _Don't get involved_.

Great plan, in theory, but his conscience wouldn't allow him to leave an injured woman and her kid in the middle of nowhere without help.

That cold beer got farther away every second.

Inside Lauren, a slow fuse of unease smoldered. She was injured and stuck with a stranger in her home. Strike that. Not just a stranger, but also her new _neighbor_. Super. And Nate—a photojournalist who was only one degree removed from a card-carrying member of the paparazzi—wouldn't acknowledge her hints to leave. In fact, he'd stripped off his coat and hung it on a hook to dry.

"Where's his room? I'll get some fresh clothes."

"Upstairs but that's really not necess—" Her bare toes curled, and her fingers clamped around the chair seat as she attempted to stand.

"Stay." He pointed his finger and disappeared through the archway leading to her family room and staircase.

She stared after him. As if she could do much else. Her ankle now resembled an inflatable armband like the ones her son used for swimming. Nate's footfalls thudded dully around Drew's room, followed by several moments of silence. Then the floorboards in her bedroom above creaked. A dresser drawer rattled on its tracks.

He was in her room, pawing through her sensible panties and plain cotton bras.

She struggled to her feet and hopped to the stairs, each small jolt causing sweat to pop out on her forehead. Above, more drawers opened and shut. Prickles sped along her body, her skin flushing hot enough to melt metal.

Lauren balanced on one foot, hanging on to the bannister. "Nate?"

Footsteps clicked across the floor, and his head appeared around the doorjamb.

"I can get my own clothes later." Her leg trembled with strain as she fought to stay upright.

Nate flicked off her bedroom light and jogged down to her. "Thought I told you not to move?"

Fingernail tips carved half-moon craters into her palm. Just what had he seen in those drawers? "I could've got—"

"Bathroom through here?" He pushed open the door at the foot of the stairs.

"Yes, but wait a minute, you can't—" She hopped after him.

"Is this where you keep your towels?" He stood in front of her linen cupboard. "I couldn't find any upstairs."

"Towels?" she parroted.

"Yes, you're soaking wet."

His deep, patient voice decimated her poise to that of a tongue-tied schoolgirl standing in the principal's office.

"Bottom shelf." It was then Lauren noticed the clothes tucked under his arm.

Drew's red and blue Superman pajamas, and her much-worn sweatshirt and yoga pants. No boring cotton underwear in sight. Thank goodness.

"Here you go." He passed her a towel and placed the stack of clothes beside the washbasin.

"Thanks." She buried her heat-stained cheeks in the soft folds and scrubbed at her hair.

_Get with it, Lauren. He's just being nice. Kind and helpful and_ nice. Nate Fraser certainly didn't seem like the type of man to rummage in a woman's lingerie for kicks.

She lowered the towel, her hope he'd become bored while she'd dried her hair dashed. Still there. Dominating the room, gaze steady as he draped a towel around his wide shoulders. As if he didn't intend to leave any time soon. Short of knocking him unconscious with the nearby bathroom scales, she couldn't imagine a way of removing him.

He opened the medicine cabinet. "Is your first aid kit in here?"

She nodded, and he plucked out a plastic container with a white cross taped to the lid.

"Now." He leaned back against the washbasin, crossing his ankles and flashing a feral smile. "Can you manage removing those wet clothes by yourself, or do you need me to help?"

Blood napalmed the length of her body again. "I can handle it."

"If you're sure." He rubbed the towel along the back of his neck with lazy strokes. Broad shoulders and defined pectoral muscles shifted beneath his black tee shirt with each up and down motion of his hand.

Lauren blinked. _What on earth?_

Nate turned and sauntered out of her bathroom.

_Don't. Have some pride._

But she couldn't prevent her gaze from dropping from the width of his back to his hips...and lower. The man possessed an A-plus example of a tight, male ass.

Lauren hopped forward and shut the door. She rested her brow against the cool wood until her pulse slowed from a crazy gallop to a respectable trot. Maybe she'd knocked her head earlier and now suffered from some weird form of concussion.

She stripped out of her wet shorts and tee shirt then perched on the edge of the bathtub to tug on the dry clothes. Alone, she would've remained in the bathroom for a few moments longer. But if Drew woke to find a strange man in their home, it could wipe out everything she'd worked toward these last two years.

Using the walls for balance, she grabbed the Superman pajamas and hopped all the way into the kitchen. Her gaze darted to Drew—still out of it, thank goodness. She looked toward Nate, who sat at her dining table, dark hair tumbling onto his brow, long, concert-pianist fingers rifling through the first aid kit. He plucked a tube of Arnica cream from the container and laid it beside a roll of elasticated bandage.

"Sit down, and I'll wrap your ankle." He pitched his voice low, flicking a glance at the couch.

"You don't have to do this," Lauren said from the archway.

"I'm happy to drive you to Bounty Bay's hospital, if you'd prefer."

A forty-minute trip each way into town. Plus curious faces, medical records, questions...

After one more look at her son, she slid her gaze back to Nate. "I don't need to go to hospital for a sprained ankle."

"So sit, and I'll stick a compression bandage on it."

She hopped to the seat opposite him and sat.

He held out his hand. "Foot."

"Do you always administer first aid to strangers?" She tugged up the leg of her yoga pants and placed her left foot in his outstretched palm. Warmth soaked into her skin. She nearly squirmed.

Nate rested her heel on his knee. "Only the pretty ones, but not usually ones with big, vicious dogs."

Lauren rolled her eyes, ignoring the shivers spiraling up her leg from the rough denim touching her skin. "Java's not vicious."

"Another misunderstood Rottweiler, huh?" He twisted the cap off the Arnica cream.

Wild flutters exploded inside her stomach. She didn't want his touch, didn't want him this close. Close enough that the enticing top notes of sandalwood in his cologne tickled her nose.

He must've felt her foot shift, as his green gaze jerked to hers.

"I'll try not to hurt you again."

Did he remember her overreaction on the road? Better he think her a wimp than suspect the real reason. "I guess I have a low tolerance for pain."

"Don't we all." Nate bent forward, squeezing a small amount of the cream onto her ankle.

She flinched and grabbed the chair edge.

He crooked an eyebrow. "That couldn't have hurt."

"No, it didn't hurt. It's just cold."

Their gazes met, held for an awkward beat before she looked down at the blob of cream. His fingers slid under her calf to support the weight of her leg, while his other hand stroked ointment over the swollen skin. Each stroke of those long fingers sent warm swirls of sensation dancing up her back and across her scalp. She should've spread the cream on herself, which begged the question of why she hadn't.

Lauren risked a glance up from her ankle to find Nate watching. She cleared the half dozen frogs from her throat.

"Have you taken first aid courses?"

He gave a brief shake of his head. "Not formal ones. My mother's a nurse, so I picked up the basics. The rest I learned on the job."

"As a photojournalist, _not_ a photographer."

After unraveling the end of the bandage, he wound it around her foot and ankle in a figure eight. "Uh-huh."

"Is it a dangerous job?"

"Sometimes. Mainly when bullets are flying."

"You've been shot at?"

"More than once."

She winced as Nate secured the bandage with a safety pin. "Maybe you should've chosen to be a wedding photographer; it sounds safer."

"You ever witness a bridezilla on her wedding day?" He smiled, the transformation from serious to stunning causing the stomach fluttering to escalate.

Refusing to acknowledge the tension between her shoulder blades thanks to the prolonged contact of Nate's hand, Lauren allowed a brief grin to cross her mouth. "No, I haven't."

But she'd been on photo shoots with young women high on amphetamines and low on proper nutrition, both of which contributed to their hysterical temperaments.

"Yeah, well me either—and I don't intend to. I'll leave the psychotic brides and screaming babies to someone else. Political coups are much more my scene."

"I bet you can't wait to get back to the action?"

Back to the action and far, far away from the safe little life she'd clawed out for her and her son. At least the man wouldn't be hanging around over summer, inviting his nosy reporter pals up for a few beers.

"Absolutely, I—"

A murmur and rustle from the couch, a whimper.

"Drew—"

Lauren pushed herself off the chair and Nate's hand slipped from her foot.

But she was too late.

Caught in a nightmare's grip, his mouth twisted and contorted, Drew cried out. "No, Daddy! No. Please!"

# Chapter 2

Nate tried to catch Lauren's gaze, but she was gone, hopping over to cuddle her wailing son. The muscles in his back stretched piano-wire tight. He didn't need to be a rocket scientist to connect A to B to C. Woman without a wedding band, big dog with bigger teeth, and a skittish kid with nightmares involving "Daddy."

His fingers curled into a white-knuckled fist as he eyed the hairline crack in the brick archway. Would the whole ceiling collapse if he punched it?

_Back off. You can't get involved in this type of drama again_. He closed his eyes, uncurling one stiff finger at a time.

The kid's sobs tapered off to wet snuffles. "I'm hungry. Where's my monkey-roni?"

Lauren murmured soothing noises while stroking his tear-streaked cheek.

"I'm making dinner tonight, mate. Want to help?" Nate blinked. Why had he opened his mouth and made _that_ offer?

Drew peeped over his mother's shoulder. "Don't you know how to cook monkey-roni?"

She turned. "Mr. Fraser—"

"Haven't we gone beyond surnames now?"

Her lips pressed together for a moment. "Nate, then. I appreciate all you've done, but you don't need to stay any longer. I've got—"

Drew touched his mother's jaw, turning her face back to him. "I'm a big boy, and I can help. He said so."

"Rest your ankle. Drew and I will fix—just what is monkey-roni?"

Even saying the word made Nate feel like a complete idiot. Single guy with no dependents and an only child to boot, he was without the usual hoard of nieces and nephews crawling all over him.

"It's what he calls macaroni cheese." She hugged Drew closer. "Nate needs to go home."

"No he doesn't. He said he could stay." The kid frowned then said in a stage whisper, "You don't need to be scared of him, Mummy. You told me he was a good guy."

Despite the fact no woman should have to categorize men as either good or bad to a little kid, Nate bit back a grin. "It's true. I am one of the good guys, maybe even a superhero like Superman."

He tossed Drew's pajamas over, and she caught them with one hand without making eye contact.

Drew's jaw sagged. "Coooool."

Nate left Lauren helping Drew change, while he entered the kitchen. He opened the pantry doors and found a plastic container of pasta elbows with a wobbly, hand drawn label that read "Monkey-roni." Now what?

"Got any of the boxed stuff?" he asked.

"Sorry, no."

Drew wriggled away from his mother and peeked around the island counter. "Mummy won't buy that. She says it's rubbish food."

Yeah, going by her fridge contents, he should've guessed.

"You gotta cook the monkey-roni first."

Drew edged a little farther out, closer to the kitchen. Behind him, Lauren sat sideways on the couch, her ankle propped on a cushion.

"Pots are in the cabinet below the sink," she called out.

Her helpful tone didn't fool him for a minute.

"The whisk for making the cheese sauce is in the jar beside the stove," she added.

Whisk? What on earth was a whisk?

He squatted down to Drew's level and crooked his finger. "Uh, Drew? Can you show me what a whisk is?"

Drew grinned, clapping one hand over his mouth and pointing with the other at the pottery jar filled with metal utensils.

"Which one?" Nate asked. "The spiky one that looks like a hedgehog?"

The boy hesitated for a beat then held up his arms. Nate looked back at Lauren, who watched this exchange with a stunned expression. She must've seen the question in his eyes because she nodded. He lifted the kid as if Drew had dynamite strapped to his body, tilting him forward. Solemn-faced, the boy pulled a wire thing from the jar and passed it to Nate.

He lowered the kid to the floor, watching for signs of an imminent freak-out. He gestured to an apron hanging on the pantry door. "It's gonna get messy in here so I'd better put that on; what do you think?"

"But it's pink!"

"Not a problem. I'm not allergic." Nate grabbed the apron and pulled it over his head. The subtle scent of flowers overpowered him—the same scent he'd caught on Lauren's skin. His head reeled for a second, remembering. God, she'd smelled good, even mud-splattered and dripping wet.

A soft giggle hauled him back into the present.

"You look funny."

One smile, one giggle, and the kid had him hooked. He'd do more than wear a frilly pink apron to make this serious little boy laugh again. "So will you, mate, by the time we figure out how to cook monkey-roni."

"You gotta eat it too."

He should say no. Drive to his new investment and hunker down for the night with a can of baked beans and a beer. Nate slanted a glance at Lauren. "What does your mum say?"

"Please can Nate stay, Mummy? Please?"

Denial and politeness warred for dominance on her face. The woman couldn't act, that was for sure. Politeness won.

"All right. If we have to suffer through his cooking, he should at least eat it too."

Nate turned back to the stove and winked at Drew. How hard could monkey-roni be, really?

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Nate winced at the smell of scalded milk permeating Lauren's kitchen. Monkey-roni was harder than it looked.

"Order up."

He dropped a pot into the sink and carried the food to the table with his little shadow trailing behind him with the flatware.

"You okay there, mate?" he asked.

Drew nodded, placing a spoon beside each bowl. "Come on, Mummy. It's ready."

Lauren hopped over to sit beside her son. She raised the spoon to her lips.

"Well?"

Her mouth twisted as if she'd accidently sucked on a lemon wedge. "Mmm."

Nate dug into his meal. Maybe the cheese sauce was runny and had an odd, smoky flavor, but it still beat the microwave dinners he regularly ate when working long hours.

Lauren sipped her water. "Are you going to fix up the MacPherson homestead?"

"That's my plan."

"The house is pretty run down."

Nate showered his remaining pasta with salt. "It needs some work, or so I've heard."

"You've never seen the property?"

He shook his head. "I bought it off Tom MacPherson sight unseen—except for some photos. He said his granddad's place needed a bit of elbow grease, but I'm not afraid of hard work."

"And you're planning to fix it up by yourself?" Skepticism oozed through her voice.

"The bits I can. I know my way around a toolbox."

"How will you live there while you're renovating?"

He raised his glass of water in a silent toast. "It's a two bedroom house; I'll work around it—and I've got a sleeping bag, beer and plenty of rubbish food to keep me going. All the luxuries."

"A photojournalist, a medic and a handyman...anything you can't do?"

Drew, who squirted dollops of ketchup into his bowl, looked up. "Cook monkey-roni like Mummy."

A giggle burbled past her lips and the sound of her laughter warmed Nate's insides more than the overcooked pasta.

"Hey, whose side are you on?" Nate grinned down at the boy. He really was a cute kid.

"I'll make you a home-cooked meal sometime in thanks for all your help tonight."

"I'd like that."

Her gaze skidded left, the spoon clinking against her plate. "Oh—I mean I'll get my brother to drop something off, since I'm assuming you won't have access to a microwave for a while."

_Ah, and the back-pedaling starts. Thanks lady_ —but he wasn't that desperate for a meal. "Sure."

They ate in silence for a few moments before she put down her spoon. "The MacPherson homestead will be a gorgeous place to live, once it's been overhauled."

Nate paused, a gluey chunk of pasta halfway to his mouth. Live _here_? Not a chance. "I'm not staying once the renovations are done."

"Oh?" The pretty brow crinkled again.

"I've got a buyer lined up in Auckland."

Lauren stood and picked up her empty pasta bowl. "You're selling it?"

"A developer's planning to turn the homestead into an exclusive retreat—upmarket, classy, for celebrities and the like." Nate lowered his spoon at her tightly drawn mouth and stunned stare—as if he'd mentioned the Manson Family were moving in next door.

Lauren's pasta bowl clattered to the table, the spoon toppling out and falling to the floor. "Celebrities? Celebrities will bring fans and the media."

Nate frowned until the light bulb switched on—her private road. "The developer will build a new road to the property with a locked gate, just like yours. No need to worry about traffic jams outside your place in summer."

She nodded stiffly, and a small smile carved her lush lips into two thin lines. "Well, that's good then." Turning to her son she said, "Can you take my plate to the kitchen, please, sweetie? Then we'd better get you ready for bed."

And that was the lovely but Über-Uptight Lauren's cue for him to get the hell out of her house.

Nate sure knew how to kill a mood. The Range Rover's headlights cut through diagonal swaths of rain as he approached the MacPherson property line. Make it the Fraser property line, for the time being. His knuckles clenched in pointed bumps on the steering wheel as he gunned the engine up the last rise to the plateau.

Under Lauren's cool stare, he'd pumped up a couple of air beds for them in the family room, so she wouldn't break her neck trying to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night. A few minutes later, he'd been politely evicted, the recipient of condescending glances from the dog at the back door. By that time, he'd been glad to go.

Nate composed a silent memo to hire a chainsaw for his driveway as tree branches and stalks of gorse slashed the car's sides. Talk about overgrown...The delivery trucks would never make it up here. He crested the hill, the headlights sweeping over Mac's homestead.

His "hmm, not too bad" catapulted into "you've got to be kidding" as he parked in front. Water overflowed from the broken guttering, cascading from the missing downpipe over the flaky clapboard siding. A faded tarpaulin nailed over a window appeared to breathe as the wind sucked it in and puffed it out again.

Nate tugged on his hood, grabbed his flashlight and climbed out, a tornado gathering momentum in his gut.

This did not look good.

He swung the wide beam of light across knee-high weeds and clumps of gorse. Crowding in from all sides, the native bush had greedily reclaimed ground. Where were the flowerbeds, the paved pathways and the wooden bench facing the curve of a distant beach far below? Just how old were the photos Tom e-mailed six months ago? Granted, the shots showed the place needed work. But from what materialized by flashlight? It was a frickin' jungle.

Nate stepped onto the deck. Beneath his boots, the spongy wood bowed, complained. Great. Rotten, and from the way the house sagged in one corner, the piles were probably screwed too. He pulled the keys from his hip pocket and unlocked the glass sliding door, which screeched and caught in its runner.

"Shit. This just keeps getting better," he muttered and walked inside.

He'd come prepared for a few weeks of rough living. Crash on the floor in his sleeping bag, cook on a portable gas ring, even wash outdoors with a solar-powered shower. Nate shone the flashlight around the family room, dining room and kitchen.

Dank rot and the pungent stench of fresh rat droppings hit him seconds later. What remained of the carpet was liberally sprinkled with tiny brown pellets, and a wet blotch in the room's center drew his gaze to the stained ceiling.

This was not what he'd signed up for. There was roughing it, and then there was this dump. He'd done his time as a kid, lived in third-world conditions with his missionary parents. Spent months as an adult in countries whose definition of five-star meant only a few cockroaches infested the accommodations, rather than an army of them. He'd opt to do either of those things again than deal with this.

He trudged through drifts of rat poop to inspect the back wall. Water damage transformed the hideous, seventies wallpaper into a puffy, three-dimensional effect. The flashlight beam revealed a probable holey roof, which hadn't weathered the last winter well.

How could he get this shack habitable before February? But if he didn't, the deal with Martin Davis would fall through, and Nate would have sunk his life's savings into this rat hole for nothing. Dreams of traveling the globe to create book number two? Dust in the wind.

Nate swore again and kicked a clump of moldy carpet. His mentor-turned-best-mate, Steve Peterson, would cackle his ass off if he could see Nate now.

_Toughen up, boy. Everything's temporary for men like us._

Temporary. He had to remember that.

But the crackling fire he'd built at Lauren's house, the welcoming lights, heck, even the smoky smell of burned cheese sauce, swept a tide of yearning over him. And Lauren, who drew him with her enticing mix of edginess and warmth, sexiness and shyness. A woman who'd no doubt sic her guard dog on him should he return there tonight.

Rain hammered on the iron roof, and a rat, not as discerning as its other brethren who'd abandoned this hovel for drier lodgings, scuttled past his foot.

Looked as if he'd be spending the night in his car.

Late next morning, in the weak rays of cloud-strangled sunlight, Nate drove to Lauren's house. He turned into her rutted driveway, and the explosion of flowers planted parallel to it impressed his photographer's eye. Below the house spread the tilled rows of a vegetable garden, and farther down the manicured slope, following a fork in the driveway, protruded an outbuilding with roller doors he assumed was a garage.

He'd spent hours being rejected by every skilled laborer in Bounty Bay. More than one local had said, "Todd Taylor lives up thataway, don't he? Bloke's good with his hands," or words to that effect.

Lauren's brother. Very helpful. _Not_.

The guy would kill him if he knew who featured in his dreams last night while he'd curled prawn-like in his Range Rover's back seat.

Nate chose the same fork as the night before and killed the engine before he was tempted to run over Lauren's canine bodyguard, barking apoplectically on the front lawn. The Rottweiler's black eyes honed in on Nate through the windshield. He edged out of the car.

"Good dog. Good Java. I'm a friend, remember?"

A French door swung open, and a small head peeped around.

Nate raised a hand. "Morning, Superman."

Drew sent him a shy wave and stepped outside.

Nate opened the passenger door and retrieved the set of crutches he'd picked up at Bounty Bay's hospital. Java trotted over and sniffed his gumboot, before lifting his hind leg to the car's rear wheel.

"Charming."

By the time Nate reached the deck, Lauren stood in the doorway behind her son.

Drew pointed. "What're those?"

"Crutches. They'll help your mum get around while her ankle's sore."

A faint line appeared on Lauren's brow as she glanced from the crutches to him.

"If a friend has already dropped some off, I'll return them," Nate added.

Lauren shook her head. He extended the crutches and she slid her hands through the plastic arm guards.

"Thank you. That's very thoughtful."

Nate studied the smudge of fatigue beneath her eyes while she tested her weight. His lungs snagged as his gaze drifted down her cut-off jeans and long legs. Sensual heat shot straight to his groin, seeing how she looked when she wasn't soaked to the skin and smeared with mud. Though she'd been downright sexy even then.

After dunking his thoughts in a quick cold shower, he got his mind back on track. "And the friend? You did call someone to come help you?"

"Mummy's friends are Uncle Todd and Aunty Kathy," Drew answered for his mother. "They're not home. Oh, and Aunty Louisa, but she lives a _long_ way away."

Lauren cut Nate a sharp look from beneath her lashes. "It doesn't matter now that I've got a way to walk other than hopping..."

His gaze pinpointed on the telltale pulse at the base of her throat, the flutter of her fingers on the handles.

"You live alone up here with only your brother and his wife as a support system?" He kept his voice pitched low, but incredulousness lifted the last word a fraction. What woman didn't have a bevy of girlfriends to call on?

Unless that woman was hiding something. Or hiding _from_ someone.

She angled her body toward Drew. "You can go and get a muffin now; they should be cool enough to eat."

"Yummy, blueberry."

The kid slipped past his mother and vanished inside. The delicious aroma of just-out-of-the-oven baking finally registered from nose to brain, but he refused to be distracted.

"Listen, are you—?" He hesitated. Delicacy and tact were not among his strong suits.

Lauren's chin jumped up, but she remained silent. Her hazel gaze sparred with his, daring him to continue. It wasn't his business, as she was bound to point out, but screw it—the kid screaming from a nightmare about his daddy last night? He'd ask, just the same.

"Are you in any danger from Drew's father?"

The question deleted every coherent thought in Lauren's head and she blinked at him. Repeatedly.

Like an imbecile.

During Nate's deliberate pause, she'd leaped to the conclusion he was asking about her marital status. Apparently, her current availability wasn't on his mind. Though after Drew's outburst, a man of Nate's profession would naturally be curious. She should tell him to butt out of her business. But avoidance would only challenge him to dig deeper.

"Drew's father and I are divorced, and he's since remarried." Her lowered gaze settled on her empty ring finger where an ostentatious cluster of diamonds once nestled. "He lives in the States."

"You didn't answer my question."

"We're in no danger from his father."

_Not anymore._

The familiar weight of shame swamped her. She'd been so weak, and hiding them both from the world in order to feel safe was her penance.

He retreated a step and shoved his hands into his jean pockets. "I'd planned to give your car a tow, but since there's no one here to drive..."

The awareness of how near he'd been standing prickled her scalp, and she sucked in a breath, catching the hint of pine-scented soap from his skin.

"Your car's automatic; I can handle it."

With Todd not due until this afternoon—or knowing him, the next day—the idea of having her car back in her garage was tempting enough to overcome her desire to keep her distance.

" _You_ want to drive my Range Rover?"

"I've got a current driver's license." She failed to prevent an eye roll. "I could probably outdrive you on this or any road."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Says the woman who ended up stuck in a ditch."

"A freakish accident."

"Uh huh."

Java padded across the deck and flopped down in a puddle of sunlight, frightening a chattering fantail out of the lush grapevine below.

"I know my way around cars. I do it for a living."

"You drive cars for a living?"

"No, Todd and I restore them. Classic cars, that is."

"Really?"

The disbelief in his tone made her shoulder blades twitch, and she jerked them back. "You're archaic enough to think women can't be mechanics?"

His grin, startlingly white against his tanned skin, affected her in ways she didn't want to examine too closely.

"I've never met a female mechanic who could be a model."

The acerbic comment she'd been about to hurl disintegrated on her tongue. Was he playing her? Had he guessed a "wash n' wear", medium-brown dye covered her natural shade of ash blonde? That cheap denim shorts and a cotton blouse disguised a body New York designers once coveted?

Lauren stared at him. Like an imbecile. Again.

"Want one?"

Drew's voice snapped her attention down to her side. He held out a plump muffin.

"I thought you'd never ask." Nate accepted the treat and with his other hand pulled a keychain from his pocket. "You think you can help tow your car out of the ditch?"

Her son hooked an arm around her thigh. "Maybe."

"Perhaps you can lift it out with one hand, like Superman?"

Drew's cheek shifted into a smile. "I'm not as strong as Superman."

Nate winked. "Not yet. In a few years, you'll give him a run for his money."

"Go grab your jacket and gumboots." Lauren peeled Drew's arms off her leg and ruffled his hair.

She glanced at Nate's left hand as he bit into the muffin. Bare. No fine strip of pale skin on the third finger either.

_Oh for God's sake, Lauren._

But she couldn't stop herself from saying, "You're good with kids. Have you got any?"

His eyebrow quirked up as he swallowed, the corded muscles surrounding his Adam's apple flexing. "My biography has been covered by every women's magazine in the country since I got suckered in to that stupid _New Zealand's Bachelor of the Year_ thing."

"I don't read those kinds of magazines."

His other eyebrow rose to mirror the first, screaming "cynical."

She wanted him to believe her. "It's true. Give me an article on brake pads over boob jobs any day. I only recognized your name and face from flicking through my sister-in-law's coffee-table book. Your photos are...interesting."

If her hands weren't gripping the crutch handles, she would've smacked herself upside the head. Interesting? Nate's photos blasted _interesting_ into oblivion.

Provoking. Fascinating. Heart-wrenching. Enthralling.

Couldn't she have uttered a more original adjective than interesting?

"Thanks. I think." He chuckled and licked a crumb off his finger. "For the record, I don't have kids. I'm not married or in a relationship, and I'm not gay either."

He released another devastating grin and turned away, then tossed over his shoulder, "In case you were wondering."

Her mouth dropped open as he strolled off the deck. "I'll wait in the car. _Interesting_ muffin, by the way."

Sprained ankle or not, Lauren drove the Range Rover back like a semi-pro rally driver. If she did say so herself. Leaving Nate and her station wagon at the driveway fork, Lauren parked outside her house and flung open the door. Even the car smelled like him—fresh pine and the faintest trace of male cologne.

Another engine rumbled in the distance. Lauren slid out and released Drew from his car seat then crutch-hopped across the lawn to greet Todd's battered ute as it coasted to a halt.

Her brother launched his six-foot-three bulk out of the truck. "What the hell happened to you?" Todd's gaze scoured the area as he loped over to her. "And whose car is that?"

Lauren quickly explained how she'd come to sprain her ankle and how their new neighbor had helped them get home, but the scowl never left her brother's face.

"I'm gonna check him out." He glared down toward her three-bay garage, which doubled as their workshop.

Kathy and their eight-year-old daughter, Sophie, climbed out of the truck. Drew squealed and wrapped his arms around his cousin's waist, and she immediately picked him up, settling him on her hip.

Lauren laughed and shook her head. "Sophie, he's too heavy."

Sophie turned her melted chocolate eyes to Lauren and grinned. "Nah, he doesn't weigh as much as the bags of kumara Dad makes me carry."

"Can we go inside and have a muffin?" Drew twisted around and gave Lauren his best beguiling look.

"Just one," she agreed.

Drew slithered out of Sophie's arms and the two of them raced for the house.

Kathy strolled over to stand beside Lauren. "Maybe you should come stay with us, _teina_."

Lauren squeezed her sister-in-law's hand, drawing comfort from her warm fingers squeezing back.

"You're still too bloody skinny; that's why your ankle popped so easy." Kathy lifted and rotated her flip-flop clad foot. "Now, stay with us a couple of nights and eat some decent _kai_ , and I'll have your scrawny legs fattened up like mine in no time."

"It'd be more than my legs fattening up if I eat too much of your wonderful _kai_."

Kathy slipped an arm around Lauren's waist. "A man needs something to hold on to—whoa, now. _That's_ our new neighbor?"

Nate climbed the stairs at the far end of Lauren's deck.

Todd, bare feet braced wide apart and calf muscles bunching rock hard under his board shorts, boomed out, "You're the city slicker who bought Mac's place?"

Once an easy-going surfer carving out a laid-back lifestyle with his Maori wife and little girl, Todd had changed. Something fundamental had shifted in his attitude when Lauren had returned broken from New York.

"Go calm down your man before he hurts someone." Lauren poked her crutch at the two men facing off.

Todd's biceps bulged as he crossed his arms, and Nate had his thumbs hooked in his belt, a casual stance, but one that also said, "Bring it on."

"Oh, I dunno." Kathy tilted her chin and chuckled. "Fella looks like he'd give as good as he'd get."

Though Todd was slightly taller and carried more muscle bulk, restrained power shimmered in every calculated movement Nate made as he leaned against the house and sized up Lauren's older brother.

"Toddy—play nice with the new boy," Kathy yelled, jogging across the grass and onto the deck.

Lauren crutch-hopped behind her and puffed to a halt beside Todd. Kathy tugged her husband back a step and beamed at Nate, while Lauren blurted out the introductions. Afterward, Nate smiled and shook hands with Kathy, then extended his hand to Todd.

Todd hesitated until Lauren delivered a sharp pinch to his thigh.

"Shake hands and stop acting like the schoolyard bully," she muttered.

"Ow, sis. Jeez, go easy." He rubbed his leg but poked out his hand with a grimaced smile and a _"women...what can you do?"_ eye roll.

"Now that we're all mates, I'll put on the kettle." Kathy glanced behind her as she went inside.

Lauren followed Kathy's gaze to the empty trailer on the back of Todd's truck. Her stomach tightened. "Where's the Camaro you were supposed to pick up?"

Todd draped a thick arm across her shoulder. "Ah, yeah. Here's the thing. The deal fell through."

Fell through? Restoring the Camaro should've taken them through the Christmas period well into the New Year. "What? Why?"

"We showed up at the guy's doorstep, and his old lady's bawling—said he'd been arrested and all his assets frozen."

Lauren limped to a deck chair and lowered herself into it, never taking her eyes from Todd's hound-dog expression.

"Something'll come up," he said.

"Two and a half weeks before Christmas?"

Unlikely. Nobody was hiring casual laborers this time of the year. God, what was Todd going to do? Almost all her savings from modeling was invested in her house and land. She and Drew lived frugally enough that this wouldn't hit her finances too hard. Todd, however, had a mortgage and a family to support.

"Of course something'll come up—"

"Work for me." Nate interrupted, his deep voice shattering the strained silence.

Both she and Todd swiveled toward him.

Lauren managed to speak first. "Work for you?"

Nate nodded.

Todd shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Fixing Mac's place? You gonna live there?"

Nate walked to the deck's fenced edge and looked out over the rolling hills of native bush. "No. I have a buyer who plans to turn it into a top-notch celebrity resort, but the homestead is worse off than I'd been led to believe."

"You didn't eyeball it first?" asked Todd.

"Old Mac was a friend of my granddad's. I visited him about five years ago, and the house wasn't so bad then."

"Mac's grandson never cared a penny for his granddad's place," Lauren said.

"He spent a few pennies painting the roof so it'd look good in the photos he sent." Nate turned back to Todd's wry grin.

"Slippery SOB that Tom MacPherson."

"Buck stops with me. I should've inspected the property." Nate rubbed his thumb across his top lip. "No one in town is taking on new jobs, and your name cropped up. I need someone with building experience and who pays attention to detail."

"Why do you think I'm your guy?"

"I saw the Cadillac in your workshop while I was parking Lauren's car. Your work, I presume?"

Todd shook his head. "The Caddy is Lauren and our dad's baby."

Lauren fumbled with her crutches and lurched out of the chair. "You snooped through our workshop?"

"It's a beautiful machine, and I'm naturally curious."

"Nosy, more like it." Photojournalist or reporter, she couldn't let her guard down.

"Where do you drive it around here?" Nate said.

"I don't."

_A car like this is for driving, sweetpea—soon as she's mint, you and I will cruise the Bays._ Though the heart attack had taken him when she was fourteen, her father's voice played through her head with excruciating clarity.

Lauren swallowed and met Nate's gaze. "We use it to show prospective clients."

Todd moved to stand beside her, glancing over his shoulder at Kathy whistling in the kitchen. "Back to this job offer."

"But..." Lauren said. Todd couldn't seriously consider working for this man, could he? Actually helping him get the property ready for some fancy-pants developer? She'd been so careful, so diligent in keeping her and Drew away from the voracious eye of the media. And here was Nate, planning to bring a pack of paparazzi right next door.

Todd cut her a glance, tiny beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. But oh, dammit, her brother really did need the cash.

Hands on hips, she lifted her chin. "Bottom line. How much will you pay him?"

"Now he knows I'm desperate," Todd added with a twist of his lips.

"My deadline's February first, when Martin Davis arrives for an inspection. If it's not completed to his requirements, the deal's off." Nate named a dollar figure and laid out the terms.

Todd's bushy eyebrows shot up. "That's very generous. Lauren?"

She knew what he asked. Even though he was only six years her senior, her big brother couldn't help but try to take care of her and everyone else in his immediate circle. Todd needed this job, but she needed Nate to sell to someone other than Martin Davis. Talk about being hamstrung. Hamstrung—but unable to deny Todd this opportunity.

"Looks like you've got your Christmas miracle."

The charming grin Nate directed her way promised the kind of treats most women would kill to find in their beds on Christmas morning. Luckily, she wasn't most women—past experience having taught her charming men were the most dangerous of all.

# Chapter 3

Kathy passed Lauren a mug of tea as the rumble of the Range Rover's engine faded, replaced with Sophie and Drew's shouts as they kicked a ball around the lawn.

"He seems like a nice enough fella, regardless of all the gossip about him." Kathy passed another mug to Todd.

He reached for a muffin and she smacked his hand.

"And," she added, "he can't be half-bad if he's offered good money for you to swing a hammer, love."

Todd filched a muffin the moment Kathy turned her back and stuffed a huge chunk in his mouth. He then tossed the last quarter to Java, who snapped it out of mid-air. "What are you on about, woman? He's just some photographer, isn't he?"

"Photojournalist," Lauren mumbled.

Knowing him for less than twenty-four hours, she still couldn't visualize him in a studio, fussing with family portraits and wailing babies. She remembered his description of a photojournalist. Nate wasn't a noun, either; he was one intense verb.

She sat straighter, glanced at her sister-in-law who was sipping her tea with a smug smile. Nothing happening in town—or anywhere else in the world of entertainment—got past Kathy Taylor and her five sisters.

Kathy relented and set her mug down with a sigh. "I can't believe you don't know who Nate Fraser is. His photo book's on our bookshelf—Louisa bought it for us last Christmas."

Comprehension dawned on her brother's face. "Oh, _that_ book. He takes some good pictures...So why's he interested in Mac's place?"

"To get away from the scandal he left behind in the city, perhaps."

Todd leaned forward. "Scandal?"

Apprehension, like fine tendrils of chilled spider silk, alighted on Lauren's bare arms, and she shivered.

Kathy took another sip of her tea, obviously milking the moment. "Remember that actress, Savannah Payne? She moved back to N.Z last year. She's on that _High_ _Rollers_ show I like and you hate?"

"The one with the most bodacious rack—?"

Kathy turned a cool eye on her husband. He shrank into his chair and ducked behind his cup.

"That's her. According to my online sources, she and Nate were in a bar six months ago having a drink. Then Savannah's husband shows up, and a fight breaks out. Nate gave him a couple of black eyes and a split lip. There was speculation they were carrying on behind hubby's back—not a good look for one of the _New Zealand's Bachelor of the Year_ finalists."

Todd lowered the mug and looked from his wife to Lauren. "For real?"

Kathy nodded, her wild brown curls bouncing. "Yep, and not much later, Savannah's off to the States and got herself a quickie divorce."

Lauren wrapped her fingers around the mug's warmth. For all his size and the restless strength lurking beneath his controlled exterior, she couldn't reconcile the man who'd been so gentle with Drew with the man who'd supposedly attacked another without provocation.

The sharp nip of fear bit her yesterday at their first meeting, but did he frighten her now? She studied the wisps of steam rising from the tea. Nate disturbed her, and up close, he electrified all her senses. But physical fear? Oddly, no. He didn't stir that emotion inside her.

"You won't have anything more to do with him, Laur, that's for certain." Todd kicked his feet up onto her coffee table.

Kathy tutted. "Don't be overly dramatic, love. Men are always getting in scraps over one thing or another. Lauren, of all people, understands how the media twists things, don't you?"

Lauren's head bobbled in agreement, but the muffin she'd eaten sat heavy in her stomach. "Who knows what really happened."

"Well, regardless—keep away from him. I don't want my sister anywhere near another violent asshole."

Lauren clutched the hot mug so tightly her fingertips burned. She placed the cup back on the coffee table before she spilled the contents. "He's not Jonathan Knight, and you don't make decisions for me."

"Like the decisions you made up until you divorced that New York prick were good ones?"

"Todd Taylor, get your feet off my coffee table and shut your damn mouth." Lauren jabbed a finger at him. "You don't get to say who I can and can't talk to, and I _will_ be talking to Nate. I have to rationally and strategically change his mind about his plans for Mac's place."

She looked away from her brother, huffing out a strangled groan at Kathy's amused scrutiny. "And this is funny, because?"

Kathy's grin spread even wider. "Rationally and strategically?"

"Yes. I'm sure he's a sensible man who'll consider other options." Lauren smoothed down her shorts. Surely, from across the room, her sister-in-law couldn't see how her palms grew damp just thinking about Nate. "One fist fight doesn't make him violent, especially if you're using the same yardstick you measure yourself with."

Todd snorted. "Yeah, whatever. But you're still making too big of a deal out of this whole thing. So what if a few rich suits or some B-grade actress from a telly soap wants to spend a weekend up here?"

"It's not the suits or actresses who worry me—and you know it."

"When are you gonna stop hiding and live again, Laur? Are you still afraid of Knight; is that it? Because you act like it."

"Todd," Kathy said in gentle warning.

"I'm not afraid of Jonathan. I just don't want my face—and Drew's face—plastered all over some trashy gossip magazine. I don't want them speculating how Sexy Lexy ended up with a screwed-up face and a screwed-up life."

Todd leaned forward, pumped up and ready for a sibling fight-to-the-death. "Screwed-up life? I thought you were happy."

Now look at what she'd started. She loved her life here with her brother and sister-in-law and their extended family. But some days—some days she yearned for more. A more where she could run into Bounty Bay's supermarket without feeling as if she were on a covert mission. A more where chatting to other mums at Drew's preschool wouldn't bring on a bout of paranoia, wondering if they'd seen past her dyed hair and lack of makeup. A more where strong arms and hot kisses soothed her to sleep at night, and she had something other than insomnia to keep her company.

"You know what I mean. I _am_ happy here, and that's why I don't want some two-bit reporter like Nate Fraser—"

"Photojournalist," her ever-helpful sibling pointed out.

"Changing everything," Lauren finished.

"And how will making him your best buddy help?"

"What would you suggest I do otherwise to change his mind, brother dearest?" Lauren cocked her eyebrow. "Blow up Mac's place? A spot of arson, perhaps?"

Todd threw up his hands, flopping back against the couch. Java whined sympathetically and stretched up to lick the side of Todd's cheek.

Lauren folded her arms and rolled her eyes. "Look, Todd. I'm not planning to make him my buddy, but remember Dad always said you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

Kathy's warm chuckle rolled around the room. "Absolutely. And the way you two have been eyeballing each other? Nate's hot enough to melt _you_ into a puddle of honey."

"That's ridiculous." So _not_ ridiculous, since it appeared her emotional thermostat had gone haywire where Nate was concerned.

"He touches her and I'll kill him." Todd stood and stalked outside.

Lauren met Kathy's eyes. "It's not like that. It's purely professional."

Kathy came over, pressed her cheek to Lauren's and whispered, "Then why are you blushing, little _teina_?"

By the middle of the week Lauren could walk without crutches—fortunately for her, as a client's '63 Impala needed its radiator reinstalled.

With Drew in preschool and her ear buds blaring Lady Antebellum at a teeth-rattling volume, Lauren tightened mounting bolts in the Impala's engine bay. She couldn't carry a tune if her life was in jeopardy, but that didn't stop her shaking her tail feather as she attempted to harmonize with Charles Kelley's sex-on-a-stick voice.

The tap on her shoulder catapulted her heart past her vocal chords, and she narrowly missed clunking her head on the hood as she whirled around. Nate stood in sawdust-speckled blue jeans with one hand still raised, green eyes twinkling.

"Sorry." The flash of white teeth behind his firm lips translated the word as Lady A. continued to blare.

Tugging out the ear buds, she sucked in a deep breath and tried to slow her heartbeat by shoving a fist against her chest.

"Sorry," he repeated. "I did knock, but you were, ah, kind of engrossed under there."

His gaze flicked to her coveralls. Her unsexy, grease-smeared coveralls that sometimes rode up her rear end when she bent over.

Heat speared through her, and she half turned aside, switching off the music and stuffing the ear buds into her pocket. "Not your fault; I was in the zone, and I didn't hear you arrive."

Nate moved to stand next to her, ducking a little to peer under the Impala's hood. Chrome gleamed, the V-8 engine so clean she'd bet a month's wages Nate couldn't find a speck of dirt on it—or anywhere else in her workshop.

"Nice car. Are you almost done?"

She swiped a finger across her lips, hoping she didn't have the remains of this morning's muesli bar snack smeared around her mouth. "Todd's mostly finished the bodywork and I'm just working on the last of the mechanical stuff."

Hands well away from her handiwork, Nate stepped back, glancing toward the organized benches loaded with her dad's tools, then looking across to the small, sectioned-off area with a fold-out futon couch where Drew often played with his toy cars while she worked.

"You've got quite a set up here. Your dad must be proud of the work you're both doing. Does he live nearby too?"

"No." And because she didn't want to field any more awkward questions, she added, "He died when I was a teenager."

"I'm sorry. Todd mentioned the Caddy was yours and your dad's..." His voice trailed off.

"It's okay," she said, even though it wasn't. How different might her life be if David Taylor, her biggest supporter and cheerleader when it came to her following her own path, hadn't collapsed in his workshop?

Nate's gaze skimmed over her, warm and sympathetic. Most people broke eye contact when faced with another's grief, but not him. He studied each line of her face as though through his camera lens. Very unsettling.

She ducked back under the hood and picked up her dropped socket wrench. "How's Todd working out?"

Nate cleared his throat and leaned against the side of her station wagon. "He's doing great. We've made a plan of attack, and tomorrow morning we're ripping off the roof."

"Progress."

"Yeah, which is why I stopped by—Todd said you have a chainsaw I could hire instead of mucking around with getting one from town."

Her fingers tightened around the socket wrench. "You need a chainsaw?"

"I've got to clear the road back before I get the new roofing iron and timber shipped up. It's crazy overgrown."

"And you've used a chainsaw before?"

"Nope, but I've used a skill-saw, so how hard can it be?"

That startled a laugh out of her, and she cut him a glance, drinking in the tee shirt taut against his chest but a little loose over his flat stomach, and his long legs crossed at the ankles, the only parts of him she could see. "Such a guy thing to say, usually right before someone hacks off a limb."

"Ah."

One hand disappeared from view followed by a raspy sound she identified as fingertips scratching stubble.

"Hadn't thought of that."

"No offence, but you don't look like the chain-sawing type."

"Not much call for chainsaw skills in my usual working day. My Auckland apartment only has a balcony, so the last time I even used a lawn-mower was as a teenager, when I helped pay my way through university by doing yard work."

With the last radiator bolt tightened, Lauren backed out from under the hood. "Mac's place must feel strange to you."

He flashed a crooked grin. "So much solitude and fresh air, it's kind of spooky when you're used to the city or being around crowds of people living in third-world conditions."

"It does take some getting used to."

"But you enjoy it?" Pushing away from her station wagon, he shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered over.

"It's home." As soon as he moved into her little hemisphere of safe space, her skin started to prickle, so she grabbed the first rubber radiator hose off the bench. This was an opening, a chance to put her change-Nate's-mind-by-being-nice plan into action. "Listen, since you were kind enough to help with the whole stuck car thing, I'll chainsaw for you a couple of mornings to clear the road."

"You know how to chainsaw?"

She shot a glance at his incredulous tone, found him shaking his head, fists on his hips. "Don't look so stunned—you've already witnessed how I can outdrive you in your own car."

"Going to make me eat humble pie?"

"Double helping, now that you've called my chain-sawing skills into question."

She returned with the radiator hose and he moved aside, but leaned over the Impala to watch her work. Having him this close made her fingers function like ten fat sausages, and she nearly dropped the hose as she ducked under the hood.

"You sure you can spare the time?"

"I can spare it. The Impala can wait until the afternoons. Besides, I don't want to feel responsible if you accidentally amputate something."

He chuckled, low and husky. "I appreciate your concern for my body parts remaining intact."

Underneath the baggy cotton coveralls, the fine hairs on her arms stood to attention, but she managed a droll tone as she said, "It's the neighborly thing to do."

"We're not big on neighbors and community in the suburb where I live—not that I'm there much."

"Well, it's a little different up here. When a neighbor needs help, we pitch in and get the job done." Lauren popped each end of the radiator hose in the clamps and wriggled them into place. "Can you pass me the screwdriver from my tool-box before you go?" Rude, but his concentrated focus propelled her blood pressure higher and higher.

"I'm happy to be your tool bitch if you need me." Metal clanked as he rummaged through her tool-box.

She didn't dare look up from the hose clenched in her hands. "You've got more than enough work to do." A screwdriver, held in long, tanned fingers, appeared in front of her face, and she grasped the metal shank and slid it from his grasp so their hands wouldn't touch. "Thanks. I'll see you at about half nine tomorrow morning."

"Okay then, Lauren."

The sound of her name, so rich and deep in his sinfully smooth voice, sent a shiver down her spine as he left the garage.

She held tight to the screwdriver. In only a matter of days, her new neighbor had gate-crashed her safe little world, turning everything topsy-turvy. She had to take control and remember who he was—before it was too late.

The next day, after Kathy left with the kids for the morning school and preschool run, Lauren loaded up her car, whistled for Java, and set off toward Mac's place. Impossible to think of the property as Nate's.

Parking beside Todd's truck, she spotted her brother on the roof, already bare-chested in the morning sunlight. He waved and tossed a length of corrugated iron over the edge.

Java disappeared into a tangle of _Kikuyu_ grass and overgrown gorse as she climbed out of her car. Blackberry brambles strangled the trees encircling the homestead, and a large camping tent was pitched in a trampled-down spot to the right.

She waded through the long grass, stumbling to a halt as Nate, also minus his shirt, opened a glass sliding door and strode onto the deck. Her throat clamped shut, and she swallowed past the blockage with a hollow click. He glanced up at her approach, raised a hand in acknowledgement and then brushed it over the hard, bronzed muscles of his shoulder. Tiny woodchips and dust cascaded off his skin.

"Watch out for the deck to your left; it's rotten right through," he said, as she climbed the steps.

"Thanks." She tugged the zipper tag on her coveralls higher and averted her gaze from the hard planes of his chest. Except her gaze drifted farther south to a taut stomach and a leather tool belt slung low across his hips. A spark of heat flared between _her_ hips, and she mentally shook herself.

"Sure your ankle is good enough for this kind of physical work?"

She rotated her foot inside her leather work boot. "It's fine."

"Good to hear." He shook more woodchips from his hair and tugged the tee shirt he held over his head. "Do you want a quick tour inside before you start?"

"Okay." Normally, she didn't suck at small talk, but today, with Nate and all that perfect male skin? Her tongue refused to cooperate.

The windows, opaque with cobwebs and grime, blocked her view of the house's interior. Nate stood back, and she crossed the peeling threshold and stepped inside.

Her breathing hitched as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. "Holy hell—what a bombsite."

"Yep. Talk about your fixer-upper." Nate scuffed a boot across the carpet remains, and the rotted pile flaked away in clumps.

"How did this happen?"

"Rain, through the roof predominantly. One winter's damage, according to your brother, who incidentally shares the same opinion of me as your dog."

"He's overprotective."

"Todd or the dog?"

"Both." She grimaced as the lingering stench of rat and rot assaulted her nostrils. "And the other rooms?"

"The floor is unstable in spots, and unfortunately, some of the piles under the house have sunk, but the roof needs replacing first."

She whistled under her breath. "That's a lot of work."

"Yeah, I'll have to hire some more men in the New Year. Anyway, come and see what's left of the garden—it's wild."

He touched her arm, and the pressure of his fingertips sent goose bumps racing along her skin.

Lauren followed him out of the back door.

Wild? Nature had run riot, a chaotic mass of overgrown plants in various shades of green. Ferns and saplings of all varieties battled for the sun against more brambles and gorse, all of which towered above her head.

They shoved their way through the undergrowth behind the house for the next ten minutes. She couldn't help but offer ideas and suggestions to restore Mac's gardens to their former glory.

"You know this property well." Nate pushed a fern frond out of her way as they walked around the side of the house.

"Some of Todd and Kathy's extended family took over doing a bit of the maintenance work for him when Mac got too old. I came with them to help out in the gardens once or twice." She shook her head then looked back over the jumble of native bush grown so high it blocked the sunshine sparkling off the Tasman Sea in the distance. "It's a gorgeous spot—on top of the world."

"And far away from the rest of humanity."

"Privacy's not a bad thing."

"I'd call it isolation." Nate tramped a trail through the _Kikuyu_ back toward the driveway. "Don't you get bored up here?"

He paused where the long grass met the gravel, waiting for her to catch up. The wind ruffled past her, carrying the faintest caress of his cologne. Lauren tried hard, really hard, not to sniff the breeze. Giving him a wide berth, she crossed the driveway to her station wagon. "Spoken like a true city-slicker."

His deep chuckle caused her stomach to squeeze pleasurably low and hard.

"I'd better get on with the job." She dragged out her chainsaw.

"A muffin baker, a car restorer, and a lumberjack—there anything you can't do?" His cheeky grin undid her resolve to remain professionally cool.

"Well." She cleared her throat. "I suck at algebra."

"Guess we all have our shortcomings." He gestured behind him. "I'll be up on the roof hauling iron, if you want me."

Nate sauntered away, stripping off his shirt again as he walked.

Lauren unscrewed the cap to check the chainsaw's oil level and watched him go with a sigh. The problem couldn't be denied.

Wanting him was just what she'd started to do.

Sunshine reflected off the roof iron with vicious glee. Summer had returned with a vengeance. Nate swiped his work glove across his brow and tossed another sheet over the edge, waiting for the satisfactory clang when it landed on the pile below.

From the front of the house came the rise-and-fall buzz of Lauren's chainsaw. He stood on the exposed crossbeams, stretching the kinks from his back and glancing in the direction of the high-pitched whine.

His gaze locked on her like a heat-seeking missile. She'd stripped down the coveralls baggy top half and tied the arms around her waist, exposing the tight-fitting, breast emphasizing, black tank top beneath. He couldn't drag his eyes away from the flex of her bare arms as she lowered the saw and the curve of her sweet rear end as she bent and threw yet another gorse branch aside. Even with leather gloves, ear protectors, and safety goggles, she was as sexy as hell.

"You run outta work, boss?" Todd's voice growled behind him.

"Just a crick in my back."

"Stretch it away from my sister's direction, ay?"

Nate inched around, aware he stood precariously balanced on a wooden beam, high above the ground. He raised his palms. "I wasn't being disrespectful. She's a beautiful lady."

Todd shoved his wraparound sunglasses onto his head, his eyes pinched into slits. "She's off limits to you."

"A man can admire from a distance."

"Sure. 'Cept you don't strike me as the type of man who'd just admire a woman from a distance."

"You don't know _what_ type of man I am."

"No?" Todd tugged on his beard. "I hear you're the type to screw a guy's wife and then beat the shit out of him for objecting."

_Ah_. _So there it was_. The cards were stark, ugly, and slapped on the table. And if Todd knew, no doubt his sister did, also. Little wonder she jumped like he'd goosed her when he touched her arm earlier.

"You don't deny it?"

He caught the flicker of curiosity in the other man's gruff tone, but he let the silence stretch—if you could call the background drone of the chainsaw "silence."

"Do I deny hitting the man?" His lips twisted. "No. Not with photos rising to the surface like pond scum. Camera doesn't lie, does it?"

"And Savannah Payne?"

He pulled off his work gloves and tucked them under his arm. "Do you believe everything the media tries to shove down your throat?"

"Nah. I got a brain. Might look like a big, dumb surfer, but don't be fooled."

"I wasn't."

Todd's face split into a grin, and he slotted his hammer into the tool belt slung around his hips. "Must be time for a break, you reckon?"

They picked their way across the beams to the ladder. Todd stepped down first then paused. "Did the fella deserve it?"

Nate hacked out a laugh. "You're one of the few people who've asked me that."

"And?"

"Yeah, he deserved it. And a lot worse."

Todd nodded sagely. "Then we're good, boss." He descended a couple of rungs, stopped and cocked a gun-shaped forefinger at him. "But if you touch my sister without her permission, I'll see to it you permanently swap that tool belt for a colostomy bag."

Nate swung his leg down onto the first ladder rung. People were always willing to believe the worst, the most scandalous explanation. Too lazy or indifferent to consider the other side of the coin and to think beyond the obvious garbage the media so liked to force-feed the public.

One thing Todd was right about, though. Nate should keep his eye on the prize and far away from Lauren's very tempting, very hot body.

Under the tent awning, the kettle hissing and drone of insects seemed like utter peace to Lauren after spending three hours battling the jungle with her chainsaw. Nate slumped in the deck chair beside her, while Todd followed his stomach to the fresh muffins stashed in her car.

Fine by her—this interlude could be her first opportunity to direct the conversation toward the subject of Nate's plans. She released a pent-up breath and stretched her aching arm muscles.

The kettle screeched, and Nate eased out of his chair to flick off the camp stove.

"Sore?" he asked.

"Been a while since I've used a chainsaw for that long in one session."

He poured boiling water into three mugs. "Yeah, I feel it too. A camera's a lot lighter than planks and roofing iron."

"Good, honest, hard work never killed anyone, my dad would've said."

"My old man would agree with your dad's philosophy." His voice gentled as he offered her a mug.

She caught an off note in his tone and zeroed in. "Being a photojournalist can't be an easy job."

"It's up there with acting or hairdressing, in his opinion."

"What did he want you to do?"

"Something that would make a difference, like building houses in South America or practicing medicine at an AIDS clinic in Africa."

Caution slowed her response. "Those are...noble occupations."

"My folks are very noble."

"Do your parents do that sort of work?"

"Not anymore. They officially retired and returned to Auckland from the mission field five years ago. They worked in Africa, India, and for a year or so in the Philippines."

"Did you go with your parents overseas?" She set her mug on an overturned crate, which doubled as a coffee table, and selected a sandwich from her backpack.

"Five countries from the time we left New Zealand when I was four, until I reached eighteen. Then my mum voted med school and my dad, architecture."

"And what was your vote?"

He blew on his mug of instant noodles, laughter lines bracketing his eyes. "To bum around the world taking photos. Dad always regretted giving me a camera on my tenth birthday. I thought I was a real hotshot newshawk after that."

"But you got your own way and went into journalism?"

"Yeah. I don't have what it takes to stay in one place for years, hitting the books and getting degree after degree. One was enough for me. I had a friend, Steve—"

The hairs at the back of her neck prickled at the way he said his friend's name.

"He taught me everything I know about photography, very little of which you'd find in a book. Steve never outgrew the need to keep moving. I guess it explains why we got on well."

"You _had_ a friend? You aren't friends anymore?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he blew on the rising steam again. "He died. Cancer."

Her fingers pressed oval dents into the soft bread, but if she kept a grip on her sandwich, she wouldn't embarrass them both by touching his hand. "I'm sorry; it's harsh losing a friend that way."

"Was over a year ago now." He shrugged and stared into the distance, as if grief came with a time limit that couldn't be exceeded.

They sat in silence, watching a black and white tui search for nectar in an overgrown flax bush. She fidgeted, rubbing a damp palm along her thigh. Somehow, this conversation had gone in a different direction than she'd intended.

Back to the program. "So, you've no plans to settle down? Maybe start a family?"

Nate leaned back in his deck chair, stretched out his legs, and folded his arms. She wanted to squirm because the slight curve of his lips indicated he knew exactly what she hinted at.

"I don't know how to do the stay-at-home family thing, and I've no desire to learn." He angled his chin toward the house. "I'm not keeping the place, if that's what you're suggesting. I don't want it. Aside from the investment issue, I'd be bored out of my mind within weeks."

His words fired a twinge of irritation through her. And something else—something like disappointment. "But there are other options for the property you could look into."

One dark eyebrow rose. "Such as?"

"Leasing it as an artist's studio or a private home. Even the local electricity providers are looking for land to build wind turbines." She hoped her voice didn't betray the pulse throbbing beside her vocal chords.

"Hadn't thought of that. But who in their right mind would want to live up here full time? No offense." He shot her a fast grin.

"You underestimate the area's charms. Bounty Bay attracts artists like moths to flame. You should think about it." _Don't push any harder,_ she instructed herself. _Keep it nice and friendly-like and leave him some thinking space._ Men balked at being rushed into things. Provide some alternatives and they'd turn them around in their heads until they thought the idea was theirs in the first place. "The city's more to your taste then?"

He shook his head. "Anywhere but stagnating in the same spot is more to my taste." He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and immobilized her with a curious gaze. "And you? Do you prefer the silence here to the big smoke?"

Lauren's neck muscles bunched as she nodded. "Drew and I like being near family, and living out here is so peaceful—we love it."

"Where did you live before?"

The tension crept down to her shoulder blades, but she deliberately sank back into the deck chair and crossed her legs. A reasonable question and carelessly asked—it wouldn't pay to overreact. "I grew up in Bounty Bay, but I lived in the States for a few years. My husband was a New Yorker, so I was based in Manhattan for a while."

"New York?" He cocked his head. "A long way from home."

"Yeah." Her smile was as tense as her crocheted back muscles. "A stranger in a strange land. It didn't work out. Guess I missed driving my cars instead of using the subway." Or being driven around by her husband's chauffer. Prudent to keep that observation to herself.

His voice dropped to a confidential level, his brows tugging together. "But that's not why you left."

"No, and the reasons why are personal."

He swallowed the last of his lunch. "Meaning I should back off and stop prying?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Not with a man who was as dangerous to her peace of mind as Nate was.

"Fair enough. I've things in my past I choose not to dwell on either." He stood and rinsed his mug.

Todd ducked under the tent's awning with a plastic container under his arm and a muffin clenched in his fist. "If either of you tell Kathy how many muffins I've eaten, heads will roll."

Nate placed his clean mug on the upturned crate. "Won't be from me. I can keep a secret." He shot her a pointed look and walked toward the house.

Lauren sipped her tea, while Todd polished off his muffin.

"What's this about secrets? Does he know who you were?" Todd brushed crumbs off his shirt.

"No. At least, he hasn't said anything."

"You gonna tell him?"

"I won't take the risk and it's none of his business."

Todd huffed air out of his nose, then tightened his tool belt. "He's a reporter; he'll make it his business."

"He specializes in war zones and riots. He won't pay any attention to some scarred nobody in the back of beyond. Not with other things on his mind."

Todd grunted. "I bet." He tugged her to her feet and into a hug. "Sis, you're not a nobody to me, and any man who only sees your scar instead of a gorgeous babe with a big heart isn't worth spit."

"Thanks."

"I got your back." He patted her shoulder with a calloused palm.

_This time._ Though the words remained unspoken, they wove through his solemn tone.

Lauren squeezed her brother tight. "It'll be fine, and in a few weeks, he'll be gone."

And well before then she needed to figure out how to change his mind.

# Chapter 4

Lauren approached the lion's den with only a chunk of steak between her and certain death. Except in this case, Nate represented the lion, and the steak, a plate of her beef chili. Still, her heart knocked and her palms slid greasily around the steering wheel as she drove toward Mac's place.

She hadn't chain-sawed any more for him when a storm blew in two days ago, but after another rainy afternoon cooped up inside, her son frothed at the mouth for action. When she'd suggested they ring Uncle Todd to drop a hot meal off to Nate, Drew looked at her as if she was nuts.

"Why can't we take him dinner?"

Good point. It wasn't as though they'd be eating with him, but she still tried to change her son's mind. "Because it's pouring."

"I've got gumboots, Mummy." Exasperation in spades.

So here they were, pulling into Mac's driveway with rain pummeling the car roof. Déjà vu to the max, but that didn't explain Lauren's racing heart and sweaty palms. She parked beside his Range Rover. Seemed safe enough to enjoy the little fizz of attraction that'd sprung to life. She savored the sizzle when their eyes met or as he said her name in his low, sexy voice, because nothing could come of her attraction to him.

"Can I carry the plate?"

She unclipped Drew's safety belt. "Yes. But remember you promised to be a good boy and have a bath when we get home."

His nose wrinkled. "Oh, all right."

The rain splattered on their raincoats in relentless bullets as they hurried to the tent, Drew clutching the foil-covered plate to his chest. A soft glow illuminated the plastic windows, but Nate didn't come out to greet them.

"Nate?" she called.

"In here." Movement from inside.

She unzipped the tent flap and shepherded Drew through. The conditions weren't much better than the outside. Rivulets of water trickled across the floor and the air smelled dank with wet oilskin. Nate hunched on a deck chair in the corner, his sleeping bag tucked around him.

Drew's gumboots splashed tiny sprays as he walked. "We brought you dinner."

Nate reached out for the plate, a slight tremor in his hands. A seismic impact shifted in her heart. She wanted him to give up and return to the city a.s.a.p., but for goodness sake, the man was miserable.

"Get your stuff together, and come back with us. You can't stay here in these conditions."

Cool, heavy-lidded eyes met hers. "I'm fine."

"Tough guy, are you?"

"I've been in worse places."

"I don't doubt it. But if you get over your tough-guy ego, there's a hot shower, hot food, and a dry futon in my workshop you can sleep on tonight."

"You can play snakes 'n' ladders with me," said Drew.

Hesitation as their gazes clashed again, then a glimmer of a smile emerged. "Food, warmth, and a game of snakes and ladders with my little mate?"

Drew beamed at him.

"Guess I'd be crazy to turn down an offer like that."

Yes. And she'd been crazy enough to suggest it.

After a shower, a double serve of chili, and a solid beating by a ruthless four-year-old board game shark, Nate considered himself human again.

He unrolled his sleeping bag on the futon couch and looked around the fluorescent-lit workshop with a sigh. His new accommodations were dry, un-cramped, and came with the luxury of indoor plumbing instead of the great outdoors. As an enthusiastic twenty-three-year-old who'd camped in central New Zealand's icy temperatures to cover an annual motorbike rally, he'd had no problem sleeping rough. But eight years later? He was too old for that kind of shit.

He flicked off the workshop lights, crawled into bed, and adjusted the laundry-scented pillow Lauren had thrust at him. He should've felt a sense of satisfaction, now that he had a warm place to sleep. Why, then, did he feel as if he wanted something more?

Nate woke with a start. _Three o'clock in the morning_ , the glowing digits of his watch informed him. He stumbled from the couch to the bathroom at the end of the workshop. God, he felt drugged. He hadn't slept so well in a week. Yawning, he glanced out the tiny window as he washed his hands.

Lauren's lights were on.

Indecision glued his bare feet to the concrete. What if she was sick and too proud to call him for help? What if nightmares had woken Drew? What if he just admitted he needed to see her again, even though he'd only said goodnight six hours ago?

_Leave them alone. Leave_ her _alone_.

He snarled at his reflection in the bathroom mirror then stalked back into the workshop, promptly stubbing his toe on the futon's corner. Swearing, he fumbled for his flashlight and switched it on to illuminate a crimson splatter-trail on her rug. _Perfect_. His big toenail had partially lifted from its bed, and blood trickled out. Nate tugged on jeans and a shirt and headed out of the workshop.

Java rose above him at the top of the deck stairs—a devil-black shape amongst charcoal shadows.

Nate climbed the steps. "Don't even think about it, mutt. I'm mad enough to bite you first."

The dog sneezed, shook himself until his collar rattled then sauntered to his bed by the back door.

Nate limped after him and tapped against the wood. "Lauren?"

Footsteps shuffled on the other side and the door swung open.

_Oh. Dear God._ He'd made a huge tactical error.

Dressed in plaid boxers that left her smooth thighs bare, and an ancient white tee, thin enough to outline the jut of her nipples, Lauren stared at him with smoky eyes and rumpled hair.

Desire, scalding and liquid, flushed through him.

Nate stepped backward, his jeans suddenly a size too small. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I'll just—"

"Is that blood?" She pointed at his foot.

"More than likely, but it'll—"

"Come in and sit down. I'll get the first aid kit."

He retreated farther from the light. Maybe she wouldn't notice the ridge in his jeans growing bigger as her breasts brushed against the soft fabric. "Really, I'm fi—"

She sent him a saccharine-sweet look with her eyebrow arched prettily. "I'm happy to drive you to the hospital, if you'd prefer?"

"Touché." He hobbled inside, trying not to get blood on her carpet as he slumped onto the nearest couch.

Lauren returned from the kitchen and tossed him a roll of paper towels. "Tear off a section while I grab the kit."

She disappeared through the archway and he couldn't resist tracking the sensual swing of her hips under those miniscule shorts. Swallowing a groan, he threw his head back against the couch. How could his toe still be bleeding when every gallon of blood had headed straight for his groin?

Lauren came back a few minutes later, the first aid box tucked under one arm and a thick toweling robe wrapped tight around her. Just as well...Another glimpse of her lush curves would fry his remaining brain cells.

"Did you cut yourself?" She hesitated beside the couch, looking as if she was about to treat the injury herself.

Please no, or he'd embarrass himself by doing something dumb...like hauling her into his lap.

"Stubbed my toe and now the nail has lifted."

"Ouch." She opened the container and tossed him a box of heavy-duty adhesive bandages. "Here you go." Then she escaped behind the kitchen counter, out of his sight.

He tore the protective cover off a bandage. "I saw your light on when I was in the bathroom."

Behind him came the sound of a running tap. "I was having a cup of tea."

"Couldn't sleep? Or are you up extra early to bake more muffins?"

She released a small hum of amusement. "Is that a hint?"

He chuckled, though becoming addicted to Lauren's cooking wasn't wise. Now that she'd halfway finished clearing the road to his house, he wouldn't get to sample many more batches of her home baking.

"I couldn't sleep," she said.

Nate stood and limped to the kitchen. He rested a hip against the counter. "Insomnia?"

"Yeah, but it's not fatal." She tried to play it down with a roll of her eyes.

"Just soul destroying after a while."

She finished rinsing her mug and dried it with brisk, efficient movements. "I'm used to it."

He stepped closer, the sweet, female smell of shampoo and flowers addling his brain. "How long has it been a problem?"

"A number of years, on and off." She set the mug on the counter, where it rattled a short tattoo until she pried her fingers from the handle. "It gets worse when I'm stressed."

"Do I cause you stress?"

Her teeth nipped the curve of her lip. "Yes."

Before he could counter the urge, his knuckles skimmed along her scar, a five centimeter, raised crescent that must've hurt like hell when the injury occurred. She stared at him wide-eyed and jerked back, causing his fingers to trail a lingering caress down the line of her jaw before they fell away.

"Stop touching me. Please."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

Lauren tilted her chin even as the walls slammed down in her eyes. Her nostrils flared as her breathing accelerated.

"Did your ex do that?"

She flinched but refused to drop her gaze. "No one did that. I was in a car accident."

"That's what you tell everyone, huh?"

"It's what happened." She half turned away, wiping her fingers on a dishtowel.

Her blush said otherwise. Car accident, his ass. Her ex-husband was responsible, guaranteed. He fought to keep his voice gentle, to dampen down the simmering emotions beneath. "I spent my teenage years in some pretty rough places. That doesn't look like a car accident scar to me."

She wiped the counter top, keeping her eyes on the sweep of the sponge. A shudder rippled across her shoulders, but she continued to clean, scrubbing at the already spotless sink.

"I get it." The silence stretched as the wall clock ticked off seconds. "Another time in your life you don't want to talk about."

"Yes." She turned back to him then. "My past is not open for discussion. I've moved on."

"Ignoring it won't make it go away."

"Nothing will make my past go away. Like my scar, it's something I've learned to live with."

No bitterness soured her words, just a weary acceptance.

"Your scars don't define you."

"Scars?" She sent him a shuttered glance. "I only have one scar."

"You have more inside. Ones you won't let anyone see because you're scared."

"I'm not scared of you." Her lip trembled once then stilled.

"Good. You shouldn't be scared of any man." He retreated from her kitchen and paused at her back door. "Sweet dreams, Lauren."

He stepped into the misty, early morning air and closed the door quietly behind him.

Lauren stepped through the archway after a quick shower to find Nate at her kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal.

"I have a proposition for you," he said.

She paused, hairbrush caught halfway down her damp hair. "Please. Make yourself at home."

"Mummy, Nate eats six wheat biscuits for breakfast." Drew, his tone awed, still clutched the cereal box as he perched on the couch, staring bug-eyed at Nate. "He says when I get big like him, I'll be able to eat six too."

"Maybe you'll even eat twice as many." She ruffled his hair and took the box from his hands. "Now, go brush your teeth, and then I'll help you get dressed, okay?"

Drew glanced at Nate, then scowled. "I can get dressed by myself. I'm not a baby."

"No, I guess you're not. Off you go."

Drew charged from the room. She swiveled and shouted after him, "Don't forget to put on clean underwear."

An outraged wail from the bathroom. "Muuuuuum!"

She turned back to Nate's infectious grin, and her lips twitched.

"You sound like my mum." He spooned cereal into his mouth, his eyes glinting, since he couldn't smile and chew at the same time.

She crossed to the table and sat opposite him. "Your mother still reminds you to change your underwear?"

He swallowed and his grin reappeared. "Only when I remember to wear them."

Lauren laughed. "So what's this proposition you wanted to make?"

"Meals and board in your workshop for a couple of weeks until the inside of my house is habitable. Probably by early in the New Year."

Her heart rate kicked up a notch remembering the touch of his hand the night before. Nate stay with them? _Such_ a bad idea. "I don't think so."

"Sleeping rough with this crazy Far North weather sucks."

"So go back to the city." She nipped her lower lip. "I'm sorry, that was rude."

"I know you don't want me next door, but returning to Auckland is not an option." He tipped his chair back on two legs. "I'll pay you a fair price to not deal with that tent every night."

"I don't need another demanding male under my feet." Which must've been the lamest excuse in the history of lame excuses.

"I won't get under your feet, and I promise not to be too demanding." He laced his fingers behind his neck. "A meal and a shower at night, then I'll disappear into your workshop. You won't even know I'm here."

Not know he was there? Merely sitting in the same room with Nate made her body buzz like a phone on vibrate. But...Sharing a meal with him in the evening would be the prime time to continue wearing him down.

Progress hadn't been great so far, but it was still early days, and Taylor's didn't give up the fight that easily. She'd just instruct her wayward hormones to stop reacting to every intense, green-eyed stare he aimed in her direction. She'd pretend they could be friends, that she didn't really like spending time with him, and that the little zing arcing through her when he smiled could be ignored.

Heavy footsteps on the deck made her jump.

"Mornin', sis." Todd blustered in through the open French doors, his gaze skipping from her shower-damp hair to Nate's quite-at-home posture at her dining table. "What's he doing here?"

Drew hurried back into the kitchen to tug on his uncle's hand. "Hi, Uncle Todd."

"Uh, hi, squirt."

Drew beamed. "Nate stayed here, and this morning he ate six whole wheat biscuits for breakfast."

Her brother's eyes bulged, his teeth snapped together, and his gaze ripped from Drew to Nate. The room's testosterone levels skyrocketed.

"He slept in the workshop because his tent leaks like a sieve." Lauren stood and stalked into the kitchen. "Take a chill pill."

Todd snorted and folded his arms, continuing to glare at Nate. She picked up the pot and poured three coffees. Nate wasn't really interested in her. His gentle caress last night didn't mean a thing. Easy, uncomplicated flirtation was all. She replaced the coffee pot with a little more force than necessary. "Nate's asked to board here for a couple of weeks."

"Over my dead body."

She moved around the counter, held out a coffee to her brother with her other hand fisted on her hip. "That can be arranged if you don't back off. I was about to say yes."

Todd's jaw worked, but he kept his voice pitched low. "I failed protecting you once. I won't let you get hurt again."

Tension laced the air, so thick that it latched around her throat and squeezed. Lauren sucked in a deep breath to expand her lungs. "You can't fight my battles for me."

"Mummy, what's board?"

Oh crap—Drew was still in the room. She looked down and stroked his head. "It means Nate will have his dinner with us at night and sleep in our workshop for a few weeks until his house is ready."

"Awesome!" He bounced over to the table, unaware of the adult drama playing out around him. "We can play lots more games like Junior Monopoly, and checkers—" He paused, the tip of his tongue peeping out the corner of his mouth. "Are you a good fighter?"

Nate looked from her to Todd, who scratched his beard with a lifted, sardonic eyebrow.

Nate cleared his throat. "Yeah. When I have to be."

Drew turned back to her, his expression that of a defense lawyer resting his case. "Told ya. Nate's like Superman, he can fight battles and stop Daddy ever hurting you again."

Her core body temperature plummeted, the heat staining her cheeks moments ago draining to icy sludge.

"That's right, kid. No one'll hurt your mum while I'm around." Nate stood, his chair skidding backward.

The men exchanged glances, and then Nate's gaze collided with hers.

"I'm going back to work," he said.

"But your coffee—" She held out the mug, tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, because honestly, what could she say to make herself look less of a coward?

"I'll take it with me."

As she transferred the mug into his hand, Lauren's fingertips brushed his, and the little jolt that zipped along her nerve endings made a liar out of her just-friends plan.

"Invoice me for a week's board, and I'll transfer the funds into your account tonight." His brusque tone doused the tingles running up her arm.

"Daylight's wasting," he said to Todd.

With a nod in her direction and a quick ruffle of Drew's hair, Nate strode out her back door.

Had she been railroaded into having an unwanted houseguest? A sneaked glance at Todd's speculative stare stiffened her spine. Of course not. Nobody made her do anything she didn't want to do.

At least, not anymore.

The next day, the devil on Nate's shoulder suggested, _"Why don't you take a break? Grab your camera."_

He and Todd had worked their butts off that morning, nailing down waterproof lining in preparation for the new roofing iron. Lauren arrived to finish clearing the driveway, as Todd drove off to buy more supplies. And after the second time he'd narrowly avoided flattening his thumb while trying to catch a glimpse of her chain-sawing, taking a short break seemed wise.

He jogged to his car, where his battered camera remained hidden under the seat. His fingers itched to slide over its smooth, curved sides. Other than a couple of quick, work-in-progress shots, he hadn't taken any photos since his arrival.

So, he'd take fifteen minutes, twenty, max. He flipped the case open, lifted the camera out and slipped the strap over his head. More familiar, more intimate than a lover's arms, the weight settled around his neck. "Come on baby, let's see what's out here in nowhere land."

The chainsaw's buzz ratcheted down, and Lauren, surrounded by bright yellow blooms of gorse, pulled off her safety goggles. The sight extracted every last molecule of air from his lungs. He instinctively lifted the camera to his eye, framed and shot two close-ups before she'd time to wipe her brow. His body reacted as his gaze dropped from the long line of her neck, to the graceful arc of her back as she stretched.

_Quit it, you voyeur._

He shouldn't look or even think about her that way. No matter how attractive she was, he didn't have the time or inclination to unravel all of Lauren's hidden complications.

Nate strode away, concentrating on the abundance of flora and fauna around his property. After ten minutes spent in fascination with the spiral of an unfurled fern and the zigzagging flight of a plump _kererū_ , he circled back to his car, where Lauren still attacked the scrub. The sight of her framed in his viewfinder was an addictive lure he couldn't resist.

Portrait. Lauren's full lips pressed together in concentration, the curve of her cheekbone below the protective goggles. He swiveled the camera. Landscape. Lauren with the chainsaw raised, blade biting into a sapling. Zoom. Lauren's face front on, her gaze hurling daggers through the lens.

_Shit and hellfire._ Busted.

He lowered the camera as the chainsaw motor died. She stalked over with murder written in every furious pulse of her body. She stopped right in front of him, hauled off her goggles and ear protectors and dropped them.

"Why are you taking photos of me?"

His shoulder tipped forward. "You're beautiful." _Especially when you're angry_. But he'd enough wisdom to keep _that_ opinion to himself.

She ignored the compliment and bared her teeth. "You've no right to take my picture without permission."

"Once a camera's in my hand, I've every right to capture what's in front of me."

She made a noise low in her throat, which sounded suspiciously like a growl, and jabbed a finger into his chest. "The hell you have."

Under the flush of temper, a smattering of freckles stood in stark relief against her skin, and the worry lines on her forehead were more pronounced. Curious. Did the scar make her camera shy? Nothing about her face, scar or otherwise, detracted from her natural loveliness. She ought to have a gallery of photographs dedicated to her.

A hummingbird flicker in his memory banks whispered then streaked away as she touched his camera.

"Delete them."

He jerked it out of her grasp. "Hey, expensive equipment here; hands off."

Lauren's glare was keener than the chainsaw's blade. "Delete, those, photos."

Holding out a warning finger, he showed her the small camera screen and pressed play. The last image he'd shot appeared.

She glowered. "Delete."

He pressed a button and the image disappeared, then he did the same with the second and third photo. He scrolled through another dozen photos of birds and plants, careful to stop before the first picture he'd taken of her. No logical explanation for it, he just couldn't destroy them all.

The deadly gleam faded from her eyes and she dismissed him with a wave. "Fine. Carry on, but don't take any more photos of me."

He unhooked the camera from around his neck and placed it on the Range Rover's roof. "Why not?"

"A lot of women don't like being photographed if they're sweaty and disheveled." Her arms crossed snug under her breasts.

"I don't believe it's that, and, at the risk of repeating myself"—he closed the gap, stepping way into her personal space—"you're beautiful, sweaty or not."

Her upturned eyes widened, darting sideways as if she sought an escape route. Her tongue peeped out between sealed lips, and the afternoon sun highlighted the tremor of a pale blue vein in her neck. His gaze dropped. If she inhaled any more deeply, her breasts would meet his chest. The puff of her warm breath misted on his collarbone, and his hands flexed, burning with the desire to drag her flush against him.

"Step back, Nate. You're crowding me."

_Ballsy and beautiful_. The male predator in him fought for control, aware of what the woman in front of him may've endured but equally aware of the magnetic sexual pull of her body swaying toward his. "Not this time."

A breeze, warm and fragrant with the scent of her, flared into his nose, wrapped around his resistance and suffocated it. "I want to kiss you."

"No." A soft gasp, her hands unfolding quickly to brace against his chest. "No, you can't."

His palms trailed up her bare arms in a caress that sent shivers down _his_ back. Lauren's eyes blazed hazel fire, but she didn't step away, though he did nothing to restrain her. Instead, her nails scraped across his shirt as her fingers curled into fists.

"Then you decide." He wrapped his hands lightly around her upper arms. "Either hit me or kiss me. Those are your options."

Could her body be any more traitorous?

Gooey mush. That's what Lauren's mind dissolved into. All logical thoughts vanished when Nate brushed those work-roughened hands along her skin, and her body—her traitorous body—arched toward his without consent.

_Kiss him or hit him?_

Her fingers flexed tighter on the sun-hot expanse of cotton across his chest. The rapid thunder of his heartbeat thrummed against her knuckles.

Yeah, she wanted to hit him, but dammit—she wanted to kiss him more.

"Can I do both?" The unfamiliar shot of lust-tinged huskiness in her voice prickled her scalp.

A glimmer of straight, white teeth. "Be my guest."

She tilted forward, rose on tiptoes to counteract the height difference. Angled her chin and contemplated, with a sucked in breath, his full, firm lips shadowed by short whiskers. His intoxicating scent of sunshine, freshly laundered cotton and male musk fuddled her reasons for resistance.

_One simple kiss._ What could it hurt?

Her eyelids slid shut as her mouth found the small hollow between his lips and chin, the warmth of his skin and the scrape of stubble sending a tingle down to her boot-clad toes. Coarse hair changed to the smooth texture of his mouth. He inhaled with a hiss, his fingers contracting on her arms. That she had any power to affect him caused a smile to quiver on her lips.

But when she pressed her mouth to his with a breathy sigh, everything known and controllable in her world spun off its axis, sucking her into a vortex she'd no hope of escaping. One simple kiss? Something must've shorted in her brain, because this kiss tap-danced all over _simple_.

His hand skimmed up her shoulder, spread across her nape into a possessive hold. A tug on her hip sent her lower body colliding into his obvious arousal. Demanding a response, his tongue darted into her mouth, retreated, returned and lingered. Her fingers slid around his neck and tangled in his silky hair, and she clung, even as her mind rebelled against total surrender.

She pulled back with a gasp for air and a plea. "Nate."

He lightened his grip, and the hand on her hip clenched once in denial then sprang open, allowing her to step out of his arms.

Lauren bent to pick up her gear, her blood hammering. A car engine grew louder in the still air, severing the silence. Java appeared from the shade of the house and trotted over.

"That sounds like Kathy's car."

She turned toward him, but he'd already moved away to stand on the other side of his Range Rover.

By the time her sister-in-law's car came into view, Nate's gaze refused to settle anywhere near her face. His expression betrayed nothing, as if they'd shared a casual conversation about the weather, instead of locking lips. Had she really done that? Twined around him like ivy? She'd fraternized with the enemy when she should've been thinking about ways to derail Nate's plans.

The phone call to her lawyer last week confirmed her worst suspicions. Nate Fraser could pretty much do whatever he liked with his land. He could build a theme park on it, if the idea fired his rockets. A dark notion flitted across her brain—could she stoop to seduction to change his mind?

He leaned against the Rover, thumbs hooked nonchalantly in his belt loops, and she dismissed the thought. Who was she kidding? She had no leverage to use when a kiss that'd curled her toes left him cool and unruffled. He held all the cards and kept them close to his chest. No bold seductress—she didn't have the sexual ruthlessness to twist his will around her little finger. And if Nate knew she'd once allowed her husband to twist _her_ will around _his_ finger...

Well, he wouldn't have challenged her to kiss him in the first place.

"Mummy, I wanna show you my picture before we go back to Aunty Kathy's," Drew shouted from the open window the moment Kathy's car came to a stop.

Lauren scooped her son out of his car seat and settled him on her hip, hiding the heat of her face in his paint-smeared hair. "You had fun with paints at preschool today?"

"He's talked of nothing else since I picked him up." Kathy chuckled as she and Sophie exited the car.

"Look!" Drew shoved a rumpled sheet of art paper under her nose to recapture her attention. "It's Superman."

Bold, primary blue and red splashed across the paper. A wobbly gold "S" was smeared on the figure's chest, and a brushstroke of brown paint jutted from Superman's forehead. A cowlick. _Nate's cowlick._

"Such bright colors, sweetie." She forced enthusiasm into her tone. "You put a lot of work into this picture."

"Now I wanna show Nate." He wriggled down, snatched his artwork from her limp hand and skipped away.

_Oh, God_. Her gaze flew to Nate, but he watched her son's approach with studied neutrality. _Don't let him hurt Drew's feelings and don't let him read anything into a four-year-old's hero worship._ She took a step after Drew, but her leg muscles trembled like she'd run a marathon.

Kathy laid a hand on her arm and whispered, "It'll be okay."

Nate accepted the picture, Drew hopping from foot to foot beside him. Nate crouched at the same level as her son and touched a finger to the page. "You've got an eye for detail, kid. I like how you've made Superman's arms big and strong." His gaze flicked to hers. "Strong enough to sweep Lois Lane off her feet."

Drew fisted his hands on his hips and wrinkled his nose. "Strong enough to beat the bad guys, you mean."

"That too." Nate stood and handed back the picture. "He's the Man of Steel."

Sophie ran to Drew's side and pointed to the Range Rover's roof. "Is that your camera?"

"Yep."

Drew yanked on the pocket of Nate's jeans. "Can I see?"

Lauren's breath caught. "Drew, Sophie, I don't think you sh—"

"Sure you can." Nate shot her a simmering look. "You could take a photo of your mum if you promise to be careful. How about we give Superman to your aunty to keep safe?"

After handing the picture over, Drew clapped his hands and bounced on his toes. Nate lifted his camera down and draped the strap around her son's neck. He squatted behind Drew, tucked her boy against his big body and supported the camera with one hand, while Drew wrapped his tiny fists on either side.

Lauren's chest constricted. The less cynical part of her wanted to believe his actions were plain kindness, rather than a calculated move to weasel into her good graces. But then, why would he bother?

"This is the camera's eye. It's called the viewfinder, and what you see in there is what you'll take a photo of." Nate kept the camera steady and pointed it at her.

Drew beamed. "There's Mummy!"

"She's frowning." Sophie rested an arm on Nate's shoulder. Anyone would think he had his own brood of kids; he was so good with them. "Come on Aunty Lauren, say 'hanky-panky.'"

Lauren's face flamed, imagining _hanky-panky-ing_ with Nate, even as Sophie explained, "My dad says that to get her to smile in photos."

"She's still not smiling." Indignation rang in Drew's tone. "She's just going red."

Lauren peeled back her lips in a parody of a smile, while Nate guided Drew's finger to the shutter release.

"I took a picture all by myself," Drew crowed. "Mummy, come look."

Nate tilted his head as she approached, his eyes crinkling in the corners. Bet he knew exactly what she'd imagined. She glanced at the image of her flushed face and made encouraging noises at Drew, all the time clenching her jaw to prevent herself from demanding that he delete the photo of her. Drew would be devastated.

Nate repeated the process with Sophie and captured a shot of Kathy mugging for the camera.

"We'd better get back to work," Lauren interjected as the kids tried to coax Java into posing as their next model, "and you two will want afternoon tea at Aunty Kathy's before it's too close to dinner time."

Kathy shepherded the kids into her car and with a cheeky wave, drove off. Lauren walked to her goggles and snatched them from the ground.

"Lauren?"

She urged her facial muscles to relax into a pleasantly bland expression and turned.

The camera slung around his neck, such an extension of his body, represented the sum total of her experience with the media. It was a sharp reminder that the public's voracious consumption meant everything a celebrity did became news to those who exploited it for big bucks. If Nate uncovered her secret, she badly wanted to believe he wouldn't make a phone call to one of the nationally distributed papers. But how hard would it be to pass up a juicy story of a fairytale turned sour?

"About before—"

"The kiss was a mistake. It should never have happened." Her breathing hitched at the flash of fire in his eyes.

"A mistake? So I should apologize?" He unhooked the camera from around his neck and opened the back door of his car.

"No, of course not. But it can't happen again."

The heat in his gaze frosted over. "You're right, and it won't."

Nate packed the camera into its case, and she remembered his hands, the strength locking their bodies together at the hip, but so gentle when they touched Drew. Remembered too, another's hands that patted her son's head indifferently then hours later turned into claws fisting her long hair. She'd been sucked in by a man's charm and charisma and deliciously addictive kisses before.

"Just so we're clear." Clutching the ear protectors and goggles to her stomach, she turned away.

"Crystal." His voice clipped the word to shards.

# Chapter 5

Nate was punctual at mealtimes, insisted on washing up afterward, and he never turned down a rousing board game with Drew. The man was unfaultable as a boarder.

During the early morning hours when insomnia struck, Lauren had paced along the French doors, kinda hoping he'd find an excuse to come up. He didn't. And two days after that scorching-hot kiss, Lauren still couldn't goad any reaction from him other than polite indifference. She wanted to kick him in the shins.

At her desk, tackling her and Todd's accounts, Lauren sighed and stretched the kinks from her back. She'd liked the hesitant camaraderie that had developed in their week of working together. Now it'd disappeared, and their every interaction was tense and forced. His coolness could've stemmed from male pique, but she doubted Nate was the type of man to sulk at a woman's rejection.

Shouldn't his indifference make things less complicated?

She shut down her laptop and got up to check the chicken pot pie in the oven. Drew, outfitted in his Superman cape, waited outside for the rumble of Nate's Range Rover. Thank God Nate's coolness didn't extend to her son.

"He's coming!" Drew streaked across the deck with Java trotting alongside, his tail a wagging blur. Even her treacherous dog warranted more attention from Nate than she did.

_Spot of pique yourself, girl? Thought you didn't want his laser-like attention focused on you?_

She removed the pie dish and mumbled a curse at her pathetic attempt to reignite the flicker of warmth in Nate's eyes. Since The Kiss, their eye contact rarely lasted longer than a second.

Nate stepped onto the deck as she placed a bowl of green salad on the dining table. Drew launched himself at Nate's legs and all but shimmied up his tall frame.

Nate lifted her son onto his shoulders. "Hey, little mate, what did you cook for dinner?"

Drew giggled, wrapping his small hands under Nate's chin. "I can't cook, silly. Mummy made chicken pie."

"Smells great." Nate turned to her with a leftover smile from Drew's laughter, but it stopped short of thawing his gaze.

He kept her son entertained throughout dinner with stories of Nate's childhood exploits in faraway lands. Drew found the subject of snakes and other creepy-crawlies Nate had encountered endlessly fascinating.

"We never saw snakes in New York, did we, Mummy?"

Aware Nate's attention had switched back to her, she toyed with the remaining salad on her plate. "No, snakes don't like the city."

Nate's chair creaked as his weight shifted. "I've told enough stories tonight. Why don't you tell us a New York story, Lauren?"

Refusing to meet the challenge in his tone, she kept her face toward her son. "My stories aren't very exciting. I'm sure you'd rather hear more about the scorpions in the Philippines."

Drew mashed a chunk of pastry with the back of his spoon and slid a sideways glance at Nate. "I don't want Mummy's stories 'bout New York. It's a bad place, and I don't like it."

Nate's flinty gaze pinned her across the table.

"Fair enough," he said, after a beat. "If snakes don't like living in the Big Apple, I'm sure I wouldn't either."

Once they finished eating, Nate laced his fingers over his non-existent stomach with a satisfied sigh and chuckled as Drew mirrored his actions. Nate made her stay seated while he and Drew cleared the plates off the table.

Seven-thirty finally rolled around, and never had Lauren been so glad to announce, "Bedtime," to Drew. Teeth were brushed, a story read, and the nightlight switched on, and Lauren breathed out a sigh as she descended the stairs, registering silence from the other rooms. Thank goodness, Nate had gone.

Strict professionalism was impossible since the pleasant spark of heat between them had ignited into a wildfire. They'd crossed an invisible line with that kiss, and wildfires had a nasty habit of destroying lives if left unchecked.

Lauren stepped through the archway, only to freeze at an unexpected complication. A complication who sprawled on her couch with a steaming mug in his hand.

"I thought you'd gone down to the workshop already." Lauren's gaze darted from Nate's long, denim-clad legs to the extra mug on the coffee table.

"Nope. I made you tea—chamomile, right?"

Her hand fluttered to her lips. "I should get on with the dishes."

"I've done them. Come and have your tea."

Lauren accepted the mug and chose to sit on the couch opposite. "Thanks. It's been a long day."

As she sipped, she flicked him a glance over the rim.

He leaned back, crossed his ankles and kept her gaze trapped. "Will you tell me about New York?"

"Oh. Ah, surely you've been there?" Tell him about New York? She'd barely told her family about her disastrous, four-year marriage.

"Couple of times."

Then, in the way some guys intuitively did, he shut up and just watched her. Watched her with those dark-lashed, gorgeous green eyes.

_Damn._

"I don't know where to start."

"Start at the beginning."

"Right."

Where did her story begin? Where were the safe spots she could stand on like stepping stones in a turbulent river? What parts of her truth did she dare expose?

She sucked in a deep breath. "I got married at twenty—too young, I know." She cut him a sharp glance, but his impassive face showed no tell-tale sign of impending judgment. "I met John at a bar while I was with a bunch of friends."

Technically, it was a charity gala, and her agent insisted she and four other models in the agency attend. Jonathan Knight had swooped in on her like a bird of prey spotting a field mouse. At nineteen, and having her first taste of freedom since her mother had left her in New York, Lauren believed she could handle a man like Jonathan.

"To a naive girl from small town New Zealand, he appeared very sophisticated and worldly. Not to mention he was the clichéd tall, dark and handsome."

"He had dark hair and was tall?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you reacted so dramatically when I found you on the road?"

Her fingers looped around her knees and squeezed. "You're a similar build, have similar colored hair and similar sized...hands."

"Well, hell."

"But you have different eyes. John's were hard and nearly black. I could never read his mood."

A fine network of lines radiated from the corner of Nate's eyes, the spark of wry humor lighting the clear green depths.

"Yours are like the sea, deep enough to drown in. They're kind eyes." A flood of heat crept over her skin and she averted her gaze.

"I got swept away in the romance of it all. The extravagant gestures, the finest restaurants, his attention focused solely on me. I believed he loved me." She choked out a bitter laugh. "But his love was conditional and based on ownership."

She paused, remembering the little signs she'd overlooked. His frown if he arrived for a date and she'd dressed in an outfit he didn't like. How designer-stamped bags would arrive the next day, loaded with garments he'd selected. Garments he deemed suitable. The first flex of control over her life, something she'd missed at the time.

"We got married a few days after my twentieth birthday. He paid for Mum, Todd, Kathy and even Sophie to fly to New York for the wedding.

"What did they think of him?"

"Mum deemed him the catch of a lifetime. Todd didn't take to him, but he kept his mouth shut as he figured his own bias was at play. Kathy liked him well enough until he threw a mini fit about Sophie spilling her orange juice on his apartment's white carpet. He apologized profusely and even bought Sophie a huge stuffed animal from FAO Schwarz." She shook her head. "Kathy never said anything until years later."

"He charmed your whole family?"

"Oh, he charmed everyone around him." She shook her head ruefully. "I was so blinded, I refused to listen to what my gut told me—that although my mother adored him, my dad"—Lauren swallowed with a throat as coarse as sandpaper— "my dad would've cut off his own arm before letting me marry him."

"The rose-colored glasses started to peel away pretty quickly, I'm guessing."

"It was less than a year, and things changed. He started criticizing and degrading me in small, subtle ways—demanding to know my every move, insinuating I was unfaithful if he caught another man looking in my direction." She twisted and untwisted the same strand of her hair. "Married John was nothing like boyfriend or fiancé John. A completely different person compared to the man I'd fallen for."

Nate took another sip from his mug. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. I loved him—or thought I did. I kept telling myself it'd be okay. When I found out I was pregnant, it all changed again."

"Did he want the baby?"

Lauren shut her eyes. Travelled back to that afternoon as she'd met Jonathan at the door, the little plastic strip with its exciting news clutched in her hand.

_"Darling, we're going to have a baby!"_

_He peeled her arms from around his shoulders, his thumbs digging into her biceps hard enough to leave bruises. "You're a model, not a breeding heifer."_

_The tester fell from her numb fingers._

_Jonathan pulled out his cellphone, delivering her a look of pure frost. "I know a doctor who can deal with this quickly and privately."_

_"No!" She'd never defied him before. "I'll walk out this door right now. I'm keeping this baby."_

_They stared at each other a moment longer before Jonathan said, "I apologize, Alexandra. I didn't realize you felt so strongly. I was only thinking of your career."_

_He wasn't sorry. Pain squeezed her reply into a choked whisper. "This baby means more to me than my career." And it should mean more to you._

No. Drew's father hadn't wanted him.

Lauren opened her eyes and shook her head. "Once he found out about my pregnancy, it went downhill. He stopped asking where I was and started to work longer hours. After Drew was born, John had little to do with him, and Drew soon learned not to bother his father."

"Was he afraid of him?"

Lauren sighed. "Not at first. John didn't physically discipline him, but he didn't touch him with affection, either. To Drew, his father was just a person who occasionally entered his little world. A man who treated him much the way a bachelor uncle will absently pat the head of his nephew once a year at a Christmas get-together."

Nate shifted on the couch, and running a hand through his hair, he leaned forward. "Something happened to change that, didn't it?"

She pressed her lips together. "Yes. But I don't want to talk about it now. Let's just say one day I woke up and realized I'd made a terrible decision that would cost me everything if I didn't make a better one. So I made a better decision. I left with Drew, came home and divorced my husband."

"Not before he hurt you."

"No. I left a little too late."

Nate rose and sat beside her. The intensity of his gaze caused her fingers to bunch into fists on her knees.

He picked up her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. "Thank you for telling me."

Her blood buzzed from his nearness and the touch of his lips on her skin. He continued to hold her hand until her fingers uncurled. Silence between them transformed from awkward to electric, like the static that crackles in the atmosphere just before lightning strikes.

"I should never have kissed you," she blurted. "I should've walked away."

Nate's eyebrow twitched up, but he didn't speak.

"And it's not because I don't find you attractive; I do—"

Oh, for Pete's sake, would somebody put her out of her misery? She licked suddenly dry lips.

"But getting involved with you wouldn't work out well. Neither of us needs that kind of drama."

"You think?" He shifted closer, the rough denim of his jeans nudging her bare knee.

She should pull away. Should do anything other than stare at the chiseled line of his jaw, the thick column of his throat, and think... _It is such a bad idea, but just one more kiss?_

So why had her muscles frozen in place?

Because Nate Fraser had slipped under her guard and weaseled from her a grudging trust. Sure, his plans risked exposing her and Drew to media scrutiny, and if she dared dream of something other than a brief affair he'd trample her heart underfoot en route to the nearest airport.

Still, as he leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss on her temple, disappointment hollowed her stomach.

"Maybe you're right." He stood and stepped past her trembling legs, pausing at the back door. "Goodnight."

That, more than anything, stiffened her resolve. Nate Fraser wasn't a permanent fixture in her life. He was here for one reason only, and once the reason to stay disappeared, so would he.

"Five sleeps until Christmas and we're getting our tree today," Drew said over his bowl of two wheat biscuits.

"Oh. Nice." Nate scooped up another spoonful of cereal. How fast could he gulp back the coffee without burning the roof of his mouth?

He'd planned to skip breakfast this morning after the intense conversation with Lauren the night before, but Drew had been on the deck and busted Nate as he'd walked from the garage to his Range Rover.

"You can't go without breakfast," Drew hollered. "Mummy says it's the most 'portant meal of the day."

Okay, running for his car with a candy bar in his pocket could be considered cowardly. The alternative of facing Lauren, when against all good sense he wanted to kiss the heck out of her and be damned, made him edgy. But then the kid peeked through the deck railing with his big, sad eyes.

_Such a sucker, Nate._

Lauren said nothing as he kicked off his work boots and stepped into her kitchen, just smiled her mysterious, feminine smile and placed a mug of coffee on the counter.

Drew's slippered feet bumping rhythmically on the legs of his chair jerked him back to the here and now. "You wanna come?"

"I, ah—" He scrambled for an excuse.

"The tree's too heavy for me and Mummy to carry by ourselves." The boy kept his eyes downcast as he swung his feet.

"Drew." Lauren hurried over, an apologetic expression on her face. "Nate's got a lot of work to do, and we'll take the car. We'll manage fine."

Drew snuck him a glance. "Last year, we only had a fake tree. It didn't smell like Christmas."

Nate's mind flicked back to the token, foot-high fake Christmas tree with a red metal stand his parents carted from village to village, country to country until he'd reached age eight or nine and they had decided he was too old for such things. Those stiff, tinsel-wrapped-around-wire branches hadn't smelled much like Christmas either.

_Ah, hell_. He sighed. "I can spare you an hour. It's only neighborly, right?"

And that's how, thirty minutes later, he found himself following Drew and Lauren up an overgrown bush path at the back of Todd's property, lugging the chainsaw and trying desperately to keep his gaze away from the woman's curvy, denim-clad ass.

Java padded at his side, chuffing out a deep bark as Nate stumbled over a snarled root.

"A warning to watch my step or to keep my eyes to myself?" he muttered.

The dog plopped down to scratch his ear, his black eyes never leaving Nate's face.

"Yeah, thought so."

The path opened up ahead into a field that had been cleared for Kathy's fruit trees and a smattering of head-high pruned pines. Sweet, tangy, Christmas scent wafted over him. Drew darted between pine trees, running from one to another.

"This one, no—this one, this one!" Drew hopped from foot to foot. "C'mon guys, hurry up!"

It struck him then, as Lauren's laughter spilled into the breeze, that a real family would do this kind of thing. Hike out to a field together a few days before Christmas, the dad carrying the chainsaw, the dog peeing on every other clump of grass, the kid vibrating with excitement, and the mum so damn sexy in her blue jeans and _Jingle-Bell-Rocker_ tee shirt that the dad thought all his Christmas wishes had been granted already.

Except Nate wasn't the dad in this cozy family outing; he was just some guy. The neighbor.

_So get it together, man_. Because that's how he wanted it. That's how it had to be.

Lauren pointed at the chainsaw and tipped her chin at the tree Drew finally selected. "Knock yourself out."

Her brown hair blew across her face, and she brushed the strands aside with a grin. "I figure a baby pine shouldn't tax you too much."

Handling the chainsaw was harder than it looked when the woman's shapely behind and endlessly long legs kept distracting him. But he sawed through the tree trunk without evisceration, so bonus points for him.

The pine conquered, Drew and Java raced back along the path.

"Front or back?" Lauren said as he slipped the chainsaw guard on.

Like he'd let her carry the heaviest part of the tree while he took the spindly top. "Back."

She shrugged. "I can carry the chainsaw then."

Snorting out a laugh, he picked up the chainsaw and wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the tree trunk.

"Do I look like a ninety-pound weakling?"

Nate glanced up, and her cheeks were stained pink, almost as if she'd been staring at his ass as he'd bent over. Well, hell. Maybe she had been.

"Suit yourself." She stalked over to the other end of the pine and tugged it up, shooting him an arched look over her shoulder.

He grinned, and her flush deepened. Being at the back would certainly afford him an entertaining view.

"Lead the way."

Whistling as they trudged across the grass, Nate admired the graceful sway of her hips, the long stride that kept in perfect synchronization with his. Easy on the eyes, that was for sure.

"What will you do once Mac's property is done? Another coffee-table book?" she asked as they hit the start of the downward trail.

"That's the plan. After the sale, I'll finally be in a position to quit the twenty-four-seven life of a photojournalist."

"Won't you find it hard to give up the constant adrenaline rush?"

Nate chuckled. "It's not a glamorous job. There're long hours of boredom waiting around for something to happen—tolerable at twenty-something, but not so much now. I like the idea of being a free man and traveling the globe."

"Being a nomad makes you happy?"

"I've never known anything different or found anywhere I wanted to stay for more than a few weeks at a time."

_Until now_ , a little voice whispered in his ear. He squashed it, ignoring the tightness in his gut.

Any man with his lifestyle and a conscience knew family wasn't an option. He'd never drag a kid from country to country, or leave the child at home with its mother for long stretches of time.

His response must've given Lauren pause, because she stayed quiet for a few minutes. Then she said, "I guess your Christmases as a kid were very different from mine?"

A probable understatement. "Christmas wasn't welcome in some of the places we lived, so the day went on pretty much as normal."

She paused, turning to look at him. "It must've been hard—being on the move. Didn't you mind?"

"When I was little, I thought everybody did what my parents did, but yeah, I didn't like it much. I was always the new boy in the village schools and likely the only white, English-speaking kid around. I'd no sooner make friends than we'd be off to another village or another country."

"I'm sorry."

He shot her a wry grin. "Don't be. I had a better childhood than many others."

Lauren faced forward, and they continued to walk. "Did you come back to New Zealand often?"

He shook his head, not that she could see the gesture. "No, only occasionally while I was a kid. We stayed with family—uncles, grandparents, etcetera—because we didn't have anywhere to come back to. My parents sold our family home before we left for the mission field."

"And Christmas this year? You'll go to your parents' place—did they buy another house in the city?"

"They did, but I'll stay here and work. I don't do the whole silly season stuff."

Nate inhaled a deep breath of pine-scented air. Stuff that would involve _getting involved_.

"But what about your family?"

"I don't do family stuff, either—only child, remember? Besides, Mum and Dad have their own Christmas Day routine. They help out at a nearby soup kitchen, and I've done it with them enough times over the last five years not to have a guilt trip about giving it a miss."

"Well, I guess that makes it okay then." Sarcasm dripped from her voice like acid, her backbone as straight as a four-by-six length of timber.

"Well, I guess it does." He hefted the chainsaw higher, refusing to be sucked into her cozy-little-family-vortex.

Drew ran back toward them, Java at his heels barking as if he'd treed a possum. Too much cozy-little-family stuff was bad for the digestion. Especially since a tiny part of him had begun to stretch, yawn and wake up.

A tiny part that thought being part of a family might not be so bad after all.

Two days before Christmas, Bounty Bay would be chaos, but Lauren had to risk it. Drew was too damn sneaky, great at sniffing out Christmas presents, so this year she'd gotten sneaky in return. His gifts waited in Bounty Bay's one and only department store on layaway, so Master Sneaky Pants wouldn't find them.

Today she'd pick them up, while Louisa and her tribe of kids—who'd arrived yesterday for the holidays—kept Drew entertained. A quick trip to town, in and out of the store, nothing too stressful.

Lauren tried to start the station wagon and discovered she had a stuffed alternator—which meant driving herself to Bounty Bay was out of the question.

The best laid plans and all that crap.

In the distance sounded the steady bang-bang-bang of a hammer. Nate, working on his house...Of course he was, the Grinch.

She slammed the hood down and snatched her handbag and floppy sunhat from the passenger seat. Nothing else to do but hike to Mac's house and see if Nate felt neighborly enough to let her borrow his vehicle.

Fifteen minutes later, with the sun beating down on her, Lauren completed her trudge up Nate's driveway. Small mercies, at least—the man had a shirt on today.

Nate didn't hear her approach or her forced cheery greeting. Wire cords dangled from his ears, and she figured scaring the hell out of him was fair turnaround.

She dumped her bag and hat on the ground then strolled up behind him. A fizzle of pure, feminine appreciation filled her at the flex of his triceps each time he swung the hammer. The curve of his butt pressed against his cargo shorts, and a tan leather belt rode low on his hips... _Good grief_. She'd certainly developed some weird fetish for men in tool-belts.

She waited until he paused and took a step back to admire his building prowess.

"Like a boss, Nate," he said—too loud since he obviously couldn't hear the sound of his own voice. "Like a boss."

Lauren bit back a snicker and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hi, neigh—"

Three things happened almost simultaneously.

Nate dropped the hammer.

Nate whirled.

Nate backed her up against his freshly nailed in wall, using his big, hard body to keep her in place, before she could utter more than a panicked, "Eeep!"

Pressed together as they were—chest-to-chest, belly-to-belly, groin to tool belt, she gasped, the strength leaving her bones like a giant straw had sucked out the marrow. Tinny music blasted from his ear buds as she stared opened mouthed, losing the will to struggle when it was so much sweeter, so much more electrifying just to swim in the depths of his eyes. Eyes that creased cutely, and then— _dammit_ —moved away as he let go and stepped to the side.

"Sorry about that." He pulled out the ear-buds. "Old reflexes die hard."

"My bad," she wheezed, attempting to prevent her eyes from rolling back in bliss and her legs from spilling her to the ground. "A little revenge mission gone wrong."

He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. His sexily mussed hair.

_Losing it, big time, Lauren._

"Thought you were heading to town?" Nate bent down and retrieved his hammer, giving her another heart-palpitating view of his rear end.

"The station wagon's alternator is stuffed, so it's not going anywhere. Can I borrow your car, please?" She smoothed down her shorts and straightened her tee shirt, which had rucked up around her waist in the whole _smooshed-up-against-her-hot-neighbor_ incident. "I need to order a new part in town; plus, I've got some Christmas shopping to do for Drew."

Nate unbuckled his tool belt and tossed it against the base of the wall. "Can't let you take the Range Rover, but I can give you a lift—I've got some stuff I need to do in town, too."

_Oh_. Well, she could hardly say no. She stretched on a Christmas-spirit-soused smile. "Thanks. I'll go wait by your car."

Years of making small talk at charity galas and black-tie events served Lauren well as Nate drove them to Bounty Bay.

The weather, the hottest vacation spots, or the who's who in New York Fashion Week were all suitable topics for the young wife of one of Manhattan's top financial gurus. Mentioning you didn't like the woman your husband was turning you into, or how the cost of designer gowns and jewels worn by the charity gala's female contingent could refurbish the poorest public schools in the district was just gauche.

But Nate wasn't content to chat about the unseasonably wet summer, and he kept changing topics, challenging her views on the latest current affairs or a movie being shredded by critics. She found herself having way more fun than she'd had in ages.

By the time he found a parking spot in front of the department store, she'd nearly forgotten her dislike of coming to town. She climbed out of his car, and he leaned across, passing over her purse and sunhat.

"Leave Drew's bike at the store and we'll pick it up on the way out of town. I'll meet you back here in an hour," he said. "I'm buying lunch. No arguments."

"Okay." She jammed on her hat and ducked away, hoping Nate wouldn't notice her goofy smile at the idea of spending more time with him.

Lauren walked to the rear of the department store, dodging past summer holidaymakers toting armfuls of last-minute Christmas bargains. Being tall for a woman, she naturally turned a few heads, but she could only pray no one would see past her huge dark sunglasses and sunhat.

Celebrities past and present were stuck on ridiculously high pedestals in a small country like New Zealand, and remaining anonymous was wishful thinking. A year ago, an episode of a popular, national soap was filmed in the area. Fans mobbed two actors on Bounty Bay's main street—according to Kathy's detailed report. A month went by after that before Lauren risked venturing into town again, just in case.

But almost thirty minutes after Nate dropped her off, the _James Bond_ theatrics of sneaking around had drained Lauren of energy. Then three young blonde women clutching Vogue, Harper's Bazaar and Allure magazines headed toward her on the crowded sidewalk. Her photos had once featured in all three magazines, so the risk of the fashionista trio recognizing Lauren was intolerably high.

She tugged her hat lower and slunk into a craft shop. The bright embroidery cottons and fuzzy balls of yarn always soothed her. Lauren hurried away from the shop entrance to browse through sampler patterns. Kathy had organized a baby shower for her youngest sister in a few weeks' time; maybe Lauren could find a birth announcement pattern to cross-stitch. On the nights when sleep got sucked away by horrible memories, the gentle motion of forming tiny X shapes helped her relax.

She selected a baby-themed sampler pattern and idly flicked through the remaining leaflets. Funny...after Nate's arrival, her insomnia wasn't caused so much by nightmares as it was by thoughts of a certain green-eyed photojournalist and a blow-her-brains-out kiss.

Her fingers hesitated over a leaflet entitled _A Classic Heart-Warmer._

Lauren slid it from the basket and examined the list of silk requirements on the back. She had every single color in her sewing kit. But why make a gift for someone who obviously disliked the holidays and the family closeness associated with it?

The image of a little boy in a foreign land, everything strange and unfamiliar, overrode her good sense. Before she could talk herself out of it, she purchased both patterns.

Nate waited in the shade under the department store awning. Lauren walked toward him, head stooped and shoulders hunched. He unlocked the car with the key remote and she tossed her shopping bags into the back seat.

"Hungry?" he asked her.

"I'm too hot to be hungry."

She flapped her shirt hem, sucking his gaze down to the smooth expanse of her stomach.

"Let's just pick up Drew's bike and grab a sandwich on the way out of town."

He shook his head, blurring his view of her luscious curves. A smart move, considering his shorts were an ineffective item of clothing to conceal his growing interest.

"I'd rather find somewhere out of this heat and sit down.'"

She sighed, but didn't smile. "Got a place in mind?"

"Of course." He gestured in the opposite direction. "This way."

They strolled along the main street, past fake-snow-sprayed window designs and cheesy Christmas music piped out of a few stores' sound systems. Nate snickered. A Christmas winter wonderland in the Southern Hemisphere? _Please_. The temperature had to be in the eighties.

He turned, ready with a sarcastic comment about the silly season, but his mouth clicked shut at the sight of Lauren's floppy-hat-covered head swinging from side to side, scanning the sidewalk.

_Weird_. Who was she looking for?

He stopped outside the only—and therefore most popular—full-service restaurant in town. Glass accordion doors opened onto the sidewalk, and the rumble of conversation spilled out from the nearly full dining area beyond.

" _Kai Moana_?"

Her tone lacked enthusiasm. Anyone would think he'd taken her to a run-down burger joint.

"Best seafood in town."

Her gaze shot left, and she backed away from the entrance. "I'm allergic to seafood."

"They do steak and salad too."

"Can't we find somewhere else? I hate crowds."

Her sunglasses masked her eyes, but the wobble in her voice, her teeth nibbling on that lush bottom lip, all showed the emotion behind her impassive expression. The answer hit him like a lightning strike on a summer's day. The furtive glances while walking through town, the dark shades and oversized hat, the balking at a busy restaurant—she didn't want to be seen in public with him, the smarmy _New Zealand Bachelor of the Year_ entrant who'd punched Savannah Payne's husband.

She took another step backward, but he pressed a splayed hand to her lower back. "The lunch hour is nearly over; it'll empty out soon."

Lauren flinched from his touch as a small group of people left the restaurant. His jaw involuntarily tightened as a couple gave them a bemused once over.

_Yeah, that was her problem, all right._

"We can argue in the hot sun or we can go inside to that table in the back corner," he said.

"Fine."

She stalked ahead and flung open the door, which gave him a truly superior view of her legs but didn't do much to moderate his temper.

To say conversation became stilted while they waited for his scallops and her grilled steak was an understatement. He may as well have been sitting with a cardboard cut-out.

He stopped fidgeting with the saltshaker. "Seriously? You're going to sit through our whole lunch with sunglasses and that ugly damn hat on?"

"The glare is hurting my eyes."

"Bullshit. The sunlight is nowhere near us back here."

Even through the brown-tinted lenses, her gaze shredded him. His gut tightened, but he told himself he _was_ _not_ hurt by her behavior, just insulted.

Lauren pulled off the hat and dropped it on the empty chair beside her. After a pause, she slid the glasses from her face and placed them on the table. "Happy?"

"Are you really that embarrassed to be seen with me?"

The popped-open eyes and perfect "O" of her mouth was almost comical.

"I'm not embarrassed to be—"

The buzzer above the restaurant door signaled new customers entering, and Lauren's eyes grew wider. A trio of blondes in teeny-tiny shorts sauntered inside, chattering like magpies. Two of the women picked up a menu from the serving counter. The third glanced over in their direction, looked away briefly, then did a double take and elbowed one of her friends.

_Shit._

Snatches of their shrill remarks turned the muscles between his shoulder blades to concrete. He glanced back at Lauren, who had one hand cupped to her cheek, shielding her eyes, and her lips pressed bloodlessly together.

Then the first blonde arrived in a rush of sun-lotion-scented air.

"'Scuse me, aren't you the guy who was in the Bachelor of the Year contest? The one who smacked down Savannah Payne's husband?"

The woman jiggled with excitement, her backup blondes crowding around their table.

He'd kill his old university-days mate, Glen, _again_ for nominating Nate to be a contestant in that stupid contest. A couple of nearby diners craned their necks toward their corner table.

"Ladies, I don't—"

"O.M.G." The second blonde cut him off, pushing forward and staring at Lauren. "You're Alexandra Knight! I loved you in Michael Kors' fall collection a couple years back—"

"She totally is!" Blonde-Number-One chimed in.

Blonde-Number-Three gushed, "Why'd you dye your hair, Sexy Lexy? You rocked as a blonde."

Lauren's skin had gone pale and waxy, her eyes like those of a small creature caught in a hunter's spotlight. "No, you're wrong. Please—" Her voice was a choked rasp over the women's rapid-fire questions.

Nate sat frozen in place, ice water flushing through his veins, lowering his internal temperature into the realms of hypothermia.

_Alexandra Knight._

The New Zealand girl who made it big on the world's catwalks then mysteriously disappeared. He had few preconceived ideas about her, mainly because runway models didn't figure much in his world of military coups and genocide.

Alexandra _Lauren_ Knight. Sexy Lexy.

Of course she was. Substitute the brown hair for a waterfall of long, blonde locks, remove her lovely curves and replace them with the skeletal shape designers thought appealed to the masses, erase the scar from her cheekbone and _voila_! His Lauren became a model.

One of the women produced a smartphone and tapped the screen. "Can we get a photo with you?"

The other two clustered at Lauren's side in anticipation.

"I'm not who you think I am." Lauren's gaze locked onto the phone's bright pink cover, and it was as if defibrillator paddles slapped onto her chest. She bolted upright, her wild glance careening off his. "Sorry."

Then she darted around the startled waitress delivering their lunch and slammed out of the restaurant.

While the blondes blustered in indignation, Nate approached the service counter. Apologizing for the commotion, he paid for their meals and left a generous tip.

He wanted answers. So finding Lauren-Alexandra-Lexy, or whoever the hell she was, had become his top priority.

# Chapter 6

Lauren pressed against the shop wall opposite Nate's Range Rover and did her best to blend in to the window display of summer tops and patterned bikinis. _The Art of Being a Chameleon 101._

_Two years, dammit_. Two years she'd kept herself and her son away from unwanted publicity. Two years blown in one moment by three giggly teens.

What on earth would Nate think of her now?

Bad enough the stunned look on his face, then the shuttering of his gaze as recognition poisoned his system. She turned her head slowly as her peripheral vision located him striding along the sidewalk. She'd know soon enough what Nate Fraser thought of her.

He unlocked the car with his remote and moved around to the driver's door.

Lauren hurried into the vehicle, tugging her hat even lower over her face—but not before she caught Nate's grimace at the action.

He climbed in and passed over one of the bags he was holding. "Eat this before you pass out."

She opened the bag and stared at the plastic-wrapped sandwiches with a mouth bereft of saliva. Choking them down would be like trying to swallow dry crackers. But it was sweet of him to buy her something after she'd completely ruined their lunch.

"Thanks," she said.

He held out a hand. "Where's the store slip. I'll go get Drew's bike."

She didn't consider arguing; all she wanted was to get home and figure out what the hell to do now.

Once Nate returned and stowed Drew's new bike in the rear, he got back into the driver's seat. He didn't start the vehicle, just stared straight ahead. His expression was stiffly neutral, his arms folded across his chest, which only emphasized the breadth and power of the muscle beneath his shirt.

Lauren's heart tripped over itself, her mind racing to find a way to defuse the situation. Each time she opened her mouth with a word about to fall off her tongue, she'd close it again, the remains of the sentence slipping from her grasp.

"She's not me." She finally gasped the words out, keeping her gaze directed at the dashboard. "At least, not anymore."

Silence from the other side of the car.

"Alexandra and Sexy Lexy, that is."

"Who was she then?" His voice was pitched low, with a cool edge that had her fingers locking together in her lap until it felt as if her knuckles would shatter.

"Alexandra was the girl my mother wanted me to be. A graceful, elegant model who'd strut the catwalks of New York, Milan and Paris. Alexandra was the woman who Jonathan Knight married and molded. Sexy Lexy was the embarrassing nickname the press knew would sell more copies of their sleazy papers. Alexandra and Sexy Lexy allowed other people's expectations to dictate who they were."

"So who is Lauren?"

Tears stung the corner of her eyes and she furiously blinked them back. "Lauren is _me_. The girl happy to hand her father grease-covered tools in his garage, working on his Caddy. She grew into someone who never wanted to be a famous model or a trophy wife—she's a woman who loves her son, her family, her life in Bounty Bay."

He unfolded his arms and gripped the steering wheel. "That's the Lauren I know."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." She bit her lip and swiped away an errant tear streaking down to her jaw.

"Given your situation having a nosy reporter move next door—"

She sniffed. "Photojournalist."

That earned her a crooked smile. "Right. Having a _photojournalist_ move next door—one who plans to bring the hounds of hell right to your doorstep—I understand why you didn't tell me about your past. I understand, but it still pisses me off because I wonder if you were _ever_ going to tell me."

She leaned back into the seat and massaged her temple. "I didn't trust you, at first...and then it was too late to say, 'Hey, you know that skinny blonde model that disappeared? That was me.' I didn't know you then like I know you now. I didn't know at the beginning you were one of the good guys."

He snorted dismissively, but the tense line of his broad shoulders relaxed a little. Part of her wanted to lean across and cover his hand, to draw his tense fingers off the steering wheel and twine them with hers.

Instead, she tucked her fists between her knees and continued. "I've kept a low profile for his sake. I don't want Drew growing up with the stigma of having other people know that Alexandra and Jonathan Knight are his mother and father. Together, we sucked at parenting. Drew's much better off with plain Lauren Taylor as his mum."

"This low profile means isolating yourself from everyone other than your family, doesn't it?"

"My family knows the real me."

"I'd like to think I know the real you, at least some of the real you." He peeled a hand from the steering wheel and draped it over the backrest of her chair. He lightly stroked her shoulder. "I don't give a damn about who you used to be."

A shiver trembled through her at his touch. "Well." She sucked in a deep breath. "Most people wouldn't get past the ex-model, ex-celebrity factor."

"I did—took all of two minutes. Alexandra Knight doesn't exist anymore; _you do_. I bet if you'd give people a chance the novelty that you used to wear fancy clothes for snooty New York designers would wear off just as quickly."

"You're a pain in the butt, you know that?"

"Why? Because I tell the truth without sugar-coating it?"

"No, because you're too damn attractive, too damn intuitive and too damn complicating."

"You think I'm attractive." His sexy grin stretched across his face as he tugged on a lock of her hair.

She pulled back, trying to look indignant, rather than like a woman who badly wanted to press herself against his hand like a dog searching for affection. "In a scruffy sort of way—don't go getting a big head."

"And how am I complicating?"

"By just being you—and for making me break my rule of not getting involved with anyone."

"Ah. So we _are_ involved, then?" He twisted in his seat, giving her an inscrutable look.

Why the heck had she admitted that? Had anything really changed? His words rang in her head. _I don't know how to do the family thing and I've no desire to learn._

"We're something, I guess. I'm not sure what."

"Me either." Nate sighed and started the car. "But while we think on it, how about we eat our lunch at the beach?"

"I'd like that."

"On the condition you lose the ugly hat. It's ruining my appetite."

"Fine." She tossed the hat into the back seat.

The return trip was a lot quieter than the ride to town. They did talk about the weather, because every other topic seemed loaded with landmines.

"The water looks tempting," she said as they approached a side road leading down to Bounty Bay's beach, one of the only beaches in the area where vehicles were permitted to drive on the hard-packed sand. They drove off the concrete ramp, the Range Rover wallowing briefly as the tires left the solid surface.

The tide was out, and in the distance, kids rode boogie-boards in the gentle surf. Many vehicles were parked on the wide expanse of sand between the dunes and the water, and people sprawled on towels while teenagers idly tossed rugby balls to and fro.

"We could drive a bit farther around the coast. Get away from the holiday crowds."

He shrugged and joined the line of vehicles at the foot of a scrubby hill, headed toward the rocky reef ledge exposed by the low tide. The Range Rover bumped and jolted across the low rocks that made up the drivable ledge. They stopped and waited for a pickup loaded with surfboards and wetsuit-clad teenagers to edge past.

"Those girls at the restaurant today..." She hesitated, unwilling to stir things up again, but trying to understand. "They recognized you, too—you know it'll be all over the social networking sites by this evening. Don't you mind?"

"I won't live my life in hiding."

The words prickled like an accusation, and she tucked herself deeper into the sun-warmed leather seat.

"I've done nothing I'm ashamed of," he added.

He felt no remorse for brawling with Savannah Payne's husband? No shame at fooling around with another man's wife? No—she didn't believe that. There must be some other explanation. Now would be the time to ask, if she could garner the courage to pry. But the words jammed her throat shut. Even the persistent jab of curiosity couldn't blot out the knowledge that questioning his relationship with the actress would mean admitting the significance of her interest. That over the last couple of weeks she'd developed an invested interest in _him_.

"The next bay has a nice swimming beach and some rock pools."

Nate grunted noncommittally, and they rounded another cluster of rocks, the scrubby hill changing into a steep mountain of golden sand dunes stretching to the sky. The contrast and beauty of this area still managed to send a visceral thrill of pleasure through her.

He brought the car to a slow stop and parked. "Will this do?"

"Yes. This is great." She slipped off her sandals and stepped out, relishing the gritty sand beneath her toes.

Nate found an old blanket in the back and spread it a short distance from the car. They sat and ate, throwing the odd piece of bread to a small group of jostling gulls.

Once the last of their lunch had been dispersed to the greedy birds, Nate stood and collected their empty paper bags. "Think I'll go for a swim."

He opened the Range Rover's back door and offered her a towel. "You coming?"

She waved it away. "Oh, no. I won't swim. I'll just paddle my feet to cool down."

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. After hauling off his shirt, he tossed it into the car and then draped the towel she'd rejected around his neck. The shorts clung low on his hips, the towel highlighting more of his toned flesh than it covered.

Always aware of his masculinity on some level, she could usually keep the just-friends illusion around Todd and Kathy while Nate remained fully clothed. Now, her unwilling gaze was drawn to the breadth of his shoulders and the smooth ripple of muscle bracing his torso as he toed off his sandshoes.

Lauren walked to the water's edge, her mouth papery and pulse skittering in erratic leaps. The height of a cluster of rock pools near the shoreline concealed her from the traffic farther along the beach. Perfect if she'd been alone, but with Nate close behind her, privacy wasn't the safest option. She inhaled great gulps of salty air, trying to wrangle her heartbeat under control. She needed to stop this silly infatuation, these school-girlish blushes every time he got within touching distance.

Nate arrived beside her, hands on hips, his brow furrowed. "Are you still worried about those girls? Or maybe that I'm going to start calling you Sexy Lexy?"

She shook her head, gazing at the small waves encircling her feet.

"Why is it whenever we're alone, you rarely smile?"

Lauren dragged her gaze up to meet his. No hostility glittered there, just a flicker of bewildered hurt.

_Because I'm scared_. She kept her lips stitched shut. _I'm scared that if I let you in, if I trust you with the real me it won't be enough—that I won't be enough, and you'll try to change me like he did._

And God help her, she didn't want to make the same mistake twice.

"That's not true. I smile a lot," she said.

Nate rolled his shoulders, trying to force the tension out of his muscles. "Just not at me. You don't have anything to fear from me, Lauren."

Was she still scared that he'd reach for his cellphone to contact the tabloids? He'd told her the truth earlier when he said he didn't care who she'd been, but he hadn't told her the whole truth. Because the whole truth was he cared about who she was now. He cared more than a guy leaving in a few short weeks should.

She nodded, but her eyes skipped away to the horizon. Maybe he needed to take her mind off worrying.

"When did you last do something spontaneous, something fun?"

"I have lots of fun." She thrust out her chin. "Why, the other day Drew and I—"

"Without Drew. Just you, or you with another"—he paused and grinned down at her—"adult."

"I think you and I have different definitions of fun."

A sea breeze flicked hair across her face, and a strand caught in the corner of her mouth. Before rationality censored the move, his hand reached out. Like the softest wisp of combed silk, Lauren's hair slid over his finger as he tucked the lock behind her ear.

"Maybe not so different."

His hand lingered at the curve of her jaw and a tremor ran through her. Her lips parted slightly, moist with invitation. One step and he'd take her, crush his mouth to hers. He'd mold those killer curves into the shape of his body, cranking up the lust that'd driven him half mad. But make the move now, when she was still so tense he could almost see her muscles contorting?

Not quite yet. He had a better plan.

He swooped, gathering her into his arms before the dazed expression left her face. By the time she reacted, struggling, pushing against his chest and finally, giggling, he'd splashed knee deep into the ocean.

"Nate! Put me down!" She squirmed and punched his shoulder.

"Okay."

He made a move to drop her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck in a strangle hold. He bit back a grin. So far, the plan was working well.

"No, no! I don't have a bathing suit on."

"What about a birthday suit?" He continued to wade into deeper water.

Instead of blushing, a belly laugh burst out of her. "Nice try. Now take me back to the beach."

"You know..." Another wave rose up and swept past him, and he swayed, the side of her body brushing with delicious friction against his chest. "I don't think I will."

He looked down at her upturned face, the crinkle of laugh lines around her eyes as she squinted up at him. It fired off an inexplicable chain reaction in his heart to see her smile.

She hissed out a breath as a large wave approached. "You wouldn't dare."

They watched the roll of pristine blue curl in a roiling spill of white. "Now there's a challenge I can't resist."

Before she screamed, he turned his back on the breaker, and still cradling her in his arms, fell into the surf. Cool water bubbled over his skin, and an elbow jabbed into his ribs. Nate struggled to his feet, hauling a spluttering, mad-as-hell woman with him.

While he debated the wisdom of an apology, Lauren planted both hands on his chest, and something jerked against the back of his ankle. With a shocked, "Hey!" he toppled back under the waves. Thrashing upright, he coughed what felt like a gallon of salt water from his lungs.

"Hah!" Lauren sneered, planted in front of him triumphant and Amazonian-like. "Serves you right."

A sopping tee shirt hugged the heaving swell of her breasts and her shorts clung to her thighs. An ear-to-ear grin threatened to split his face in two.

_Oh, yeah_. Definitely one of his better plans.

"I spent summers at the beach with Todd and his mates, all of whom thought it good sport to pick on his little sister."

"I bet you showed them, huh?" He splashed toward her, swiping water droplets from his face.

Her eyes tapered to slits, and she adjusted her posture so her weight spread evenly over the shifting sand. "I totally did. I'll show you, too, by putting you back under if you try to dunk me again."

"You got lucky. Caught me off guard."

Her gaze darted left to a spot behind him. Like a sucker, he took his eyes off her, his head turning a fraction. But as she lunged to trip him, he was ready. Wrapping his fingers around her wrists, he reeled her in, using his heavier weight to stop them both from falling. The impact of her body colliding with his and her breasts squishing against his chest with only a thin layer of cotton between them, set every part of his body on high alert.

Waves eddied and rolled, buffeting them with a sensual rocking motion, pushing her hips into his rigid length. Eyes hooded, her gaze revealed what she didn't say out loud. That neither of them controlled this game that was no longer a game.

"Truce?" Her voice came out husky and breathless.

"No." His lips traced a lingering trail from her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth. "I play to win."

He released his grip on her wrists and cradled her jaw in his palms. This time, he didn't kiss her gently. He offered no apology, didn't spare her the intensity of igniting desire. There was only heat—building, flowing, combusting, overwhelming.

He deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with confidence. He craved more. Her palms slid down his chest and around to splay against his back. She melted into him, until he couldn't separate one heartbeat from another.

Fisting a handful of her hair, Nate tore his mouth from hers with a groan and licked the taste of her off his lips in drugged delight. God, she was the sweetest opiate, dulling his restlessness in a pleasurable haze, twining around his heart with a grip of velvet-covered steel. He should pull back, but the incoming tide swept his willpower away.

"So beautiful," he whispered against her salty skin, the tip of his tongue following a path along her collarbone. His hand slid under the wet folds of her top, touching the cool flesh beneath.

"Please." Her nails dug into his spine.

He marveled at the sleekness of her skin, the rapid movement of her ribcage as she gasped for breath. He wanted her. Desperately. But he intended to make love to her with the respect she deserved. Not ravish her in a semi-public place like a hormone-fuelled teenager with no sense of propriety.

Nate peeled her hands from his waist, held them in his and kissed the back of her knuckles.

"Nate?"

Her dark pupils, wide enough to drown in, mirrored a combination of desire and confusion.

"If we keep kissing like that, we'll end up becoming a public spectacle."

"Oh. Right."

The agreement sounded wrenched from her, but maybe that was wishful thinking on his part. She stepped backward and shivered as another wave swept past, dropping her gaze to their still-linked hands. Already, her carefully constructed armor was slotting back into place, guarding her actions, keeping him at a safe distance. Only he wouldn't let her push him away any longer.

"Lauren."

She glanced up, and he stroked his thumb across her knuckles.

"We're not done yet. I want a rain check."

With one final, unreadable stare, she pulled her hands free and dove gracefully under the next wave, swimming away from him with languid strokes.

_Low moans, the scent of wildflowers, lush, warm skin beneath his roaming hands. His heart hammering, pounding, barking—_

Barking? Nate yanked the pillow off his face with a groan. Scratching noises from the garage door, then another volley of deep woofs assaulted his ears. A brief pause and the banging started again, followed by Drew's high-pitched voice.

"Nate. Open the door! It's Christmas, and Santa's been! Hurry up, Nate!"

Dragging a hand down his jaw, which had a similar texture to a baby cactus and nothing whatsoever like his dream of Lauren's smooth curves, Nate swung his legs off the futon.

"All right, all right. I'm coming."

He cracked open an eye. Darkness. His feet were a pale blur on the floor, which meant he should still be dreaming of wildflowers and Lauren's breasts. _Hell_. What time was it? He flicked on a lamp, hauled on his jeans and shirt and picked his way over to open the garage door. Drew jiggled in pajamas and slippers on the other side, his huge grin visible even in the predawn light.

Nate glanced up at Lauren's house, taking in the still-dark windows. "Does your mum know you're up and about at this unholy hour?"

Drew shook his head and tugged on his hand. "Come on, Nate!"

He chuckled. "What's the hurry?"

A forlorn sigh. "Santa's left presents under the tree, but Mummy said no presents until we've had breakfast, and I can't reach the wheat biscuits."

"Ah." He scraped fingers through a severe case of bed hair. "Guess I could help you out. Just let me get something."

Nate retraced his steps to the futon and dragged a bag out from underneath.

Drew pointed to the colorfully wrapped object poking out. "What's that?"

"It's a gift for your mum."

"Oh." He arched his neck to peep into the bag. "There's only one present."

Drew's hopeful expression would've been funny, if it hadn't been a painful reminder of his own childhood, spent wishing for traditions and the little luxuries that were out of the question in most countries his parents served in. He ruffled Drew's soft hair and waited for his natural curiosity to overcome his manners. The little boy stuck his hands behind his back and kept his lips pressed together.

He'd only meant to tease, but silence from a kid who shouldn't think twice about asking for his share caused the combination lock guarding the vault of his heart to click one notch closer to opening.

"I put one for you under the tree before I went to bed."

"You did?" A shy smile lit up his face.

"Sure. We're mates, aren't we?"

Drew nodded slowly.

Nate extended his hand. "C'mon, then. Let's go up before your mum discovers you're gone and flips out."

The smell of bacon frying and Drew's chatter drifting upstairs woke Lauren from a deathlike sleep.

Drew? Cooking? She was halfway to her bedroom door before her brain kicked into gear and started reasoning. Drew couldn't reach the cast iron skillet or the box of matches needed to light the gas element. So someone must be with him.

She paused and cocked her head.

A chuckle rumbled up, followed by a deep voice saying, "How many eggs do you think you can eat?"

Nate's presence with her son should've calmed her erratic heartbeat. It didn't. They'd kept a respectful distance apart after their beach encounter, and the flurry of work before Christmas also served as a distraction. But seeing him, talking with him each evening, even sniffing his damn shower gel just to catch a whiff of his scent, drove her nuts.

Lauren pulled on shorts and a blouse and hurried downstairs. Dawn lightened the family room through the French doors, the first rays of sunlight sparkling on Drew's glitter-dusted and slightly lopsided tree decorations. She turned on the fairy lights and wrapped her arms around her waist, staring at the gifts beneath the branches. Sniffing the fresh, clean scent of pinesap, she blinked when the colored lights distorted to a soft blur. She wasn't going to get weepy on this, their first real Christmas together.

A year ago she'd ignored the holidays until Todd practically kidnapped the two of them and dragged them back to his house. Surrounded by Kathy's sisters and their husbands and kids, Lauren, thrust into the center of bedlam, had found _whānau_. Family.

"Mummy, Mummy, you're finally up." Drew launched himself at her legs, sighing with great drama. "I've been making us breakfast for ages."

"Oh, have you? Well, it smells wonderful."

She brushed away the slight wetness under her eyes and allowed Drew to tow her through the archway into the kitchen.

With his back to her, Nate flipped a bacon rasher. Once again, he'd tied her pink apron around his waist, but nothing distracted her from his broad shoulders flexing beneath a black tee shirt and a superb _"I wanna take a bite outta it"_ butt in faded denim. Saliva pooled in her mouth, and she couldn't just blame it on the crispy bacon.

Heck of a sexy thing, watching a man make breakfast.

"I thought you couldn't cook?"

He looked over his shoulder, and the smile curving his lips hooked her heart straight into her throat.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he said. "Merry Christmas to you, too."

She stared, her tongue gluing fast to the roof of her mouth before she peeled it away and replied, "Merry Christmas."

"Nate knows how to cook. He made monkey-roni, remember?"

Lauren glanced down at her son's earnest expression. Yeah, she remembered. She remembered the tightness that constricted her chest watching helplessly as Nate took over her kitchen, strong-arming his way into her life. She remembered too the inexplicable flicker of sexual awareness that'd burgeoned into something else. Something she didn't dare examine.

Urging a light tone into her voice, she said, "Ah, yes. The memorable monkey-roni."

"I'm redeeming myself with bacon and eggs." Nate opened the oven door and transferred the cooked bacon to a waiting platter. "Even I can cook the basics."

"Another skill set I was unaware of."

He half turned toward her, waggled his eyebrows and drawled, "Lady, I've got many skills you're unaware of."

While she laughed and strolled into the kitchen to the flatware drawer, a shiver swept down her body, tightening her nipples, sending warmth purling through her core. She couldn't get the image of him, the visceral memory of his rough hands caressing her skin, out of her mind.

She kept her back to him and plucked knives and forks from the drawer. "Let's hope you do eggs better than you do a cheese sauce."

After breakfast, which she had to concede was delicious, Nate helped wash the dishes then shoved a gift bag into her hands.

"Here. I'll leave you and Drew to it."

Drew's reaction was instantaneous. "But you gotta stay and watch me open my presents from Santa, Nate, you gotta!" His lower lip pooched out, and his eyes grew shiny. "I want you to."

Lauren looked to Nate in mute appeal. Drew didn't demand anything from men who weren't family members. He wouldn't even approach the male staff at his preschool, always gravitating toward the women. Drew had learned early to rely on the female sex for reassurance and comfort.

Nate froze beside the back door. "I don't want to overstay my welcome."

"We'd both like you to stay." She kept her voice pitched low, trying to prevent her own desire for his company from showing.

Drew wrapped his arms around her thigh.

At the flexing of Nate's hands, she added, "Please. It won't take long."

Seeming to relax in increments, he found a crooked smile. "If Drew lets me have one of those candy canes hanging on the tree, I'll stick around a bit longer."

"You can have two." Drew unwound his arms from her leg and sniffed heroically. "But don't eat them all at once, 'cause you'll get a sugar rush." Then, in a typical four-year-old mood swing, since disaster in his world had been averted, he shouted, "I'll get cushions."

He snatched three off the couch and disappeared through the archway.

Lauren approached Nate, flattening a palm against his chest and brushing a soft kiss across his cheek. She stepped back, reeling a little at the bone-melting scent of his warm skin and swallowing the desire to press her lips to his.

"Thank you. It means a lot to him...and to me."

"You're welcome."

"Come on, you guys!" Drew's shout made her jump.

Nate followed her into the family room. Drew bounced on his toes beside the three cushions placed in a semicircle around the Christmas tree.

"I'll sit on the middle one," he said. "And you sit there, Nate. I'll give the presents out."

Drifts of Christmas-themed paper soon surrounded them. Nate enthused over the painted river rock Drew made him and pinky-swore not to eat the whole tin of iced cookies in one sitting. The box containing a new two-wheel bike from Santa had been oohed and ahhed over, with Drew securing Nate's promise to assemble it. Nate chuckled at Lauren's indignation that her son thought her incapable of helping and then doubled over laughing as Drew announced in all seriousness that, "making bikes is a man thing."

Lauren laughed with him, but her heart clenched into a bruised fist at the two of them huddled over the bike's instruction leaflet.

_You cannot go there. You just cannot hand him your heart and expect him not to break it._

"Aww. Only three presents left." Drew dragged out a small rectangular box and looked to Nate. "Can I open it now?"

At his nod, Drew tore off the paper, squealed, and launched himself onto Nate's lap. Confused helplessness swept over Nate's face as his arms closed around her son. Lauren glanced at the kids' digital camera Drew left on the carpet and bit her lip. Why did he have to be the kind of guy to do something so thoughtful, so sweet?

"Say thank-you, Drew." The words were automatic, but she struggled to keep her voice even.

"Thank you," Drew parroted. "Can you show me how to use it?"

"Sure." He patted Drew's back and eased him off his lap. "Now how about you pass your mum her last gift?" He pointed to the bag he'd handed her earlier.

Lauren's fingers missed the sticky-tape edge three times before she gave in and tore the delicate tissue paper. The wrappings fell away to reveal a statue of a mother cradling her child, carved out of a block of ancient kauri wood and polished with exquisite care.

"It's made by a local artisan, Samuel Ngata. I watched him work for a while. He's got real talent."

She inhaled a shaky breath, ran her fingers over the smooth lines of the woman's head. "Yes, he has. Sam's one of Kathy's cousins."

And she'd never stepped inside his workshop, much as she admired and respected the man himself.

In her mind's eye, she saw Jonathan in his armchair, looking out at the glitter of Manhattan's famous nightscape. Heard the rough, repetitive scrape of his little paring knife peeling off a single coil of apple skin. He'd turned his gaze on her as she'd watched in trembling fascination from the doorway, the bruises on her breasts blossoming into purple, finger-shaped blotches. No, she couldn't bear to watch Sam work with his blade.

Lauren met Nate's eyes with a forced smile. "It's lovely and so very kind of you to get us gifts. Thank you."

He shrugged, but his eyebrows drew together in a quirked frown.

"Drew, get the last present for Nate."

Drew crawled under the tree and passed the flat package out to Nate. "This one's from Mummy."

Nate shot her a quick glance and tore off the paper.

Drew rushed to his side and pointed to each cross-stitched word behind the glass frame. " _Home. Is. Where. The. Heart. Is_. I can read it, see?"

"Very impressive reading, kid." A muscle contracted in Nate's throat, and the angle of his jaw turned sharp. "And thanks, Lauren. I'll hang this in my Auckland apartment."

"Why don't you hang it next door?" Drew said. "Uncle Todd says you've got walls now."

Nate's eyes clashed with hers above Drew's head.

"Mac's place is not my home, Drew. I'm not going to live there permanently." He stacked his gifts in a neat pile beside the tree and stood. "I'll help assemble your bike now, but then I've got work to do."

He offered her a tight smile and picked up the bike box. Without a backward glance, he carried it outside, Drew skipping right behind him, once again adopting the position of his little shadow.

Lauren gathered sheets of torn wrapping paper, gaining some satisfaction from twisting and crumpling them into balls. Well, any illusions about Nate's future intentions had vanished. She'd foolishly allowed dangerous daydreams to blind her this morning. Let herself pretend, for one short space of time, that they could be a family.

_Fat chance._

She stomped into the kitchen and hurled the huge wad of paper into the recycling bin. She and Drew were already a family—they didn't need anyone else. Especially not a man like Nate, who'd made it clear his heart would never find a home with her.

# Chapter 7

Nate gripped the length of two-by-six and rested the saw's teeth on the penciled line. The mid-afternoon sun slipped under his baseball cap and stung his eyes. Lauren's car door slammed. He'd recognized the crappy old station wagon's engine but had defied his need to look as it ground up the driveway.

Demanding woman. What the hell did she want now? He'd already constructed a two-wheeler, found batteries and shown her kid how to use his camera for the better part of the morning. No doubt, she'd come to bring the stitched sign to smash over his head. Like he hadn't been smashed over the head unwrapping the thing.

_Home is where the heart is?_

Could the woman be any more blunt and bullheaded? He dragged the saw across the wood, the satisfactory rasp of metal teeth blocking the sound of her footsteps. Pushy. That was Lauren Taylor. Couldn't accept he'd never have a home or a family, or want either.

Heels clicked a staccato beat on the nearly completed deck. Heels? He slanted a look from under his cap. Crimson-tipped toenails poked out of strappy, high-heeled sandals, leading to slim ankles, leading to slender calves, leading to a silky red fabric skimming shapely thighs—holy hell! His head jerked up.

Lauren stood, fist on cocked hip, in a dress that made his jaw sag. It flowed over her, hugging every curve, barely concealing skin he yearned for. He didn't dare open his mouth in case he uttered something idiotic. Like a plea to touch.

"You're done for the day." Her hand appeared from behind her back, white fabric dangling from her fingers.

"Hmm?" His eyes spurned his brain's suggestion to shift off her delicious curves. Would she be furious if he reached for his camera? Stunning, absolutely—

"Nate!"

She thrust the white fabric under his nose. He spotted a collar and slowly made the connection.

_Oh_. One of his shirts.

He let go of the saw handle, the blade still wedged in the timber. "What's this for?"

"You can't come to Christmas dinner in a grubby tee shirt."

His stomach muscles tensed. "I already told you and your brother earlier; I don't do Christmas."

She clicked around the sawhorse and shoved the shirt into his hand. "You don't do this and you don't do that. Well, newsflash, Nate—you're doing Christmas this year, even if it's only to eat for an hour. Drew and Sophie look like two hound dogs, and Todd's hen-pecked and miserable."

He snorted but took the shirt, weighing it in his hand. "One hour. _Only_ one hour."

He'd already worked off some of his mad by the time her car rolled up. Had in fact planned to stop by Todd's place with a few beers later, perhaps staying awhile if an offer arose. Shoot the breeze with Todd and Kathy. Maybe watch Todd's little sister from the corner of his eye.

But Nate didn't want Lauren to get the wrong idea about him—about _them_. He'd seen her misty-eyed look from the doorway as Drew crouched beside the toolbox, slapping tools into his hand like a surgical nurse. "Happily-ever-after" didn't figure into the equation, but there could be a happy-for-now if Lauren would play on less-permanent terms.

He wanted her. She wanted him.

It should be straightforward.

But the emotions squeezing his solar plexus at the sight of her in that red dress? They were anything but straightforward.

One hour had turned into two, then three and four. Nate had been unable to politely excuse himself at Todd's place, and truthfully, he hadn't made much of an effort. Greeted like an old friend, he'd tucked into the plate of steaming lamb and vegetables prepared by Kathy's extended family in a _hangi_.

Kathy had spotted his camera bag earlier when they'd arrived and encouraged him to shoot some photos of the day. He'd wandered into the back garden where the men raised the _hangi_ and caught the explosion of steam as the baskets were hauled from pits in the ground. Then he'd snapped a group of kids rough and tumbling like exuberant puppies, found a group of elderly women fanning themselves under the shade of the trees. They giggled and flapped their hands girlishly after he asked to photograph them but happily let him click away.

Capturing laughter, camaraderie and tradition, rather than the frantic and terrifying panorama of a war zone, was disquieting. Yet strangely exhilarating.

After the meal, he found Lauren in a hidden corner of the garden on a swing seat, Drew tucked sleepily on her knee, her bare feet pushing them gently to and fro. Relaxed and unaware of him, she was so lovely it made his chest ache. The camera around his neck urged him to capture this image forever. But instead, he shoved his fingers into his pockets and turned away.

"Hey."

He glanced back. "Hey, yourself." He pulled his hands out, spread his palms wide. "I didn't take any photos of you, pinky-swear."

Her smile wavered then solidified. "You'll have them lining up for free family portraits the way you're going today."

"How about a portrait of you and Drew?"

"Nate." Her voice held a trace of warning.

"The only photos you have on your walls are of him. Don't you want Drew to have at least one of the two of you for when he's older?" He couldn't pinpoint why he needed to convince her. He just had to get this shot.

_"You'll come across a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to take a once-in-a-lifetime shot, once,"_ Steve had said early on in Nate's career. _"Make sure your bloody camera's ready."_

Lauren planted a kiss on the boy's tousled hair. Two fine lines deepened between her eyebrows. "Okay. But I'm the only one who sees it."

She turned her head to a three-quarter profile, tilted her chin slightly, familiar with how to position her face for the best possible shot. His stomach pinged, recalling their earlier conversations about her life in New York. How easy to forget her modeling experience when dazzled by her unaffected, natural beauty.

He shook his head and fired off a couple of quick frames. Not quite _the one_.

"I'm going to walk around a bit; forget I'm here."

He stepped away, smiling at her murmured, "As if."

Drew asked a sleepy question, and a myriad of expressions crossed her face. Something in her whispered reply made him giggle, and the pure sunniness of Lauren's smile as the boy's fingers tangled in her hair stabbed deep in the gut, even as Nate's finger hit the shutter release.

That was it. The million-dollar shot.

He walked back to her, holding out the camera.

Her smile was tentative, but heartfelt. "Beautiful."

"And yet it still doesn't do you justice."

She shook her head and stood, Drew in her arms. "I'm going to put him down for a nap."

Lauren walked away, and his camera, for the first time, dragged his neck down as if it were cast in lead.

"You'll miss your life if you only ever see things through that camera."

Kathy's voice behind him made him jump, and he spun around.

"It's the only life I know."

"Always on the outside looking in." She clucked her tongue and moved closer, patting the rump of one of her infant nieces or nephews snuffling into her neck. "You need to participate, not be the fella who watches from the sidelines."

"I don't know how."

Kathy angled his hand so she could see the camera viewfinder and the shot of Lauren and Drew. She touched his cheek. "I think you do. You just gotta realize relationships are a contact sport, and if you run too fast, nobody'll pass you the ball."

"That's a hell of a metaphor."

"It's a hell of a game. Be in it to win it, Nate." She winked and left him blinking in the late afternoon sun.

Lauren selected another plate from the dish rack and glanced out the window to where Todd, Nate and four of Kathy's brothers-in-law had finished a competitive game of touch rugby.

"Your Nate fits right in here." Kathy scrubbed at a roasting pan beside her. "Got an easy way about him."

Outside, Todd slapped Nate's shoulder, and they grinned at each other before bumping fists with the others.

Lauren carried the stack of dry plates to Kathy's sideboard and kept her back turned. "He's not _my_ Nate. He's just a neighbor."

Temporarily a neighbor, at that, once the reconstruction of Mac's place was done. She concentrated on keeping the plates from slipping out of her grasp.

"Funny, that's what Todd said when I mentioned Nate looked at you the same way Java looked at the _hangi_ this afternoon."

China rattled in her hands. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Kathy rescued the wobbly plates and stacked them away. "Todd only sees what he wants, and he doesn't want to see you looking at Nate like _that_."

If it'd been anyone other than Kathy making that observation, Lauren would've flat-out denied it. But Kathy called Lauren "sister" for a reason. Through perseverance and a large dose of tough love, Kathy had bulldozed through Lauren's protective walls and forged a bond of trust.

"It can't go anywhere. He said he doesn't do families, and Drew and I are a package deal."

"Doesn't do families, pah." Kathy dismissed the notion with a flick of her hand. "He's like a lot of men, terrified of his own feelings. Why, Todd told me when we first met the only way he'd ever stay with one woman was if she took out both kneecaps with his hunting rifle." Her eyes crinkled as she grinned. "And he's still walking around, isn't he?"

"He adores you, Kathy."

"My point, exactly. _Aroha_ changes your heart."

Lauren shook her head. "Love isn't going to change Nate's heart about selling his land—and love has got nothing to do with it. We want completely different things."

"So what does he want?"

"Just to sleep with me, I suspect." She narrowed her eyes, waiting for shock to register on Kathy's face, but her sister-in-law remained impassive.

"You so sure about that?"

Lauren paused, remembering the gentlemanly way he hadn't pushed for more intimacy at the beach, his quiet consideration when he'd helped around the house. The way she sometimes caught him looking at Drew with baffled affection.

"No. I guess I'm not."

Kathy stepped closer, her brown eyes unwavering. "Then what do _you_ want?"

"I don't know." Her voice barely rose above a whisper. "I've been doing what other people want for so long, I've forgotten how to figure it out."

"You're not Sexy Lexy or Alexandra Knight anymore." Kathy moved to the kitchen table to transfer chunks of rich fruitcake to a platter. "It's about time you let someone in to know the real you."

"He might not want the real me"— _a woman too cowardly to leave her husband before her son was traumatized_ —"or worse, he might try to turn me into his vision of who I should be _." Like Jonathan had_.

"You won't know unless you talk to him."

"I can't talk to him."

"I think it's more like you've decided that you can't _trust_ him. If you truly believe the man is another sheep in a wolf suit, you've no business looking at him the way you do." She slid the last pieces of cake into neat rows and added a wad of paper napkins. "You'd best decide quickly what sort of man he is, because Drew's already tucked up asleep in Sophie's room, and you've an empty house to go back to tonight."

Kathy shoved the platter into Lauren's hands. "You're done hiding in my kitchen. Go and give this to the men; they'll be starved."

Lauren hesitated, her arms trembling with the effort of keeping the platter level when she badly wanted to droop to the floor like overcooked monkey-roni.

"I'm scared, Kath."

Kathy squeezed her elbow and gave her a gentle push toward the door. "Kia _kaha_ , _teina_. You have more _aroha_ and courage in your heart than you think."

* * *

An hour later, Lauren sat in her parked car and quietly panicked. She and Nate hadn't mentioned Drew's sleepover when they'd waved goodbye and set off in their separate vehicles. But the big, smug elephant accompanying her all the way home wouldn't be shoved out of sight. For the first time, they were alone.

Completely alone.

No interruptions, no lack of privacy, no four-year-old chaperone.

The quiet chirp of cicadas drifted in through her open window, and on the driveway below, headlights cut through the darkness and lit up the garage doors. The Range Rover's engine died, and the headlights switched off, revving her panic levels up a notch. Maybe if she hurried, she could slip inside the house without drawing his attention.

_Lauren, you're such a coward._

She climbed out of the car and smoothed her dress—the dress that did nothing but draw his attention. For one day she'd wanted to show him she could be flirty and carefree, the type of woman who'd win him over with her wit and Tinkerbell-ish laugh. The cherry-red dress belonged on that woman, not on Lauren. She'd deluded herself, once again rehearsing for a role she didn't want to play.

She slipped off her heels and padded across the grass. Java's claws skittered on the wooden planks, and she braced herself for the inevitable slobber-fest, but the dog's deep woof of greeting wasn't for her.

Lauren stepped onto the deck. Java leaned on Nate's leg, smiling deliriously while he received a back scratch. The canine traitor. Nate's long fingers stroked the dog's coat, and it didn't take a huge leap of imagination to visualize those same fingers skimming across her skin. No wonder the damn dog was smiling like a loon.

Nate looked up as she crossed the deck. He held out a wine bottle.

"Nightcap?"

She wet her lips, fingers tightening around the straps of her sandals. If she invited him in now, they'd end up in a naked tangle.

"Or walk off some of Kathy's amazing Christmas dinner first?" Nate moved closer, the thread of warmth twisting through his words smothering another reason to keep him at a distance.

"A walk sounds good." She took the bottle from him and set it on the outside table.

"Lauren?"

She paused for a beat then turned back to him.

"Will you tell me the rest? Will you tell me about how you got this?" He traced a gentle fingertip along her scar.

_"I think it's more that you can't trust him."_

_"You'd best decide quickly what sort of man he is."_

As Kathy's words drifted through Lauren's mind, she soaked in the sensation of his touch. Perhaps a little trust was due.

"Yes, but I'd better put some flip-flops on my feet, or I'll end up falling all over you."

His smile sent her heart and hormones into orbit.

Oh, she could fall, all right—fall big time. But it wouldn't be because of her high-heeled sandals.

It seemed natural to steady her elbow as they stepped off the deck. It seemed natural to slide his palm down her forearm and twine their fingers together. It all seemed so natural, as instinctual as checking both ways before crossing a busy street, but the impact of her skin against his and the sight of her shy smile in the glimmer of moonlight just about knocked him off his feet. Natural, hell...Nate felt as if he were the victim of a hit-and-run collision.

_Kid, you got it bad. Pull back before you fall off that bloody cliff you've been dancing along_. Steve's voice echoed in his head, as clear as if the man stood beside him.

But Nate could keep his balance. He'd never stumbled.

He and Lauren walked, following Java's loping gait and the curve of her driveway. They talked of inconsequential things, and he was okay with that. He wouldn't push. Yet.

By the time they strolled back to the garage door, he knew more about rebuilding a V8 engine than he'd ever wanted to. The woman was stalling. Big time.

He couldn't pinpoint why he needed Lauren to trust him with her pain. Savannah had taken years to admit her husband was a verbally abusive deadbeat. Guess when you made yourself emotionally unavailable it was hard to open up.

But wherever this thing with Lauren was headed—and it couldn't go anywhere other than the land of temporary—she still needed to talk. He wanted to be the friend to her that he hadn't been to Savannah when she needed him most.

Sure, he'd kicked Sav's husband's sorry ass, but Nate never went to her afterward and said, "I'm sorry for not being there for you, but I'm here now. Please talk to me." He'd done the stereotypical guy thing—helped her with practical matters and avoided any mention of feelings.

He opened the garage door and flicked on the light. "Show me your dad's car?"

"Good idea. I'll start it up. It's about time to give the motor a turn over." She brushed past him and tugged the cover off the hood.

_Good idea?_ The last time he'd asked to see the Cadillac she'd looked at him as if he'd demanded she strip naked and pole dance. Oh yeah, major-league stalling.

He helped her drag the cover back. Car wax and the fainter scent of leather upholstery tickled his nose. The car's sleek lines couldn't hold his attention. Not when Lauren's dress slipped up her thighs as she climbed into the driver's seat and kicked off her flip-flops.

"Hop in."

"Want me to take off my shoes first?"

He gestured to her bare feet, which caressed the pedals. It made his groin twitch, imagining her feet sliding up and down his calves as she wrapped those endlessly long legs around his hips.

_Whoa. Down, boy._

Nate dragged his gaze up to the gentle sway of Lauren's hair as she shook her head.

"Dad always said life was for living and his car for driving. He didn't want the Caddy shrink-wrapped in protective plastic and stuck in a museum. Or a garage." She sent him a crooked smile while her hand stroked the steering wheel, her fingers clenching briefly at the three o'clock position. "I guess you should just hop in."

He folded himself onto the low-slung bench seat, stretching out his legs while Lauren started the car and idled the engine. After a minute, she turned off the key, slumping back in her seat and watching her fancy metal keychain swing back and forth, back and forth.

Then she turned to face him, her bare thighs whispering on the leather.

"You said your friend, Steve, died of cancer. Were you with him?"

The unexpected change of topic punched into his gut. Sympathy flickered in her eyes.

"Yeah. I sat with him in the hospital for the last few days. I don't think he even knew it most of the time." He blew out a harsh breath. "It's bloody torture watching someone die."

"You cared a great deal about him."

"Steve was my mentor. But more than that, my mate."

"He would've known you were there."

He rolled his shoulders to shake off the heaviness. "I like to think so. He had no one else."

"Oh, Nate. I'm so sorry."

"Were you with your dad when he died?"

She tucked her hands under her knees and a gut-deep sigh gusted out. "No. He had a heart attack when I was fourteen and at school. My brother was working for him then and had gone to the bakery for morning tea—he came back and found Dad on the workshop floor."

"Must've been devastating for you all."

"It took a long time for our family to recover, and it cut out Mum's heart. It wasn't until she had my career to focus on that she came out of her dark place."

"The modeling."

"Yes, the modeling." She curled her legs up beneath her on the wide bench seat. "Without Dad there to temper her enthusiasm or to back me up after I told her I wanted to be a mechanic, not a model, I pretty much caved in and did what she wanted."

"How old were you when you started?"

"Fifteen. Seventeen when we went to New York for the first time."

_Seventeen? Holy shit_. Arriving in the Big Apple was overwhelming enough for an adult, let alone a teenager. "You were just a kid. Kind of a harsh adjustment from growing up in rural New Zealand."

"It was exciting and non-stop and challenging—but to begin with, I had terrible bouts of homesickness." She sighed again and smoothed the dress over her knees, which only emphasized her trembling fingers. "I'll tell you about the night I got this scar, but first I need to know—what happened in that bar with Savannah Payne?"

Wow. He hadn't seen a second topic-evasion coming, though with Lauren being Lauren, he should've.

Nate leaned back against the smooth leather. "You've never asked me what happened."

She cocked her head. "It was none of my business...before."

"And now it is, since we've unintentionally become involved in each other's business, right?"

"Something like that." She laced her fingers together on her lap and waited.

Steel cables of tension stiffened his back muscles. The truth would reveal just how self-centered and selfish he'd been. But since she was about to spill her guts to him—and make no mistake, he wasn't leaving this car until she rid herself of her story—explaining his relationship with Savannah was only fair.

"Savannah Payne is my second cousin—our mothers are cousins. We never have and never will be romantically involved."

Lauren's mouth parted and then clamped shut, the flush of pink vanishing from her soft lips.

"We saw each other on the odd times my family came home from mission work and then got close after I arrived back in Auckland and enrolled in university. I'd give her a ride to play rehearsals and stuff when I got my driver's license, and I'd turn up at her school productions. She was the bratty younger sister I never had—fun, carefree, the life of the party. That changed after she married her high-school sweetheart."

Color leeched from Lauren's cheekbones, and she hunched over.

"We lost some of that closeness over the years—conflicting schedules and lifestyles, all the usual pathetic excuses family has for losing touch with each other. She rang me after she and Liam decided to move back home; she was excited about getting a role in a new local drama. I'd flown into Auckland unexpectedly in between assignments, and after a little to-and-froing, she agreed to meet me for a drink. I wondered why she didn't ask me back to their place"—he shook his head, rocks tumbling in his belly at the memory—"and why she arrived at the bar in sunglasses and a baseball cap."

"She was hiding from her fans? Or from her husband?"

"My cousin loved being the center of attention; she loved meeting her fans. And as far as I knew at that time, things were a little strained with Liam but not...shit."

He'd spare Lauren the force of his shock, his fury, and then the self-hatred he'd experienced when Savannah had reached for her wineglass and her sleeve had ridden up, exposing a ring of purplish-blue bruises on her arm. "They'd fought that morning about her meeting me. Liam had grabbed her arms, slammed her up against a wall. She'd calmed him down and then left the house to come meet me."

"Was it the first time he'd gotten physical?" Lauren's words came in jerky little spasms.

Nate made a conscious effort to unclench his fingers, balled into iron fists. "She told me it was. I was prying out more information about the mental and emotional abuse that she would, at least, admit to, when Liam tracked us down at the bar. He ordered Sav to leave with him, and she wouldn't, so he dragged her from her chair."

A trickle of sweat slid between his shoulder blades. Even thinking about Liam's hand clamped around Sav's wrist made Nate's blood thrum and his vision darken. And that was his little cousin. Not knowing how Lauren's ex had hurt her? His back molars ground together, while a volcano spewed lava through his veins.

"I'm not proud of the spectacle I made, but I'm not sorry for teaching the bastard a lesson."

"He didn't press charges?"

"Savannah didn't want the media sharks getting wind of the situation, and her weasel of a husband didn't, either. Liam didn't press charges, and I kept my mouth shut—for Sav's sake." And for Sav's sake, Nate hadn't killed her husband. Instead, he'd helped evict Liam from her life and booked flights to Vegas to start quickie divorce proceedings.

"Thank you for telling me."

Lauren laid a hand over his clenched knuckles, a soothing sensation like cool water on a fresh burn.

"Savannah's lucky to have you in her life," she added.

Lucky? Yeah, lucky Savannah had a cousin who didn't notice she needed help because his head was stuck too far up his own ass. But that wasn't going to happen with Lauren, because as Nate had promised Drew, nobody would hurt him or his mother while Nate was around.

_Settling down with one woman is like volunteering to drop a noose around your neck, kid_. Steve's voice again, laughing at him.

Nate's thoughts of vindication tapered off, and his fists unclenched. Was this thing with Lauren heading in that direction? Did he plan to stay in Bounty Bay, protecting and caring for her and her son, believing he could be part of their family? Would he relax the grip on his heart to allow any feelings other than sexual desire to slip in and take root?

_Hell, no._

Steve had been right. The cards life dealt to guys like them didn't include one marked "long term relationship." So maybe the kindest thing he could do for Lauren was to step back. Pull away before he carved his own scar into her heart.

"Your turn." Nate turned his hand over, lacing his fingers with hers.

Lauren didn't pull away, but since it felt like rusty steel wool was crammed down her throat, she couldn't talk, either.

"Jonathan hit you, didn't he?"

She managed a small nod. "Up until that night, only a few times."

"Only?"

"A few slaps to the face, grabbing my arms hard enough to leave bruises"—she winced at that, remembering Nate's story of his cousin—"being a little rough when we'd make love." Her chin dipped down, and she studied their linked hands. "I was so stupid, so naive. I couldn't tell my mum—she adored Jonathan—and at the time, Todd and I weren't close."

"Did you have friends who could've helped?"

"He'd isolated me from my real friends over time, leaving me with only the wives of his business associates—women who were more interested in a sale at Saks than being my friend."

"And Drew?"

Like wire was attached to her jaw, her chin lifted. "Jonathan never raised a hand to him; otherwise, friends or not, I would've left him."

"What happened that night?"

Her stomach clenched, as if it were wrapped around her spine, but she forced herself to release a pent-up breath and begin. "It started with a cocktail party that I didn't want to go to. Drew was off-color and running a slight temperature, but Jonathan wanted me on his arm, so we used our usual sitter and went."

"Halfway through the party, I rang to check on Drew, and I heard him screaming and sobbing in the background. The sitter said he'd been vomiting and kept crying for me. Jonathan was deep in conversation with a business associate, so I just left, sending him a text on the cab ride home."

Nate squeezed her fingers encouragingly. She gave him a half smile, and continued.

"I paid the babysitter and sent her off, then went straight to Drew. The sitter had changed him into clean pajamas, but his room still stunk of vomit, and the carpet—well, the carpet beside his bed was a mess. Jonathan arrived about five minutes after I did; he must've immediately noticed I was missing and caught another cab. He'd had too much to drink, but that was no excuse." She pressed her lips together so tightly her teeth pinched into the soft skin.

"He stormed into Drew's room, took one look at the carpet and screamed at Drew to get back into bed. Then he turned on me, raving like an insane person for embarrassing him in front of his colleagues. Jonathan screaming at our sick baby was the breaking point—I told him I was leaving."

Her chest locked tight again, trapping a lungful of stale air. "That's when he grabbed me around the waist and hauled me out of Drew's bedroom. I fought and knocked a huge vase of roses off the hallway table. He slapped me a couple of times, and one of my fists connected with his nose, so he dropped me. I tried to crawl away, but he pulled me backward through the broken glass, and one bit sliced into my face."

"Fuck." A muscle pulsed in his jaw.

She had to finish now, to purge it all from her soul, or she never would. "Drew's shrieks and the blood on the floor finally snapped Jonathan out of it. He let me go and staggered away, locking himself into his office. I was a complete mess, my face bleeding, my dress ripped, but I grabbed Drew and my passport and left. I never went back, and every contact we've had since has been through lawyers. He's moved on with his life, remarried." She pressed a fist to her mouth to stop her lips trembling. "He's moved on, and yet some days, I feel as if I'm still trapped in that nightmare."

"This is why you don't sleep at nights."

"It's not as bad as it used to be."

Nate's thumb gently brushed over her other hand in soothing strokes.

Tingles charged up her arm, infusing her with warmth. Nate's touch somehow did that—cleaned out all the bad stuff clogging up her mind, filling it instead with a surge of...happy. She blinked at him, filled with happy, with heat, with the sudden burning desire to climb into his lap and wrap herself around him so the tingles spread all over her body.

Her lips curved, as the memories of that night fizzled and retreated into sepia blandness. The man was magic. He could make her forget—Nate could make them both forget.

She shuffled closer, but as she did, he returned her hand back to her knee and said, "I'll take a rain check on the nightcap. You head back up, get some sleep."

That was it? After exposing her darkest, rawest secrets, he was blowing her off?

Lauren's stomach plummeted like an out-of-control rollercoaster. "You want me to go to bed, alone? You don't want to make love to me anymore?"

"Honey, it's not like that." His gaze raked over her bare shoulders and settled on her face. "I just don't think it's a good idea tonight."

Words a woman didn't want to hear after all but asking a man to make love to her.

Lauren studied his expression, a little like Java's the one time he'd been confronted by a kitten wanting to play. Her dog had been unsure of how to deal with a tiny creature he could so easily damage with his affection. She suspected a similar scenario flickered through Nate's mind, as a glance below the belt of his jeans indicated one part of his anatomy was apparently interested in playing.

He wanted her. She wanted him. And they only had tonight.

She slithered across the bench seat and straddled his lap, letting her lower body wedge snug against his. "Actually, I think it's a great idea."

This close, she couldn't escape sensual overload. Rough denim jeans scraped her bare thighs. The rasp of their breathing sounded loud in the silence of the cavernous workshop.

His fingers clutched either side of her hips, and she still wasn't certain if he fought to push her off or keep her pinned in place. Although she'd taken control of the situation—had thought she would remain in control—her body betrayed her, strength ebbing from her bones.

Her name squeezed out between his lips in a strangled croak, and his eyes, no longer the color of cool seaweed, flared the iridescent green of a jungle after a tropical typhoon.

She leaned forward, and her breasts brushed his chest, the nipples hardening into hot pebbled points aching for his touch. Running the tip of her tongue along his neck where his pulse bumped, she savored the taste of him as it invaded every part of her body, making him part of her cellular memory.

"I know it's just for tonight, but it's Christmas." Her lips skimmed along his stubbled jaw to his earlobe. "Don't make me beg."

A groan hissed between his teeth as Nate pulled her close, tucking Lauren's head into his shoulder. "I'll just hold you tonight, if you want."

"You're sweet. But that's not what I want." Not when she really was about to start begging. "I want you."

The fingers of one big hand skimmed up her spine and gently gripped her nape. "I want you too, but I'll be gentle. I won't hurt you."

Lauren pulled back and met his gaze. She didn't doubt his sincerity for an instant. "I'm not breakable. I don't want you to be gentle, and I don't want you holding anything back."

Nate traced a fingertip down the raised line of her scar. His lips following the trail taken by his fingers, he whispered against her mouth, "You undo me."

In the stillness, her next breath sucked in on a shuddery gasp. He skimmed his hands down her bare arms, settling on the span of her waist. Lauren pulled his shirt up from the waistband of his jeans, sliding bold fingers along the smooth skin of his stomach.

His mouth found hers, and she relished the moan on his lips. The taste of him was an undiscovered narcotic—euphoric, mind-blowing and deceptive in its addictiveness. His palm cupping the back of her head, Nate explored her mouth with single-minded determination that blotted out everything but this moment.

Lauren wanted to savor each precious second, to tattoo them on her heart so she'd never forget this one bewitching night. But they slipped through her hands as easily as her fingers combed through Nate's hair.

Her fingers popped open a shirt button, and Nate's abdominal muscles tensed in response. She affected him as much as he affected her.

Heady knowledge.

He kissed her again.

"My zipper. At the back," she gasped, as they finally came up for air.

He nibbled the pulse in her neck as his fingers fumbled up her spine. "Can't I just rip your dress off and buy you another?"

"Patience."

"I'm all out." His teeth nipped her collarbone while he found the zip and eased it down.

The dress slipped off her shoulders, and she let him tug the silky fabric over her head, leaving her in a crimson bra and matching lace panties. He said her name again, and the rawness in those two syllables clogged her throat but released a rush of pure feminine confidence at his dazzled expression.

She unbuttoned his shirt, running her nails down the exposed tanned skin beneath. Nate shrugged off the shirt and tossed it onto the back seat, his breath hitching as she unhooked the metal button on his jeans. She couldn't resist the opportunity to skim her fingertips along the inside of his waistband, the pads of her fingers brushing the head of his erection. The growl from deep in his chest and the jerk of his hips sent a torrent of arousal straight south.

His zipper eased open with a slow hiss, the black boxers not disguising what fought for freedom underneath. Pulling on either side of his jeans while he arched up, she slid the denim and black cotton halfway down his thighs.

"Now." She wrapped one hand around the satin-sleek length of him. "Do you think you can manage getting out of those clothes, or do you need me to help?"

He let out a half chuckle, half moan. "You're a cruel woman with an uncanny memory."

She tightened her grip and was rewarded with another husky groan. "So I've been told. Let's see how cruel."

His touch, his taste, his body slick against hers was a lesson in surrender. The soft moans spiraling up as her body leaped to another plane of pleasure, the motion and shadowed light, the murmured words of ecstasy, pure torture. Their remaining clothes vanished, then his lips were on her breasts, teasing, tantalizing her with his tongue. His fingers, gentle but work-roughened, slid between her legs, igniting a blaze low in her belly.

Nate pulled back. "Stay."

He eased her off his lap and pointed a finger. "And this time, I mean it."

Nate made the trip to and from the workshop bathroom in record time. He slid back into the car, and his hands shook as he tried to tear open the foil packet.

"Let me." She plucked the packet from him and opened it.

"Please," she breathed moments later as she straddled him again. "I need you."

His body nudged against her, and she sank down—taking him deep, taking him fully and crying out at how perfectly he fit. Nate's hands clamped on her hips, keeping their lower bodies still. With his mouth so close to hers and the feel of him so consuming, she could do nothing but gasp until he took her lips again.

He flexed inside her, and she clenched around him, arching back and thrusting her hips forward. God, he felt amazing. His tongue danced a slow seduction in her mouth, his fingers sweeping up over her ribs to tease her hardened nipples until she thought she'd come just by his relentless caress.

Nate moved in her then, guiding her smooth flesh over his, the exquisite friction drawing out another moan. This—this was what she'd waited for, what she'd wanted from the first day she'd seen him bare-chested working on his land.

Liquid heat flowed through her veins as Nate's hand slipped between them, stroking her intimately, urging her body to fly. Moments spun out on an endless silken thread, weaving a cocoon around them as they drove each other faster, higher.

She clung to him, her nails digging in to the hard bulge of his shoulder as tension built stronger, hotter and more intensely, until her climax sent her soaring. Nate pulled her tight against his damp chest, his mouth slick against her neck as he ground out her name, his final pleasure quaking through him.

# Chapter 8

Lauren woke to shafts of dawn sunlight streaming through her bedroom windows and warm, male skin tangled with hers. She kept her eyes cracked open to narrow slits, tried to analyze the cause of this strange, unsettling sensation—other than being completely naked and sprawled over a man who was also completely naked.

She wriggled her toes, flexed her back a little, and adjusted her cheek a fraction on the pillow of Nate's chest. Then it came to her. She was rested. Totally at peace. For once not feeling like a badly reanimated zombie after another night of insomnia. All because of Nate.

She slid her gaze across the broad expanse of his chest. Fully awake now, she developed an awareness of where her leg rested, which in turned stirred a growing ember to life deep inside her. She'd led him up to her bedroom, and they'd spent hours exploring each other before collapsing in a state of aching satisfaction.

She couldn't stop a breathy sigh from escaping as the scent of him, musky and male, tempted her to shift her thigh just a little higher, brush her fingers down from where they lay on his stomach, just a little lower...

"Hi."

Nate's voice rumbled under her cheek and she jerked upward.

"You're awake." Her thigh travelled up his body and rested on a perky-with-good-morning-enthusiasm part of his anatomy.

"Have been for a while. I'm enjoying the view." He grinned, which had the effect of once again striking her dumb.

"Oh." Her gaze dropped to focus on the dark stubble ringing his oh-so-kissable mouth.

"You were sleeping so peacefully; it would've been criminal to wake you."

She tried to subtly slide her leg off his arousal, but his hand cupped her kneecap, stilling it.

"Last night was amazing, Lauren—you're amazing." He stroked his palm up her thigh and squeezed her bottom. "Your trust and openness means a lot to me."

Something cold twisted down her spine, and she repressed a shiver. Early morning light fell onto his tousled hair, and his face was boyish and relaxed. Would she destroy this haven by admitting she only trusted him with her body? With the here and now?

He must've sensed her stiffen, as he slid his other hand up her back and gently gripped her shoulder. "This doesn't have to be the awkward morning after, you know."

"This is light-years beyond awkward." She tugged the sheet around her breasts.

"Why?"

"We agreed on one night, remember?"

He cocked his head and shot her a charming smile. "I don't recall signing on a dotted line."

"It can't work between us."

Even as she said the words, another ripple of ice slicked down her backbone and settled low in her stomach. How could she risk wanting more with a man who would leave forever in a month's time? "You're always on the move."

And she and Drew needed to stay hidden where it was safe. Where her heart was safe.

His smile slipped a notch. "True. But I'm not moving anywhere far from you in the next few weeks." He tugged her mouth down to his, brushing his lips feathery soft across them. "And Lauren? You know we're not done working this out of our systems."

_This what?_ What exactly was this thing they had to eliminate from their systems? _Lust? Love?_

She pondered that for the second it took for Nate to roll her onto her back and distract her from further doubts with firm, hot lips.

The opportunity to spend more time with Lauren couldn't have worked better if Nate had planned it.

For the last week, he'd snuck around like a teenager. Each morning at dawn he'd leave Lauren warm and loved up in her bed, and creep back down to the garage. Not that he was complaining. Much. But seeing her for only a few hours every day wasn't enough. He'd gotten greedy, especially as he and Todd had resurrected the worst sections of his house.

He stuffed a handful of paint selector cards in his back pocket then left the garage and climbed the outside stairs. A scrabble of claws on wooden decking and Java's blocky body appeared, his tail a wagging blur.

"Hey, mutt."

The dog sneezed, shook himself and leaned against Nate's legs as he stopped to scratch Java's ears.

"No more biscuits; I already fed you on the way downstairs earlier."

The back door banged open, and Drew bounded out, dressed in a Superman tee shirt and carpenter jeans, toy tools slotted into the pants' many pockets. "I'm ready, Nate! I'm ready!"

Nate chuckled and swung the boy onto his shoulders. "Whoa. It's only half seven, and the hardware store doesn't open until nine."

"You gotta eat breakfast."

"I know, I know. Quack, quack, kid."

Drew giggled and flopped forward, his tiny hands locking onto Nate's ears as Nate exaggeratedly ducked under the lintel.

"Most important meal of the day, right?" Nate asked him.

With her son wrapped around Nate's head like an octopus, he walked into the warmth of Lauren's kitchen.

"Morning, Nate." She stood at the counter pouring coffee, her bed-rumpled hair now combed smooth and her eyes sparkling and alert—at least they both got _some_ sleep last night.

"Morning, Lauren," he replied and added a wink. Only two hours ago, she'd bitten his shoulder to muffle his name as he'd rocked her to mindless bliss. "Sleep well?"

She blushed and slitted her eyes. "Like a baby."

Nate turned and hooked Drew off his shoulder, flipping him over on the way down in a summersault, which made the boy scream with glee. How many times had Nate's father done that to Nate as a kid? Countless—and he always demanded more.

Sure enough, Drew flung up his arms. "Again, again!"

He complied twice more then set Drew back on his feet. "Coffee and breakfast first, little mate. I'm famished, for some reason."

Lauren grinned at him and rolled her pretty hazel eyes. "You're a bottomless pit."

"Guilty." He sat at her dining table and pulled the paint samples from his jeans. He spread them between the bowls and cereal boxes already set out. "Good job on getting the breakfast stuff ready, Drew. You've earned your trip to town today."

"Yay!" Drew grinned proudly and turned to his mother. "Can I watch cartoons until Nate's ready?"

She nodded, and the boy vanished through the archway into the family room. The theme from SpongeBob SquarePants blared out moments later.

Nate's gaze immediately locked back on Lauren as she moved around her kitchen. Barefoot and wearing buttery-soft jeans and a blouse made from filmy stuff transparent enough to see the clingy tank top below, she mesmerized him. Ribbons of morning sunlight streamed through the French doors, dancing over her toes as she moved about. What he wouldn't do to have his camera right now. He found himself staring sappily at her turquoise-painted toenails and the tiny gold toe ring winking in the light as she walked toward him.

_God, he was losing his mind over this woman._

"Anything you particularly like?"

The toes stopped beside his chair, and he jerked his head up to see two steaming mugs of coffee.

"Oh yeah—put down the cups." He wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and nuzzle the sensitive spot just below her belly button.

"I meant the paint colors, silly." Laughing, Lauren backed away. She put a coffee next to his samples as she took a seat opposite.

She softened the tiny rejection by stretching her long legs under the table and running a toe up the inseam of his jeans. _Witch_.

He glanced down at the stack of paint samples. The colors all looked the same to him. Blonde, Misty, Bistre, Fog—how could you like or dislike any of them? His stomach did a little hippity-hop in response to the stroke of her feet. Reaching down, he snagged her ankle, running a knuckle of his other hand along the soft arch of her foot. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip and tickled her more.

"Nate," she hissed, squirming and giggling. "Quit it."

"Help me choose colors, and I'll stop."

"Okay, okay. I'll help."

He released her foot with one final tickle, and her smile—warm, open, carefree—sucker-punched him right in the kisser. Because he realized what he'd done. He'd grabbed her ankle, holding it against her will while he tickled, and she hadn't freaked. No near fainting, no outward sign on her face that his action reminded her of what Jonathan had done. Just laughter and playfulness.

She trusted him. And he had no idea how to tell her what that meant.

So he cleared his throat and passed her the samples.

"Here...I thought white all around—or Antique White, whatever the difference."

Lauren snatched the samples out of his hand. "Good grief, you can't paint Mac's house boring old white!"

She shuffled through the cards like a professional gambler preparing for a big game. "What about Tea? Or Thistle and _Kapiti_ with a trim of Rainforest Reef? Or even Thistle and Driftwood. Hmm."

Leaning back in his chair, he studied the crease between her brows. "You know, if Drew and I are left to our own devices in the hardware store, we'll probably come home with ten gallons of bubblegum pink."

Her gaze flicked up. "Over my dead body. You'll turn that place into a blight on the landscape."

"I thought you didn't want me selling it anyway."

She cocked her head. "I don't. But neither do I want old Mac haunting me because you've painted his house pink."

"Looks like you're coming to town with us."

Lauren returned the samples to the table in a neat pile. "Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky."

He opened his eyes wide and innocent-like and shrugged.

"I don't trust you one bit, Nate Fraser."

"Yeah, you do." Nate snatched up her hand. He nibble-kissed her fingers and waggled his eyebrows at her until she smiled. "Now pass me the Wheat-biscuits. I've worked up quite an appetite this morning."

Lauren left her sunhat at home—and for her, it was tantamount to arriving at Bounty Bay Hardware in a bikini. Summer crowds still milled through the town's main street, but the hardware store's mostly empty parking lot settled her pulse down from a gallop to a trot. Holidaymakers were more interested in cafes, surf-shops and bars than the locally owned and operated store.

She clasped Drew's hand and tried not to squeeze too hard as they strolled along the aisles, the salesclerk mixing the agreed paint choices of Thistle, Driftwood, and Fossil out in the back under Nate's supervision. Butterfly light flutters tickled her stomach, more from the memory of that morning's lovemaking than the familiar nerves at being out in public. Tension seeped out of her muscles; only a few other shoppers browsed along the same aisle, and none of them appeared the slightest bit interested in her or her son.

"Look, a tool belt like Nate's." Drew tugged his hand out of hers and ran to a display of scaled-down, kid-sized tool belts.

"Wow. They're cool."

She crouched next to him, and they examined the little belt on display, complete with a small metal hammer, measuring tape and crescent wrench.

Wheels squeaked on the linoleum, and Lizzie Callahan, mother of two of Drew's preschool friends, turned into the aisle. Her twin sons, Lucas and Logan, let go of the shopping cart and rushed to Drew's side.

"Hi-Drew-what-did-Santa-bring-ya-for-Christmas?" said Lucas.

Lizzie's gaze zipped from the boys to Lauren, then slightly off over her shoulder. "Oh, hello...Lauren."

Damn. The slight hesitation between the greeting and her name was enough to set her heart pounding again.

On the parent/teacher committee, Lizzie had hinted for months for Lauren to take a more active involvement in the local preschool. Maybe she should've agreed to man a stall at the planned summer fundraising carnival, instead of only offering to bake six-dozen muffins.

Lizzie circled the shopping cart, as Lauren stood upright. The shorter woman reached out to gently guide Lauren a few steps away from the chattering boys.

"There's a bit of a buzz going around the social networks—Grace, my niece, showed me on one of her websites a few days ago..." Lizzie glanced over her shoulder as if to check the boys weren't listening.

"About me?" The question slipped out before her brain caught up with Lizzie's sympathetic gaze.

Lizzie lowered her voice even further. "About Alexandra Knight."

She gaped at the other woman, but the certainty on Lizzie's face made denial pointless.

"A few of Alexandra's most famous covers were posted alongside a blurry photo of you leaving _Kai_ _Moana_. I recognized you straight away." Lizzie sent Lauren a guilty smile. "Actually I recognized you the first time we met at the boys' preschool."

"You did?"

"Hon, coloring your hair brown and expecting guys not to figure you were once the face of _Marie Claire_ is one thing. But with women, pffft—" She dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. "All the other girls know, and we'd hate you for being tall and beautiful—except you're too damn sweet to hate."

Lauren blinked. The other mums knew? They'd never said a word.

"Oh. Well, I guess it's all over town by now." Keeping gossip from spreading in Bounty Bay was akin to preventing the transmission of the common cold—virtually impossible.

Lizzie's nose crinkled. "Well, of course. We are talking about Bounty Bay. No one can keep a secret. But it's okay..." She rubbed a soothing hand down Lauren's arm. "It'll blow over when the next scandal sweeps through. So you used to be a model? Hell, years ago I used to be a dee-jay on the popular Coast-to-Coast-FM morning show, but do you think anyone gives a hoot about that now?"

"I didn't know that."

"You would—if you'd ever accept one of my invitations to come and hang out with me and the other mums at coffee group."

Lauren shook her head. "I'm sorry, Lizzie. You all must think I'm such a snob."

"We understood it must be hard."

"I think I've made it harder."

"Nobody's judging you, hon—well, except Angelique—and that's because she's itching to get you into her salon to fix your horrendous cut and color. She's convinced you hacked off your split ends with a chainsaw."

Lauren laughed, bending to scoop up Drew as he wrapped his arms around her legs. "She's not far wrong. Maybe I am due for a trim."

"Hey." Nate's deep voice behind her sent a shiver down her spine.

She stood and made the introductions, bristling a little at the appreciative light in Lizzie's eyes as she surreptitiously eyed Nate. The muscled length of him— complete with a rakish couple of days' worth of scruff—was hard to ignore, even if you had a husband and twin boys.

Nate grinned down at Lauren, as if he somehow sensed the possessive vibe pumping off her skin. Ridiculous that she felt possessive at all.

"I'd better get going before the boys fall too much more in love with that tool belt," Lizzie said. "Think about the summer carnival, Lauren. We'd love to see you manning the cake stall instead of just baking muffins for it. You'll call me?"

"Sure." Lauren smiled and waved at the twins as Lizzie pushed the shopping cart past.

A warm hand settled on her nape, and Nate's lips skimmed over the shell of her ear. "You look like a woman in need of some ice cream to cool down."

"Ice cream," whooped Drew. "I need ice cream, too!"

Lauren walked with him to the checkout, his big, warm palm on the small of her back. Ice cream wouldn't cool the heat setting her on fire every time Nate was close by.

Lauren was a sucker for punishment as much as Nate was a sucker for her muffins.

Most days around afternoon break time, she found herself, with Drew in tow, hiking up to Nate's place with a container of home-baked goodies. Every time she spotted Nate, paint-splotched and sexy, a niggling little voice said Drew had gotten too attached—that _she_ had gotten too attached. Each time she told the niggling little voice to "shut it" and went to boil the kettle.

Today, she'd made butterscotch brownies—Nate's favorite—because today, she'd heard Bounty Bay's power providers were interested in founding a sustainable-wind farm in the area. Mac's place looked pretty darn good, but even with Kathy's contacts, no one within the community had shown any interest in buying it.

Lauren had gone so far as to speak to Kathy's cousin Samuel, thinking the old, neglected barn a short distance from the main house could be a potential workshop for his art. The man's carvings were a hit with the Asian market, and although Samuel didn't broadcast his financial success, she knew he could afford the place. A brilliant idea—only Kathy's gorgeous but stubborn younger cousin wasn't interested in moving.

_Dammit._

Lauren waved out to Todd working on the scaffolding as they approached, and Drew shrieked like a maniac as he spotted his uncle.

"Uncle Todd! Uncle Todd! I wanna come up!"

Todd climbed down the ladder and plucked his nephew up by the straps of his overalls. He swung him in a dizzying, giggling circle before setting him back on his sneakered feet. "Not a chance, squirt. Your mum'd kill me."

"Aw, man! You and Nate let me come up the other day."

Todd winked at her and grinned. "Shh, you little blabbermouth. That's a man secret. You don't tell women man secrets."

Lauren grinned at her brother, who had already told her about Drew's adventures on the scaffolding when it'd been set up two feet off the ground. "Hmm. I'd better go and talk to the boss."

She passed the container of brownies to Drew. "Sweetie, can you and Uncle Todd put the kettle on while I talk to Nate?"

"He's around back." Todd tipped his head toward the house. "Say, how come she gives you the baking to carry, squirt?"

"Because I won't let you eat them all. Mummy says you can't be trusted and she says I'm more 'sponsible." Drew wrapped his arms around the container.

"'Sponsible...Right." Todd shot her a hard-done-by big brother look. "As if I'd eat all the brownies—they are brownies, aren't they?"

"Go wash up while I find Nate," Lauren threw over her shoulder as she headed for the rear of the house.

Brand new windows and roof, and now the first coat of paint almost completed on the new clapboard siding. Bounty Bay workmen had come up to finish the electrical and plumbing work. More were due in a couple of days to start on the new kitchen and bathroom, and to install the beautiful rat-poop-free carpet she'd helped Nate pick out. Mac's place would soon be a jewel again.

Lauren couldn't help a wistful smile as she rounded the corner. Old Mac would've loved seeing his place restored, though volunteers would've had to hog-tie him before he'd allow anyone to touch it.

Still grinning, Lauren smacked into a solid but not made-of-clapboard wall. The wall's hands shot out to steady her, and she yelped while being dragged flush against a hard chest and stomach.

"Good, you're here." Nate's hands ran over her waist and clamped on her bottom. "I thought you weren't coming." He dipped his head and nibbled on her jaw.

She squirmed closer, threading her fingers behind his neck and holding on tight. "Please tell me you've cleaned your hands, and that I won't have to explain to Drew and my brother why I have two Driftwood-colored handprints on my backside."

His laugh a smoky rumble, Nate kneaded his two handfuls until she nearly purred.

"Lucky for you, I've already washed up."

Before he distracted her any further, Lauren said, "I spoke to a representative from _NorthEnergy_ this morning."

"Mmm." Hot lips pressed against the pulse point at the base of her throat. "You smell so good. Like sugar."

"About wind turbines—"

His lips left her skin. "Turbines?"

"For a wind farm. _NorthEnergy_ would be interested in evaluating the land up here as potential sites for their wind turbines."

"When you say 'the land up here', you're meaning my land?" Some of the warmth drained out of his voice.

"Well, yes. But they said if the sites met their needs after testing, they'll pay ten thousand dollars per turbine per year. That's an amazing investment."

"And I wouldn't have to sell the property to Martin Davis."

_Busted_. "There is that."

"How many turbines are they talking about?"

This was the cruncher. "One to start with, if the test turbine shows it can produce the power they require—but potentially up to three."

Nate released her bottom and straightened, causing her hands to slip from around his neck. "I'm sorry, Laur. It's not the kind of return I'm looking for. Even best case scenario, thirty thousand a year isn't going to work for me."

"So it's all about money." Her cheeks sucked in on a frown.

"As far as Mac's place goes, yes." His tone blunt, he raised an eyebrow. "I've invested pretty much all I own here, and I'm counting on the profit to fund my next overseas trip."

"For another coffee-table book."

"Exactly. After the sale, I'll be in a position to quit the twenty-four-seven life of a photojournalist."

"I thought you loved that life." A tiny flame of hope flared in the back of her mind.

"What I love is living through the lens of my camera. And selling Mac's place for top dollar will allow me to do that full-time on my own terms."

"I'm still trying to find you another buyer."

With a crooked smile, he tugged her back into his arms. "I know, babe. And I'm keeping an open mind. But no wind farm."

"Fine—"

Nate pressed his lips to hers, and the flash of heat sweeping through her melted the last vestiges of indignation.

Giggles and a loud throat clearing doused the equivalent of ice water on them, and they sprang apart. Todd and Drew stood at the corner of the house, her son's mouth wide open, her brother with folded arms and a _you've got to be kidding me_ scowl.

"Mummy was kissing Nate. That's so funny." Drew hurtled over. His eyes sparkled as he tugged on Nate's coveralls. "Now you have to get married. It's the rules."

Nate grunted like he had when Drew accidentally kneed him in the groin as they mock wrestled on the family room floor a couple of evenings ago.

"It doesn't quite work that way, sweetie." Lauren's cheeks stung hot, and she couldn't meet Nate's gaze.

What on earth must Nate think of Drew's marriage comment? What on earth was _she_ thinking—since warmth at the idea of having Nate around on a more permanent basis lit up her insides like a cranked-up furnace?

Resisting the temptation to touch her kiss-wet lips, she snatched up Drew's hand. "Let's make the tea before Java or your uncle sniffs out those brownies."

Nate had approximately an hour's sleep the next morning after he'd slunk into the garage at 5:00 a.m., before a truck rattled to a stop outside. He cracked open an eye and glared at the workshop's wooden cross beams. The engine died, and a car door creaked open, a guitar rift from some old '70s hit twanging through the silence.

_Todd_.

Nate had expected a verbal ass-kicking from Lauren's brother after the silent, _just gimme a reason_ glances the big guy fired in his direction all yesterday afternoon.

Nate lurched off the futon and snatched up his jeans, the bang of a fist against the metal door making him wince.

"You in there, Fraser?"

Nate rolled his eyes. On his property, Todd referred to him good-humoredly as _boss_ ; but now, in Lauren's workshop, he'd been relegated to a surname.

"Yeah, give me a second to get my pants on."

A grunt from the other side of the door and a muttered but still audible, "If you'd kept your bloody pants on, I wouldn't be here."

Biting back a grin that might earn him a punch in the nose, Nate buttoned his jeans and strolled across the floor.

He yanked open the door and squinted at Todd and a black thing bunched in one of his giant fists.

"What's up?"

"A good southwest swell. So we're going surfing. Boards are already in the back."

The big black thing smacked him in the chest and then flopped to the ground.

"This spare wetsuit should fit. Get a move on."

Nate opened his mouth to protest, caught the challenge and faint glimmer of humor in Todd's eyes and decided to can the excuses.

"Five minutes. And remember, if I drown, you don't get paid."

Todd snorted as Nate picked up the wetsuit and shut the door in his face.

"Yeah, yeah."

Forty minutes later, broken by little conversation other than brief discussions on the brilliant offshore wind and ideal conditions, Nate and Todd waded into the surf and paddled out past the whitewater.

"Like riding a bike, right?" Nate said as Todd slanted him an evil grin. "Ten years is starting to feel like fifty."

"Man up and show me what you're made of, Fraser."

Great—a macho test to see if he was worthy of Todd's sister. How that worked, Nate wasn't sure. The swell moved beneath him, the salt water dripping off his hair stinging his eyes. Suicidal to accept Todd's unspoken challenge, but Nate had never turned down a challenge yet.

With a whoop, Todd caught a wave, carving away toward the distant beach with an easy grace that belied the man's size. The pro pitted against the _quimby_ —the annoying novice surfer.

Nate glanced over his shoulder at the next wave building. He hauled himself forward on his board, turned the nose toward shore and paddled his ass off. What the hell, _quimby_ or not, the morning was too damn fine to waste by complaining.

"You're not bad, for a city slicker," Todd told Nate two hours and countless wipeouts later.

Nate limped away from the tiny waves hissing ashore, placed his borrowed board on the sand then stretched out next to it with an unmanly moan of relief.

"Screw you; I'm awful. It's not like riding a bike. Bikes don't try to drown you every time you fall off."

"More practice and you'll be away." Todd lounged beside him, casually leaning on his elbows as if he'd just dipped his toes in the ocean for a few minutes instead of fighting the waves, wind and board.

Nate flung an elbow over his face with a grunt. "Haven't had time for surfing since I was a uni student; what makes you think I've time now?"

Time to lay in the sunshine with sand gritting against his scalp, every muscle screaming yet strangely satisfied.

"Depends how long you're planning to hang around sleeping with my sister."

Nate sat up. Not a conversation he wanted to have spread-eagled like a dazed starfish.

"You really want to go there?"

"You going to stop sleeping with her?"

Nate's toes curled into the sand. "No."

"Then, yeah, I'm going there, since my old man isn't around to speak up for her."

"So you're asking on behalf of your dad what my intentions are?"

"Yep."

"Hell." He shot Todd a glance. "You know I'd never hurt her like her scumbag ex did."

Todd yawned and crossed his ankles. "Thousands of acres of dense native bush around my place, pretty easy to conceal a body. So yeah, I know."

"Think you underestimate your sister allowing anyone to hurt her again, the woman wields a chainsaw like a maniac."

Todd threw back his head and bellowed out a laugh. "Doesn't she just?" Then his expression turned serious. "Lauren's not the same broken woman who arrived on my doorstep two years ago."

"No, I imagine she's not. She's incredible, the bravest woman I've ever met. But she and I both know this is a temporary deal."

"Temporary, huh? I thought the same thing while Kathy and I were fooling around. Thought I could end it whenever I pleased. Don't tell me you're as dumb as I was?"

"It's not dumb knowing it'd never work between us. She wants to remain here, hidden away with her family; I want to travel the world and document it. Incompatible wants."

"What you want and what you need are often not the same."

"Thank you for your wisdom, Yoda."

Todd shrugged good-naturedly. "You're welcome, young Jedi. I get it, you know. It's scary when a woman gets her hooks into your heart. Makes your brain start telling you all sorts of stupid shit, like run when you should stay."

"Whoa—there are no hooks in my heart or anywhere else."

Todd coughed, the cough sounding like a sarcastic, "Yeah, right."

Nate staggered to his feet. "I've only got another two and a half weeks—three, tops— before I'm outta here."

"Because all this"—Todd flung a wetsuit-covered arm out toward the sea—" _and_ the potential of a life with an amazing woman and a kid who thinks you're one step _above_ Superman, can't compete with bumming around the world with your camera?"

"It's what guys like me do."

But Nate couldn't draw his gaze from the waves rolling onto the beach and the ache in his gut at the idea of driving away from Lauren and Drew for the last time.

Todd stood and picked up his board. Shot Nate a look of resignation. "You keep telling yourself that, boss. Maybe you'll end up believing it."

# Chapter 9

"Popcorn?" Nate leaned back into the couch, propping his bare feet on the coffee table.

"Check." Drew hugged the massive bowl and wriggled closer to him.

"Pajamas?"

Drew jerked a thumb at his Superman pajama-covered chest. "Check."

"Superman movie marathon no girls allowed?"

"Check, check, check!" Drew grinned and shoved a hand into the buttery popcorn.

Nate hit the play button on the remote and glanced at the clock. Six thirty. Lauren would've been on her way back with Kathy from the baby shower, except Kathy's sister had gone into labor after the excitement of twenty women bearing gifts and squealing, "That's so adorable." Well, according to Lauren's report on the phone an hour ago.

Which left him babysitting a lot longer than he'd anticipated. Not that it was a problem. Drew was a good kid—a great kid—and the fact Lauren had asked him instead of her brother to sit with Drew created a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest.

"Let's do this thing," he said as the opening credits rolled onto the screen. "And go easy on the popcorn."

Drew rested his head on Nate's arm and looked up with a smile that transformed the warm fuzzy into a scalding-hot flood.

Indigestion. Nate snatched up a handful of popcorn and turned back to the screen. Indigestion from the nachos Lauren had left the two of them for an early dinner.

He couldn't have this kid, he couldn't have this cozy life. And he couldn't be the husband-slash-dad who left his family alone for months at a time, or the husband-slash-dad who dragged them with him, either.

Men like him and Steve? The family thing didn't work for them—not without leaving a trail of broken hearts behind. No way would he do that to this little boy who'd already been through so much.

"How about some juice to wash down the popcorn?" Nate asked a few minutes into the movie.

Drew's head on Nate's arm weighed more than an anchor, dragging his thoughts down into murky waters.

"Okay." Drew never took his eyes off Clark Kent's bespectacled face.

Nate eased away and got up to pour the drinks. When he returned, he sat on the opposite end of the couch and piled up cushions between them. "You can lie down if you get tired."

One and a half movies later, Drew was out for the count. Nate scooped the sleeping child up and carried him upstairs, ignoring Drew's sleepy snuggling and murmured protests as Nate lowered the boy into his bed.

Tip-toeing out of Drew's room, Nate sighed and headed back to the couch. Time for a well-earned brew while he waited for Lauren to get home. He stretched out with his beer and the remote.

_Babysitting_ , he thought after he'd emptied the bottle. _Like a boss_.

Shrill screams scoured down the stairs and ripped Nate out of a light doze. Rolling into a dead run before his brain had a chance to catch up, he tore back upstairs. The moment he flung open Drew's door, he started cursing himself. Stupid, thoughtless dolt—he'd forgotten to switch on the boy's nightlight.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm here." He fumbled for the bedside lamp.

Warm light exploded into the room, and for a second, his pounding heart stuttered at the sight of Drew's empty bed. Then he spotted the little boy, curled into a huddle in the corner of the bed between the wall and footboard, wild-eyed and shaking.

Nate's fists tightened, his lungs struggling to get enough air with the stony weight pressed on them. Lucky for Jonathan Knight's mortality that two oceans separated them.

He flicked on the nightlight switch and sat on the edge of Drew's bed. "I'm sorry. I forgot to put on your nightlight."

"Where's Mummy?" Drew's lower lip trembled. "I want Mummy."

"She's not back yet. She's with your Aunty Mel who's having a baby." Nate raked a hand through his hair.

_Baby-sitting boss?_ _Hah._ He had no clue what to do if Drew worked himself up into a frenzy because his mother wasn't home.

"Come and lie down again. You'll get cold."

"I had a bad dream about Daddy." Drew didn't budge, just turned those huge, dark eyes up to his. "He hurt Mummy."

"Your daddy won't hurt her again—or you," Nate said firmly. "Come on, now. I'll stay with you until you fall asleep."

Drew crawled up the bed and lay down, squishing his body against the wall and patting the mattress in front of him. "You have to lie down too, like Mummy does."

Nate hesitated, took one look at the kid's face and sighed, folding himself into the confines of the single bed. "If I break the bed, your mum'll never let me hear the end of it."

"She'll put you in time-out." Drew scrubbed a fist across his tear-stained face.

"Or swat me with her wooden spoon."

Drew offered him a tiny smile. "She smacked Uncle Todd once when he stole three muffins, but the spoon broke."

"Ouch."

Drew yawned, his eyelids fluttering shut. "Mummy wouldn't do that, though. She likes you"—another jaw-stretching yawn—"and I like you, too."

Nate's throat clamped shut as the boy nestled in under his chin, resting his small head on the crook of Nate's arm. He didn't dare move as Drew's breathing evened out and his warm hand clutched Nate's arm.

Nate closed his eyes so he wouldn't have yet another heart-breaking memory to add to his collection. He pulled the comforter over them both.

"Right back at you, little mate."

He was only making it harder on himself when the time came to walk away.

A time that drew closer and closer.

By the time Lauren had driven home from the hospital it was closer to dawn than midnight. Lights still burned downstairs, and after a quick pat of Java's head, she walked into an empty kitchen then family room.

_Well, now._ She'd expected to find Nate flaked out in front of the TV, remote on his stomach and feet propped on her coffee table. Moving farther inside, Lauren spotted the remote on the floor, its battery guts spilled open as if it'd been thrown. Prickles jabbed the base of her spine, her stomach suddenly twisting. She dropped her bag and hurried up the stairs, forcing herself to take long, slow breaths.

_He was fine. Drew was fine._

A sliver of golden light sliced across the floor under Drew's door, and she gently pushed it open. The bedside lamp glowed, casting back shadows and highlighting Nate's broad back curled forward in the single bed. Drew's soft snores and the louder, deeper breathing of the man precariously perched on the edge of the mattress were the only sounds. She crept into the room. Tucked into Nate's body, Drew slept with his hand clutching Nate's tee shirt, one pajama-clad leg hooked over his knee.

Tears stung the corner of her eyes. The wanting, the _yearning_ for this to be a real, tangible foundation for her and Nate to build a lifetime on throbbed with every heartbeat.

She wanted him for Drew; but more, she wanted him for herself.

His kindness, his strength, her belief now that he saw her—saw her right down to her scarred soul and accepted her unconditionally.

She walked to the bed and crouched beside it, laying a hand on Nate's shoulder and murmuring his name so as not to startle him. He came awake instantly, twisting his head up to meet her gaze, a sheepish smile curving his lips.

Between the two of them, they gently eased Drew away from Nate so he could climb off the bed. Lauren tucked her son in then laced her fingers with Nate's and led him to her bedroom.

Closing the door behind them, she turned and peeled off her dress.

But before Operation-Seduction went into action, he said, "How's Mel and the baby?"

Her throat constricted, blood booming past her eardrums as she stood in her underwear and stared across the room. _It was too late, dammit._ She'd stupidly gone and fallen in love with Nate Fraser.

Not in the moment when she'd found him asleep with her son, not when he'd smiled at her in Drew's bed, his green eyes shimmering in the lamplight. No. She'd tripped over the line when he'd seen her standing almost naked in front of him and he'd thought to ask about someone in her family.

Lauren pressed a hand to her chest as a reminder to her lungs to keep functioning.

"Mel had a healthy baby boy, and they're both doing well. Adam's not doing quite as well since he fainted during the delivery and ended up with five stitches in his forehead."

"That's got to hurt." Nate ran his fingers through his rumpled bed hair and muffled a yawn.

"More his ego and the knowledge that Todd and his other brothers-in-law will never let him live it down."

She swayed toward him, running her palms up the ridged muscles of his chest and planting a soft kiss on his stubbled jaw. "Come to bed."

A flash of straight white teeth. "I've already had a nap, I'm not that tired."

"Good. Because sleeping is not what I had in mind."

Lips curving into a smile, she traced the hard angles of his face as he backed her up to the bed. She belonged here, in his arms, falling into a tangle on the sheets.

Nate claimed her mouth, his hands possessive as he stripped away her bra and panties. Shoving up his shirt with one hand, she gently raked her nails down the solid line of his abs.

She broke the kiss, fumbling with the stud of his jeans. "Too many clothes."

"Fixable." He stripped off his jeans and shirt, grabbed protection from her nightstand and came back to her, all hot skin on hot skin.

Wedged between her thighs, his forearms braced either side of her shoulders, he nuzzled her neck. "You're in a hurry."

In a hurry? No, she wanted every moment of this night preserved in Technicolor detail. The imprint of his face, his musky male scent, the explosion of sensations as he sucked on her earlobe—she wanted it to last. She wanted to remember it all.

"Make love to me," she said.

His arousal pressed intimately against her, and she arched her hips, drawing him deep inside.

He took her lips again, the dance of his tongue dipping into her mouth mimicking the measured strokes of his body. Crossing her legs over his hips, she encouraged him to move faster, delicious heat spiraling through her core. The wall of his chest grazed her aching nipples as he rocked them both, slicking a fine sheen of sweat across her skin. She couldn't hold back, couldn't hold anything back from him.

Her body convulsed around his, and pleasure drew out a moan so deep part of her scarred heart ripped away with it. Lauren buried her face in the curve of Nate's neck and held on as if she'd never have to let him go.

Nate didn't want to say yes to his old boss' request, but his bills wouldn't pay themselves. Two days in the Bay of Islands covering a pre-Waitangi Day protest would help boost his dwindling bank account.

"You and Stevie would've fought like alley cats over this, not so long ago." The man's patronizing voice buzzed down the line from a sky-rise office in downtown Auckland.

Nate kept the phone pressed to his ear, careful not to move off his deck—the only place he could get decent cellphone reception. Lauren bent over a spindly sapling, and he leaned against the railing to further admire her shorts-clad butt. She and Drew had arrived earlier that morning with a packed picnic lunch. Afterward, she'd taken it upon herself to plant half a dozen young native trees along the driveway.

"Steve is dead, Wally." Calling Walter Beaumont the Third "Wally" irritated the man almost as much as it irritated Nate to hear his friend called "Stevie." And it bugged the hell out of Nate more to admit the truth in Wally's words.

When it turned out Steve's weight loss wasn't due to a new health kick but instead was the dreaded Big C, eating his lungs from the inside out, he'd sucked up his pride and taken any jobs going to help his friend pay the ever-increasing mountain of bills.

Walter tsked in Nate's ear, a noise with no trace of sympathy. "Yes, terrible thing, that. But life goes on, and you're just about on location. You want the job or not?"

Lauren straightened and turned toward him, the brim of her god-awful sunhat and oversized sunglasses blocking a clear view of her eyes. The sly curve on her lips told him she knew he hated that damn hat, knew exactly what he'd been looking at, and knew exactly what he'd wanted to do to her all morning. They stared at each other across the expanse, Walter's voice a distant mosquito whine in the background.

_I see what's behind your smile, sweetheart. You can hide from the camera's eye, but_ I __ see you.

Drew's sudden cry broke the connection. His gaze zeroed in on the boy sprawled on the ground with Java nosing his legs. Lauren covered the distance quickly and stooped down to help the boy to his feet.

"All right, I'll do it." His autopilot functioning, Nate interrupted Walter's spiel, mentally assessing Drew's movements to determine if the kid really was injured. "I'll leave in an hour."

He disconnected and strode across the grass, which would soon be sculptured into a stunning entrance to the house. He stepped around the sites marked out for flowerbeds and a barbeque area—things that would eat up more of his cash reserves. So he'd try to see this two-day trip as a blessing.

"Hey, guys," he called out.

Boy and dog rushed Nate in a tangle of paws and legs. He gathered Drew up before the dog could trip him a second time. Drew buried his snot-streaked face in Nate's shoulder.

"Higher, Nate. Higher! Java'll get me again."

A knot formed in Nate's stomach, but he hauled the squirming boy up and over so that he sat straddling his shoulders. "Better?"

Giggles filled the air as Java braced his front paws on Nate's chest and licked Drew's toes, which caused more enthusiastic wriggling. Nate glanced over at Lauren. She angled the sunglasses down to reveal slightly drawn brows, a thoughtful expression flittering across her eyes.

"Listen, I've got to take off to the Bay of Islands for an assignment. I shouldn't be away longer than two days."

Lauren's half-smile slipped into a straight line, but she tugged the corners up again and said in an easy tone, "Sure."

Drew stilled. Small hands clamped around Nate's chin and tilted it so far back, he copped a perfect upside down view of the kid's trembling lower lip.

"You're going away? But you're coming back, aren't you?"

A second knot in his stomach appeared beside the first.

"Sweetie, Nate has to work—"

He shot Lauren a quelling look, and she fell silent.

"It's okay. Drew and I will sort this out." He kept a firm grip on Drew's ankle and turned away. "I've got something for you in the car."

Nate swung Drew off his shoulders as they stopped in front of his Range Rover, getting a clip in the ear from one bony kneecap on the way down. He couldn't help but grin. Kid was going to be tall like his mum, all sky-high, lanky legs. Would probably be six foot by the time he hit the teen years.

Not that he'd be around to witness the boy's awkward transition into the adolescent wilderness. He wouldn't be around when Drew started primary school or when he graduated from training wheels to the challenge of balancing on two. He wouldn't be around to teach the kid how to really see a subject before even raising a camera to his eye. He wouldn't be the one to show him how to cast a line, or to have the kid laugh at him while they learned to surf. And he wouldn't be the one to put an arm around his shoulder the first time some girl inadvertently broke his heart.

The thought left him feeling like a leaky bucket, all his joy draining away into a pool of emptiness.

Drew, forgetting he was upset, bopped up and down. "Whatcha got in your car for me?"

Nate opened the back door and slid out his camera case, popping open the lid. From a little pocket tucked into the lining, he removed a cracked plastic sleeve attached to a bootlace. Inside the plastic sleeve was a scrap of blue card with the word "reporter" printed across it in faded ink.

"Superman is a reporter, yeah?"

"No. Superman is a superhero. His alpha-ego is a reporter," Drew said.

"Got it. His _alter_ -ego, Clark Kent."

Drew frowned but nodded.

"When I was a boy, I wanted to be a reporter just like Super—Clark Kent. One time, my dad had to go away to a country called Bangladesh for three weeks—"

"Did you miss him?"

Nate crouched so he could look into the boy's eyes. "Like crazy."

"I don't miss my daddy; he was mean." Drew's gaze was steady and unflinching.

"I'm sorry."

Drew shrugged one skinny shoulder, a gesture that nearly shattered the remnants of Nate's composure. He took a deep breath and ran his thumb along the tattered edge of the cover.

"So before my dad went away, he gave me this." He showed Drew the plastic sleeve and bootlace. "He told me it was my very own reporter's press pass, and when I wore it, I could have lots of adventures, and I'd remember he was close to me even if he wasn't around."

Nate draped the bootlace lanyard over Drew's head. "This is yours now. While I'm gone, you need to be brave like Superman, have lots of adventures, and look out for your mum. Okay?"

Nate doubted the kid knew what the ancient scrap of card meant. How he'd carried it around with him for years, a talisman of his father's love. And how, for the first time, his hardened resolve had cracked enough for him to want to pass that talisman on.

Drew wrapped a small fist around the plastic sleeve and paralyzed Nate with a patented, older-than-his-years stare.

"Are you going to be my new dad?"

A sucker punch, delivered straight to the heart. Nate stood, ruffled Drew's hair and tried a laugh, which came out a frog-ish croak. "Ah, I think I make a better mate to you, kid, than I would a dad."

"Can't you be both?" The wistfulness in Drew's tone had Nate slamming shut his camera case and closing the car door.

"Tell you what. How about I find my cooler and pick up some of that special ice cream you've been dying to try?" His voice sounded like a drowning man clutching at a pile of twigs.

Drew immediately brightened. "Cookie dough with chocolate chunks?"

"That's the one. I'll grab a big tub on the way back, and we'll eat like men until we puke—how does that sound?"

"Awesome!" The kid vibrated with excitement and bolted toward Lauren. "Muuum! Nate says we're gonna eat ice cream 'til we puke!"

The urge to flee the emotions churning through Nate overpowered his pride. He had to get this property done and dusted before he completely lost his mind.

"I'm on a deadline, you know," he muttered to God-knows-who and stomped back to his house.

He needed to get away from here. Away from Lauren and the boy he'd already started to see as his.

Nate studied the half-ripped crowd at _The Sea Witch_ with jaded eyes. How had he become the sullen dude perched at the end of a bar, nursing a beer? He'd spent the afternoon skulking around the touristy but scenic Paihia in the Bay of Islands, with his camera at the ready to catch the mood of the people gathering for tomorrow's protest. What little enthusiasm he'd started with had quickly frayed.

Indigo walls and modern art, which looked to him like a child's tantrum caught on canvas, were the only interesting things to stare at while he sipped his beer. He adjusted the camera hanging around his neck and closed his eyes against some perky, remade pop song, which was so loud it made his teeth hurt.

After Steve died—not in his arms, exactly, as the ornery bugger waited until Nate left on a bathroom break to take his final breath—Nate had lost his taste for bar crawls and all-nighters. He didn't want to spend the evening with a bunch of strangers. He wanted to be tucked up on Lauren's couch with Drew snoring on one side and Lauren snuggled against his hip on the other.

He shoved the beer aside and slid off the stool, weaving through the crowd until he hit the sidewalk of Paihia's million-dollar-view foreshore. Striding back to his hotel room, Nate punched Lauren's number into his phone.

"I got a mini-suite with a separate bedroom—why don't you both come over for the night?" he said when she answered.

"Oh, Nate. Well..."

It cost him a large chunk of his pride to say, "I know I should've asked before I even left Bounty Bay, but I didn't think. I miss you, Lauren. I miss you both already."

Then he tried to lighten the desperation in his voice by adding, "It'll be like a sleepover. You and Drew take the queen bed, and I'll sleep on the couch. Tomorrow Drew'll have a blast in the hotel's swimming pool—it's got a waterslide and everything."

Another pause hissed down the line.

"Todd and Kathy have taken Drew for a couple of nights," she said. "They've gone to stay with one of Todd's friends."

She was alone? Nate's pulse accelerated, and he licked suddenly dry lips, pressing the phone hard against his ear as if it would somehow bring her closer.

"Come and stay with me, baby. Just the two of us, no distractions. Let me hold you all night instead of having to leave your bed by morning."

Her soft gasp punched a hot, fistful of lust low into his gut. Right then, he knew if she said no, he'd dump the assignment and drive back.

"I can be there in three hours."

Her breathier-than-normal voice made him grin like a man who'd just won the lottery.

"I'll be waiting." He rattled off the hotel's address and said goodbye.

Three hours until he could see her smile, taste the softness of her mouth. Two nights to spend making love to her.

As he crossed the road to his hotel, Nate told himself it was enough. That two nights with Lauren would get him through the endless nights alone once he hit the international airport with his camera and backpack.

# Chapter 10

After driving for hours, nerves a jittering accompaniment to the blast of the stereo, Lauren parked the station wagon and crossed the parking lot to Nate's hotel. The small carry bag in her hand felt too light without the kid paraphernalia that usually accompanied her everywhere. Meeting her lover for a weekend in his hotel room—she'd never done that before. Why had she agreed? And what were the unwritten rules in this situation?

She glanced at her shorts and sandals and shivered in the cool night air. Maybe she should've dressed up—or at least swiped on some makeup instead of racing out of the house after he'd called, desperate to be with him.

The ride up to his room took forever, the piped-in music scouring away the last of her composure as she exited the elevator and followed the room numbers. Outside his door, she was seconds away from turning tail and making a run back to her car. Then the door opened to Nate, hipshot and bare-chested, dressed only in cargo shorts.

_Total yum._ Even from the hallway, she caught the scent of shampoo and delicious, clean male. Would it be rude to shove him backward and pounce? Now she really was acting crazy—swinging from nerves to thigh-squeezing desire and back again.

"Good timing."

He pulled the door open farther, and she stepped inside, the hairs on her arms standing to attention.

Offering him a wan smile, she scanned the room. The switched-on table lamps provided a gentle glow against the darkness pressed up against the outside windows. No champagne bottles on ice, no over-the-top bouquets, and as she followed him through the small living area to the bedroom, no rose petals strewn across the bed's white comforter. Thank goodness.

Nate took the overnight bag from her hand and tossed it onto a chair.

"Come with me." He towed her into the gleaming, white-tiled bathroom, the rough calluses on his fingers sending an erotic thrill through her. "I ran you a bath."

Strawberry-scented white bubbles foamed in a large corner bathtub. The foamy puffs hissing softly as tiny bubbles burst drew some of the tension out of her muscles. "Oh, that's so sweet."

Clapping a hand to the back of his neck, Nate slanted her a glance. "I knew you'd be tired after that drive, and I didn't want you to think I'd planned to jump you the minute you walked in."

His phrasing sent a flush of heat through her. Would she have complained if he had? She smoothed her car-wrinkled clothes with a grimace. "I kind of wondered if I should've worn a cocktail dress. I feel underdressed for the occasion."

He chuckled and looked down at his shorts. "Uh-oh. Should I have gone for the tuxedo and caviar?"

Pressing her lips together to stop a smile, Lauren shook her head. "But you'd be a total fox in a tuxedo."

"You're not the champagne and tuxedo type. I know this, because I know you." His voice caressed her as he reached out and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. "Now take your bath before it gets cold."

Nate left her alone, and Lauren stripped, feeling more naked than she had at any other time during their weeks of lovemaking. It'd been easier to avoid real intimacy when they were forced to work around Drew, easier to keep her vulnerable parts hidden away. Because falling in love with Nate left her heart raw and exposed, wide open to fresh scars that he wouldn't even realize he'd created.

After piling her clothes in the corner of the room, she sank into the bathtub with a groan. She wouldn't think any more about that tonight. He didn't love her, he wouldn't stay and he'd undoubtedly break her heart. But tonight, he'd cared enough to run her a bath and—

Nate walked back into the bathroom with a steaming mug and said, "Chamomile tea?"

And he cared enough to make her tea.

"Put the tea down and come here."

Nate placed the mug on the counter and sat on the edge of the bath, wiggling his eyebrows. "Want me to wash your back, pretty lady?"

"Not just yet."

Running a toe over his hand gripping the bath edge, Lauren arched her back so her breasts bobbed up through drifts of white froth. A sharp intake of breath from Nate as his eyes hooded in sensual appreciation. She lifted her foot from his hand and curled her toes into the ridges of his abs. The man was far too dry, far too smug, and she hadn't forgotten his accusation at the beach that she didn't have enough fun.

When he stroked his palm down the underside of her calf to the sensitive spot behind her knee, Lauren surged upright, grabbed his wrist and tugged. With a startled yelp, Nate slipped into the bathtub.

Who knew one man could displace so much soapy water? Who knew she could rocket from mildly aroused to turned-on-and-needing-him-right-now in a matter of moments?

His skin slick against hers in a tangle of limbs, Nate pulled her into his lap. "No back scrub for you."

She laughed and smoothed puffs of white bubbles off his face. "That's okay. I've got you exactly where I want you now."

He squeezed her bottom, and she squirmed up his thighs until his erection wedged against her hip. As he grinned down at her, the desire darkening his eyes made Lauren's heart thump wildly into her ribs.

"I think you've lost control of this situation, Laur." Nate ran his lips down her temple before one soap-covered hand gently gripped her jaw and tilted her mouth to his.

Warm breath teased her, and she couldn't pull her gaze from the siren-call of his eyes. And like a siren that shipwrecked sailors of old, he drew all resistance from her, promising heaven if she'd cast herself adrift in his arms.

Sealing his mouth to hers, he took her under. The chance to pull back and steer toward safer shores vanished like the delicate froth of bubbles around them. Roughened hands slid on wet skin, up over her hips, tracing along her waist and skimming the underside of her breasts. Her nipples ached as he brushed his fingers over the puckered tips then delicately rolled the sensitized buds between his thumb and forefinger. Too many sensations cascaded through her body at once.

Lauren gasped into his kiss, lacing her fingers in the damp hair at his nape. Held on tight before the feel of his hands on her breasts blew the top of her head right off.

His tongue danced with hers then he pulled back, moving those super-sexy lips down to the column of her throat. "You're so beautiful; you drive me crazy."

A sharp jerk of his hips made it clear he told the truth. Releasing his hair, she ran a fingernail over the bunched muscles of his shoulder, down the planes of his chest and circled his nipple. Another hip twitch.

"And you've got too many clothes on." Lauren wriggled off his lap to her knees. She tugged off his shorts, dropped them over the side of the bathtub. "Much better."

Sensual electricity snapped between them, her fingers acting like mini-conductors as she turned and skimmed them over his slippery-wet skin. "I love the way you make me feel."

She loved him, period.

But she couldn't shape the words on her tongue, so she straddled his thighs and kissed him, deep and hot and slow, so he wouldn't see it written all over her face. Tilting her hips forward, she ground against him, his hardness the perfect counterpart to her swollen softness. His big hands spanned her waist as he rocked up, pressing his length so intimately into her body that for a moment, sheer hunger blurred her vision.

"We need to get out of the bath."

His growled words penetrated the haze, and Lauren blinked slowly at him.

He cupped her chin, kissing her once more before he lifted her off his lap and got to his feet. He extended a hand. "There are things I want to do with you—to you—that I can't do thrashing around in bubbles."

She let Nate draw her upward, her legs so buttery with desire they barely kept her upright while he snatched a towel from the rack and passed it to her. The towel's looped pile tortured her skin, every inch of her body electrified and alive with sensation. Nate quickly dried himself and looked up at her, clutching the towel to her breasts and shivering from wanting him so badly.

"Baby, you're cold." He picked her up in his arms and strode into the bedroom.

"Not cold," she whispered against the strawberry-scented skin of his neck.

Just really, crazily in love with him. She wanted to lick him up like an ice cream sundae.

Nate laid her down on the bed, stretching out next to her on the sheets. Goosebumps popped out on her skin as he lay watching her face with his hypnotic green eyes.

"Nate?"

"Mmm?" The corner of his mouth twitched up.

"Please touch me."

Nate's smile widened, and her toes curled, his gaze growing hot and liquid.

"Now would be good," she added.

Instead of touching her, he bent forward and sucked her nipple deep into the warm depths of his mouth. The firm, circular sweep of his tongue around the sensitive peak had her clutching the sheet and crying out. When she thought she couldn't take more, he moved between her lax thighs, sinking her into the mattress with his weight. Sliding her knees up his flanks, she locked them around his hips, loving the long, muscled feel of him.

"You taste like strawberries," he murmured into her mouth, rocking his hips intimately against her core. "Do you taste like strawberries all over?"

Hooded eyes teased hers as he gently disengaged her legs from his back and slid down her body. Prickly stubble left on his chin scraped along her trembling inner thighs and she shivered again. A quick swipe of his tongue and she arched off the bed, the firm grip he had on her hips the only thing holding her in place.

"Better than strawberries. So much better."

Then he buried his mouth between her folds, and erotic oblivion whiplashed through her, deafening any other sound than that of her own whimpers. Nate drove her relentlessly then pulled back with nibbling kisses over her hipbone. Reaching down, she gripped his hair, tried to tug him upward so she could touch him in return—but he was an unmovable force. He wouldn't be rushed. And once his mouth returned to her, resistance was futile.

Finally remembering to breathe, she opened her eyes to see his face poised above, his fingers locking with hers as he pinned her arms above her head. He kissed her, claiming her with the heady taste of her own arousal on his tongue.

"I need to be inside you." Half plea, half demand, he positioned himself at her slick entrance.

"Yes."

Her blood hummed, and emptiness clawed in her belly until he shifted forward, the hard length of him pressed up and all around and deep inside, his strokes long and sure. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but melt into him and cry out his name. He let go of her hands, cupped a knee and drew her leg up, angling his body to deepen the connection between them.

Clawing at his back, Lauren twisted beneath him, the pleasure so unbearable it was almost too painful to let him continue. Each time he drove into her, as unstoppable as the ebb and flow of tides, he owned her a little more. He didn't need to whisper, "You're mine," against the damp heat of her skin, because the way her body responded to his, the absence of fear in his complete male dominance, spoke louder than any words.

He took her mouth, the dance of his tongue matching the slow tango of his hips. Tension thrummed and built deep inside her as his lazy rhythm grew faster. His breathing hitched, the broad wall of his chest pressed tight to her breasts. Encouraging his wild thrusts, she met him stroke for stroke until the first lightning-fast tremors spun out from her core. Nate's eyes, the color of a storm-tossed ocean, grew hazy as he surged into her one last time.

She tumbled into the oncoming waves and let herself be swept away.

Due to arrive around midday, the _hikoi_ , or peaceful Maori protest march, had gathered a large number of onlookers on the Waitangi Treaty grounds. Lauren moved through the crowd under the scorching sun, keeping an eye out for Nate amongst the distinctive red, black and white Maori flags fluttering in the light sea breeze.

Police officers strolled alongside civilians, their presence largely ignored as the _hikoi_ seemed to have generated a family carnival feel. Sometimes, complaints against the government exploded into animosity when the official Waitangi Day celebration—still a while away—took place. But today was for cheering on the two hundred people who'd trudged six hours through the summer heat to the intricately carved meeting-house.

_There_ —a flash of Nate's white tee shirt and the sun sparkling off his camera lens.

"Excuse me." She dodged around a mother and a toddler with ice cream melting all over her fingers.

His face half obscured by his camera, Nate crouched in the center of the manicured lawns. The distinctive cry of Maori women welcoming the _hikoi_ onto the Treaty grounds sounded in the distance. The crowd parted, and the marchers, their wide white banner held in front, came into view. Before she could wave at him, Nate was off and running, the camera bag slung across his hip bouncing with every step as he moved quickly toward the solemn procession.

She soon lost sight of him amongst the push and shove of the crowd. Spotting an empty space beneath the wide-spread branches of a _pohutukawa_ tree, Lauren slipped away and sank cross-legged to the cool grass. She'd wait in the shade for him to do his thing, while she listened to the speeches and the entertainment scheduled for later. Feedback from the sound system squealed, and she leaned against the rough bark. A bee buzzed past, and the shifting patterns of sunlight filtering through the leaves acted like a narcotic. If they hadn't kept each other up half the night with lovemaking and pillow talk, she might be a little more alert. With a smile, she stretched out her legs and closed her eyes.

A sudden cacophony of voices jerked her awake. Whether she'd been asleep two minutes or two hours, she wasn't sure, but even a little disoriented, she recognized that the cheerful party atmosphere had changed into something darker. She scrambled to her feet, shading her eyes at the grim faces of parents hustling their kids across the lawns.

Blue-uniformed officers swarmed in lines to keep a group of shouting men and women separated from the protestors. Nate, camera pointed at a stocky, red-faced man a few feet in front of him, was close to the center of the clash.

The man shouted incoherently, swinging a fist at a blue-uniformed constable. Lauren's heart punched against her ribs. The first strike on an officer was a match-to-kerosene trigger to the anti-protester group, and like a multi-limbed octopus, they surged forward into the police line.

_Oh God—Nate!_

She ran, a full-out, arms-pumping sprint toward the spot she'd seen him last. She slowed before she reached the mass of tussling, shouting bodies, scanning angry faces for a glimpse of him.

Where the hell was he? If something happened to him...

The hot dog he'd bought her as they strolled along Paihia's foreshore on the way to Waitangi was a cold, hard rock in her stomach.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her off her feet, dragging her away from the crowd.

"Hey—"

She flung her head back, and frowning green eyes clashed with hers, the camera around his neck bumping her upper arm.

"Lauren, it's not safe—what are you doing?" Nate set her on her feet, snatched up her hand and yanked her farther away.

"Looking. For. You." Her lungs pinched shut, and she could only stare.

Lit up like a sugar-fueled kid at a birthday party, Nate vibrated with energy. His hair was mussed, and the skin high on one cheekbone was reddened.

"I'm fine," he said. "But I'm working, okay?"

"But your face." She touched her fingertips to his cheek.

He winced then grinned down at her. "Someone wasn't watching where their elbow went. No big deal."

"No big deal? I saw the crowd explode, and there you were..."

Her voice trailed away as he glanced over his shoulder, his hand unconsciously moving to rest on his camera. Twitchy already, wanting to get back into the thick of it.

"This could get uglier before it gets better. Maybe you should return to the hotel. Have a swim, lounge in the sun with a book." He grabbed her hand, giving her knuckles a quick kiss. "I'll join you for a go on the water slide later."

Lauren backed up a step. He barely seemed to notice, his gaze zipping again to the roar of the crowd.

"You're probably right. I'll head back now."

Nate kissed her hard and fast then took off with a cheery wave. She tracked him across the lawn, weaving among the onlookers. He was right where he wanted to be—camera at the ready, drama all around him, shooting his verbs.

The breeze skimming off the ocean popped up goose bumps on her bare arms. Walking in the opposite direction to the mayhem, she risked one last glance back. Nate had climbed onto the makeshift stage, his upper body precariously angled out over the crowd, one hand wrapped around a pole for balance, the other holding his camera. The manic smile on his face told her all she needed to know.

He was doing what he loved. She could never ask him to give up the adrenaline rush to stay in her safe little world. Lauren turned away.

She could never ask him, because his answer would break her heart all over again.

Time was up. D-Day had arrived.

A week after they'd returned from the Bay of Islands, Nate's prospective buyer, Martin Davis, had driven up to inspect the property. The rumble of the developer's car leaving fifteen minutes earlier had Kathy shooing Lauren out of her kitchen, telling her, "Go sort things out with your man; I'll watch Drew."

So Lauren drove to Nate's property and parked next to his Range Rover. Filling her lungs with a deep breath, she climbed out. Two days. Due to leave in two days—and Nate was _not_ her man. Yet.

Mac's old house looked beautiful. It glowed in the afternoon sunlight, ready to challenge any home featured in the pages of a glossy magazine. A brand new deck surrounded almost the whole house, and the views of the ocean's blue horizon in the distance would tempt even a highly strung, A-lister to relax in one of the Adirondack chairs.

Martin Davis would be crazy not to want it.

She climbed the two steps onto the deck. Nate stepped around the corner of the house in a crisp, white business shirt and charcoal dress pants, and her throat slammed shut.

"Thought I heard your car." He finished unbuttoning the second cuff as he walked, then rolled up the sleeve to expose his corded forearm.

"You're wearing a suit?" Her voice came out with a squeaky edge.

Laugh lines around his eyes crinkled, and he stopped, leaning against the wall. "Not quite. But I thought I'd better look like the owner rather than a grime-covered tool-jockey for this afternoon's meeting."

"You look good." Better than good. "How did it go?" She shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts to keep from destroying the buttons on yet another of his shirts.

The laugh lines smoothed into a wary watchfulness. "It went well. He's gone back to Auckland to finalize the deal through his lawyers."

She expected it, knew it was inevitable, but the words still punched hollowly into her gut.

"It's done then." Trying but failing to keep the flatness out of her voice she met his gaze. "You've sold it."

"Lauren—"

He straightened and reached out a hand, but she backed away.

"You knew I always planned to sell to Martin. Is this still about your paparazzi fears?"

Vertebrae by vertebrae, she stiffened her spine. "Not entirely. I just hoped over the last few weeks you'd reconsider who you sold it to. Maybe that you'd hold on to the place a little while longer until another buyer turned up." _Or you'd decide you didn't want to sell at all. That you wanted to stay here, with Drew and me._

"You thought I'd reconsider selling it?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, the molten fire in his green eyes fusing her to the spot.

"Is that why you invited me to your bed? To seduce me into changing my mind?"

"No! It wasn't about changing your mind."

"What was it about then?"

Seconds crept past as cicadas buzzed, and the sun hammered down. "It was about being with someone who made me feel alive inside again." She offered him a rueful smile. "There were no ulterior motives. I knew I'd only have you for a short time, and now that time is up."

"I have to go back to the city."

He stepped toward her, and she didn't flinch as his palms skimmed down her bare arms.

She nodded, keeping her lips turned up so he wouldn't glimpse the truth behind her smile. "I know."

He grinned—a reckless, stunning grin that made her want to jump in his arms and wrap herself around him. "But you and Drew could come, too."

"What?" Blood hurtled through her veins, careering past her eardrums until she could barely hear her own voice.

"Come with me. Drew doesn't start school for another month, and I've got loose ends to tie up in Auckland before I fly out."

"I can't."

The words bulleted out of her before she could hold them back, wrenched from deep inside. Not for a month, not when he'd still leave them both behind. Not when he'd never once mentioned love.

Not when she was one of his loose ends.

Forehead creasing in harsh lines, Nate dropped his hand from her arm. "Can't? Or won't?"

"This is our home, Nate. Dragging Drew to Auckland just so you and I can have a little more time together isn't fair to him. He adores you, and even though that's not your responsibility—"

A muscle twitched in his jaw, but she sucked in a steadying breath and continued.

"I won't give him false hope. I can't be the woman you want me to be, a woman who'll accept your offer of an extended affair."

_Contradict me, tell me I'm wrong—tell me you love me, love us both._

Nate swore and closed his eyes. He opened them again, and they were as hard as chips of sea glass.

"Maybe that is all I can offer, and you're right to be insulted." He moved back out of her space, his palms spread wide. "I travel. I take photos. It's what I've always done; it's all I know. Warzones are no place for you and Drew. He deserves better than a part-time father, and you deserve more than a man who's never around because he's off chasing the next photograph."

No brilliant solutions popped into her head. How could there be a solution to being crazily in love with a man who didn't love her back?

"I think it'd be better for all of us if I returned to Auckland early. I'll be by later to pick up my stuff." He spun around.

Each word, like poison-tipped darts, flew straight and true, hitting their mark. Tight bands crushed her chest, and her lungs ached with the effort to breathe.

"Nate—"

"Yeah?" Lines of tension rippled across his broad shoulders, but he didn't turn back.

He was still too big, too close and too vividly male. Too much of everything she'd ever wanted, too much to ever completely let go of. But let go she must. "I'll have your gear waiting for you."

"Thanks."

Lauren walked in measured steps down the deck stairs and across to her car. She wouldn't run, she wouldn't cry...and she wouldn't watch him walk away.

Nate climbed the steps to Lauren's house, hoping the sound of his car hadn't wakened Drew. He'd timed his arrival late, so the kid should be fast asleep. Coward? Absolutely. And didn't he feel like the world's biggest asshole.

Java strolled out to meet him with a friendly chuff and a tongue swipe up Nate's jeans.

"Great guard dog you turned out to be," he muttered but gave the Rottweiler a rub between his ears.

He rapped softly on the kitchen door, no longer comfortable with just walking inside uninvited. Things had changed. He expected Lauren wanted to avoid him as much as he wanted to avoid her, to save them both the awkwardness of a final goodbye.

And it would be final. A clean break was for the best.

The door opened, and Lauren stepped out of his way to let him through, offering no eye contact as she retreated into the kitchen. "I've stacked your things beside the couch."

Good. A quick trip in and out. But against his will his gaze was drawn to the curve of her waist, her long, yoga-pants covered legs, and her expressive hazel eyes, which couldn't hide the redness of a recent crying jag.

Forcing himself to look away, he strode to the couch and bent to grab his gear. A small, wet sound jerked his gaze up. Drew peeped around the brick archway, his thumb tucked in his mouth and his eyes huge, glistening pools.

He froze. _Ah, hell_.

Drew's thumb slipped from his lips with a slurping pop. "Nate?"

Nate's mind went blank as Lauren hurried out of the kitchen. "Sweetie, I told you to stay in bed, and I'd be back in a minute."

Drew dodged past her and flung himself forward, wrapping his arms around Nate's legs, burying his face into the side of his thigh. "I wanna see him. I wanna see Nate!"

"Drew..." Nate's voice trailed off.

He patted the boy's shaking back, his fingers brushing over the soft knit of Superman pajamas.

"I'm sorry." Lauren touched her son's shoulder.

Drew shrugged off her hand, clinging tighter.

"Are you really going?" He pulled away from Nate's leg far enough to look up with tearstained cheeks.

"Yeah, little mate, I am. I have to go back to Auckland."

"What for?"

To sever the roots twining around his heart and tying him to this wild land, to this woman, and to this little boy. Once and for all.

Nate gently pried Drew's arms from his leg and squatted down to the child's level. "You know how I'm a type of reporter, a bit like Clark Kent? Only he writes stories and I take photos?"

Drew nodded, but his lower lip continued to quiver.

"Clark and I both have to follow where the stories go. And a lot of times, those stories happen overseas. And because that's my job—" Nate rubbed a bead of sweat off his upper lip, his stomach solid lead. "I need to get back to work." Though once he signed on Davis's dotted line, he would be a free agent. A thought that should've filled him with triumph yet strangely didn't.

"When're you coming back?"

He swallowed to wet his paper-dry throat. "I don't know. Probably not for a long time."

Drew's face crumpled, and he howled, letting go of Nate's leg and running into Lauren's arms.

He stood and looked into her eyes while Drew sobbed. "I'm sorry."

Their gazes locked with an intensity that squeezed his chest until he thought his ribs would crack. But he was making the right choice, the only choice for them all.

Nate grabbed his bag, tucked the laptop under his arm and got the hell out of there.

The earth shattering crunch as he drove away? That was his heart hitting his boot soles and splintering into a million pieces.

# Chapter 11

Lauren pulled the tray of muffins from the oven and cocked an ear at the sound of her brother's ute pulling up.

The engine died, and a door slammed. "Hope you haven't eaten all my muffins, squirt," Todd's voice boomed out.

From the deck came a soft giggle. Lauren squeezed her eyes shut. It'd been two weeks since Drew had smiled, let alone laughed. Two weeks since Nate walked away from them both.

She shoved the next batch into the oven. Told herself she absolutely would, not, cry. A rap on the French doors and Todd stepped inside.

"Mail." He tossed a pile of envelopes onto her dining table then crossed over to shove a large manila envelope into her hand. "Postmarked Auckland," he added with a raised eyebrow, before swiping a muffin off the cooling rack and swaggering off again.

Lauren's tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth. A glance at the handwriting confirmed it was Nate's. She wiped her fingers on her apron and tore the flap off the envelope. A cascade of photographs slid into her hands.

The first one caused her lungs to cease functioning. Framed with diffused, golden light, a mother laughed with a little boy who'd reached up a finger to press against her lips. Joy and love radiated from the woman and simple trust from the child. The photographer captured the scene with such tenderness that the image sent a flood of scalding tears over her lashes.

She shuffled through the remaining photos. Christmas Day shots of _whānau_ laughing, playing and celebrating their togetherness. A picture of her, embarrassed and defiant, on the day Nate kissed her. Other close-up shots she never knew he'd taken.

"You sneak," she muttered on a half-smile, swiping away the wetness on her cheeks. Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned back against the counter.

"Mummy, when're you gonna be done with the muffins?"

Lauren glanced down at Drew. How long had she stood there crying over a bunch of photographs? She shuffled the pictures together.

"Look!" Drew snatched up one that had slipped to the floor. "Look, it's you!" He giggled and bounced on his toes. "I took it on Nate's camera, 'member?"

She plastered on what she hoped was a cheerful smile. "Yes, it's a good one, isn't it? We can buy a frame, and I'll hang it—"

"You looked mad in that picture. Were you thinking about my daddy?"

Lauren shoved the rest of the photos back into the envelope, her gut clenching in an iron fist. "No, I was just a bit embarrassed because I was hot and dirty."

"Oh." Drew cocked his head. "Why are you crying? Are you still sad about Daddy and the bad place?"

She sighed and scooped him up, rubbing her nose against his. "I'm not sad about New York or Daddy."

Drew wrapped his arms around her neck, and she drank in the little boy smell of him. "He didn't love us."

Lauren clamped her jaw shut, desperate to keep the sob in her chest from escaping. She swallowed it down and tried to force the quaver from her voice. "Why do you say that, sweetie?"

"He hurt you and made you cry. He made me cry too. Why didn't you run away?"

"I wasn't brave enough to do the right thing," she whispered.

Drew pulled back and stared at her with wide eyes. "How did you get brave enough?"

"You, Drew. You made me brave enough to run away, so your Daddy wouldn't hurt us again."

Drew's smile was like sunshine. He smeared his grubby hands across her cheeks, wiping off the tears. Then his small eyebrows drew together. "Did Nate hurt you? Is that why he went away?"

For a moment, Lauren couldn't think of what to say. She hadn't considered that a four-year-old could come to these sorts of conclusions.

"No, my darling. Nate would never hurt either of us. He was one of the good guys."

The enormity of what she'd lost smashed into her soul with the devastation of a train wreck. Again. God, she loved him with a fierceness that turned her insides to a pulpy mush. But it hadn't been enough, and she had to accept it. Nate had gone, and the photos were his way of saying goodbye.

She lowered Drew to the ground when he wriggled. "Run along and play with Uncle Todd; I'll be finished in a little while."

Drew tugged on the pocket of her apron. "I hope Nate comes back soon, Mummy. I want him to come home." Then he skipped outside, bopping along to some internal soundtrack that convinced him all would be well in his world.

The phone on the counter tempted her to punch in Nate's number, as it did at least thirty times a day. But she refused to be weak. She couldn't continue pining for a man who didn't love her in return. Not if she ever wanted to completely shed the dead skin of Alexandra Knight and Sexy Lexy. She would fight for her identity, fight for a new life in Bounty Bay for her and Drew.

_Taylors never give up the fight._

"You're in love with her, aren't you?" Savannah's voice slammed down the phone line hard enough to leave a bruise. "What're you going to do about it?"

Nate grunted into the handset and propped his bare heels on the coffee table, knocking off a stack of old pizza boxes and aluminum cans. He pawed at the couch beside him and found the remote. The screen buzzed to life, casting shifting flashes of light around his apartment. God, how pathetic was he, sitting alone in the dark?

"Don't make me come over again, do you hear me? Traffic's a nightmare."

"How's the single life treating you?"

"And don't change the subject."

_Damn_. "I'm not doing anything about it. I didn't sell the property to Martin Davis, so she and her kid won't have to deal with the dreaded paparazzi showing up on her doorstep—I've done enough."

"You didn't sell to Davis because it would mean completely cutting your ties with Lauren." Smugness oozed through the phone.

How the hell did she figure that out? "Bite me, Sav."

Savannah chuckled. "I got the photos you sent. It's the most gorgeous hidey-hole I've ever seen." Her tone dropped and went syrupy. "If a certain cousin of mine lived close by, say with a pretty mechanic and her little boy, I might be tempted to take it off your hands."

He bolted upright, his feet smacking the floor. "You'd _what?_ "

"You heard me. A girl needs a bolt-hole in the bush to hide from the world every now and again."

"You _love_ the world. You'd go crazy up there by yourself in two days."

"Which is why I could visit my dear cousin and his lady next door, if he ever pulls his head out of his bum and gets her back."

"I don't need to get her back. _I_ walked away from _her_."

She made a clicking noise with her tongue, and he could all but see her roll her eyes. "And look how well it's working out for you. You're miserable."

"I am _not_ miserable. I'm right where I want to be." He shut his eyes, refusing to glance around his darkened living room at the takeout bags and clothes strewn across the floor because he couldn't be bothered picking them up.

"Are you?" Savannah's voice was oddly gentle. "Nate, contrary to what your pal Steve always told you, contrary to what you keep telling yourself, you aren't meant to be alone."

Nate folded in half, his forehead dropping onto his palm. Alone. Without Lauren by his side. Without Drew bouncing on his shoulders. Without the people who'd become his family.

Hell. He even missed the damn dog.

_Don't choose my life, boy_. He shook his head, trying to dislodge Steve's voice, but the memory of those last harrowing days was too strong. Steve's eyes rimmed red, the glimmer of life oozing away like air seeping from a punctured tire, as he shrank into the hospital bed. _Don't repeat my mistakes. Don't die alone with only the pity of an old friend to see you through to the other side._

"She's getting on with her life without me." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I caved and called her sister-in-law last week. Hell, she's gone from social recluse to a social butterfly. Kathy says she's knee deep into organizing Drew's preschool carnival."

"And that's a bad thing...?" Savannah's voice trailed off.

"No. It's a great thing. She's finally stopped hiding in the shadows."

"Shadows, huh? I could bet you a thousand bucks you're sitting there in the dark, moping."

What was she, psychic? He stood, walked to the wall and slapped the switch. Harsh, white light splashed across the wreckage of his living room onto the single photo he'd kept from the stack he'd sent Lauren. Onto Drew's Superman picture stuffed into his laptop bag. Onto the cross-stitched sampler poking out from under a jumble of paperwork. God, what a reality check. "I don't mope."

"Cousin, you're a moron. Now answer my first question—do you love Lauren?"

Nate slumped against the wall, cradling the phone to his ear. "Yeah."

"And she loves you?"

He closed his eyes. Saw her curled in his arms, smiling up at him, heart in her eyes. The look on her face before he walked away that last time. "I think so."

"Do you want to spend the rest of your life with her and her little boy?"

Warmth prickled up his spine, curled around his heart. "Yes. But what is this, twenty questions?"

"I've just one more." Her voice turned snippy. " _Have you told her this?_ "

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm a moron." He shoved his hand into his hair and grimaced; he hadn't combed it in days. "But I'm a moron with a five hour drive ahead of him in the morning, so I'd better go to bed."

Savannah's smoky laugh rolled down the line. "With any luck, you won't be sleeping alone tomorrow night."

Nate disconnected the call with his cousin and walked to his coffee table. He picked up the photograph he'd taken of Lauren and her chainsaw. He'd often thought of Lauren's home as a self-imposed prison that kept her safe and separate from everyone. Ironic that the whole time, he was the one locked up and isolated, because he hadn't understood home wasn't a place, it was a person. Moron was too kind a description.

"I never want to sleep alone again," he said and tossed the photograph back onto the coffee table.

_Home is where the heart is._

And his heart had found its home with Lauren.

Lauren gunned the Cadillac as it hit the open road, and Lizzie, sitting beside her, threw back her head with a whoop.

"Your best idea, _ever_ ," Lizzie yelled, hair whipping around her face.

Lauren grinned as they roared back to Drew's preschool, where her next paying customer would contribute ten dollars to the carnival for a ride in her dad's convertible.

"We're like Thelma and Louise!" Lizzie threw her hands up into the slipstream, slanting over a glance. "Except prettier and in your case, blonder."

"Angelique did a good job." Lauren tossed her newly dyed-back-to-original blonde hair over her shoulder, slowed and signaled to turn through the wide gates onto the field where the carnival was held. "It's the new me."

Lizzie reached across and squeezed Lauren's knee. "I told you you'd be Bounty Bay's five-minute wonder, and then life would get back to normal."

"Guess I was worried about nothing." She peeled her lips up into another smile, as painted on as a clown's. Would life ever feel "normal" again? She'd changed—blossomed, even, though the word made her cringe—since she'd met Nate. How could life without him be _normal?_

A small crowd gathered by a row of safety cones. Stretched between two garden stakes was a hand-painted sign: _$10 for 10-minute ride_. Keeping an eye out for any sugar-drunk kids who might decide to charge across the grass, Lauren slowed the Caddy to a crawl and parked at the head of the line.

"Nobody seems at all interested in the new me."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

Lizzie's tone prickled Lauren's nape and she glanced up at the other woman's dimple-creased grin. "Huh?"

"There's someone who's very interested in you."

Lizzie pushed herself back, flush against the caddy's seat, so Lauren had a direct view of the man at the front of the line.

A man with piercing green eyes, his gaze trained on her face like a laser.

She could only stare, her throat locked tight, her heart slamming an erratic tattoo against her ribs.

_Nate was here. Nate was in Bounty Bay._

Lizzie cranked open the door and hopped out.

Nate leaned down to rest a forearm on the corner of the car's windshield. "That's some car you've got, Ms. Taylor."

"Nothing beats a '67 Cadillac DeVille in Flamenco Red." She slid her arm along the back of the bench seat and hoped the V8 engine's grumble would cover the tremor in her voice. "They knew how to make cars in the sixties."

"So they did. And it's good to see it's no longer shrink-wrapped in protective plastic and hidden away."

She swallowed, desperate to wet her dust-dry throat. "A life is for living and a car is for driving."

He reached one long-fingered hand into the pocket of his jeans and drew out a crumpled bank note. "Take me for a drive?"

Her eyes flew open—the note was red. "For a hundred dollars?"

"A long, _long_ drive."

His voice rolled over her skin like sun-warmed silk, sending delicious shivers skittering up and down her body.

"I don't know if I can. I'm shaking too much." Shaking in a good way, because surely, surely him being here meant something?

With a chuckle, Nate slid into the passenger seat and shut the door. "Didn't you once say you could outdrive me on any road?"

She withdrew her arm from the back of the seat and slotted the Caddy's column shift into drive. "I did say that, didn't I?"

They rolled slowly across the field and out of the gate. "Anywhere in particular you want to go?"

"Where do teenagers go around here to make out?"

His voice was cool, but she caught a quick flash of humor as his gaze skimmed over her.

"You want to make out?" Her heartbeat skipped, and she pressed her thighs together.

"I want privacy. Somewhere we can talk."

No making out then. She was getting ahead of herself.

Signaling left, Lauren turned onto the road leading to the beach. "I know a spot."

Wind whistled past the windshield as she guided the Caddy around the sharp curves toward Bounty Bay's beach. Instead of taking the ramp to the sand, she chose a side road that led to a small parking area overlooking the endless blue curve of ocean. Once she'd parked the car and killed the engine, they sat in silence, the rhythmic hiss of breakers pounding up the beach below the only sound.

"I like your hair," he said. "It suits you."

"Thanks." She drummed her fingers on the Caddy's steering wheel.

Then she swiveled on the bench seat, soaking up every detail of the line of his shoulders beneath a blue-checked shirt and the length of his legs in worn jeans. God, he stole the breath from her lungs, the thoughts from her head. Everything she wanted to say to him scattered in the whirlwind of love sweeping through her.

_Kia kaha, Lauren_. You can do this. You can be strong enough. "Aren't you meant to have flown out by now?"

He continued to stare out the windshield, the scent of his warm skin wrapping around her like a feather-soft blanket. Then clearing his throat, he turned toward her.

"Change of plans."

"Oh." Her gaze lowered to the rapid movement of his Adam's apple behind his unbuttoned collar. Her closeness affected him. Something of a boost to her dwindling confidence.

He shifted closer on the bench seat. "My plans had to change because I didn't take the deal with Martin Davis." One of his hands closed over hers and squeezed.

Nate didn't take the deal? He didn't look upset, so maybe he'd changed his mind about selling Mac's place. Maybe he intended to be some part of their lives, after all.

"I've sold it to someone else."

His statement clanged discordantly around her head. The sliver of hope snuffed out. She tried to tug her fingers from under his hand, but he tightened his grip.

"And my dreams have changed a little—hell, a lot—in the last few weeks."

"I see."

Throwing herself into the ocean seemed a fine idea about now. Beneath the waves, she could pretend the man she loved hadn't driven all the way up here just to blow her off _a second time_.

His other hand stroked her hair, and before she could utter a wounded snarl and shove his fingers away, he spoke. "Yep, Savannah's gonna love Mac's place."

She jerked, her muscles icing to robotic stiffness. "Savannah? Your cousin Savannah?"

"The one and only."

Suddenly glad she'd vetoed the fairy floss Drew wanted to share earlier, Lauren decided her churning stomach agreed with what her mind suspected. He wasn't here for her. He'd come as a courtesy call to tell her about her new neighbor.

But damn if he'd see her cry.

Heat flared across her cheekbones, and she lifted her chin, armed with an ex-model's best defense—the ability to smile for the camera while her life tore to ribbons. "I guess that'd still work for you. You'll have the money to travel now."

He shook his head and traced the line of her cheekbone with his finger. "Lauren, that's not what this is about."

"So what _is_ it about?"

His gaze bored into her, making her ache for him all over again.

"I want you to understand. Before Steve died, he said something to me I chose to ignore for far too long. He told me not to be like him, to find a woman to love and to make a home with her. Steve said in dying, he'd learned everything about living." His hand slid around to cradle her jaw. "I realized I'm not like Steve. I've found the woman I'll love for the rest of my life. I've found the boy I want to raise as my own son. I've found the family and home I've always wanted but been too proud to admit I need."

"Did you—?" Her blood thrumming so fast it was a small miracle her veins and arteries didn't spontaneously explode, Lauren blinked repeatedly. "Did you just say you love me?"

Moving even closer on the bench seat, he pressed his forehead to hers. "Yeah, for quite a while now. I think seeing you handling that chainsaw did it for me." He chuckled then huffed out a sigh. "I love you, Lauren Taylor. But I know I've been a complete idiot."

"You have." She couldn't prevent the quaver in her voice as she cupped his jaw, the sweet, sweet feel of his raspy stubble bringing tears to her eyes.

"Will you give me another chance?"

She could turn Nate down and refuse to take the risk of trusting him...or she could quit hiding and let her heart be exposed. "Yes. Because I love you, too, and we all deserve a second chance to be happy."

He let go of her hand and tugged her forward. She fell against him and grabbed his arms for balance, but he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her until her toes curled.

"You love me?" he said, chest heaving.

She gripped handfuls of his shirt so tightly the stitching on his shirt pocket tore. "So, so much."

He tilted his head and delivered a kiss that melted her into a quivering puddle. She came back down to earth with a bump as the kiss ended, and she realized there were words left unspoken.

"Nate, I know you're not the settling down type—"

"About that." He dragged a hand down his face. "Remember I said I had some new dreams?"

She nodded, and his lips curved into a wide smile.

"Well, the new dream involves a coffee-table book but with a different theme." He gently rubbed her arms. "The beauty of Bounty Bay. _Whānau_. What makes us unique, what brings us together, what it means to be part of a family."

"That sounds wonderful." More than wonderful, an idea so beautiful that only a photograph of her soul could capture what words couldn't. "But you love the rush of photojournalism, Nate—I saw your face at the Waitangi protest."

"Yeah, I do. And I can still freelance with the odd local or short-term assignment. But no more warzones, no more months away. Not when I've found something so much better." Nate nuzzled the soft spot below her ear. "It's you I want to hold every night until you fall asleep. It's you I want to be tangled up with every morning."

Determined not to let the weepy-female side of her take over, Lauren hooked her arms around his neck. "You're the best cure for insomnia."

Nate laughed, his chest shaking and his eyes crinkling. "Well, thanks, I think. And by the way? I've left a message with a real estate agent to put my apartment on the market."

Bubbles of joy fizzed in her chest. "You're going to move up here?"

"Todd's promised to rent me a patch of his lawn to pitch a tent on in case you take some convincing to let me back in your life."

She showed him her palms. "I'm convinced. Besides, I wouldn't wish my worst enemy to be Todd's tenant. He'll fleece you dry and talk your ear off."

He ran a light finger down her nose and tweaked the tip. "You're saying there's room for me in your house?"

"There's not only room in my house, there's room in my life, and there's a room in my heart reserved for you, only. Drew and I desperately want you to come home."

"There's just one more thing and it's a deal-breaker."

"Okay." Her stomach clenched tight until she spotted the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Your station wagon," he said. "It's a piece of junk, and it's got to go. There's a Land Rover for sale in Bounty Bay. It's a bit of a fixer-upper, but I figure Drew and I could give you a hand with it. Kind of a new family project."

"A family project, huh?"

"I can't have my wife and son getting stuck in the mud again, can I?"

She couldn't stop herself from squeaking out, "Wife?"

"I love you, Lauren. Marry me, share your son with me and be my family."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and covered his face with "yeses" and kisses. One thought resonated through every part of her being, swelling her heart to overflowing.

Nate loved her, and Nate loved Drew.

And Nate was coming home to where his heart was, with his new family who treasured it, oh so much.

# Epilogue

"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 which would catapult her back into the limelight.

But now she was twenty-seven years old and effectively unemployed. And Nate's friend was in her house.

A house she desperately wanted to curl up in and hide from 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 chat 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 pertinent 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 tone light and easy. A determined _we're having a nice, friendly chat_ 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 was still in high school while Nate slogged away at his journalism degree. She'd often hang with him and his mates at his student flat. 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. Not this woman.

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 conveniently 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 big 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 agreement. 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 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 gritted her teeth and almost snarled, 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 planning to turn the house overlooking Bounty Bay into a celebrity resort, probably charging at least that 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 it, 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 memory... nope. Nothing. 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, you're best 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.

Will the sassy Savannah pry her sexy tenant out of her home? Let the battle of wits begin. Start Savannah & Glen's book now. One click Know Your Heart!

# Connect

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# About the Author

Tracey Alvarez is a USA TODAY BEST-SELLING author who lives in the Coolest Little Capital in the World (a.k.a Wellington, New Zealand) where she's yet to be buried under her to-be-read book pile by Wellington's infamous wind—her Kindle's a lifesaver! Married to a wonderfully supportive IT guy, she has two teens who would love to be surgically linked to their electronic devices.

Fuelled by copious amounts of coffee, she's the author of contemporary romantic fiction set predominantly in New Zealand. Small-towns, close communities, and families are a big part of the heart-warming stories she writes. Oh, and hot, down-to-earth heroes—Kiwi men, in other words.

When she's not writing, thinking about writing, or procrastinating about writing, Tracey can be found reading sexy books of all romance genres, nibbling on smuggled chocolate bars, or bribing her kids to take over the housework.

www.traceyalvarez.com

tracey@traceyalvarez.com

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# Acknowledgments

Thanks to the many RWA competition judges who gave me such amazing feedback on this story and helped hone it into the best it could be.

Also thanks to my wonderful editor who is still so patient with all my dangling modifiers and impossible simultaneous action.

I lived in the Far North region for over a decade and it still remains very close to my heart. Thanks to my husband's family who bought the land up there and welcomed me into their _whānau_.

I am most at peace when walking on the beautiful sandy beaches or listening to the sound of _kererū_ swooping through the Kauri on our land.

It truly is the home of my heart.

# Contents

  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Contents
  4. Also by Tracey Alvarez
  5. From The Author
  6. Newsletter
  7. Copyright
  8. Dedication
  9. Glossary of Maori Words
  10. Chapter 1
  11. Chapter 2
  12. Chapter 3
  13. Chapter 4
  14. Chapter 5
  15. Chapter 6
  16. Chapter 7
  17. Chapter 8
  18. Chapter 9
  19. Chapter 10
  20. Chapter 11
  21. Epilogue
  22. Connect
  23. About the Author
  24. Acknowledgments

  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Contents
  4. Beginning
  5. Afterword
  6. Copyright
  7. Dedication
  8. Epilogue
  9. About the Author
  10. Acknowledgments

