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  Falling for Mr. Unexpected

  Copyright © 2014 by Inge Saunders

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-776-9

  Cover art by Tibbs Designs

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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  Falling for Mr. Unexpected

  By

  Inge Saunders

  ~Dedication~

  To my mother for her endless support. To all the girlfriends I’ve had/have, you’ve been the inspiration for writing the “Falling for Mr. Series.” To my first Beta Readers, Querida Saal, Lizle Flemmit, and Nomsa Blom. To my writing group, ROSA, you’ve helped to sculpt this story from first chapter to pitch, thank you. To Zee Monodee, you’ve been a great mentor and friend, thank you for saying yes to Falling for Mr. Unexpected. And, last, but certainly not least, to my Heavenly Father who makes the impossible, possible.

  Chapter One

  Emma carefully shifted her weight to her other foot as she maneuvered the huge cardboard box in her arms. Her handbag was slung over one shoulder, with a carrier over the other. Both were supposed to serve the purpose of leveling out the weight with her small frame.

  But her handbag, though heavy, wasn’t as bulky as her carrier, and she ended up standing lopsided in front of the door, wondering what she should put down first so she could reach the keys in her front jean pocket.

  She blew air out. Spring had decided to deceptively turn itself into a summer day. Sweat beaded on her forehead and pooled under her arms.

  Emma gave up and dropped the box filled with her collection of holiday reads. It landed with a thud on the front steps, and she glanced over her shoulder, knowing she polluted the silence and tranquility of the place. After a couple seconds of heavy breathing, she fished out the house keys.

  In as much as she didn’t want to barge in on her sister and her brother-in-law, she wasn’t above taking up their offer of staying in their beach house.

  It must really be nice to have a heart surgeon for a husband. She enthusiastically unlocked the door.

  She had planned a laze-filled holiday. She could finish her books, go for a swim if she wanted, lie around on the beach, and do all the things tourists did in Strand—act like she hadn’t been born a native Western Caper.

  Her smile broadened as she considered her friend and colleague Nomsa Blom in the fold of the family coop, trying to stave off pressing questions of why she was still single.

  She pushed her heavy load inside, having given up the will to pretend she could carry it farther, then dropped both bags next to her and took a deep, soothing breath.

  From the entryway, the interior was awash in shades of blue and white. A turquoise Nomadic-styled rug anchored the light floor with linen sofas and a wing-back chair. A chaise lounge stood next to a closed window with a side table with a lamp on it and in another corner stood a rattan desk with a shell mirror against the wall above.

  The beach house seemed fresh and cool in the late afternoon. After the uncomfortable drive, with the cooling system breaking down right outside of town, this was a blessed relief. It spelled out calm. The spacious and elegant front room also included a dining area in a sea-themed tableau. Emma didn’t waste too much time studying it though; the patio with deck chairs the same design as the interior called to her like a siren’s call.

  The house was situated on the beach; with a couple of steps, she’d be in the blue Atlantic Ocean.

  “How did I get so lucky?” She laughed.

  The ocean came across as a Renaissance oil painting especially with the Hottentots Holland Mountain range as a backdrop from her visual point. She wanted to step right into it, but she couldn’t ruin her light blue jeans or the frilly chemise she wore. She stared down at her simple black ballet flats.

  What if I took off my clothes? She glanced around the empty beach, not used to stripping down in public.

  It was, after all, an exclusive, privately owned beach.

  Reckless for the first time in her life, she stripped off her denims and kicked off her shoes. Once she got started, she couldn’t stop. The chemise joined her jeans and shoes, and she stood with a huge smile in her nude bra and panties—never one to mismatch her underwear.

  Emma didn’t rush to the water; instead, she took leisurely steps like she had all the time in the world.

  And she did, at least two weeks, anyway.

  The waters of False Bay lapped the sandy beach, and she stared at the waves for a moment before stepping into the ocean, and tingles rushed all the way through her toes to the top of her head. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she ran into the ocean shrieking.

  While the day had been warm, it was still spring, and the cold took her breath away, but her sweat-covered body welcomed it. Nevertheless, she couldn’t stop her shrill screams and hysterical laughter as she rode the waves, not even bothering to swim.

  The tension in her arms left as she stretched out on her back and let the sea pull her to the shore. When she reached the shallow waters, she basked in the sun. Sufficiently toasty, Emma rose out of the ocean, refreshed and glad she hadn’t caved to go with Nomsa, even after her teary-eyed plea. She shook out her wet, curly hair.

  Nomsa needed to learn to put her foot down and speak up for herself. There was nothing wrong with being thirty and unmarried, no matter what her mother and aunts said. She wasn’t past her childbearing years.

  Emma snorted as she reached her pile of clothes, grabbed them, and headed toward the house.

  And what’s the big deal anyway? If you couldn’t have children, adopt.

  Something she herself had seriously considered. So many children needed a good, loving, and caring home. She could provide it for them. Her unmarried status might make the whole adoption process a bit difficult, but she was willing to give it a try.

  Didn’t I close the front door? She frowned. How careless of me!

 
; She didn’t put her clothes back on, only lumped them together, shoes and all, and hurried back into the house via the still-open patio. Emma released a loud, earsplitting scream.

  Before her stood a half-naked man, dressed only in a white towel.

  As this knowledge registered, so did the fact she wore little else but her underwear. Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, and she still hadn’t stopped screaming.

  “Would you stop that!” the half-naked stranger yelled in a deep baritone, causing her to clip her mouth shut.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here? I’m calling the police!”

  He didn’t flinch; instead, he turned his back on her and walked to the small side table next to a big white-and-blue sofa.

  Before his huge frame obscured her vision, she made out a black cordless phone. Her chest heaved while she mutely watched him pick up the phone.

  This must be an aberration brought on by the effects of frolicking in the ocean; there was no way she was having a confrontation with a half-naked man, in her sister’s house, on the first day of her stress-free beach holiday.

  Her brain hiccupped at her illogical conclusion. Nope, what’s happening is, in fact, real.

  “I’m sick and tired of this,” he said into the phone and gave her a glare over his shoulder. “If it’s not underwear in the mail, naked photos on my windshield, it’s an intruder running around naked in my home.” His fiery eyes burned holes into her.

  “What?” she blurted. She clutched her dry clothes in front of herself. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  He gave a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t play dumb now. I’ve had enough of stalkers. It’s not sexy. It’s not attractive. It’s borderline. That’s what it is. Borderline crazy.”

  “Whoa. Wait a minute. I’m not a stalker.”

  But he didn’t listen to her as he talked to the person on the other end, who she deduced was the police. Without thinking her actions logically through, like she was prone to do, she made a mad dash for the phone and caught him off guard. She snatched it out of his hand and ended the call. Then threw it across the room for good measure.

  “I’m not a stalker!” she shrieked. His flame-throwing eyes bored into hers.

  She didn’t care how he perceived her in that moment. He wasn’t going to turn her into some kind of criminal.

  “I don’t know who you are. But this is not your house,” Emma said, ignoring the slight tremor in her voice.

  He snorted. “Not only did you guarantee yourself a night behind bars, but you’re also going to be charged with destruction of property. My property. And let’s not forget the breaking into my home part.”

  Emma couldn’t believe what was happening. This must be some kind of joke.

  Her rational primary schoolteacher part took over. She took a much-needed breath and said, in the calmest voice she could manage under the circumstances, “ I honestly don’t know who you are. I have a key. My brother-in-law said I could use his house. This house.”

  For a moment, silence reigned as he stared at her. Something flickered in his eyes, but she couldn’t make out what it meant. “What’s your brother-in-law’s name?” He lost some of his hostility.

  “Mark Davidson.” She might be getting somewhere; despite their half-dressed state, his stance became less menacing. A deep frown settled on his brow. “It’s his house. I mean…gosh, I don’t really know how to prove it, other than giving you his number and you calling him, but I don’t know how it could work, since he could be tied up in surgery and you won’t get to talk to him. Still I’m not…a stalker.” She choked out the word.

  “I’m Mark’s brother.”

  She lost her captured breath. Mark’s brother, who had left home and herd after having a spat with their father about not going into medicine. He’d wanted to pursue an acting career, unheard of in their very academic family.

  In the year and a half her sister had gone out with Mark, she hadn’t met his younger brother once. Everyone, especially Mark, had expected him to come to the wedding. He was even supposed to be the best man. However, he got nominated for a Best Supporting Actor Academy Award. Though he didn’t win, the honor of being nominated was something in itself.

  Before her stood Damian Davidson in all his glory. No wonder he thinks I’m a stalker.

  She should have recognized him. She didn’t watch a lot of artsy movies, but she had seen one or two of his when he was starting out. Of course, it had been over seven years ago. She bit the inside of her mouth.

  He had changed since then. She took in his naked chest again and found his dark gaze still trained on her.

  Yes, he’d obviously changed from the time of his first movie. Hadn’t he been on some hundred hunkiest-men-alive list or something to the effect?

  Self-realization hit her like a freight train. She was standing half-naked in front of one of Hollywood’s heartthrobs. A blush spread over her whole body, even more intense than the previous six hundred flushes she had already lived through in mere seconds.

  He looked her up and down with a sardonic smile on his lips. “So, if I may ask? Who are you? And why would my brother rent out my beach house to you?” Accusation laced his voice.

  Her ire rose in spite of her embarrassment. Gosh but he’s a rude son of a gun!

  “I don’t owe you any apologies or explanations,” she started. “But seeing as how your brother married my sister, it kind of makes him family. And, according to my knowledge, this beach house belongs to Mark.”

  He raised his eyebrow and folded his arms. She couldn’t help but take in his bulging muscles.

  To refrain from staring at his biceps again, she focused on his menacing eyes.

  “Whoever’s name is on the title owns the property, honey.” He accentuated the “honey.”

  She didn’t respond to his provocation.

  “And the name is mine. In my absence, Mark watched over the house. I let him use it whenever he wants.” He gave her a meaningful look. “I never gave him permission to let others use it though.”

  “Well, technically, I haven’t used it yet,” she replied curtly as his gaze went slowly from feet up to her eyes, her impromptu bathing suit belying her words. “I only…arrived. It’s…hot. I didn’t know anyone was here!”

  “Now you do. So I suggest you get off my property.” His voice turned cold, and he started to walk out of the room. “When I come back, I don’t want to find you here.”

  She couldn’t believe what was happening, too flabbergasted to react to his parting shot. Where am I supposed to go? Most hotels would be booked by now, the national school holidays being in full swing.

  She frantically put on her clothes, almost killing off her circulation when she pulled her top over her head.

  Maybe I could try a B&B. Though it was holiday season. Parents would have carted all their kids into minivans, pets, and all, swarming small beach towns and cities.

  Sinking on one of the sofas, she ran a hand through her hair. So I have no hope of finding anything in Strand, not on such short notice.

  The drive back home to Worcester would take two hours from Strand. She’d arrived at four; it had to have been close to five. There was still time to make it home before dark, to the small apartment she rented and her spacious, welcoming bed. She wanted to curl up into a ball and die.

  She rose from the sofa and peeked in the direction he had disappeared, and then walked over to the still-open front door. Bending down to the floor, she picked up her things she had left in her haste to get to the beach. She would have to carry the weighty carton back to her Volkswagen Beetle. Luckily, it wasn’t a long trek.

  The house had a double garage, and Mark had given her permission to use one of them.

  Obviously, he had been way too generous.

  Emma hunched over with angry and self-pitying tears burning her eyes.

  She had never been so humiliated in her life. Wiping a hand over her face, she steeled herself. This wasn’t the time to cry.
She would go home and let herself deal with all of it there.

  Putting each bag over a shoulder, she braced for the load and slowly rose. But before she could take a good step, the contents fell out of the bottom, crashing painfully on her feet.

  “Ouch!” Emma hopped around with the empty box in her arms. “Ah!”

  Sharp pains shot through her feet, and then the throbbing began. Bounding around certainly didn’t stop the ache, but she couldn’t help it. That’s how Damian found her when he came back into the room. Over the top of the now-bookless container, she took in his glare.

  “What the hell is going on now?”

  “The books….” She hopped. “Fell on my feet!”

  Damian glanced toward the hardcovers scattered on the floor right in front of his still-open front door. If his eyes could have shot death rays, those books would have gone up in flames.

  “Ouch! It hurts!” The pain made her gasp for breath.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I hope this isn’t a ploy to stay here.”

  Her mouth gaped. “Are you serious? Why would I drop voluminous hardcover books on my feet? I know you’re famous, but catching a glimpse of the Damian Davidson would not be worth the trouble.”

  He grabbed the cardboard box out of her hands and said, “Go sit on the sofa. I’ll check out the medicine cabinet…that is, if I have such a thing.”

  “No, wait!” But he didn’t listen to her.

  Emma sank into one of the comfortable chairs.

  I need to see a doctor. Both feet throbbed and before her mind could again tell her this wasn’t happening, Damian came back into the living room, a small medical kit in hand.

  “Trust good old Mark not to miss a single detail.” He hunkered down in front of her, as if he did this every day. She noticed he had put on jeans and a white T-shirt, but stayed barefoot.

  She frowned at the crown of his glossy head of hair.