Falling for Mr. Unexpected Read online

  “I’ll run you a bath,” he whispered and left the room.

  Emma ran a hand through her hair and cringed as her fingers got stuck in the chunky tangles. She caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length closet mirror across from her and gasped.

  Stephanie didn’t even skip a beat, probably thinking Emma reacted to her news.

  I look a fright! How could he make such a ridiculous comment about her trying to seduce him?

  She couldn’t even blame it completely on bed hair, a cross between her usual, messy water hair and flat-on-one-side pillow hair. She closed her eyes. Yes, I’m definitely a femme fatale. She started laughing.

  “Emma?” Stephanie asked, concerned. “Are you okay? I wouldn’t think me giving Mark a diamond-studded gold watch would be funny.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “No, of course not. I’m thinking how pathetic my watch is.” She cringed as she caught sight of herself again. “Steph, I really have to go now. This isn’t my phone….”

  “Why aren’t you using yours?”

  “It’s a long story. Have to go. Talk to you later.”

  Stephanie said something like good-bye before Emma hung up and fell back onto the pillows in relief.

  “Bath’s ready.” Damian came back into the room, and she handed him his phone.

  “Next time my sister calls, bring the phone to me.”

  “Will do.” He saluted, and she smiled. He pocketed the phone and expectantly held out his hand. She realized he wanted to pick her up again, but there was no way she’d allow it seminude.

  “Do you have a bathrobe I can borrow?” she asked, straight-faced, as her cheeks warmed.

  With a frown between his eyebrows, he stared at her, then walked out again. When he returned, he had a dark blue bathrobe in his hands. He held it out to her, and she took it and narrowed her eyes. “Turn around.”

  “You know, I’ve already seen you. More than once,” he added.

  “You’re not earning any brownie points over here.”

  He sighed deeply and turned around. “This is ridiculous.” He snorted. “How virginal.”

  She pulled the bathrobe on quickly, knowing her blush had crept to her ears. Even if I am, it’s none of his business.

  “I’m done,” she said not keeping her irritation from her voice.

  “What?” he asked like he hadn’t stepped into a minefield.

  “Nothing. Let’s get this over with.” She groaned.

  “As if I’m enjoying this.”

  She decided not to answer. When he placed her on the edge of the tub, she noticed the bubbles in the bath. But before she could comment, he stalked out the door, slamming it behind him. She frowned, praying her feet would heal quickly because she was getting tired of this emotional rollercoaster.

  ***

  Damian didn’t know why Emma got under his skin. He honestly wanted nothing to do with women right now.

  Especially not opinionated women! He stomped down the stairs.

  Last night, when he came from his swim, he’d found her asleep on the sofa in an awkward position. After drying himself and changing clothes, he’d decided to take her to one of the guestrooms. At first, he’d deliberated on moving her to his room because it had its own bathroom, but he didn’t want to give her any ideas.

  She hadn’t woken up as he carried her upstairs or when he laid her on the bed. When he glanced at her tight jeans and frilly top, he’d known she’d sleep better without them. Of course, he hadn’t counted on actually appreciating the sleeping body as his eyes swept over her form, taking in the golden, toned legs and hips as he undressed her. Before he could lead himself further astray, he’d thrown the covers over her.

  He didn’t want to encourage his attraction to her, first of all, because she wasn’t his type. And second, he could read complicated all over her in capital letters. She’d be more trouble and work than all the models and actresses he dated. He didn’t do complicated.

  Taking a decided, calming breath, he walked out onto the patio and gazed at the deep-blue, rolling ocean before him.

  He told himself he didn’t want to know her; if she’d remained nameless, there would be more distance between them. But then the question slipped out as she stared at him with heavy eyelids, sleep-tousled hair, beautifully disheveled, and he’d suddenly craved to know the woman before him.

  Damian put his hands in his front jean pockets, tightening the muscles in his arms. He closed his eyes in a bid to stave off the ghostlike image of Emma, but it came on stronger.

  He opened them. How the hell did this happen? He frowned. Okay, fine. I’m a man. I can be attracted to her. She was attractive.

  He breathed out, but he didn’t need this now. She needed to leave. Not only would she be a distraction, but this could cause even further scandal. No matter what his agent said, he wasn’t one for scandals. He had a reputation for being a serious actor. He did movies critics raved about even though they may not make much money at the box-office. However, he did a popcorn movie every now and then; he understood the business side of Hollywood. He sighed.

  He hadn’t meant to get involved with the lead actress. He usually kept things professional no matter how many an actress had tried to make him cross the boundary. Media speculation around a movie was hard enough without them complicating it even further. At least, to his reasoning.

  But Lizle Vlam was relentless. If he had known how much trouble she would be, he would have left her in the pit she’d dug for herself.

  Damian started to walk toward the shore. Barefoot, he relished the feel of the sand.

  But he couldn’t abandon her. Damn his inborn chivalry.

  Emma would be surprised. Inborn chivalry. But she caught him at a bad time, when he had been plainly put, fed up with all women.

  Lizle had been—in one word—brilliant at what she did. She was perfect as Monique Griffith, the emotionally stilted, yet seductive, recluse forced to take on a tenant or become destitute. Her inability to communicate with the outside world caused her to lose her job, as well as the ability to find another. In came Lenard Armstrong, accountant by day and monster-truck driver at night. The movie, rife with dark humor and quirky one-liners, explored the intricate layers of relationships as well as how society reacts toward mental illness.

  Damian’s brow furrowed deeper as he gazed over the waves.

  Lizle took her role so seriously, she became Monique Griffith off-screen. It had taken hours to get her to come out of her trailer. Sometimes she would stay at her apartment for weeks to get into character for the next scene. Then the director got the brilliant idea to shoot a number of the close-ups in her apartment. One specific scene of Monique seducing Lenard—Damian—leaked on the Internet. Even though nothing was real, it pretty much seemed like it. And instead of being part of a clip in the movie, the tabloids assumed it had been part of a sex tape he and Lizle made.

  Production stopped. His agent had to do damage control, as the paparazzi hounded him. But Lizle, unlike her usual confident self, didn’t take as kindly to the hounding as her fictional character. Again her people called on him, “Lenard,” to come help her out.

  He had thought they were alone at her apartment, no cameras.

  Damian shivered, though the sun baked his skin.

  He had played along, hoping to get her to respond to him, come back to herself. She did. But not in the way he wanted.

  Lizle threw herself at him, started to kiss him, claw at his clothes. Too shocked to react when she pushed him onto the sofa, he realized what was happening again. He had to stop it. But if he didn’t want to cause her harm, he needed to do so gently. He tried, while she undressed herself and then tried to undress him. But whenever he avoided her, she became aggressive. Once she smacked him and then backed off in shock at what she had done.

  She burst out crying when he told her he was okay, so he tried to soothe her. But before long she was back at it and he attempted to “fight” her off. He got out of the apartment with only
his pants on and stepped right into a paparazzi ambush at the side door of the building, the same way he had entered.

  Another tape surfaced. This time they mocked, said he liked it rough.

  He could only escape. He didn’t care if he left the movie halfway done. His reputation, which, as far as his acting was concerned, had always been above reproach, was now tarnished.

  No matter what his agent said. If the public had somehow turned everything into some cause for sensationalism, something so vile, into a level of entertainment causing him to be more popular than before, then he didn’t know what the world had come to.

  Damian took a deep breath. He’d have to go back inside and check on Emma. The third reason why he would never go for someone like Emma: she didn’t belong in his world—too depraved.

  Highly complicated, indeed.

  Chapter Four

  Emma was glad for the bathrobe. She needed to ask Damian for more salve and fresh bandages.

  He was so difficult to understand. One minute, nice, and the next he couldn’t wait for her to get out of his hair. She understood, being a stranger to him. Her reaction would’ve been the same if she found a strange man in her home.

  Maybe with a little less drama. She smiled.

  There came a knock.

  “I’m done.”

  He opened the door and steam billowed out. He waved a hand in front of his face. “It’s hot in here!”

  She grinned. “I felt like a steam.”

  He picked her up and quickly moved out of the hot bathroom. “Clearly.”

  As he put her back on the bed in her room, she asked, “Hey do you still have any of the salve and some fresh bandages I could use?”

  “Yeah. I’ll go get it.”

  She rolled her eyes. Who would have if he didn’t?

  When Damian came back, she tried to take it from him, but he wouldn’t let her.

  “I can do it myself you know,” she said drily.

  “Good to know.” He examined both her feet and bandaged them, making sure her broken pinky toe had support from the toe next to it. He was actually good at using the gauze, making the binding very neat and precise.

  A thought occurred. “For someone who didn’t want to study medicine you derive an uncanny pleasure out of bandaging feet.”

  His hands stopped moving mid-fold. “Who told you I’d studied medicine?”

  She lifted her brow. “Isn’t it common knowledge?”

  He started working again. “Mark.”

  “Does it matter, if it’s the truth?”

  “Someone’s version of it,” he finished up.

  She looked at her fresh bandages and then at him as he straightened. “So it’s not true? You said yourself you want to act.”

  “Not want to. Am acting. An actor.” Mocking her once more.

  “Fine.” Why had she even bothered? Clearly, we are going to remain strangers.

  “You don’t happen to have brought in some of my bags from my car?” she asked hopefully.

  He frowned. “No. Only your carrier bag. I placed it inside the closet.”

  He went and opened it. The bag stood on the floor of the closet. He took out her bag and placed it on the bed.

  “I’ll get your other stuff.” Before she could tell him not to bother, he was out the door.

  Emma snorted. Probably to avoid any more personal questions. She raided her bag. Why she had even asked the question, she would never know. Yes, she was curious about him. Who wouldn’t be? But she had no reason to try and psychoanalyze him; he wasn’t her problem.

  She frowned. He wasn’t a problem to her, anyway. She cringed as she took out her small vanity case. Okay, fine. The fact that he’s gorgeous might be a bit of a problem for me. But it’s not the reason I wanted to bring him off-kilter.

  As her rationalization dawned, she realized it might be the reason why she asked him the question. She needed him at arm’s length. Right now, he was too close for comfort.

  Emma pulled out a comb, hairbrush, and her flatiron. Stomping came up the stairs and she tried to tell her erratic pulse to slow but it wasn’t doing her bidding.

  Damian placed her other two bags, also on the bed, in easy reach.

  “Thank you.” Her sense of guilt left a bitter taste on her tongue. “I really do appreciate everything you are doing for me.”

  He met her eyes and they stared at each other for a lifetime, but then he broke contact, and she finally let go of the breath she didn’t realize she held.

  “My pleasure. Shout when you want to go down.”

  Emma nodded, her throat having closed after the intense moment passed between them. When he left the room, she whispered to herself, “Pull yourself together.”

  She picked out some jean shorts and a T-shirt, the items being easy to maneuver without her having to put stress on her injuries. Dressed, she went to work on her hair. When it was sufficiently sleeked down, she tied it into a loose ponytail.

  She didn’t know what to do with the bags and left them on the bed. I haven’t even made it up yet.

  Emma started on the bed. She couldn’t leave it unmade; it had been drilled into her to always tidy her room before she left.

  She called out to Damian as she went along straightening the room and didn’t have to wait long until he appeared.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, unable to keep the irritation from her voice as he helped her with her chore She hated being so dependent on someone.

  The understanding reflected in his eyes confused her. Who was Damian Davidson really? She wondered as he picked her up and they started moving to the living room. He placed her on the sofa. She had come to view it as her spot even though it had only been a day.

  A day, it felt longer.

  “So what did you have planned for today?” he asked.

  She pointed to the stack of books on the coffee table. “Some light reading.”

  “I think your feet wouldn’t agree.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Ha ha ha! Funny. And you? What are you planning on doing?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing.”

  “Good. Then I won’t be bothering you.” She moved to take a book from the stack, but he beat her to it, handing her the book, and proceeded to search through her collection.

  “Do you mind?” He had caught her staring at him.

  “No of course not, help yourself. It’s the least I can do.”

  He didn’t look at her, but a small smile crossed his lips as he inspected the titles.

  Time and again, her eyes strayed to him, even though she pretended to be engrossed in the story. He intently searched for a book to read, like someone who planned to go and curl up with it. The idea was so ridiculous, she couldn’t help smiling, but she quickly wiped it off her face when he glanced at her.

  She turned back to her novel, acting like she hadn’t been caught red-handed. He, however, didn’t seem bothered. Probably used to being stared at.

  After a while, she started reading in earnest.

  Finally, he also settled, and she peeked over at him again. Jeffrey Archer. She grinned.

  The afternoon passed with them engrossed in their books, Damian occasionally getting up to get them something to drink.

  The afternoon turned dark and before long, Damian switched on the lights.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  He checked the time. “Ten past seven.”

  “Are you telling me we read the whole day away?”

  He smiled. “Wasn’t that the plan?”

  “Yes but—”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What were you going to say?”

  She shook her head. “We haven’t had anything to eat.”

  “That wasn’t what you meant to say, but I’ll let you get away with the comment.”

  She bit the inside of her mouth as she watched him go to the kitchen to prepare dinner. She wanted to say she hadn’t expected him to sit with her, reading the whole day. Somehow, she’d imagined he w
ould have better things to do.

  She gazed out at the twilight sky. Damian was a revelation. She would’ve pegged him as an egotistical Hollywood star. Not as if he isn’t arrogant. But he was also kind and considerate; he hadn’t even commented on her irritability.

  If the books hadn’t fallen on her feet, she would have never known. He came back into the room.

  “So my culinary skills are limited. It’s going to be steak and potatoes again. But this time I’ll make you a fruit salad.” He gave her thumbs-up and she laughed.

  “Why don’t you let me help you cook? We can attempt something other than steak and potatoes. I can chop and direct, while you work the stove.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you mean, boss me around?”

  “That works for me, too.”

  “Okay, fine. But nothing too complicated,” he said.

  “I’ll keep your deficiencies in mind.”

  He laughed, and she cursed her attempt at humor, swirls of electricity working their way through her.

  He smiled. “You cold?”

  She ran a hand through her hair “Nope.”

  “And the torture begins.” She laughed at his grumble.

  ***

  If Damian were honest with himself, he’d have to admit to enjoying cooking with Emma. She made him take out a selection of vegetables then deftly chopped them into bite-size portions. She refused pointblank to slice the onions and he obliged.

  His eyes still watered.

  She directed him on how to stir-fry the veggies and season the chicken portions—now simmering in a pot next to the vegetables. She even had him cooking rice.

  The fruit salad he’d promised her, she turned into a dessert, adding vanilla ice cream to their bowls. With the food prepared, they laid out the table and he carried everything but the dessert from the kitchen while she supervised.

  While she said grace, he stared at her—the only time he could do so without her being aware of it.

  She came across different from her usual guarded self. Some of her hair had escaped the loose ponytail and framed her face. She didn’t have any makeup on, which he found refreshing, so used to seeing women, whether they were actresses or not, with tons of the stuff on their faces.