Know Your Heart: A New Zealand Enemies to Lovers Romance (Far North Series Book 2) (25 page)

“There’s no letter. I won’t hide behind words on a page.” Glen moved in close, gently grasping her upper arms and drawing her against him.

She sighed, her body softening, melting into his. She felt so right there, a perfect fit. The only woman he’d ever love. And she was right about one thing—love did require a sacrifice. But he was willing to pay that price for her happiness.

“Years ago I’d watch you with Nate, with your friends, even with Liam. You craved their eyes on you, needing their approval. Guess it was an extension of your need for your dad’s love and approval. But you don’t have to do a damn thing to earn mine, because I see you, Savannah. I see you, I know you, and I love you.”

“But you’re telling me to go?” Her voice cracked.

“I’m telling you I love you too much for you to stay and feel like you’re giving up everything you’ve worked so hard for. You don’t have to sacrifice…you don’t have to make that call.”

He eased her away, the little warmth generated between them dying. Harsh white light spilled over her face, highlighting her reddened eyes, the wet tear tracks on her face. If he touched her now, she’d call his bluff and destroy all his good intentions of letting her go.

“Safe travels, Sav,” he said and turned back to the auditorium.

He couldn’t say goodbye—saying goodbye would’ve crushed him.

Chapter 16

Savannah trailed after a group of teenagers and their bleary eyed chaperones into Heathrow airport’s massive arrivals hall. Her hair was oily and lank, her eyes red-rimmed from the air-conditioned plane and the thirteen-hour flight from Singapore.

She paused at the automatic sliding doors that led to the taxi ranks, buttoning her jacket to the throat. Grey clouds and stark rain sheeted down outside. Adjusting the small handbag slung crosswise over her body, she reassured herself that Glen’s envelope was still tucked safely inside. The envelope that contained a flight itinerary in her name.

Savannah Davis. One way, Auckland to London, business class.

Three full days in London, then another flight to L.A. in plenty of time for her audition. She sniffed, shoving a hand into her pocket and dragging out a crumpled tissue. Damn the man, why couldn’t she stop crying?

“Savvy? Is that you?”

Savannah looked up, her sluggish heartbeat kicking into a breakneck run at the sight of her father a short distance in front of her, his bearded face split into a huge smile.

“Dad,” she said, followed immediately by an
Ooomph
as her father yanked her into a bear hug. “What are you doing here? I was going to catch a taxi.”

“Taxi?” He kissed the top of her head. “You e-mail me with your flight details, saying you’re coming for a flying two day visit, and you think I’ll let you waste a minute of it catching a taxi? Not bloody likely.”

He hugged her again, hard enough to make Savannah squeak, then abruptly let her go.

“Blimey, there’s nothing to you.” He pulled back, straightening to his full height. “We’ll stop at the pub for some fish and chips on the way home—and wait ‘til you see the cake the girls have made.”

Not going to cry, not going to cry
… Savannah burst into tears.

“Ah, little diva.” He engulfed her in another hug, her face mushed against the scratchy wool of his coat.

He smelled like peppermint and Old Spice cologne. Comforting, familiar smells that transported her back to the childhood scramble to reach Daddy’s arms before her mum could. She remembered those bear hugs, being the focus of her father’s intense concentration as he listened to her babble about the things he’d missed while overseas. She’d craved longer and longer periods of that attention as she grew older, but once her parent’s relationship hit the wall, her father’s focus on his only child disintegrated.

“I’m not your little diva anymore,” she muttered against his chest.

He patted her back and smoothed down her hair. “So you told me when you were seventeen, but in my heart, you’re still my little girl.”

She sniffed. “That’s pretty lame, Dad.”

“Your old man is pretty lame now. I’ve lost some of my harsher edges. Married to the right person’ll do that for you, you know.”

Savannah swiped a hand over her wet cheek. “No, can’t say I do. Marriage didn’t work out so well for me.”

Her father let her go, digging around in his jacket pocket and retrieving a plaid handkerchief. “Yes, hmmph. Here. Don’t use your sleeve.”

A quick bark of laughter escaped out of her. “Dad, I’m not a kid.”

He grinned, and her heart gave a little squeeze.

“Sorry, old habits.”

Savannah took the handkerchief and blew her nose. When she looked up, her father continued to stare at her.

“I should’ve come,” he said. “Dealt with your smarmy little maggot of a husband, so you didn’t have to.”

Savannah’s chin tilted up. “Liam was my problem. I’m strong enough to take care of my own messes.”

Except the mess she’d made of her and Glen—she had no idea how to take care of that.

His lips curled into a rueful grin above his grizzled beard. “Always were the strong one out of my girls. You’d never give up if you wanted it badly enough.” He squeezed her arm, his eyes suspiciously shiny. “That’s why Rachel and I are so proud of you.” Then his eyes flicked down to the two suitcases at her side. “Anyway. Rachel’s dying to show you the album she’s made for you—she’s gone completely bonkers on this scrap-booking thing. Spent a bloody fortune.” He grabbed the handle of the larger suitcase.

Savannah froze, her fingers clenched around her handbag strap. “Rachel made a scrapbook? For me?”

Her father nodded, as if it were no big deal. “She got into my stash of old photos of you, clippings from magazines, interviews and movie posters and the rest. She was planning to bring it over at Christmas. Oh.” He stopped and shot her a glance. “That was meant to be a surprise. Guess you won’t be in Auckland for Christmas now?”

So many emotions swirled around Savannah’s head that she could do nothing but blink. He’d kept photos? Tracked her career? She’d always thought he’d never been interested—too caught up in the lives of his new family, his new daughters. And Christmas? They planned to visit over the holidays? And where
would
she be in a month? It felt as if she’d swallowed a dozen ice cubes whole, and they were tumbling around her stomach.

“Too many questions. Sorry about that. You must be exhaust—”

“I met someone, Dad. His name’s Glen.”

“Ah.” He released the suitcase handle. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

Her father touched her cheek. “The tears. The times you and Liam visited us, I never saw you cry over him—happy, sad, or mad tears.”

Savannah scrunched up her face. “No. Then you’ll be glad to know I’ve cried more tears over this man in the last three weeks than I ever shed over Liam.”

“Sad tears?”

She nodded. “And happy and mad tears. Glen’s not coming with me to L.A. He said he would, but…” Savannah fiddled with her handbag zipper. “He bought me the flight here. Told me I needed to get things right with you before I went to L.A. He said…” The ice cubes in her guts turned into jagged shards. “I was still searching for other people’s approval—for your approval. And that I didn’t have to do anything to earn his, because he loved me. He loves me, and I left him.” A sob hiccoughed out of her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Oh God, what was she doing, making a huge scene in a crazy-busy airport?

“Ah, Savvy.” Her father slung an arm around her shoulder, hooking her tight to his side. “You’ve always had my love and approval, only I didn’t show it as well as I should’ve. We’ll work on that, we will. And as for this Glen fellow, seems he knows you pretty well.”

Savannah snuffled, the ache in her chest spreading until her whole body throbbed. “He does. I didn’t see it before, and I didn’t tell him that I loved him before I left. I refused to see it, to even think it could be true, because it would make me an idiot for leaving him behind.”

“Love makes you do stupid things. Like leaving when you should stay.” His voice gentled. “Like staying when you know you should leave.”

“So what do I do, Dad?” she asked. “Now would be a good time for some fatherly advice.”

He gave her one last squeeze and released her again. “Now we go back home and let Rachel and the girls fuss over you. You let your family—because make no mistake, we
are
your family—take care of you for a few days. You’ll figure out what you want. What’ll make you happy. What it is you need.” He grabbed the handles of both suitcases. “A man who knows your heart and loves you enough to encourage you to follow it… That’s not something to give up lightly. So let your heart be a compass and show you which direction you should go.”

Savannah found a watery smile. “Dad, that’s very profound.”

“Your old man is pretty profound now, too. Being in love helps with that. You’ll see.” He tipped his head toward the outside doors. “Come on, then, little diva. Your chariot awaits.”

***

Twenty-eight hours without sleep did weird stuff to a woman’s brain. Particularly to a woman who may’ve screwed her chances with the man she loved. Blame lack of sleep, stress, and the snoring guy next to her who twitched in his seat like a dreaming dog. Savannah directed the taxi driver to Glen’s place in Newmarket. A less desperate woman would’ve opted to get a twelve-hour nap under her belt before a win-back-her-man attempt.

The taxi disappeared down the road, and Sav turned toward Glen’s townhouse. Scratch winning her man; she was here to grovel. Admit she was an idiot. Eat humble pie if that’s what he was serving, and even ask for seconds.

After dragging her cases through the gate and to the front door, she eyed the doorbell as if it’d launch a nuclear missile. How would Glen react to her showing up on his doorstep unannounced? For the second time.

Before she could change her mind, she stabbed the buzzer. She stepped back a little bit from the door, smoothing a hand down the yellow dress she knew he liked. Yes, she’d changed out of her comfortable stretchy pants and into a dress. One didn’t have to grovel looking as if she hadn’t slept in twenty-eight hours.

No footsteps on the other side of the door, so Sav buzzed again. And again. Then knocked. Loudly. Checked her phone to make sure she had the right address for Glen Cooper, Newmarket. She peered through a small pane of glass beside the door. Two crossed swords were mounted on the hallway wall. She had the right place.

A tuneful whistling from the sidewalk behind her dragged her focus from Glen’s front door. A postman poked a handful of letters into Glen’s mailbox and then continued on. Postie? Clearly, she was not only tired but stupidly oblivious to the fact normal people were at work on a Monday morning-lunch-afternoon whatever-the-time-was. Her stomach rumbled. Must be after lunch, surely?

Sav sighed and grabbed the suitcase handles. She spotted a path down the side of the house—bet it led to a tiny yard out back. She’d wait for Glen to come home and eat the muesli bar tucked in her purse.

After five minutes of fighting to get both pieces of luggage around the back of Glen’s house, Sav slumped onto a patio chair overlooking a postage-stamp-size patio. The muesli bar vanished in four bites, and even after chewing through glucose-infused goodness, it did little to inspire a great speech that would convince Glen she was worth a second chance. Even less to prevent her eyelids drooping.

She’d just rest her head on her arms on top of the cute little table, and then she’d be…

Sav jerked awake, her stomach plummeting into a free-fall. Someone had turned on the sprinkler system! Someone had—she jolted upright, grabbing the table edge, gazing frantically around for the culprit. Rain sheeted down, a notorious, four-seasons-in-one-day Auckland downpour.

Crap. It wasn’t a faulty sprinkler.

She jumped up, looking for an outdoor table umbrella—something. Icy water trickled down her bare arms, slid down her back, and soaked her front. There—the partially open window in Glen’s kitchen. She’d hunted around his tiny yard earlier, hoping to uncover a spare key, and she’d also noted the open window. Then, she hadn’t been desperate enough to break in.

Now? Savannah stored her luggage under the patio table and dragged a chair over to the house. Off came the yellow heels and she climbed onto the chair—which wobbled precariously until she grabbed the window ledge to steady herself.

Possibly not one of her better ideas. She tried to pry the window open wider. It wouldn’t budge, because it was locked open with one of those window-locking-arm-thingys. The one her too-tired brain hadn’t noticed before she’d hauled herself up there. She rested her wet forehead against the inside of her elbow, arm muscles twitching from the effort of remaining balanced on this ridiculously spindly chair.

“Savannah?”

Her name, delivered in Glen’s low, rough voice—his achingly familiar voice—sizzled through her like static electricity.

Her knees trembled, sending a rattle shimmering through the chair’s frame. Strong hands grasped her waist.

“Let go of the window before you wrench it off,” he said.

She released her white-knuckled grip and stepped off the chair—straight into a broad chest. A brief impression, a flash of warm, hard muscle pressed into her back, before Glen removed his hands from her waist and stepped aside.

“You’re home,” she said inanely. “I must’ve slept longer than I thought.”

“It’s just after midday. My neighbor called to say a bedraggled blonde in a yellow dress was flaked out on my patio.”

“Er, yes.”

Glen touched his cheek above the faintest curve in the corner of his mouth. “Little criss-cross lines on your face right here.”

Savannah scrubbed a hand over her flushed cheek. Sure enough, table indentions. Just the look she’d gone for…

“And how did you plan to gain access through my kitchen window when even the neighbor’s cat can’t fit through it?”

Super.

They’d established she looked like a dog’s breakfast. And that she sucked at breaking and entering. He was kind of missing the point. In a script, this would be the time the leading man swooped in and kissed the bejesus out of her. Then he’d sweep her inside the house to his rose-petal-strewn, king-size bed.

Oh god, she’d murder for a king-size bed right now.

Her eyes narrowed at Glen’s bland expression. He definitely wasn’t following the dialogued script she’d imagined. Yet again.