31 Days of Summer
By C. J. Fallowfield
Kindle Edition
Version 1E
ASIN: B00P5KLFNQ
Copyright © 2014 C. J. Fallowfield
All Rights Reserved Worldwide
Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations and places or events, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental
Image Copyright © 2014
Edited by Karen J
Proofreading by Fallowettes
Cover Art by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design
http://www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk
Foreword
Thank you so much for buying 31 Days of Summer.
This is book two of the 31 Days duology which should be read in sequence.
Find out more on my social media pages:
http://www.cjfallowfield.co.uk
https://www.facebook.com/cjfallowfield
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7807992.C_J_Fallowfield
https://www.twitter.com/CJFallowfield
Chapters
Prologue
Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four
Day Five
Day Six
Day Seven
Day Eight
Day Nine
Day Ten
Day Eleven
Day Twelve
Day Thirteen
Day Fourteen
Day Fifteen
Day Sixteen
Day Seventeen
Day Eighteen
Day Nineteen
Day Twenty
Day Twenty One
Day Twenty Two
Day Twenty Three
Day Twenty Four
Day Twenty Five
Day Twenty Six
Day Twenty Seven
Day Twenty Eight
Day Twenty Nine
Day Thirty
Day Thirty One
Dan’s Song for Ellie
Ellie’s Song for Dan
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
The Austin Series
For the Night Series
Newsletter
Prologue
Saturday 7th December
Dan
I picked up the manila file that Ian had prepared for me, the same file he prepared for all tenants of the boathouse. The moment I saw the photo of the smiling blonde with piercing green eyes, I’d felt drawn to her. She was stunning. I’d been with loads of stunning women in my life, but none of them drew any real emotion from me, other than a sexual one, a need to dominate them in the bedroom. This Miss Baxter intrigued me though. I sat at my desk and read her file, read what she’d lost, how the men in her life had abused her trust and I was seething. She’d been through enough, she didn’t deserve to be treated the way that last arsehole had treated her. I never allowed bookings over the festive period, I always gave my housekeepers the two weeks off, which meant if anyone stayed in the boathouse I’d have to look after them, but it would do this girl good to get away. I sat back in my chair as I held up her photo and looked at it again.
I was very selective with who came to stay on my island, as CEO of Davenport Technologies, a company worth billions, I valued my privacy. Very few people up here even knew my real name, they all knew me as “Dan” the guy who lived on the island taking care of the property for his friend, not Oliver Daniel Davenport, billionaire recluse and island owner. My housekeepers knew, the management at the hotel I owned further up the loch, along with “Pete the Pub” the manager of The Stag public house and Conn, his right hand guy. They were sworn to secrecy. Since the car accident I’d gone to great lengths, at great expense, to have my personal photo deleted from any company profile and all articles on the internet or with major newspaper or TV archives. It was amazing what money could buy you, especially at short notice. A detailed report on tenants was essential. I had to ensure that it wasn’t a journalist who’d sniffed out a lead coming to try and get a scoop since I’d disappeared three and a bit years ago. I sighed as I remembered how my lack of discretion back then had been my downfall.
I’d been arrogant and cocky, flashing my wealth and status around, using it to help me bed a willing line of women in the city. I’d come up to Scotland for Hogmanay one year, stayed at the hotel on the loch and had spotted the pretty brunette working as a maid. I’d propositioned her one morning and she’d declined me, saying it was against hotel policy to fraternise with guests. That had pissed me off. I was used to getting what I wanted. Within days I’d purchased the hotel and had called her into the office to tell her that as I now owned the hotel the fraternisation policy had been waived.
I should have realised then how stupid I was, the minute she knew I had money she was all over me, but she kept teasing me, telling me she was religious and wouldn’t have sex until she was married. I didn’t want marriage, but no one turned me down, so she was a challenge and I was determined to bed her. I’d flown up regularly from London, between seeing other woman, convinced I’d wear her down. We’d got as far as third base when she stopped me and told me if it meant that much to me she’d go on the pill and I could take her virginity. When I returned in the summer I finally bedded her. She seemed fairly relaxed for a virgin, but I was too pleased with myself to see the warning signs. I spent a few weeks up here on a hiking and relaxation break, keeping in touch with the office over the upgraded server I’d had installed in the hotel. We slept together a few times, my usual limit with women and I flew home with no intention of ever seeing her again, until I got the call from her parents in September to say their daughter was pregnant and was I going to make an honest woman of her?
I flew back up in shock and met with them. They were understandably absolutely mortified. All the guilt I felt over the loss of Rebecca and my son came flooding back. I’d never done the right thing by marrying her, which my parents had been horrified at, and I’d lost the only woman I’d ever loved and my child too. I felt so guilty over Moira’s predicament, maybe I saw a chance at redemption, so I agreed and we started making arrangements for an immediate wedding. When I saw the smile plastered all over her face I realised she’d tricked me. She’d deliberately got pregnant to snare me. I was so furious I never touched her sexually again. We had a small private wedding ceremony in a closed room in the hotel, with only our parents in attendance, much to her dismay, but I insisted it was to protect her family from the shame if it got out that we weren’t married before she got knocked up. I left her in the honeymoon suite and spent my wedding night drowning my sorrows in The Stag. Pete had let me stay for a lock in and I spilled everything and was surprised when he burst out laughing. It turned out my “virgin bride” was the local go to girl if you wanted a leg over and she’d always been on the lookout for a guy with money who could get her out of this small village. Pete suggested I have a paternity test done, to see if the kid was even mine, if it wasn’t I could try and annul the marriage. I’d dragged her to get a test done in a private clinic the next day, as well as having an STD test myself, and was furious when I found out her pregnancy was the one thing she hadn’t lied about. I drove back in a temper and told her our marriage was a fake, but for the sake of our child I’d make it work, but she was going to have
to move to London. She’d started yelling at me, I’d yelled back and must have taken my eyes off the road for a fraction of a second too long. I shuddered as the memory of her screams as the car left the road and flipped down a ravine came back to me. I could remember every moment of it as we rolled and I was tossed around like a rag doll with the noise of crunching metal and breaking glass piercing my ears, along with excruciating pain in my side.
I’d woken up in the hospital with cuts and contusions, concussion, a broken leg and a nasty laceration from where the jagged metal of the car door had ripped my side open and smaller scars from where pieces of glass and gravel had embedded in my skin. I’d got off lightly. Moira had ironically refused to put her seatbelt on, in case it hurt the baby. She’d been catapulted through the windscreen as we’d left the road and had suffered a broken back and neck, a punctured lung from her broken ribs, lost the baby and had gone into a coma and been put on a ventilator. We were lucky, so I was told. Another car had been following us and had called emergency services, we’d both have died if we’d been down there for any length of time, though in Moria’s case death might have been preferable, for all of us. I was surprised at the sense of loss I felt for my second unborn child. I’d been furious when I’d found out she was pregnant, as it meant I was going to have to stay married to her, but the moment I’d discovered it was mine and phoned my mother to tell her from the hospital, I’d been overwhelmed with emotion. It was like I was being given a second chance. She’d made me promise to stand by Moira, she was religious herself and believed in family values. It was the least I could do.
While I recovered in the private hospital, with Moira next door, I insisted on being wheel chaired in to sit with her during afternoon visiting hours. I didn’t know what to say to her, we barely knew each other, but she was my wife, for better or worse, so I held her hand until I was wheeled out again. The longer I spent with her, the more guilt I felt. I’d lost focus as I’d been driving, the accident was my fault. The more my dreams were interwoven with the nightmares of the accident, the more I began to wonder if I was still drunk from the night before. Pete was the only one I shared that with, he insisted that the alcohol would have been out of my system by the time I’d driven, but I wasn’t convinced. The guilt ate away at me and when I was discharged from the hospital, I’d withdrawn from my previous playboy lifestyle and had put the wheels in motion to protect my identity and location so I could hide out up here.
I purchased the island and lived at the hotel while I had my house built and housed an even better server than I’d had installed at the hotel, in a room sandwiched between the utility and cinema room, so I could oversee my business from there. I recruited a local married couple, Mr. and Mrs. McAdams to be my housekeeper, cook and maintenance team and purchased a new house in town for Moira’s parents, with an annexe especially for Moira. I paid for a rotating team of care specialists and visited every day but Sunday, from two until four. Sitting with her for a few hours every day alleviated some of my guilt and pain. Her parents kept trying to talk me into letting her go and turning off the ventilator, but I couldn’t. Despite experts telling me her brain showed no signs of activity and that she wouldn’t wake up again, I knew if I gave approval to turn off that machine, I’d be killing her for real this time. I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t want to be responsible for losing another woman who I’d let get too close to me.
Pete visited regularly and insisted I needed to socialise more, that there was nothing wrong with moving on and having a life. I disagreed. I went to the pub occasionally, but ignored the advances of all the women and girls who batted their eyes at me. My cock obsession was what had got me into this mess to start with, plus I was still married, I had some morals. I made do with masturbating, often. When Pete’s daughter announced she was getting married, she pleaded with me to let her have her honeymoon in the boathouse, insisting they couldn’t afford to go abroad and that it would be a romantic location. I couldn’t see it, the place was a shell, I’d offered to pay to send them abroad, but she’d begged me to hear her out, she was scared of flying and really wanted somewhere local. I’d ferried her over and she’d talked me through her ideas of how I could rebuild it and make it into the perfect romantic getaway. I gave in and had it converted and she was the first occupant. Mr. and Mrs. McAdams told me that I didn’t keep them busy enough for what I paid them, so suggested I rent out the boathouse all year around and they’d look after it for me. I agreed on the condition that everyone was thoroughly vetted and tasked Ian from my firm with the job. He could hack virtually any computer system designed, the guy was a genius and provided me with in depth reports on potential tenants and I’d decide if they could stay. I never rented over the Christmas period, I had better things to do than wait on other people when Mr. and Mrs. McAdams were on holiday. I had enough trouble looking after myself, cooking wasn’t one of my talents.
My no Christmas bookings rule had been upheld until I sat there looking at Ellie Baxter’s photograph after reading her file. She’d been through enough, if anyone deserved to have some space to re-evaluate their life it was her. I’d just have to suck it up and look after her and it would be a great opportunity to see if a woman I was attracted to would like me for me, not Ollie Davenport and all his wealth. I took a deep breath and rang her number to tell her the news.
I put the phone down and frowned. I’d not felt that alive in years, just from chatting to a damn woman over the phone. I looked at her picture again. I liked this woman, really liked her. Looking at her picture had made my cock jerk, if there was anyone I could see myself breaking my vows for and fucking, it was her. I wanted to get to know her, properly. I picked up the phone and dialled Ian and asked him to hack her account and find out what hobbies she enjoyed, then arranged to have some of my things packed up and moved to the boathouse. I didn’t have much in the way of personal effects, so left most of my clothes in the wardrobe and just had my toiletries, laptop and key paperwork moved down, then locked the remaining paperwork in the filing cabinet and stuck my printer in there on top of Ellie’s file. I wanted to meet this girl as “the help” to see if there was any real spark between us.
Ian called back and said she was into reading and emailed me her eBook library. I rang the local bookstore and ordered copies of each book on the list and another hundred books that they’d recommend based on her reading history and offered a substantial financial incentive to have them all delivered by Monday lunchtime. It was about time those shelves in my cinema room were put to good use and if books made her happy, books she was going to have.
Day One
Sunday 29th June – Year One
Dan
It had been six months since I’d walked away from Ellie in London and come home to Scotland. Leaving, with her still believing I was a complete shit, was better than telling her that I was as bad as the drunk guy who’d killed her parents. Telling her that I might have been a morning after drunk driver, someone she’d despise, on top of me being married and breaking my vows, I feared would chip away at even more of her confidence. I’d rather she think I was an arsehole than actually know the truth. This way she could move on hating me, which should expedite her healing process. After losing Rebecca and my son, then pretty much killing Moira and my second child, I was damn cursed when it came to relationships with women that progressed beyond a few fucks. Ellie Baxter would be better off without me in her life, no matter how much it might hurt me to stay away. I knew I cared about her, deeply, but I hadn’t realised just how much until I’d rushed to the airport and we’d locked eyes in the departure lounge. I knew in that second that I was never going to get over her. I wanted her, I wanted to open my heart again, to her, to give her everything she ever needed, but most of all I wanted to protect her, by laying down my own life if I had to. I’d been with enough women to know how strong my bond with her was. It had taken nearly two years for me to realise with Rebecca, just a few weeks with Ellie. I considered myself a tough man, yo
u had to be when you ran your own global corporation, I could only recall two occasions in my adult life when I’d cried. The night I’d lost Rebecca and the night I’d walked away from Ellie in London. To have had a glimpse at a normal life, a life with her, to know that it was out of my reach, and probably would be forever, was a bitter pill to swallow.
‘Oliver, are you ready?’
‘Mother, why must you insist on calling me “Oliver” when you know I prefer Ollie?’ I sighed, as I ran down the stairs buttoning up my black suit jacket.
‘You were christened Oliver Daniel Davenport, Oliver you’ll always be, my darling,’ she announced, with a kiss on each of my cheeks. ‘Just because you boss everyone around at that ridiculously large firm of yours, don’t think you can boss your mother around.’
‘I’d be too scared of one of your infamous Brazilian temper slaps, mother,’ I smiled, as I held open the door for her and led her to the Mercedes, waiting outside on the gravelled driveway of her home.
‘You’re never too old for one of those,’ she laughed, as James opened the car door for us.
‘Morning Mrs. Davenport, Sir,’ he nodded.
‘Morning James. Busy day?’
‘Just Mr. Steele this morning.’
‘Ah the usual Sunday routine,’ I chuckled, as I lowered myself into the backseat.
‘Yes, Sir. He was most put out to hear that you’d booked me first. Apparently he also had a lunch date with a lady,’ James replied as he closed the door.
I shook my head. While I’d stopped my screwing around bachelor lifestyle after my accident, my best friend Logan hadn’t. When he’d seduced the girlfriend of a premiership footballer in the toilets of a private box at Wembley, with all her girlfriends listening in, he’d been inundated with offers, before a financial bidding war started, so he’d set up as a high class male escort. Even I’d tried to talk him out of it, offering him a management position in my firm, but he loved sex and enjoyed the thrill of vetting clients and coming up with the perfect solutions to their fantasies. So, my job offer was on hold, until he saw the error of his ways and decided to settle down. I’d gone out on Friday night with him, neither of us drinking. Him for his physique, me due to my accident, since then I’d rarely had any, never if I had to drive the next day. Logan had told me that he had a redhead lined up for Saturday night, who wanted sex in a public place with the risk of being caught. Sex in the great outdoors, and fucking married women, were the only things he did that were risky. He had a strict set of rules he followed to keep himself safe, not least being don’t become emotionally attached to your client, which apparently he’d fucked up big time when he’d met with a new client recently and was worried he was becoming obsessed with her.
31 Days of Summer (31 Days #2) Page 1
