Unworthy Of You (The Spring Rose Bay Series Book 2)

by K. L. Jessop

  One kiss. That’s all it took to knock me off kilter. She was just a reception girl on the payroll, only now she’s the sexiest thing I’ve seen in years and my head wouldn’t be in this fucking mess if she’d just kept me out of her ridiculous games to begin with.

  I swig my beer and look out over the water. The sky is overcast but it’s still warm. I watch a young couple and their son. The break of the waves roar against the rocks with the incoming tide as they lift him by the arms to jump the waves. I watch the three of them in awe. The happiness of them enjoying their family time conveys a twist of discomfort in my gut. I’ve no knowledge of days like that. I never had holidays or adventures with my parents: they were too busy with work to remember they had a son at home waiting to be heard. The only time we spent together that represented anything ‘family’ was often at the dinner table of an evening, and even then, we never exchanged a conversation.

  ‘Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to’ my mother used to say. The fact they hardly spoke to me at all left me in a very isolated world.

  My childhood was mostly spent home alone in my room, playing with my action figures or drawing pictures of a family that mirrored my own. Stick people with rain clouds over their heads and downward smiles on all their faces. Why? Because I was miserable and alone, and they were miserable because I existed. I never knew back then what it felt like to feel happy. The only time I laughed or smiled was when Annie use to pick me up after school and take me to her house for milk and cookies. She was more of a mother than the woman that gave birth to me. The day that she died it ripped me in two and life never got any easier after that.

  Spring Rose has an equal share of business and family population. That's one of the reasons I moved here many years ago: the equal opportunity of work and home life at the time suited me perfectly. I come from a wealthy background where money is handed out left, right and centre, only I never saw any of that, not that I would have accepted any if it were offered. I used to earn money in secret by doing chores for Annie. Pennies turned into pounds and pounds soon turned into hundreds from what I saved, all of which was stored in a biscuit tin under her floorboards so my mother didn’t find out. Once I left school, I worked long hours in city offices to save as much as I could to start a foundation that would only grow with hard work and determination. A big part of where I am now is down to Annie. My inheritance from her helped me get into business school and where I am today. I may not own my own company but that doesn’t define who I am as a man.

  I’m brought out of my thoughts with a little tap on my leg. Looking down, I see a red football and the small boy from the waves looking sheepish as he approaches with the most piercing blue eyes and fine fair hair. His parents not far behind.

  “Hey,” I say softly trying not to scare him. “This your ball?”

  He only nods and steps a little closer.

  “You like football?”

  “Yeah.” His voice is quiet. At a guess, I’d say he’s around the age of three.

  “Toby, I hope you’re not disturbing this gentleman?” his mother says as she comes up behind him with a smile.

  “Not at all,” I respond. “I was just asking if he likes football.”

  “Oh, he loves football, don’t you, Toby?” she says, smoothing her hand over his blond hair as he looks up at his mother. Just a simple look to each other speaks a thousand words.

  Toby steps closer, outstretching his sand-covered arm and offering me a shell. “What have you got there, little buddy?” I ask. It’s a common cockle: white and yellow with deep ridges. I gasp as though I’m totally surprised by his findings. “Wow, look at the size of this! I think you’ve found the biggest one on the beach.”

  He giggles and his button nose crinkles. “There’re lots of colours,” he says excitedly.

  “There are, and if you look closely enough you’ll see the little tiny sparkles too.”

  He crouches down next to me and his soft skin brushes against my arm. His little brows knit together as though he’s concentrating really hard.

  “Can you see?”

  “Yes!” he squeals, causing me to chuckle. Taking the shell from me he puts it in his bucket, then he’s up on his feet and running a couple meters away, a little unsteady from the uneven sand.

  “The beach is his favourite place,” his mother says. “He’ll spend hours here.”

  “I can understand why.” Anyone who says the beach isn’t tranquil or beautiful must have his or her eyes closed.

  “And these ones?” Toby shouts, running back.

  I hold out my hand and his little fingers look so precious against mine as he places two more shells on my palm, smaller this time, both creamy looking with a hint of purple. “Ah, now these are called cowries. They are the hardest ones to find as they’re so small, so good job.”

  “Toby it’s time to go now, sweetheart,” his mother adds with a smile. “We can come back tomorrow.”

  To my surprise, Toby flings his little arms around my neck. I shouldn’t return the hug: I’m technically a stranger, but my arms fail me and I wrap them around his tiny body as if he were my son. My heart falls heavy with how good it feels… this adult/child affection that every parent should give to their child—the adult/child affection I always craved to have with my own. “Take it easy, little buddy.”

  Felicity greets me with a sweet smile as I walk back in through the hotel doors after an hour’s respite, handing me my mail and telling me my meeting for tomorrow with the local tourism board has been cancelled. Heading up to my office, I feel more relaxed than I did a couple of hours ago. This is until I remember who’s on the opposite side of the door and the irritation once again awakens in my chest.

  Megan is working quietly as I enter. The white strings of her ear buds highlight against her black dress as she listens to her iPod. It’s not professional in my opinion, but at least it shuts her up. Making my way to my desk, I don’t make eye contact. With any luck, if I don’t look, I’ll forget she’s there so I can get my head down and concentrate.

  “Hey, Andrew, you’ve been out a while.”

  Then again maybe not!

  “And that’s your business because…”

  “I just thought you’d be here. You’ve not welcomed me into my new office yet.”

  “My office,” I state, still looking at my computer. “My name is on the door for a reason.”

  “And it should say Mr Mood Swing, but whatever name is on the door, you still could’ve welcomed me.”

  “Why the hell would I want to welcome someone that has interfered with my workspace?” I did the one thing I was trying my hardest to avoid doing: find her eyes. Yet again, there’s that pinch of hurt clouding them from my arsehole tendencies that seem to be on fire when it comes to her. We never used to be like this. Saying we we’re friends is wrong because we were never that either, but there was never this… tension.

  Holding her gaze solid with mine, I stare at her, the bite in her voice suggesting I’ve angered her, which is my every intention.

  “It’s our space for the next few weeks and the—”

  “One week,” I interject. “You’re in here for one week. After that you’ll be moving into your new office, even if the paint is still wet and the carpet is yet to be laid.”

  “Is there a reason why you’re being a complete prick?”

  “Is there a reason why you’re still talking?”

  Her jaw tightens and her nostrils flare. I’m waiting for her to lose it, but I’m surprised when she just looks back at her paperwork with a curse under her breath. I have to fight back a grin that’s on the edge of my lips. It’s wrong of me that I’m finding her sassy mouth sexy.

  She stands from her desk, and my eyes roam full length of her slim figure. Her hair is in a professional-looking bun that shows off the panel of her neck and collarbone, both of which are begging to be marked with my lips. The snug black dress compliments her curves perfectly, the tip of her cleavage peering out from h
er low-cut neckline. Her long, toned legs rest in sexy red heels and the chocolate coloured birthmark on her right knee is prominent. And that ass…

  My God, that ass.

  I want to feel it in my hands as I plunge deep inside her. I want to know if she feels as good as I imagine and will taste even better when I reach the hotspot after kissing my way up her inner thigh.

  Fuck, I need a cold shower.

  I stroke my hand over my hard-on that’s pushing against my trousers and force myself to look away. This is going to be more difficult than I thought. Other than the rare, occasional one night stand, I’ve not had any sexual connections with a woman in years, nor have I wanted to, yet I’m regularly undressing Megan with my eyes, and I’m now carrying condoms in my fucking back pocket. I loathe her for what she’s doing to me: she’s slowly taking the one thing I have left—control. I can’t think straight when she’s around, and it turns irrational. I see things that aren’t there. I want things I can’t touch, and it’s driving me crazy.

  I need to focus, but I’m too distracted. I need to sort my shit out and fast, and I can’t do that when my eyes wander far too often.

  Grabbing my keys and my jacket, I head for the door.

  “You’re leaving already?” She sounds surprised.

  “Is that a problem, Miss Simmons?”

  “No, I just thought you’d be here a little longer. I—”

  “I need to concentrate, and I can’t do it here while you’re taking your attitude out on the keyboard and humming to girlish crap from your iPod. I can work from home.”

  As I reach the door, her voice stops me again. She speaks softly this time but gets her point across loud and clear. “It’s not just me that has attitude. Believe it or not, Andrew, being in here with you wasn’t down to me. Maybe you should remember that.”

  I know this isn’t her doing, this has Marcus’ name all over it, and even though I know it’s not her fault, I can’t help but treat her as though it is.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  With that I head out of the door in search for what I’ve been longing for all day.

  Silence.

  Chapter Five

  Megan

  I curse at the hot water that’s currently running down the plughole. This is the fourth time this week it has come out of the tap a shitty brown colour. I called Uncle Richard last week, and he said he’d contact someone to come take a look, but like always, I’m still waiting.

  “There is only so much I can do, Megan,” he’d said, and I understand that—given the fact he now lives in Spain—but why I can’t find a local contractor is beyond me. The last time I did that and sent him the bill, I was threatened with eviction. Nice, huh?

  “Hey, I was just thinking about you,” I say to Lucas as I answer his call.

  “Great minds. Everything alright?”

  “Yeah, fine. Are you packed up yet?”

  “Sort of. Work has been a little crazy, though, so I’ve not had much free time.”

  Knowing it will be useless to continue running the shower, I turn it off. A high-pitched screech bellows through the system.

  “What the hell is that noise?”

  “My plumbing. Uncle Richard is meant to be fixing it, again.”

  “Do you want me to have a word?” His anger is noticeable. My brother and Uncle have always had this tension with their relationship. When our parents used to bring us down here on holiday, Lucas would either stay clear or never come.

  “No.” I sigh, going back to the bedroom. “I’ll grab a shower at Jack’s.”

  “How’s the promotion going?” he asks with a mouth full of food. Even thousands of miles away I know it’s likely to be something with chocolate spread: it’s our childhood favourite.

  “It would be better if I didn’t have to share an office with the most miserable fucker in Spring Rose.”

  “Marcus?”

  “Andrew. Until my office is made new, Marcus thought it would better for me to share Andrew’s, as working from home isn’t an option because there’s too much to do with starting up the new programme. As you can imagine, this hasn’t gone down well and he’s done nothing but stomp around the hotel like some teenage boy that’s not yet experienced a blow job.”

  “That’s probably because he hasn’t.” Lucas laughs. “Give the guy a break.”

  I somehow knew that Lucas would take Andrew’s side. Since coming over last summer and Amelia getting with Marcus, the guys soon dived into male bonding with conversations that involved alcohol, surf and woman in bikinis.

  “Thank for the support.” I sigh sarcastically.

  “Look at it from Andrew’s point. He keeps his work life professional and his home life private. Then, you invade his space like the livewire you are where you have a connection with both.”

  “You mean Amelia and Marcus?”

  “Exactly,” he states. “He cares for them just as strongly as we do in and outside of work.”

  I’m still a little narked. Andrew’s the one being a dick, yet I’m made to feel bad for being me. “Is there a point to this because he sees me outside of work too, you know?”

  “My point is, Andrew likes to be in control. He lost that when you walked through his office door and Marcus made a decision that he’d normally make. Control taken. Yes, you see him outside of work, but that’s only because you happen to be best friends with his wingman’s fiancée; something else he can’t control.”

  “You make it sound like I’m at fault in all of this.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.” Lucas’s voice is firm, but I know not to take offence at it. He’s just trying to make me see things from Andrew’s side, and I get that, but it doesn’t mean he has to constantly hit me with insults and sarcasm.

  I sigh, wanting the subject to change. “Well whatever, he’s still an arsehole.”

  “Want me to rough him up a bit?”

  That makes me laugh. “No. I want you to hurry up and get over here.” I don’t think there are many siblings that get along as well as Lucas and I do. He’s my best friend, and he’s been away too long. “I miss you.”

  “Don’t do that.” He sighs.

  “What?”

  “Go all soppy on me. I’ll be over in a few weeks.” I hear his thick shoulders crack as he stretches. “Right, that’s enough talking. I need to shower then go out and get laid.”

  “Thanks! I’ve now got an inappropriate image in my head.”

  “Sex talk never bothered you before. What’s changed? Is someone not getting any?”

  I roll my eyes and huff.

  “Oh, my God. You’re not, are you?” He laughs.

  “Good bye, Lucas.”

  ***

  I’m late into work this morning.

  As I walk through the lobby, my stomach tightens when I see Andrew talking to one of the guests. His back is to me, his dark suit jacket curves around his broad shoulders and his trousers snug his behind perfectly. The coffees I’m holding are a good distraction that stops me from running up behind him and grabbing hold of that ass.

  As if he knows of my presence, he straightens and slowly turns his head in my direction, the smile on his face quickly disappearing when he finds my eyes. Still, it doesn’t stop his full-length gaze over my body and heat to prickle my skin.

  I enter our office and suppress the urge to throw his coffee over his computer screen and place it down on his desk before boosting up my computer. I sit, enjoying the delicious flavour of my latte—a combination of cinnamon and hazelnut, brought together with a chocolate flake. It’s orgasmic.

  Today I need to contact food caterers that specialise in luxury cuisine. It’s important for me that I get a large amount of contacts under my belt to start up the programme that’s due to launch in a few weeks. I need to know who’ll be willing to go that extra mile and scream to be on my contact list for future business involvements.

  I’m at the photocopier next to Andrew’s desk when I hear him strid
e in. “Good morning, Andrew.” I say politely.

  When I turn, my breath is caught with our proximity. Trapped between him and the copier as he tries to get past, his deep green eyes hold mind before they fall to my lips. My nipples harden against the thin lace of my bra as his gaze continues to travel to my collarbone before slowly falling to my breasts. The bob of his Adams apple proposes that he too is fighting the desires that burn between us.

  “You were late again, Miss Simmons.”

  Like always, his stern and deep voice vibrates through me in the most panty-melting way.

  His delicious manly fragrance alone is enough to spread warmth between my thighs. I want to touch him, to run my hands over the cut muscle of his chest. I want his fingers in my underwear so he can feel how wet he makes me. I want his lips on mine, and my name on his. I want him everywhere. So. Fucking. Bad.

  “I bought you a coffee.” My voice is weak with need.

  “Is that your way of making up for being late?” he asks firmly, stepping away as though he knows the effect he has on me.

  “No I just—” I don’t even know why I’m bothering to explain myself. I’m too much of a hot mess. I straighten myself. “A simple thank you would be nice.”

  He takes the polystyrene cup and removes the lid, inspecting the coffee as though he’s checking for traces of acid. His eyes find mine. “It’s weak and likely to taste like shit, but thanks.”

  I’m unsure if his reply is serious or playful, either way I can’t help the burn of anger it induces in my chest. Rock Waves provide the best coffees on the coast, and little does Andrew know, I’m very aware of what he likes—no sugar, no milk, no fancy marshmallows or daring chances taken to find out what a blueberry and cinnamon latte would taste like—just straight, black and fucking boring!