Break Your Heart_A Small Town Romance

by Tracey Alvarez

  “What?” Her nipples, already hard from the chilled water, tightened further until they nearly poked holes through her swimsuit. “Did you have something in mind? A letter of commendation, perhaps?” Or something a little less formal like a…date?

  That thought deserved a mental bitch slap and she gave herself one. The last time she’d been on a date with a man was—wait, nope, she couldn’t remember.

  “I did have something in mind,” he said. “A favor.”

  The silky timbre of his voice curled around her, threatening to pull her under in a different way.

  “What kind of favor?”

  What could Sam possibly ask her? She wasn’t a great cook like Nat, so he wouldn’t bother hinting for baked goodies or a meal. She couldn’t tutor him in another language, or lend him money, and she suspected he’d little interest in being taught to sew. Her eyebrows drew in and a shiver worked its way up her spine.

  A wave buffeted them as it swept past toward the beach. Sam, sleek as a seal, slipped through the water in a relaxed breaststroke until he faced her with his back to the shore—positioning her between himself and the open ocean. Sunlight sparkled on the water, turning drops into tiny diamonds as they cascaded over the hard bunches of his shoulder muscles. His pretty-boy hair was slicked down, emphasizing his chiseled bone structure and the slight flare of his nose, a perfect blend of his Māori and European heritage. It was bizarre how this man, with millions of gallons of water surrounding them, could make her feel trapped by the sheer forcefulness of his personality.

  And his smoking hot body.

  Shut up, brain.

  “I need a fiancée for a week,” he said.

  His gaze remained steady on hers, which made unpacking and processing what he’d said a little tricky. A fiancée—a woman he intended to marry. But a week implied short term. And was he asking if she knew of a suitable applicant?

  She must’ve been exhibiting a ‘what the hell are you on about?’ look on her face as his forehead crumpled. “What I mean is I need a woman who can pretend that we’re engaged for a week. A woman, as in, you.”

  Sometimes while swimming in the ocean you found a lovely warm spot. Sometimes you hit a stray current that felt as if it’d come direct from Antarctica. The first implications of his words washed over her and left a trail of ice in their wake. To go along with that chill, her molars chattered together briefly.

  “Thanks for the clarification,” she managed. “But as a marriage proposal, that sucked like a blue whale’s blow job. And trust me, the last time a man proposed it was ten minutes after I’d thrown up with morning sickness and I had vomit on my shirt. This is worse than that.”

  Apparently unaware she was sending out vibes cold enough to freeze his nuts off, he grinned at her. “Rookie mistake, eh?”

  “You have no idea.” And neither did he, thank God. “Why do you need a pretend fiancée? It sounds like a really trashy romance novel kind of plot.”

  “Like the one you were reading?”

  She arched a cool eyebrow at him.

  “Sorry,” he said, though he totally wasn’t. “Look, we’re trying to make a deal with an American hotel chain. The problem is I kinda mentioned to the head honcho, who’s very family orientated, that I had a serious girlfriend”—Sam’s mouth twisted sheepishly and he slicked a hand over his face to clear water droplets from his eyes—“and he somehow inferred that we were all but engaged and now—shit—now, I’ve got only a matter of days before his lawyer son and daughter-in-law arrive to sign off on the deal.”

  “What the bloody buggering hell were you thinking?”

  His jaw bunched. “I was thinking of my whānau and how this agreement could buy everyone that works at Kauri Whare job security for years. Pretending to be a domesticated male while hosting Wright junior and his wife for a week seemed like a pretty workable option.”

  “Only you’re not domesticated—not even house trained,” she said. “I have food in my fridge that has a longer use-by date than some of the women you’ve hooked up with.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m not looking for a hookup, and contrary to what you think of me, I don’t fuck anything that moves and I don’t screw around on the woman I’m with.”

  Vee’s stomach clenched at the inference of her cheating, scumbag ex. She took a deep breath way, way down to the bottom of her lungs and anchored herself to the here and now, to the buoyancy of the water and the roll of the waves, to the excited squeals from kids on the beach. “Why are you asking me and not Kimberly? She’d leap at the chance of being your pretend anything.”

  “She probably would. But I don’t want to have to pry her out of my life at the end of the agreement. Six days is all that’s needed, Sunday to the following Saturday. You’ll help me show the Wrights a good time while they’re here. No harm, no foul, and a month or so after the ink’s dry on the contract, I’ll tell Wright senior our engagement ended amicably.”

  When she didn’t say anything—because she was kinda stunned to silence at the quiet ruthlessness of his plan—Sam took a few strokes forward, a cajoling expression on his face. As if her hesitation only required a bit more sweet talking.

  “No one gets hurt by this, Vee, and everybody wins. The Wrights get their family guy, Kauri Whare gets a deal of a lifetime, and you…”

  She raised her eyebrows at the slight huskiness in his tone.

  “I’ll make a generous contribution to the bank account of your choice.” His mouth twitched in the corners, as if he were holding back that smug smile of his. The one that said he knew that he’d just offered the struggling single mother the icing on the cake. What was a little deceit, a little charade of happy families when cold hard cash was laid on the table?

  For a moment the steady thud, thud, thud of her resting heart rate—which had almost returned to normal from lazily treading water in the sunshine—flatlined. He’d gone from romance novel ridiculous proposition to Pretty Woman prostitution in an instant, and she’d always hated that damn movie. When her pulse returned, it was to a thunder that had blood pounding against her eardrums in a muffled echo, the way it did while swimming underwater. The urge to spit out every creative curse to describe the male species that she’d invented in the past two years since Patrick had left her with a colicky baby and a diamond engagement ring which turned out to be a cheap knockoff fought to escape her throat. But like hell would she let him see any of the chaos swirling around her brain—insult and anger and a little bit of hurt and, even more confusing, some curiosity, too.

  “Let me put this in a direct, forgo the bullshit way you’ll understand,” she said. “No. As in, hell no.” With a swift move she lunged, catching Sam off guard as she shoved down on his head.

  He disappeared under the water and Vee thrashed her way toward shore in a record-breaking attempt.

  This time she came in first place.

  Chapter 4

  It was Isaac’s turn to host the guys, and since Sam couldn’t stand his own company at the moment, why not enjoy the opportunity to take it out on the Black Caps as a Pakistani batter scored another two runs?

  “Bloody ridiculous.” He slumped back into his dad’s lumpy couch with a groan of disgust. “Why are we watching this shit again?”

  “You should’ve gone with the girls and made some crafty crap at Gracie’s.” Tui sat cross-legged on the floor, resting her back against the couch and hogging the fresh bag of salt and vinegar chips Nat had delivered twenty minutes ago. Since Isaac, Nat, and Olivia were temporarily living with his parents until their new house was built, the guys—and Tui—were relegated to watching the cricket game in their dad’s den.

  Owen, not on call at the hospital this weekend, glared at them over William’s head as the boy stared at the TV with rapt concentration. “Watch your language. A minor’s present.”

  Sam rolled his eyes, then reached over and flicked the back of Tui’s neck.

  She turned around and punched his knee. Hard. “What’s put a bug up
your butt?”

  “Woman trouble.” Isaac sat on the other side of the couch, holding a beer in one hand and his phone in the other.

  Probably sexting with Nat, Sam thought dourly.

  “He can’t find one.” Isaac took a sip of his beer and set the bottle back on the coffee table loaded with discarded snack wrappers and empties.

  Isaac better have the den spick-and-span before their ma and Nat got home. Pussy-whipped didn’t begin to describe it. Sam snorted softly to himself.

  “Something funny, bro?” The corner of Isaac’s mouth twitched. “Like how you’re gonna explain to the Wrights on Monday what happened to your serious girlfriend after Vee turned you down?”

  “She what?” Tui and Owen said together in a harmonized chorus that rose a half octave on the last word.

  Sam slid a WTF, I’ll kill you later side-eye toward Isaac, who didn’t appear at all threatened by it. Just because his big brother was two years older with some serious ass-kicking potential in those rugby-player thighs of his didn’t mean Sam couldn’t take him.

  Tui shuffled around on her butt so she could fix her incredulous gaze on Sam. “You asked Vee to be your fake girlfriend? Are you stoned out of your mind?”

  Sam shrugged. “It seemed like a solid idea.”

  “She didn’t buy into it, though, huh?” Owen asked. “Suppose it would’ve complicated things.”

  Owen did his irritating chin stroke that made Sam want to put his oldest mate into a headlock and noogie his I know everything skull.

  “It wouldn’t have complicated anything.” Sam kicked his crossed ankles up onto the coffee table, sending a scattering of empty chip bags to the floor. “I made it clear it was an on-the-level deal, business only, I’d pay her well for her time, etc.”

  There was a moment of shocked silence in which the sudden tock of a ball meeting cricket bat projected from the surround sound echoed around the room. William threw up his hands and whooped along with the crowd. Sam scanned his audience’s expressions—Owen, a crumpled wince; Isaac, a slow shake of his head; Tui, a slack jaw with horrified eyes.

  “Mate,” Owen said.

  “Bro,” Isaac said.

  “Moron,” Tui said and punched his knee again. “Can’t believe you offered to pay her. Sheesh.”

  “Hey.” Sam dropped his feet off the coffee table and shifted over to sit on the couch’s arm, out of Tui’s reach. “It wasn’t like she’d have agreed to it without a little bribery.”

  “God. Do you know nothing about women?” Tui tipped her head back to rest against the couch cushion, staring at the living room ceiling.

  “Apparently less than we gave him credit for,” Owen said. “She probably felt as if you were asking her to prostit—” He shot a glance over at William. “To give you some favors in return for money.”

  “Dude,” said Sam. “I don’t have to pay.”

  Isaac snickered and leaned over to pluck the bag of chips from Tui’s slack hand. “You might not with other woman, but Vee is a whole different kettle of fish.”

  This time Tui scooted around and punched Isaac’s knee. “Will you all stop talking about my friend and favors. It’s gross.”

  “Ow.” Isaac mock glared at her. “That’s my bad leg. And since when have you and Vee become besties again?”

  “We don’t have to be besties for me to watch out for her,” Tui said stiffly. “Hooking up with Romeo over there is only going to lead to someone skulling a bottle of poison or falling on their sword.”

  “I’m not hooking up with anyone,” Sam said, but his siblings, as usual, completely ignored him.

  “No one’s falling on any swords,” Isaac said. “And Vee could be convincing as Sam’s fake girlfriend. She’s pretty, smart, confident, and has a vested interest in helping us out since one of the Bountiful partners is about to marry into the Ngata whānau.”

  “Vee’d have more of a vested interest if she and Gracie and Nat moved into the last Kauri Whare retail space,” Owen said.

  Sam whiplashed around to face Owen. “What did you say?”

  Owen shot a guilty look toward Isaac. “Um. Isaac and I are kinda privy to two-thirds of the Bountiful team. Nat and Gracie were really keen on asking you and Isaac to cut them a break with the retail space, but Vee’s dragging her heels.”

  “Huh,” said Tui. “Well, if Romeo isn’t trying to get into Juliet’s panties, a little mates’ rates for the shop just might work.” She directed this at Isaac, as if Sam were incapable of figuring out the obvious for himself.

  William looked up from the TV. “Romeo and Juliet is a Shakespeare play. They didn’t have underwear back then.”

  “How do you even know that, Will?” Sam asked. His mind had already skipped past the delightful debate on what sort of panties Vee did wear, into a much more convincing form of leverage.

  “Homeschooling. I’m doing King Lear in Shakespeare and Gracie’s been reading a kids’ version of Romeo and Juliet to Charlie.” He shrugged and returned his attention to the TV.

  Before the lot of them corrupted the eleven-year-old William, Sam stood and brushed chip crumbs off his T-shirt. “I’m going for a drive.”

  “To Vee’s?” Isaac asked.

  “Yep. You okay with Bountiful moving into the Whare?”

  “I would’ve suggested it earlier only it was a sore point between Vee and her partners.” Isaac’s eyebrows lowered into a thunderous V. “Be tactful this time.”

  “Tactful is my middle name.”

  Tui gave an unladylike snort which she transformed into a cough. “Good luck with that. Ms. Independence would rather chew off her leg than admit she can’t do something on her own steam. She’s proud as.”

  “Proud, but she might be willing to negotiate the girlfriend position if I sweeten the deal.” Sam snatched up his car keys from the coffee table and headed out of the den. “I’m off.”

  “Just don’t offer to sweeten the deal with anything like cash or that ure you’re so fond of. Keep it in your pants.” Tui’s advice followed him into the hallway.

  “What’s an ure?” Sam heard William ask.

  Sam grinned and let his parents’ front door slam behind him. Good for Will—let Tui explain to the boy why she was talking about penises. He had a stubborn, proud woman to see. And, unlike what Tui suggested, he knew enough about women not to show up empty-handed.

  Candy bars in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, Sam approached Vee’s apartment building with none of his usual confidence when dealing with the female sex. Sure, he had some confidence—he hadn’t, after all, just gone and bought a random selection of chocolate and flowers. He’d put thought into part one of his plan to win Vee over, dammit. But she was the least predictable and most irritatingly iron-willed woman he knew, and if she’d really made up her mind about being his fake girlfriend, all the chocolate and flowers in Bounty Bay wouldn’t change her mind.

  He knocked on her door, heart slamming into his ribs a little faster than he was happy with. Didn’t matter that he told himself it’s just Vee, girl next door, little sister’s BFF. The platonic girl-next-door image took a nosedive straight to his dick when she opened the door wearing a skimpy summer top and a pair of short shorts which showed off a whole lot of smooth tanned thigh.

  “Yeah?” she asked, hand on hip. Her other hand was braced on the door edge, ready to slam it shut, he expected.

  Wearing flip-flops, Sam wasn’t idiot enough to put a foot in her doorway to prevent that happening, so he went for the familiar harmless Māori fella grin and held out the bouquet. Her eyelashes slitted together as she examined it with the expression of a woman expecting a prank daisy to squirt water in her eye, and she made no move to accept it.

  “Sunflowers,” he said. “I remembered you liked them.” He gave the giant flowers a little waggle under her nose.

  Her expression didn’t change. Then he had an oh shit moment when he wondered if he’d got it wrong and it was some other woman who loved the bloody thi
ngs. But no, he distinctly remembered Vee going through a teenage phase of wearing clothes she’d sewn herself in high school and one of those garments was a shapeless sunflower-printed cotton skirt. Brownie points for him, right?

  Vee released the door edge—one step forward—folded her arms and stared down her nose at him—one step back.

  No brownie points awarded for the flowers.

  “And chocolate.” He juggled the sunflowers to his other hand and offered her the grocery store bag with a gleam of golden wrappers visible through the plastic. “Specifically, Crunchie bars.”

  Her sensual lips twisted on one side and she cocked her head. If he wasn’t mistaken, her slitted gaze had transformed from one of annoyance to something akin to lust. Who said the way to someone’s heart only applied to men?

  “You brought me Crunchie bars?” Her hand drifted toward the bag then hesitated mid reach.

  “Twelve of them. Twelve chocolate-covered hokey-pokey orgasms in a wrapper.”

  She snorted. “That’s a bit of an oversell.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “That depends what you do with them,” he blurted out without any forethought.

  But instead of smacking him upside the head for being crass, she laughed—a rolling, husky sound that curled around him and had her leaning bonelessly against the doorframe. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder.

  “Ruby sleeping?” he asked.

  She nodded. “She’s been a little tyrant today but I finally got her down for a nap.”

  It’d take a braver man than he to risk a mother’s wrath if he woke her kid up from a nap. “Can we talk out here?”

  “If I say no, do I still get the flowers and candy bars?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Flea-ridden butt-monkey,” she muttered. But she stepped outside, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

  Vee gestured to a rickety wooden bench set against the wall of her apartment. The thought of sitting on it made him shudder—can you say ass splinters?—and he made a mental note to do a late night drive-by one evening and swap it out for one of Kauri Whare’s solid benches. He sat, setting the flowers beside him and the bag at his feet. He pulled out one Crunchie bar and passed it to Vee when she sat next to him.