Break Your Heart_A Small Town Romance Page 6

  “A show of goodwill,” he said.

  Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Vee peeled off the top of the golden wrapper, her straight white teeth closing over the chocolate. She made a sound low in her throat, a sort of purring hum that nearly had him reaching for the bouquet to cover the rush of blood heading south of his belt. He couldn’t drag his gaze from her defined cheekbones as she sucked the chocolate coating off the chunk of honeycomb in her mouth. Even her chewing—while continuing that carnal hum of pleasure—was the sexiest thing he’d seen in a long time.

  How lame was that?

  As if she sensed his intense gaze, her head jerked toward him. A smile, almost a shy smile, curved her lips as she swallowed.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve had one of these,” she said. “Want a bite?” She angled the rest of the candy bar toward him.

  Of the chocolate? No.

  Of Vee? He was starting to suspect he might.

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t dare take candy from a lady.”

  “Prudent.” She took another bite.

  They sat in amicable silence while she chewed. “I suspect you’re back to have another go wearing me down about this insane girlfriend idea,” she said after she swallowed.

  Sam leaned against the wall, crossing his ankles, enjoying the strip of sunlight warming his bare toes. Here went nothing.

  “New deal. Agree to my insane girlfriend idea and Bountiful can have the final shop in our retail space.” He rolled his head to the side to check out her reaction.

  Vee’s hand froze halfway to directing the candy into her mouth. Her beautiful face stilled, mouth snapping shut and sealing in a terse line. She continued to stare at the half-eaten bar, avoiding his gaze. “That’s playing dirty.”

  “No. This is an opportunity for us both to get something we want.”

  He could tell by the tension wiring across her slender shoulders that he’d hooked the interest of the slippery and evasive fish that was Vanessa Sullivan.

  “Okay, I’m listening,” she said.

  “I’m offering you a one-year lease on the space with an option to renew after the year is up. I’ll personally lend you muscle to help you relocate, and include redecoration costs of the retail space, within reason, to your specifications.”

  “And in exchange?” Her voice was a study in neutrality.

  “You’ll cohost a traditional Kiwi barbecue with me one night at my parents’ place and accompany me on a couple of touristy trips to keep Julia Wright entertained while I schmooze with her husband.”

  She’d nodded along with what he’d said, which bolstered his confidence for the next part. The bit she likely wouldn’t be so agreeable on.

  “And you and Ruby move in with me while the Wrights are in town.”

  Her gaze jerked up to his. “What? No bloody way.”

  “Yes way. One week. Consider it a beach vacation.” From this dump you’re living in. Flecks of peeling paint dug through his T-shirt into his upper back. He wasn’t stupid enough to mention it—or to point out that if she wasn’t so proud she could’ve lived much more comfortably if she’d have accepted her family’s help.

  “I don’t need a freaking vacation.”

  Tell that to the pale purplish bags under her eyes.

  “Ruby will enjoy being so close to the beach,” he said.

  The mention of her daughter’s name propelled a fiery danger warning through her gaze. “I won’t let my daughter be dragged into all of this. Moving in with you will just confuse her.”

  “Vee,” he said gently. “She’s only two. She won’t even remember a week at my place a month from now and it’s not like I’m asking you to subject her to anything traumatic. Seven days of fun at a beach house with Mummy. That’s all she needs to know.”

  Vee fussily folded the wrapper up over the remaining candy bar. “You make it sound so uncomplicated, but she’s a pretty smart girl. She’ll figure something’s up when it’s not just a beach house, it’s your house.”

  “What exactly will she figure out in a week?” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “That her mum is staying with her friend Sam? That her mum and Sam are not sniping at each other like they usually are, but actually being nice to each other?”

  “Oh—you’re going to be nice to me now?”

  He sensed he was wearing her down—that she was almost ready to capitulate—so he offered up his last tasty morsel of bait.

  “Nice enough that I’m prepared to waive the first three months’ rent for Bountiful to give you a head start.”

  She swiveled on the bench seat toward him. “Three months? Are you kidding me? That’s worth”—she squeezed one eye shut and rolled the other up to check on brain calculations—“a lot of money. How is that any different than offering me cash?”

  His stomach clenched and it was his turn to rack his brains for a palatable explanation.

  “Uh…” And then it hit him, the perfect response to this woman who, although stubborn as hell, was also loyal as hell. “Because the money isn’t just benefiting you, but Gracie and Nat and all your other staff.”

  He had her now—he could see it in the set of her mouth and the you utter bastard written in her gaze.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  “Think fast. I need you and Ruby to move in on Sunday.”

  Vee peeled back the candy bar wrapper, raised it to her mouth, and took off a large chunk of chocolate in an emasculating bite. Ouch. Oh, she was pissed. But would she turn down his offer in spite? As she chewed and swallowed, her icy blue gaze never left his face. It was the longest she’d ever made eye contact with him, and instead of the intimidation she was probably trying to elicit, the only emotion she invoked was curiosity.

  “I have some ground rules before I say yes,” she said finally.

  He let a glimmer of a smile slip onto his mouth. “Good girls always do.”

  “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

  When he shrugged, she drew in a pained breath. “One. We keep Ruby’s routine as normal as possible while we’re staying at your house.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Two. This relationship”—Vee said the word as if it were synonymous with deal with the devil—“is on a need-to-know basis. It doesn’t spread any farther than immediate family and friends who’ll know the reason behind it. I don’t want Bounty Bay gossiping behind my back.”

  “It’ll be done and dusted before anyone catches wind of it. Promise.” He did his best to look honorable. Not that he had any intention of giving the town’s gossipmongers something to chew over.

  “Three.” She gave him a steely glance which should’ve shriveled his balls but didn’t because it was actually kinda hot. “Public displays of affection are reserved to when the Wrights are around. They are limited to holding hands, an arm around my shoulders, and chaste kisses only.”

  Sam forced his mouth not to curve into another smile, this one a lot hotter than the previous. “Chaste kisses? That’s without tongue, right?”

  Vee rolled her eyes. Snagging the grocery bag of candy bars, she stood. After a moment’s hesitation, she snatched up the bouquet of sunflowers. “You’ve got until Sunday to figure out how you’re gonna keep your hands to yourself.”

  Then she U-turned and stalked back inside her apartment, the breeze catching the door and slamming it behind her. From somewhere inside Ruby’s wail cut into the heavy summer silence.

  Sam made his way back to his ute, his wince of sympathy soon transforming into a triumphant grin. Vee was in. And contrary to what she said out loud, keeping the heat level between them at tepid might be harder than either of them suspected.

  Chapter 5

  Come Sunday morning, Vee had made a list and she was checking it twice. Her announcement to Ruby earlier that they were going to stay at Sam’s place by the beach was met with squeals of excitement and a flurry of chaos as Ruby wanted to pack every item of clothing in her drawers and every toy in her room.


  Six days meant nothing to a two-year-old.

  Vee, on the other hand, had thrown some clothes and toiletries into a suitcase and added into a couple of cardboard boxes—at Sam’s texted request—some framed photos and other ‘girlie’ paraphernalia that would make his house look less like a bachelor cave and more like a home inhabited by a woman and a little girl. Having been to Sam’s place on a couple of occasions in the past, this was wishful thinking on his part. The run-down villa by the beach he called home screamed Single Guy Who Can’t Be Assed Redecorating and no amount of pretty throw pillows and knickknacks were going to help.

  She smiled grimly as Ruby handed over her inflatable arm floaties and a bucket and spade beach set.

  “Beach, Mummy!” Ruby said showing off her mouthful of small white teeth. “We play with Sam?”

  “I’m sure we will, sweetie.”

  The doorbell buzzed and Vee started, heat spreading over her cheekbones in a rash of irritation. Sam wasn’t due to pick them up for another hour. Ruby whipped around, the little skirt of her swimsuit—which she’d insisted on wearing—fluttering as she ran to the front door.

  “He’s here! He’s here!” she shrieked, loud enough for the apartment next door to hear.

  Vee set the beach toys and Ruby’s floaties on one of the packed boxes and followed her down the hallway. Anyone would think they were leaving for a month instead of six days—

  She opened the door, but it wasn’t Sam on the other side.

  “There’s my big girl.” Patrick Richardson Junior crouched at Ruby height with his arms wide open and a shit-eating grin as fake as his spray tan on his face.

  In one hand he had a stuffed penguin with a bright pink bow tied around its black-and-white neck. It was the exact same plush animal he’d given his daughter six months ago—not that he’d remember since he’d only visited her twice in that time.

  Her daughter took a step backward, her head bumping into Vee’s legs, her arm hooking around Vee’s knees as if anchoring herself to her mum. Couldn’t blame her. Not when Vee wanted to slam the door shut on her baby daddy’s slicked back Nordic blond hair and button-down shirt and khakis that probably cost more than all her monthly bills combined.

  “Come and give Daddy a kiss.” He tapped his jaw—one which stubble wouldn’t dare grow on—and tilted his head.

  Ruby, normally a good bet if anyone requested a sloppy kiss on the cheek, shook her head and hung onto Vee’s legs tighter.

  “Come here, Ruby.” Pat’s smile didn’t slip an inch, but his blue-eyed gaze was now shot with frost. He waggled the toy toward her. “Then you can have this.”

  Ruby whirled around and wrapped both arms around Vee’s legs, burying her face in her skirt. “I wanna go beach.”

  Trying and probably failing to keep the distaste for her ex-fiancé off her face, Vee stroked Ruby’s hair. “You should’ve called first.” Not that he ever did. “We’re going out.”

  Pat’s gaze zipped past her legs to the collection of luggage and boxes stacked in her hallway. “Going out or moving out?”

  He stood, moving closer until the breadth of his body blocked out the morning sunshine pouring in through the open door. Leaning against the doorframe, he hooked the soft toy by its pink ribbon and dangled it from his finger, as if the penguin was hanging from a hangman’s noose. Symbolic of how she’d felt at the end of their relationship. Ugh.

  “We’re going to stay at the beach,” she said.

  Not that she owed him any sort of explanation, but she could, and was, cordial to her daughter’s part-time father when he graced them with a visit. Cordial to the rotting douche funnel on the outside, at least. “Ruby’s very excited about it, aren’t you, sweetie?”

  Ruby shuffled to the side of Vee’s leg and cast a side-eye at Patrick. “I wanna go beach,” she repeated softly.

  “Will you make sandcastles with Mummy, do you think?”

  Once Patrick’s posh upper-class English accent would’ve given her shivers up and down her spine. Now Vee wanted to tell him the silver-spoon-jammed-in-the-mouth routine wasn’t fooling anyone.

  Ruby, however, brightened considerably at the mention of sandcastles—her favorite beach activity. She released Vee’s leg and assumed her patented Ms. Attitude stance, little hands planted sassily on each hip. “I’m gonna make castles with Sam.” She angled her head back toward Vee. “We go to Sam’s house now.”

  Pat’s slouch straightened and he met Vee’s gaze over Ruby’s head with silent suspicion. “Who’s Sam? One of your girlfriends?”

  Ruby giggled. “Sam’s a boy.” Then she giggled again, and lunged for the penguin, hugging it close to her chest. “Like pen-gin. Pen-gin’s a boy, too.”

  Patrick allowed the stuffed toy to slip off his finger but his cold stare never left Vee’s.

  “Say thank you, Ruby,” Vee said.

  “Than-ku.” Ruby obediently parroted.

  “Why don’t you take the penguin in to meet your other toys?” she added. “Make the introductions.”

  Ruby’s forehead crumpled in concentration. “Tro-duck-shon,” she repeated slowly, the penguin now tucked under her arm in a chokehold. “Tro-duck-shon, tro-duck-shon,” she sang as she skipped down the hallway and into her room, all shyness forgotten.

  Pat folded his arms and made a tsking noise with his tongue that set her nerves on edge. “Pray tell, Vanessa, who is Sam?”

  God, she so badly wanted to nut-punch him.

  She folded her arms, squeezing her biceps so nut-punching would be less of a temptation. “Sam Ngata.”

  His face went blank—indicative of the booze-soused brain cells above it—then his nose wrinkled. “You mean that scruffy surfer prick? The one whose older brother used to play a bit of footy.”

  The man was such a wanker.

  Patrick knew damn well that not only had Isaac been one of New Zealand’s top sportsmen but that his younger brother was incredibly successful on his own merits. But she wouldn’t waste her breath correcting him since his attempt at getting a rise out of her was as obvious as the flashy Rolex on his wrist.

  “Sam and I have been friends since we were kids.” Not entirely true, but the giant dickless jellyfish looming over her didn’t need to know that. “Did you want something else, Patrick?” She’d perfected the art of chilly politeness with him years ago, mainly because her visible indifference was almost guaranteed to hack another chip off his monumental ego.

  “I want to know why you’re going to Sam Ngata’s house with suitcases.” He glared at her, a muscle flickering in his smooth-as-a-baby’s-bum jaw.

  With her mummy-trained ears, Vee heard Ruby in her bedroom chatting away to her stuffed animal collection, distracted enough that she wouldn’t hear them talking. Just to be on the safe side, she took a step closer to Patrick, trying not to gag on the half a bottle of cologne he wore.

  “Well, for the smoking hot sex, obviously,” she said with saccharine sweetness. “The scruffy surfer is no slouch in the sack.”

  His blue eyes bulged most attractively—not—and his head jerked back. “You’re sleeping with him?”

  “Every chance I get.” She couldn’t help but smirk. Aww, had she traumatized the poor man by confiding that she wasn’t pining alone at home for Pat’s coital skills, which on average had only lasted about the same length of time as drinking a lukewarm cup of coffee?

  Unfortunately, Patrick’s continued shocked expression triggered a tongue-loosening reaction from her.

  “We’re moving in together,” she blurted.

  “The fuck you are. You shouldn’t be associating with that lowlife native and…” The last vestige of his carefully cultured Patrick Richardson Junior persona fell away to reveal Pat the Rat in all his assholish glory. His gaze zipped past her down the hallway. “And I won’t have my daughter dragged into your seedy affair.”

  Blood shot like superheated liquid steel through her veins and pounded against her eardrums. Yeah, he went there. As well as b
eing a spoiled rich kid who’d never done a day’s physical labor, he was a barely concealed racist at best. Her indifferent cool vaporized like sea mist.

  “You better shut your damn mouth before I go all native on you. Sam and I aren’t having an affair, it’s serious between us. He’s a helluva better father to Ruby than you’ve ever been.”

  Patrick’s upper lip curled back from his preternaturally white teeth and he nodded toward her hands, now clenched at her sides. “Not so serious that he’s put a diamond on your finger, though, is it?”

  Like the pretentious doorknob of a ring Patrick had picked out for her after he’d proposed. That thing could’ve put out your eye if you’d swung a left hook in a bar brawl. It’d certainly made a satisfying thunk when she’d hurled it at his head.

  Vee sought control of her temper with her usual count-to-ten mantra when dealing with her ex.

  One: Snip off his dick with her dressmaking shears.

  Two: Lace his chardonnay with rat poison.

  Three: Gag him, bind his hands and feet, and send him off to sea on an inflatable pool toy.

  And so on.

  “He’s about to pop the question any day now.” She went to close the door in his face—hopefully putting a dent in his surgically enhanced nose—but he stuck his foot in her door.

  “We’re not done,” he said. “I haven’t spent time with my daughter.”

  His daughter when it was convenient for him to have a daughter—like when he wanted an ‘isn’t her daddy virile?’ arm decoration.

  Oh, he was spoiling for a fight. But Vee had a better idea.

  “My bad.” She flung the door open and gestured him inside. “Come in and play tea parties until Sam arrives. He should be here any minute and I’m sure he’d love to meet you in person.”

  Patrick’s mouth stitched shut while he made a production of checking his Rolex. “Actually, I might have to rain check on the playdate with Rubes. I’ve got an important meeting to attend. Family trust stuff. Boring but necessary.”