Lord, her feet hurt.
Yvonne McDonald thumped the spent coffee grounds into her bin and started making a soy latte and two flat whites. While the coffee dribbled into cups, she filled a teapot with peppermint tea leaves and poured over boiling water while trying not to think about her cozy sheepskin slippers waiting for her at home.
The Clare town festival to celebrate the New Zealand spring was great in theory. Aunt Gina was cackling gleefully about their bumper takings this week, but they needed someone stationed at the door to draft customers into their bookstore café in manageable groups rather than massive herds. A set of the mobile yards the local farmers used for their cattle would do the job.
The bell over the door dinged a cheerful welcome. Yvonne didn’t bother to glance up since they’d hired two students to help. The two teenage girls could do the smiling thing. She bashed her bell to signal order up.
“My feet hurt.” Kelsey loaded her tray with the coffee, tea and a plate of fresh scones, jam and clotted cream.
“We need to hit Gina up for spa visits,” Yvonne said, almost moaning at the decadent thought. What she wouldn’t give for a man to greet her at home. Never mind the hot sex. She’d settle for a foot rub.
A flood of whispers stormed the café. Stray words struck Yvonne like bullets. Farmer. Reality show. Susan. Nolan.
“Yvonne.” The familiar masculine voice hurled her into the past…
A dark bedroom.
Naked bodies sliding together.
Mind-zapping touches.
Pleasure storming her body, culminating in sweet, sweet bliss.
Stellar sex. Superior and awesome and stellar sex.
Another word bullet hit, and her head jerked up at the repeat of her name.
Nolan.
Damn, the man.
Her gaze settled, and irritation punched her in the chest, stealing her ability to breathe for a few seconds. She glared at Nolan Penrith, the bane of her life. Tall and lean from hard physical farm work, he was a male in his prime. His light brown hair—currently full of blond streaks from a fortnight of spring sunshine—needed a cut but he suited the unruly curls. His brown eyes sparkled with open admiration as he stared at her, and his sensual lips curved upward in a smile of greeting.
This acknowledgement with the underpinning of lust was a new development, and the hair lifted at the back of her neck in a silent warning to take care.
She directed her scowl away from his tempting smile and started to build the next order. A skim milk latte and a hot chocolate. Her disobedient mind refused to focus and like a rambunctious child, darted back to thoughts of sexy Nolan.
The man owned a farm on the outskirts of Clare and recently he’d brought fame and notoriety to the country town when he took part in the reality show Farmer Seeks a Wife. The minute he’d started dating women from the show, their…fling—the best description for their relationship—ended.
Kaput. A full stop on her sex life.
Yvonne frothed a jug of milk, the hiss and whir of the coffee machine overly loud and rubbing her nerves raw. The café section of the bookshop had become library quiet, but she didn’t intend to glance up to see why.
She. Would. Not.
She sucked in a deep breath, tried to ignore the zing of sensual awareness tugging her breasts, the tremor of her hand guiding the coffee machine, the clamp of invisible hands constricting her ribs. She brushed off her hormones’ celebratory rumba.
“Yvonne.”
Cursing under her breath, she gave up the fight. She tore her gaze from the steaming milk and glowered at the man. “Nolan, what can I get you today?”
“I’m here to ask you to dinner,” he said in a husky, jump-in-bed-with-me-now voice. “Tonight.”
Yvonne’s mouth dropped open. Shock kicked her square in the solar plexus while irritation charged like a mad bull seconds later. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Her voice emerged in a high-pitch shriek, the register of her tone reminding of her of a squeaky cartoon character. The customers in the café were pin-drop quiet now, entertained by the impromptu Nolan and The Dumped Girlfriend show.
Nolan straightened, his good humor visibly cooling. He shot a glance to his left, one to his right. “No. I’m asking you on a date. If tonight doesn’t work, we can try another night.”
“You’ve treated me like a dirty secret,” she snapped. “And I don’t need your mother’s shrewish attention focused on me again.”
The man had rocks in his head if he thought she’d come running after his behavior. And the way his witch mother had flown around town on her broomstick to spread rumors about Yvonne’s morals. Bah. Elizabeth Penrith might consider herself Clare royalty, but that didn’t give her the right to treat people like crap for not measuring up to her lofty standards.
“Our dating has nothing to do with my mother. Look, we can’t discuss this here. The café is too busy. I’ll see you later at your place.”
The bell tinkled as someone left the café.
Yvonne didn’t blink. “I’m not a disposable commodity for you to discard then pick up when you have no better offers. I’m tired, my feet hurt and all I want to do is go to bed.” Her good-for-nothing husband had left her and walked away with another man. Nolan had searched for a wife elsewhere. The third time was not a charm.
“You tell him, love,” an elderly woman called from her table over by the magazine stand.
“Make him grovel,” another woman shouted out her advice.
“Don’t throw him away,” a teenage girl called. “Give him a chance, or better yet, toss him my way.”
“Make him work for you. He should apologize.” Elderly Mrs. Wright added her two cents in a deep voice.
Yvonne felt heat rise up her neck to take residence in her cheeks and gave silent thanks to her Maori grandmother. Not many people would notice her discomfort.
“Tonight,” Nolan repeated in a firm voice. He turned to face the café patrons and bowed from the waist, straightened and strode from the café. The doorbell tinkled for long moments then silence fell—a long one in which everyone studied Yvonne.
Ignoring the weight of stares, she focused on her coffee art. Once she’d completed her design on the top of her latte, she set the coffee on the counter. “Order up!”
Nolan strode down the main street of Clare, past the florist, a menswear shop, an ice cream parlor and a store specializing in jeans. Everyone he passed stopped to stare, and he bit back a snarl of frustration. Now that filming on the reality show was over he’d hoped his life would settle into normal routine.
No such luck.
“Nolan. Nolan! Wait for me.”
Nolan halted outside a real estate agent’s office and waited for his mother.
“Lorna Wright told me you asked that woman for a date. In front of everyone.” She started her lecture before they’d traded greetings. “How could you embarrass me like that? You need a wife of good moral character. I know several single women who are suitable.”
“Stop,” Nolan snapped. “Listen, because this is the last time I’m going to say this.” He nailed his mother with a hard expression. “You will stop interfering in my private life. You will stop spreading gossip about Yvonne.”
“I—”
“You will stop judging her, belittling her in front of other people.”
“But she made you look stupid in front of the café customers. People are still speculating about the kinkiness you alluded to on TV. You must keep your head down.”
After his recent behavior, Yvonne was due a few digs. “Nothing to do with you,” he said, his tone uncompromising. “Leave Yvonne alone. Have I made myself clear?”
“But she has children,” his mother said, furrowing her brow.
“So?”
“Someone else is the father. You don’t want to bring up another man’s children.”
Fury jerked his shoulders straight. “I’m not you, Mother.” His mother might treat Tyler, Nolan’s younger brother, like crap because their father chose to have an affair. Nolan didn’t intend to cast the father’s sins on Yvonne’s sons. He wasn’t his mother.
His mother sniffed. “They’re little hellions.”
They were healthy boys who enjoyed rough and tumble play. “Stay away from them, and stay away from Yvonne. If I hear one more rumor, one more word from you about Yvonne or her children, I’ll spread gossip of my own.”
His mother gasped and her pompous air switched into disbelief. Some of the indignant color fled her face. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” Rumors and gossip were already circulating after his father moved out of the family home. “A few more juicy tidbits will add a pinch of spice.”
Mother and son gazed at each other for an extended moment. His mother broke their visual connection.
“Very well,” she snapped. “You make your own bed and lie in it. Just don’t come running to me when the bed leg breaks.” She swiveled and marched two doors down to the second café in Clare—the one she and her pals frequented.
Nolan noted the interest from passersby and huffed out a sigh. It was his mother’s fault he’d gained notoriety in the first place. She’d sent off his application to the damn reality show.
He dodged a group of women who were pawing through a rack of clothes outside a ladies wear shop. A sale, the sign said. He hastened his pace. The glow in their eyes, their fervor served as a warning to any male with common sense.
Clear of danger, his mind headed back to his immediate problem. Yvonne.
He hadn’t expected her to act with such hostility. He’d thought she’d understood he wasn’t interested in the women on the reality show. Damn, the female sex was confusing.
Tonight he’d explain everything, tell her he wanted her, tell her he didn’t need any other woman, tell her the two of them were in a relationship.
Together, they had a future.
Yvonne picked up her sons from the babysitter and drove down the busy streets to her small rented home, not far from Clare school. The recent reality show had put the town on the map, as had the news the show’s producer intended to film again in the town.
A white compact cut in front of her and slowed rapidly.
She slammed on the brakes, her seatbelt stopping her from flying into the windshield. “Idiot!”
“Mummy called the man a mean name,” David said from the rear seat.
Yvonne turned to check on David, her four-year-old, and Michael, her six-year-old. “Okay?”
“Can we have a puppy?” Michael asked, his earnest gray-blue eyes a mirror image of her own. His curly black hair, pale skin and slim build came from his father.
David took after her with light brown hair and an olive complexion. “Oh, yes.” His brown eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “We’d like a puppy.”
“I don’t think so. A puppy would get lonely while you’re at school and kindergarten. They don’t allow dogs,” she said, forestalling their next logical argument. Her sons were the only good thing to come from her marriage.
The driver behind her honked his horn, and Yvonne muttered under her breath. While the surge of visitors helped local retailers, today the strangers and their aggressive driving were working her last nerve.
At home, she started dinner preparations and organized bath time, put on a load of washing and directed the boys to do a little tidying. She pushed thoughts of aching feet into the far recesses of her mind. Once the pasta was cooked, she poured over her meat sauce. It was full of disguised vegetables in the form of grated carrots and zucchini and diced tomatoes, so she was glad to see the boys eat with enthusiasm. One less battle to wage.
An hour later, with the boys in bed, she poured herself a glass of wine and collapsed on the sofa. She wriggled her toes. Sheer bliss. Then the doorbell rang. Yvonne groaned and pushed herself to her feet.
A few seconds later, she yanked the door open, her scowl deepening when she identified her caller. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you I was going to stop by.”
Yvonne stood firm in the doorway. “I don’t suppose you’d go away?”
“No.”
Yvonne let out a heavy sigh and limped down the passage. She took a right into the lounge and lectured herself sternly. Don’t touch. Keep your hands to yourself. He’ll hurt you again. Her trepidation sailed close to panic. Why had he come when she’d told him so clearly to stay the heck away?
She hesitated, glanced at the couch. No. No sitting. She didn’t want him to get comfortable. She picked up her glass of wine and took a swig. The chair called to her throbbing feet. She ignored her aches and pains, the siren lure of comfort.
“Are you going to offer me a drink?”
“I don’t have any beer. I used the beer you left in my fridge to make bread.” Satisfaction tinged her words, the petty act still giving her pleasure.
His eyes glittered with amusement, and her hands curled to fists. The man stood on boggy ground. She was in the perfect mood to commit physical violence.
“Is there more wine?”
Ingrained manners had her stepping toward the door before her brain registered the act. Bother. She came to an abrupt halt, briefly thought about freeing the sharp words tickling her tongue, then continued to the kitchen. It wouldn’t hurt to regroup.
The creak of the floorboards behind her straightened her shoulders and made her last steps to the kitchen self-conscious and jerky. Drat the man. Her hands were unsteady—again—as she retrieved a wine glass from the cupboard. The show of nerves continued when she poured the wine, drops of liquid sloshing on the counter before she regained control.
“Do I make you nervous?”
“You piss me off,” she snapped. “I don’t understand why you’re here when I’ve made it clear we’re over.”
He propped his hip against the counter and studied her closely—until she felt like a creepy-crawly laid out on a glass slide. She thrust the glass of wine at him and finally, finally, he released her from his gaze. “We’re not over. I want you as much as I always have, and if you’re honest, you want me too. Yvonne, we’re good together.”
Yeah, yeah. Her marriage had been agreeable at the start—pleasant and enjoyable even—but look how that had turned out. Not that she was bitter or anything.
“Yet you decided to publically search for a wife on a reality show,” she said sweetly. “And when we were seeing each other, you’d come here, stay long enough to get your rocks off and sneak out again. I was a convenience.”
“We’re good together,” he repeated, pinning her with his determined gaze.
“We fucked,” she said with brutal intent. “We scratched an itch. I don’t want that again. I refuse to sneak around. When I start dating again it will be with a man who doesn’t act as if he’s ashamed to take me out in public, a man who likes my children, a man who’ll rub my feet at the end of a busy day. Damn.”
Angry at herself for thinking of her ex-husband and for having to deal with Nolan, she limped back to the lounge and dropped into her favorite easy chair with a loud sigh. A man—this man—wasn’t worth the aggravation of aching arches. Gingerly, she lifted her feet and placed them on the matching footstool. She closed her eyes.
Ah, the simple things in life.
“Why didn’t you say you were exhausted?”
His harsh voice, right next to her ear, made every muscle stiffen. Her eyes snapped open. “I thought it would be obvious to anyone with half a brain. It’s been a busy week.”
“Look, I know I’ve screwed up, but I didn’t apply to the reality show. My mother did, and by the time I realized, it was too late to pull out. My grandmother persuaded me it would be good for Clare, gain us some publicity, and I decided to play my mother and teach her a lesson, which is why I picked Susan. I like Susan. She’s great, but she’ll make me a much better sister-in-law.”
“So it’s true? Tyler and Susan are getting married?”
“Yeah.” Nolan smiled—a wide and genuine smile that grabbed every one of her female hormones and embraced them tightly. Her fingernails bit into the flesh of her thigh to halt her impulse to touch.
“That’s…ah…nice,” she finished.
“My mother thinks she can direct my life,” Nolan said. “I guess you’ve heard my father has moved in with me.”
“Yes.”
“Tyler and I learned a few other things recently. We’re half-brothers.”
“Is that why your mother is always so horrid to Tyler?” Yvonne asked, curious despite herself.
“Yeah. Look, I don’t want to talk about my parents. I want to make things right between us. I care about you, Yvonne.”
Yvonne blinked to break their connection. She reached for her wine and ran her finger around the rim. “I have my sons to worry about. My aunt needs me. I…you hurt me, Nolan. I’m sorry, but I don’t have the energy for a relationship. Not with you.” The truth—she still hurt. Every time she’d heard gossip about that stupid reality show it had felt like dull knives ripping through her flesh. She wasn’t dumb enough to put herself through the same pain again.
Nolan was silent for a long time. “I understand. Can—could we be friends?”
Her heart did a rapid dance, a victory bop against her ribs. Yvonne forced her brain to do the talking. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Because we’re more than friends?”
“No,” she blurted. Oh, Yvonne. Too quick. She risked a glance at him and her heart did another crazy Snoopy dance.
A slow, very sexy smile spread across his lips, stealing her breath, filling her with longing. “What’s that saying about the lady protesting too much?”
Yvonne squared her shoulders and prepared to lie.
“Would you like a foot rub?”
“What?” Aware she was gaping, she snapped her mouth shut.
Nolan lifted her legs and sat on the footstool. Bemused, she let him arrange her feet on his hard thighs. She swallowed, struggling with what to do, how to react. He plucked off her sheepskin slippers and dropped them on the floor.
“I don’t think— Ah!” Her moan of pleasure reverberated through the lounge, accompanied by his soft laugh. Those talented fingers of his pushed and stroked, used pressure on the arch until every muscle in her body relaxed. He started on her other foot, and her head told her she’d be stupid to send him packing at this particular moment. Half an hour of foot rubbing and then she’d kick him to the curb.
“Is the bookstore still closed on Sundays?” he asked.
“No, but I don’t work on Sundays.” And she’d trained three local high school students who covered for her on Saturdays. She’d wanted to spend time with her boys, do normal things like watch Michael’s rugby games and take the boys to the beach. Sometimes she managed to talk Gina into going with them, and they made a real family day of the outing.
“The local agricultural day is next week. Would you and the boys like to come with me? Dad is taking care of the stock entered in the show. I’ll probably check in with him to see if he needs anything, but other than that, I have a free day. When Tyler and I were kids we used to look forward to the show. Tyler and Susan are going. We could have lunch with them. What do you say?”
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“The boys would love the rides.”
Their friends were attending, and Michael had already started his pleas. Her heart overruled her head, and she wavered. “Are you willing to go on the dodgems and some of the other rides?” Yvonne loved the rides but found it difficult to supervise both her boys.
His eyes gleamed as he scented success. “Count on it.”
Yvonne frowned, the grimace smoothing out when he started rubbing her foot again. A sound close to a purr rumbled from her throat. Her boys would love a day out with masculine attention. “Tyler and Susan will be there?”
“With Katey,” he said, referring to his young niece. “Probably Josie and Eric as well.”
Josie and Eric were Tyler’s in-laws. They’d recently sold their farm and intended to move north to Auckland. Yvonne liked them both very much.
“All right,” she said finally. “Where should we meet you?”
“I’ll pick you up,” he said. “The show starts at ten, but could you be ready at nine thirty? That’ll give me time to swap the car seats over into my vehicle and check in with Dad at the show. Would Gina like to come with us?”
“She’s going with a group of her friends,” Yvonne said while her mind struggled with the changes in him since their last private meeting. The Nolan back then wouldn’t have known of the existence of car seats, let alone considered the time needed to swap them from vehicle to vehicle.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked.
“Okay,” Yvonne said, perplexed by this change in him. In the past, he’d slunk into her house and dragged her off to bed. An hour later, he’d left. No chit chat. No cuddles. No soft words. Nothing but an empty bed and the sense of ill-use.
“What do you want to watch?”
Inspiration struck. “I taped one of my favorite movies last week and haven’t had time to watch it. Romancing the Stone,” she said, watching him closely.
“Do you want a top-up of wine before I start the movie?” The man hadn’t even flinched.
“Sure,” Yvonne said. “I’ll get—”
“No,” he said, staying her with a gentle hand. “You wait there while I get the wine.” He plucked her glass from her hand and strode from the room.
Yvonne studied the curve of his butt, which was faithfully outlined in a pair of well-worn jeans. When he disappeared from sight, she blinked, her heart thumping hard. She wasn’t ogling. No, she wasn’t. It was merely feminine appreciation of a nice, tight backside.
Thoughts of an earlier conversation with Gina popped into her head. They’d discussed body language, and Gina had quoted from the book she was currently reading.
“‘Women like men with broad shoulders and muscled arms, men with long, strong legs because we need them to provide food for us. We look for men with small, tight butts because that means they have good forward propulsion and are able to direct sperm and make lots of babies.’”
Yvonne shuddered. Nolan bore all the necessities, according to Gina’s book, and especially the ability to pass on his sperm with excellent forward thrust. A shiver of heat dispersed through her body, frisking her pleasure points on the way to converge in an achy awareness between her thighs. She shifted her weight. It didn’t ease her tension.
The movie, she thought, glancing around the room for the remote control. Concentrate on something else.
Nolan arrived back with their wine before she managed to struggle from the chair. “Stay,” he said, handing her a glass. “I’ll sort it out.”
In his usual capable way, he had the television on and the movie queued to start. “One more thing,” he said. “Hold on to your glass.”
Before she could form a question, he scooped her off her chair and resettled her on the couch. He plopped beside her, and slung his right arm around her shoulders. She stiffened and knew he must have felt the strain of her muscles, but he merely picked up the remote and hit start. The opening credits began and soon Joan Wilder filled the screen. The actress was crying while writing the final words of her novel.
Every rapid breath Yvonne took filled her nostrils with his scent. Masculine with a hint of herb. Not aftershave, but the more subtle aroma of soap or a body wash.
“Relax,” he whispered against her ear.
Easy for him to say. A romantic chick flick suddenly struck her as a poor choice of movie. Too much incentive to ponder hot and heavy thrusts. Yvonne sucked in a large breath and let it ease out in steady increments. The man wasn’t trying to cop a feel or seduce her in any way. All he was doing was a little cuddling while he watched the movie.
Meantime, her thoughts took a corner onto a different street altogether. She thought about more forward thrusting of the naked, kinky kind, and the reaction spread through her body. The ache in her pussy grew, arousal dampening her panties. Thank goodness she knew this movie well and didn’t need to pay attention. She drank more wine and stared at the screen.
Nolan might have rubbed her feet and talked her into an outing for the coming weekend. No way in hell did she intend to add the reality of forward thrusting to her crimes.