Falling For Mr Wrong
By
Joanne Dannon
Falling For Mr Wrong
Copyright © 2015 by Joanne Dannon
ISBN: 978-0-9943429-0-4
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Edited by: Paradise Publication
Cover Design by: Book Beautiful
Formatting by: Polgarus Studio
Falling For Mr Wrong
Joanne Dannon
She’d been sucked in by a gorgeous smile, defined muscles and a sexy British accent.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Nate was a reporter, wanted her story and had got it.
As a nanny, Tilly Walker is more comfortable with her young charges than dodging the English press. But that’s exactly what she has to do when unwittingly caught up in a marriage scandal with a highly regarded Minister of Parliament. Fleeing to the safety of her great-aunt in Jerusalem, the last person she imagines becoming involved with is an undercover reporter who follows her all the way from England.
Lone wolf Nathaniel Morgan-Young is a political journalist who must break Tilly’s story to vindicate past injustices, deceiving her to get the information he needs. But when Nate unexpectedly falls for the very real woman behind the Naughty Nanny scandal, he desperately wants her to know the truth.
Will he be able to convince her to trust him again, once he has his story? Can he find the right words to make her come back, mend his wounds from the past and make him whole again?
Praise for Joanne Dannon - “A handsome, mysterious Englishman; a feisty nanny and an exotic setting - what more could you ask for? Joanne Dannon delivers a sexy, emotional story with a relatable heroine and a hero worth falling for.” - Leah Ashton, RITA Award winning author.
About The Author
Joanne Dannon has been living in the world of romance for as long as she can remember. From doodling love hearts on her school notebooks to regularly reading romances, Joanne’s world has always been filled with the excitement of love stories. So it was just a natural for Joanne to begin writing the genre she’s always loved.
Formerly a policy writer by day and romance writer by night, Joanne now spends full time writing the books she adores. Creating heroes for readers to fall in love with and heroines to cheer on, her characters are people readers can identify with.
Joanne writes to give her readers the experience she still loves to savor—indulging in a sigh-worthy-happily-ever-after, being swept away from the everyday by diving into a delicious romance novel.
Joanne Dannon is a happily married mother of two heroes-in-training who loves spending time with friends and family. She can be found on Facebook and her website www.joannedannon.com chatting about reading, writing, cooking, vintage-inspired dresses and all things romantic. She loves to hear from readers. Please do drop by for a chat
Acknowledgements
Dear Reader
In July 2014 I was fortunate to be selected by a dynamic women’s movement to travel to Israel. During those eight days of learning, friendship and personal discovery, I fell in love with the culture and history of that amazing country. I want to thank tour guides Patrick, Basha, Ken and Eitan for their insights, wisdom and passion. You breathed life into history, making it come alive.
I also want to thank Patrick Amar for patiently answering the barrage of questions I sent his way. Google couldn’t answer everything—but you could, Patrick!
Being in Israel during the summer heat inspired me to write Tilly and Nate’s story. In particular, swimming in the Dead Sea—floating, actually!—coating my skin and hair with mineral mud, feeling the sun bake the mud dry and stiff on my skin, then washing it all off in the bluer-than-blue salty water inspired the first scene of the book.
Thank you to my loving parents, my family and friends who have given me much encouragement on my writing journey. I also want to acknowledge the amazing sisterhood (and brotherhood!) of Romance Writers of Australia, an incredible organisation.
Many thanks to my gorgeous writing friends and crit partners who’ve been an awesome help over the past few years: Jennifer St George, Michelle Somers, Rachael Johns, Rachael Thomas and Jess Dee.
Thanks to my fab beta romance team who read my books and give me valuable feedback: Ilana Starr and Michelle Rabinov. Thanks to Adi Kalmek and Jenny Ben Porath for your thoughts on Falling for Mr Wrong!
A massive thank-you to my ever-supportive husband—my own personal hero—and our beautiful children who complete me as a wife and mother. Thank you for being my biggest fans. I am truly blessed to be surrounded by such love and joy.
And to you, my readers. I can only hope you enjoy reading Falling for Mr Wrong as much as I loved writing it.
With fondest regards, Joanne
For my husband, my very own hero.
CHAPTER ONE
Tilly Walker drew a steady breath, unable to drag her eyes from the biblical desert prince walking out of the Dead Sea.
Droplets of salty water ran in rivulets down tanned skin and over lean muscle, highlighting his strong physique. Natural skin tone or the Dead Sea minerals? She stared, not wanting to blink and miss a moment.
With her sunglasses shading her eyes, she allowed her gaze to linger on black bathing shorts which clung deliciously tight and rode low on his lean hips.
He strode with a confidence that made her heart flutter. He’d even protected his feet from the clusters of salt with plastic runners so he could walk across the hot sand towards the outdoor showers.
After running long fingers through his dark, damp hair, they spiked at odd angles. The ‘just got out of bed’ hairstyle emphasised his gorgeousness.
At the showers he washed off the excess salty water, closed the water faucet before rubbing one of the resort’s white towels across his long, lean arms and flat stomach before he hoisted a slightly crumpled shirt over broad shoulders. He left the shirt buttons undone and Tilly was treated to another perfect view of his toned pecs and a washboard belly.
It was simmering hot, here in the lowest place on earth, but it had nothing on the heat developing in her tummy.
Their gazes met.
Tilly’s stomach went into free-fall.
The incredible specimen of male perfection was what heroes in romance novels were about. Those books were her escapism, no wonder she loved them. She imagined them on a dream date; desert, tent, candles, pillows, exotic food. And because it was her fantasy, he’d be so right for her. He wouldn’t cheat, he wouldn’t lie and he certainly wouldn’t deceive her. Her attention returned to said fantasy, watching him popping on a pair of über-cool sunglasses and gathering the remainder of his belongings before striding away.
Stupidly, disappointment zipped up and down her muddied arms. What had she expected? A request for a dinner date? Not likely.
She may wish for one but remaining incognito was more important. Chewing her lip, Tilly grimaced. Her un-notable appearance had benefited her predicament.
Hiding in more ways than one, lashings of dark Dead Sea mud covered h
er skin. Its pervasive stench of minerals, clay and salt filled her nostrils. With the desert sun beating down, the thick paste she’d only recently spread in generous clumps over her arms and legs started cracking. Flecks of dried mud crumbled away leaving dark lines creasing her skin, reminding her of car burn-outs at the race track.
Perspiration dotted her forehead and salt burned her brows. Lifting her glasses she rubbed her eyes absent-mindedly. “Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!” Pain seared through her brain as the smudged mud slipped underneath her eyelids, burning her eyeballs.
Scrunching her eyes tightly shut, Tilly tripped on the uneven sandy beach foreshore, blindly searching for her towel to wipe her eyes.
Her ankle twisted sharply.
With a sore foot and burning eyes she stumbled. Her hip connected with something metal, something hard. A vat of mud. She swore an un-lady like word as she started to fall – falling into a great big tub of mud, head first!
Bracing herself for the inevitable squelch she gasped. Air, not mud filled her mouth. A pair of strong, masculine arms caught her and with the ease of a weightlifter, said strong arms hauled her to his chest. Saved!
“I’ve got you,” a deep voice, with a dreamy-to-die-for British accent, filled her ears.
Oh, you most certainly do, she purred, her back pressed against firm packed muscle and two lightly tanned forearms fastened snug around her waist. She always liked reading about her heroes saving heroines but this was so much better.
With her legs as secure as wet tissue paper, she said a silent prayer. Twisting her neck to the side, Tilly’s jaw dropped. It was him. The hunk she’d been ogling. Despite the blurriness of her vision, she could make out the dark hair, white shirt and sparkling blue eyes.
She heard him suck in a sharp breath before asking, “A-are you o-okay?”
Her eyelids fluttered and tears leaked out. “Sorry, I got mud in my eyes. Silly me.” Her bare toes curled into the warm sand.
Her heartbeat galloped, embarrassment coursing through her veins. Yes, she would’ve liked to have met him but not like this – her skin covered in dry mud and having being so clumsy. Swallowing hard she tried thinking of something witty and interesting to say.
He released his arms from around her and she sagged against the vat, propping herself against the edge.
“I’m getting something for you.” She heard him fiddling with a water bottle and then he pressed a wet cloth against her eyes. Relief.
Her hands came up instinctively to assist and he pushed them away. “Let me, your hands are muddy.”
“Thank you.” Her heart sighed with his thoughtfulness.
He removed the towel and she blinked rapidly to clear her eyes.
“Better?”
“Yes much, thanks again. That was a good idea.” She looked at the most intense blue eyes she’d ever seen. “Thank you for, uh, catching me.”
“You’re welcome.” Shuffling backwards, a frown now marred the space of skin between his brows. “You seem, uh, a little dazed. Too much sun?”
Star struck more like it. Truth be known, he was the hottest guy she’d ever met, let alone spoken with. “I’m fine. I forgot I had mud on my fingers and accidentally rubbed my eyes.”
“Ouch,” he said, giving her yet another dazzling smile.
Butterflies fluttered in her chest so hard, she could barely breathe. “Thanks for saving me from falling into the mud.”
“It’s fine,” he said with a casual tone as if saving maidens in distress was part of his day job.
Their gazes collided and she went cold, then hot. To avoid blushing further, she looked down at his chest, his very nicely defined chest. She gasped, her hand jerking to cover her mouth. “Oh no, look at your shirt.”
He looked down.
“I’m so sorry, your shirt’s all muddy because of me.” Her shoulders sagged as she contemplated the cost of replacing it.
He waved away her concerns with a flick of his wrist. “It’s just mud. I’m sure Laundry can clean it.” He cleared his throat. “I’m Nathaniel Morgan-Young but call me Nate. And you are…?” His left eyebrow arched.
Hiding from the media. “I’m…” Her chest tightened as the temperature in her blood skyrocketed.
“Yes?” He leaned forward.
She swallowed hard. This couldn’t be happening. After all the scenarios she’d prepared for, none had included meeting a handsome hunk on the beach in a bathing suit. Taking a deep breath and reaching into her reserves of aptitude, she stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Mattie, from Australia.” Clenching her teeth together, trying not to wince from using the despised nickname she’d avoided for years. Despite him being a stranger, she wasn’t ready to use her real name. After being betrayed twice over the past year, trust was not a commodity she gave out freely anymore, even to her saviour in glistening armour.
Glancing down at her muddied hand, she bit her lip, “Oops, sorry.”
He ignored the mud and shook her hand, his long fingers gently clasping hers. Perfect. Just like his blazing blue eyes and devilish grin that was so darn sexy.
“You’re an Aussie? So far from home.”
“I love travelling.” A slight exaggeration but hey, after evading relentless reporters, lies and half-truths now easily rolled off her tongue. She had no option until she cleared her name. Swallowing again, she tried to inject some enthusiasm into her voice. “And where are you from?” Don’t say England. Don’t say England. Stupid really as his accent gave him away.
“England.” The single word punched and deflated her lungs as effectively as a sharpened arrow.
Sweat broke out above her lip as she contemplated excuses on how to escape, run far—far away.
Oblivious to her discomfort, he continued. “I came to Israel with my sister. She’s having fun and I’m working on a forced holiday break. She believes working too hard is not good for one’s soul.” His stance was relaxed, with his arms loosely hanging by his side as his smile grew wide at the mention of his sister.
Her mouth dried. Perhaps, the getaway could wait. Perhaps he didn’t read the gutter press? Perhaps, he wasn’t from London and hadn’t heard about her, the Naughty Nanny.
A slow smile stretched across his lips making her thoughts jumble. Not every guy wanted a piece of her. Nate seemed so normal, so nice, so easy going.
She maintained a strong eye contact with him and went through all the pluses.
Cute. Tick.
Family guy. Tick.
If he was single she’d give him a third tick and hit the trifecta.
“A workaholic on holidays.” She nodded. “You must be climbing the walls what with the relaxing spa treatments, beach and therapeutic mud baths.”
He laughed. Strong, throaty. Deep timbres in his voice made her think back about them on her fantasy date. “Thank goodness for the internet.”
Curious, she nibbled her lip, “Why didn’t you just say no? My brothers never listen to me.”
“You don’t know my sister,” he shrugged.
“You’re spending time in this luxurious resort, which is my idea of heaven. You’re making it sound like you’ve been incarcerated on a diet of bread and water.”
He laughed again. She liked that. He got an extra tick for laughing at her jokes.
“So how long are you here for?”
“Just the day.” She sighed. “This place is amazing. Have you tried the saltwater and sulfur pools?”
“Not yet. You?”
“I’m going there after I wash off. How much fun was it floating in the Dead Sea?” she said not bothering to hide her eagerness. She really was the quintessential tourist even if she was on the run and hiding out.
He gave her a wink that made her swoon with delight. “I did enjoy the float, although I was worried about splashing salt water and burning my eyes.”
“I wore goggles.”
“Clever and pretty.”
Pretty? His compliment made her heart sigh.
“Wish I could take cred
it but I read the suggestion in…in, I read it somewhere.” Gosh, his gorgeousness made her stumble over words. She needed to pretend he wasn’t so good looking and act like the sensible woman she was. Not so easy every time their gazes met and she drowned in the blueness of his eyes.
“I must admit, I didn’t read anything.” A smile curved his lips.
Perspiration clung to the back of her neck. Her skin, clammy and sticky. Lifting her hair into a ponytail with her hand provided some relief, the gentle breeze washed over her neck, cooling her skin.
“You’re exactly like my brothers. They never read instructions or ask for directions. Those characteristics must be in-built in your male DNA.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged.
“Are your brothers here?” He looked around.
“No, they’re in…” She paused before correcting herself. “They’re back home.”
“In Australia?”
She nodded.
Time to say goodbye. She’d taken a risk and everything was fine. But soon she’d need to head back to the sanctuary of her safe hide-out. Always the chatter-box, she couldn’t risk saying something she shouldn’t. And with Nate, she felt comfortable, way too comfortable. It was good to be around him, but the tension of watching everything she had said made her head hurt. She couldn’t afford a mistake, she had already done that. And look where she’d ended up, ended up in trouble. Strife with a capital S.
His charming manners and effortless ease, making her comfortable, would slip under her purposely erected defences. Stealing another look made her skin tingle. Yup. Definitely way too charming. With reluctance she said, “I’d better go and wash this dried mud off.” She raised her now stiff arms in front of him.
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