Hide Your Heart: A New Zealand Small Town Romance (Sexy New Zealand Beach Romance Far North Book 1) (6 page)

“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.