Saved By You (The Spring Rose Bay Series Book 3)

by K. L. Jessop

  Like a magnet has pulled me, I’m drawn closer. This woman is trouble, only she’s the kind of trouble I’m willing to play games with. In heels, she’s just the right height but still short enough to have me lift her in one quick move for those pretty little legs to wrap around my waist. “You wouldn’t dream of it.” I grin.

  She smiles in return, but hers is filled with devilment. Keeping her eyes on me, she opens her jacket to flash me her white shirt. I laugh out loud when I read the words: I don’t have the energy to pretend I like you today.

  “I call it fate that I’m wearing this, don’t you think?”

  “I’ll win you around eventually.”

  “Sure about that?”

  “Absolutely. Now, will you let me walk you home this time, or are you going to run out on me like the other night?”

  She looks up at the sky and sighs as if in defeat. “Well, you’re likely to follow me anyway. So, I guess we can walk for a bit.”

  Her attitude from the other night has been replaced with sass and that alone is a fucking turn on. She has no idea what she’s doing to me. Come to think of it, neither do I, but I know I’ll keep hunting her down until she’s right where I want her if I have to. We start walking in the same direction as the other night and my mind drifts back to why she ran. It’s a question that’s been on my mind ever since and I can’t help but wonder if it had anything to do with the way we held each other. “Why did you run from me?”

  “Aww, did I put a little dent in your ego?”

  “No. I just want to know.”

  “Well, when you take your eye off the target, that’s when shit can happen.”

  A stab of guilt twists in my gut. She has no idea how powerful those words are.

  “You’re a fast runner.”

  “I told you I was. I’ve had lots of practice.” She looks out towards the water that’s now coming into view with the dawn and I watch her, wondering what she’s thinking. I have so many questions but I’ve no idea where to start or whether I even should because although she’s more relaxed, I’m getting the impression she doesn’t like intrusion.

  “Are you here on holiday?” I ask.

  “No, I moved here just under a week ago. Yourself?”

  “Moved permanently just over a year or so ago. I moved from LA for a fresh start.”

  Her head whips around to face me. “You moved from the luxury life of LA to this small town in Cornwall where everyone knows your business and talks about you behind your back for a fresh start?”

  I frown a little confused. She speaks as though there’s already a familiarity with this place. “Considering you’ve been here ‘under a week’ you sure know a lot about this town and its Chinese whispers.”

  She shrugs and crosses her arms over her stomach as if she’s offended. “Or it’s because small towns like this are all the same when it comes to gossip.”

  “And was that where you were before? In a small town?”

  “No, I was in the city, but even there, people don’t see you as the person you are but the one everyone’s made you out to be. Sometimes it’s better to avoid it all.”

  “Is that why you only come out in the dark? So no one can see you?” I halt my step. “And why you won’t tell me your name?”

  She shakes her head with a smile, brushing the hair from her face that’s just blown with the breeze. “I haven’t told you my name because there’s no reason for you to have it.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Why?”

  I go in for the kill. “Because when we end up fucking, I can’t call you Jane Doe.”

  “What makes you think we are going to fuck?”

  “What makes you think we won’t?” I wiggle my brows teasingly and a wide grin plasters her beautiful face.

  “And what if I’m not available? What if I’m with someone?”

  Shit. I didn’t think about whether she’s with anyone.

  “Are you?”

  “Not right now.”

  “Then you’re available to get naked with me.”

  She smirks, shaking her head. “Are you always this forward with strangers?”

  “You’re no stranger, Jane. Anyway, shyness has never been a weakness of mine.”

  “No shit.” A loud hungry grumble comes from her stomach but she doesn’t pay any attention or even acknowledge the fact we’ve both heard it. Most women would react or make meanings to the fact they’re hungry, a giggle, maybe even an apology, but I get nothing, which generates more questions to race my mind.

  Why is she out here? What brought her to the bay? Why won’t she tell me her god damn name?

  My irrational mind now starts to answer my own questions. Maybe she’s hiding her true identity because she’s a wanted woman. Or maybe she’s been placed here for her own safety. A familiar tightness contracts in my chest and I already know without the knowledge of a full story, I’d do whatever it takes to protect this woman if she needed it.

  A few yards down the road she stops suddenly. “Hang on.” Gripping my arm to hold her weight against me, she removes her shoe.

  My eyes widen. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t walk in these heels any longer.”

  “Are you serious? You can’t walk in bare feet you might cut yourself.”

  She groans playfully, and I like it.

  “Jesus Christ. Protective much.”

  “Come’s with the job, sweetheart. I’m a former bodyguard.”

  She rolls her eyes, which is something she really needs to stop because each time I witness it, I have to fight the urge to not push her against the wall and kiss the living hell out of her. “Right. How often do you use that line on women?”

  “Regularly seeing as though it’s true. I was a bodyguard in LA.”

  “Do you own a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  Her grip tightens on my arm and I notice her hard swallow, but she doesn’t look at me.

  “Do you still use it?”

  “Not anymore. I placed my weapon down the day I stepped away from the job.”

  Once she’s removed her heels, she drops about six inches and I can’t help but tease. “Tiny little thing, aren’t you?”

  “Shut up and carry my shoes.” They are thrust at my chest and she walks off—or at least she tries too. She’s practically tip-toeing her way down the road making little painful noises. I shake my head in amusement. This girl is something else. Unable to watch her pitiful attempt in walking, I jog up in front and bend down a little with my back to her.

  “Get on my back,” I order.

  “Why? Is your protectiveness worried I might hurt my feet?”

  “No, I’m worried you’ll take too long to get home and burn once the sun starts to rise, being nocturnal and all.”

  She giggles, and fuck me it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. I’m instantly hard and for once I’m glad she’s behind me.

  “Such an arse.”

  “Get on.”

  Lifting her skirt a little, she locks herself around me and I lose myself in the warmth of her touch. Her breasts press against my back, the sweetness of her perfume engulfs me as the grip of her legs lock around my midsection. She’s as light as a feather. With just the thin layers of our t-shirts between us, it has the blood rushing throughout my body and I’m in two minds whether to stay out here or take us back to my place and fuck her through ‘til sunrise. The rumble of her stomach vibrates against my back again, and I decide to take a detour and head to the little takeaway van on the corner. I often stop by here when I finish a late shift at the club.

  “A bag of chips for the pretty lady please.”

  “What? Lucas, no. I’m fine, honest.”

  I ignore her, gripping her tighter as she tries to wriggle out my hold.

  “I said I’m fine.”

  “And I chose to ignore you.” Once I’m handed the chips, I take us down to the small wooden pier just off Preston beach where the water is calmer and there are
hardly any waves. “Now, we are going to sit and watch the sunrise while you eat a very late supper.”

  “I said I was fine.”

  “Tell that to your stomach.”

  As I walk out towards the pier I notice her grip tighten around my shoulders and her body tense.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Like I said you’re going to eat.”

  “Can’t we just stay on the beach?” She sounds anxious and I find it rather strange given that she hasn’t shown an ounce of fucking nerves since I met her.

  “It’s quieter here and sunrise isn’t blocked out from any boats coming in to dock.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Are you afraid of water or something?” I joke. Placing her down, she looks around, her chest rising and falling, and I notice a clear indication of fear on her face.

  Shit.

  I consider taking us back, but at the same time I need her to trust me. Taking her face in my hands, I stroke my thumbs over her cheekbones and murmur. “We will sit, eat, and watch the sunrise. You can either keep me close or keep me at a distance. But whatever you decide, I need you to trust me.”

  “For some reason, I already do.” A tiny flicker of embarrassment etches across her face. It’s the most beautiful expression. This woman is having an unusual effect on me. It’s like a beautiful kind of turmoil and I’m beginning to get addicted.

  “Thank you, Lucas. You didn’t have to get me food.”

  I’m the first to sit and I smile inwardly when she comes and sits close to me. Our thighs are touching, and I have to position myself to try and hide the swell in my shorts. “No, I didn’t, and for that, I think I deserve to know your name.”

  “I haven’t decided if I like you yet.”

  “You’re loving this aren’t you?”

  She giggles softly. “Maybe a little.”

  “I hope chips were okay. I never even asked what your go-to food was.”

  “Other than chips, pizza.”

  Fuck yes!

  “Seriously? That’s my all-time favourite takeout.”

  She arches an eyebrow. “Is that your way of trying to impress me?”

  “No, really. It is. Cold pizza tastes way better though.”

  “Now that I do agree with. It’s even better in the mornings when there’s nothing else for breakfast.”

  “Ah, you see. We are a match made in heaven. I’ll put the pizza on standby for the morning after the night we spend together.”

  She rolls her eyes, turning back to her food as I let out a chuckle.

  Fuck me, I want her.

  “What colour do you think sunrise will be?”

  “Purple,” she says without hesitation, placing a chip into her mouth and looking out to the skyline. “It’s always purple this time of year, just before the peek of the sun on the horizon and then it turns pink as it rises. I’m up most times to watch it and besides, purple is my favourite colour.”

  “How old are you?” I question, needing to know more.

  “What’s that got to do with sunrise?”

  “Well if I can’t have a name, at least give me an age.”

  “Twenty-eight. You?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  Her eyes roam over my shoulders, down my bicep before holding her gaze when she reaches my tattoo. “How many tattoos do you have?”

  “Just the one. It covers my shoulder and part of my torso, too.” I lock onto her star tattoo and remember the one I saw under her jacket. “How about you?”

  “Five.”

  “Five?”

  “All big ones too, apart from one.”

  I don’t know why I’m so surprised. She doesn’t look like the typical woman that’s worried about inking her skin. She’s complicated to work out with how reserved she is, but I’ve also seen a vulnerability to her that she tries hard to hide. I knew the first time I saw her there was a weakness, an undiscovered story waiting to be told. “So, you tell me your favourite food, colour, your age and that you have five tattoos but you’re still unknown. Do you realise how fucking frustrating this is?”

  “Do you realise how much I’m enjoying it?” she answers with another laugh, licking her fingers clean and scrunching up the paper in her hands. Her body language now indicating she’s more relaxed.

  “I need to see these tattoos.”

  “I don’t think so, sunshine. Just because you bought me chips doesn’t give you a pass to rip my clothes off.”

  I want to touch her so badly, to suppress this deep yearning that's taken hold of me and been driving me crazy for days. I need to feel her against my bare skin because I know when I do she’ll ruin me in all the right ways.

  I trail my finger down her throat, stopping at the crease of her cleavage. The sharp inhale with my touch doesn’t go unnoticed and I lower my voice, staring into her dilated grey’s. “Who says anything about ripping them off when I can remove them from you so slow every inch of your skin will feel like it’s on fire.”

  She swallows, wetting her lips to whisper breathlessly. “That won’t happen either.”

  The breeze takes a lock of her hair in flight, sweeping it across her face. I brush it away, tracing my thumb over her lips that I desperately want to taste. “Oh, I believe it will.” I know she wants it too with the way her eyes flick to my mouth. But I don’t, because if I kiss her now, I won’t be able to stop myself and I’m not doing that out here. I want her in my bed. “In the mean time, I’ll just have to stick to walking you home until you change your mind.”

  For a second, I see what looks like regret cloud her smoky grey eyes before a sense of panic takes over. “Oh, my God. What time is it?”

  With the sun just breaking I don’t need my watch to know but she’s already out of my hold and reaching for her shoes. “Just before six.”

  “Shit!” She’s up on her feet so fast I have a job to work out what’s going on. “I’ve got to go,” she yells, running off the pier like a bat out of hell, leaving the scent of fresh linen and lilac and me with a painful erection.

  And once again I’m left wondering who the fuck she is.

  Chapter Seven

  Victoria.

  “The Scarlett Lounge? The strip club that has every man in the bay walking in there with their dick hanging out?” Lucy says as she paces my small, so-called living room, the heels of her shoes clicking across the hard flooring. I’m sitting on my mattress under the window with my note pad, drafting out clothing designs I have no intention of doing anything with, as Charlie plays on the floor. My ambition in life was to be a fashion designer, to create exclusive pieces and conquer the world with a label everyone would kill to get. Only my dream goes no further than the pencil smudges on my hand as I sketch lines across the paper that are for my eyes only. I can see the frustration and disappointment on Lucy’s face, but because she has her ID tag around her neck she has to be at least semi-professional, even when what she really wants to say to me is ‘what the actual fuck are you thinking, Victoria?’ I knew it wouldn’t go down well, and I know exactly where her mind raced to the moment I told her I was hired.

  “It’s just four nights a week, Lucy.”

  “Which you’ve already started without running it by me first.”

  I started my first shift last night, got to know a few regulars, flirted like fuck and danced around them in circles before taking them one at a time into the private booth. I hardly spoke to any of the girls that worked there. I just went in, did my shit and left, coming face to face once again with Lucas: the God of all fuckable men. I can’t get that man out of my head; every time I close my eyes I see him. The muscles that man has is ridiculous, the biceps that stretch his shirt and the hardness of his back when I rested against it… His touch. His muscular scent. Him. He’s got under my skin already and does things to my body that I shouldn’t be wanting. The desires I feel when I’m around him are dangerous, and the release I felt when I came home and slipped my fingers between my legs was nothing like I k
now he’d deliver.

  When I saw him edging towards the pier, I felt physically sick, though. The anxiety bubbling inside was enough to have me running, and even though I wanted to, I couldn’t. I believed and felt everything he said, and in that moment, I knew I could trust him. So, I stayed. I don’t know why I haven’t told him my name, but now I like the idea of teasing him a little more, and I can only imagine how pissed he was when I ran out on him again. I suppress a laugh and return my attention to Lucy.

  “Tori, are you even listening to me?”

  “Lucy, you knew I wanted to work.”

  “Don’t get me wrong I’m thrilled you’ve got a job, but working in a strip club?” she sighs, throwing my Care Services file on my kitchen table. “I’m worried the temptation of everything that comes with those places will knock you back.”

  This pisses me off, but I get it. If you’re not careful, sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll can come with the strip club territory. But willpower, family and a better life are a bigger craving I’m willing to fight for. I grip my pencil harder and focus on the file that’s burning a hole on the table. My entire life in black and white is in that file along with medical notes and sponsor reports from the drug program I was involved with before I was signed off for maintaining my recovery. I’ve been clean for almost three years. I never sold them. But I was an addict, and I’ll always be one, regardless. I’d liked the way Cocaine replaced the chaos in my mind and the pain in my heart. It’d made me feel fearless. For the first time in my life, I’d felt on top of the world and not suffocated by it. The thrill and the high gave me the ‘who gives a fuck attitude’ and I was soon on my way to earning cash and paying for my habit. But despite all of that, living on the streets and hardening to the environment meant the broken, fragile girl was still inside. I’d hated it. I’d wanted to crawl out of my own body that was surrounded in evil, to scream until my lungs burned and fall to the ground when there was no oxygen left. But I couldn’t. So, I’d found something that chased away the pain. I was damaged. I was wronged. I was a fucking mess. A few months after I found out I was expecting Charlie, that’s when I knew I’d been given a second chance, that I had a purpose for waking up in the morning and a reason to be thankful for being alive when many a time I never wanted to be. So, I fought my way through the highs and lows of recovery to prove to everyone I wanted it.