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

by K. L. Jessop

  Switching on the lights to my office, I come to a halt the minute I see Megan asleep on my sofa. In normal situations, something like this would madden me, but I find it strangely refreshing and I’m impressed with the effort she’s putting into her work. I don’t hesitate. I go to her. Breathing in her strawberry fragrance—which I’ve now worked out it is in fact her hair—I kneel in front of her. Her pure blonde locks fans out across the cushions as her small jacket covers her thin body.

  She looks so peaceful.

  She’s worked so hard with getting the programme underway, I’m not surprised she’s crashed. I hate to admit it, but I’m proud of her. All that protesting to Marcus was ridiculous.

  Then, I notice the half-empty bottle of tequila hiding under her jacket. I draw my brows. Her phone flashes on the floor with numerous missed calls and my eyes latch on to the holdall that’s in the corner of my office.

  Concern with a mix of anger quickly hit’s my gut. I’m unsure if I’m angry because she’s drunk herself to an oblivion or because she needs some form of help and didn’t come to me.

  Then I remember the missed calls. Was that why she rang? Because she needed my help? Shit.

  I shake her shoulder, calling her with the sternness in my voice. She bolts upright, looking dazed, trying to find her surroundings before her eyes land on me and go wide.

  “Andrew.”

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  “I—I must have fell asleep.” She quickly removes herself from the sofa, avoiding my eyes and gathering up her jacket. “You’re in early.”

  “No, Megan, I’m in on time and you’ve avoided answering my question.”

  She turns to look at me. Her eyes have mascara smudges and are a little puffy. Has she been crying?

  “Care to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

  She looks to the floor as if she’s in trouble. “The ceiling to my house has caved and there’s water everywhere. All the recruit residence rooms are full, the guest rooms are all booked out, and Amelia’s not here.”

  I’m unsure if her weak sounding voice is because I’ve just startled the shit out of her, or because she’s upset.

  “I don’t want to find you here again, Megan, you hear me?” I sound like an arsehole but it’s because I don’t like the thought of her being here. The hotel is secure, but she’s left herself vulnerable in an unlocked room with no formal secure system put in place.

  “But, Andrew, I—”

  “You look like crap; I suggest you go make yourself look more respectable.”

  “You really don’t have any compassion in that stone-cold heart of yours, do you?” she snaps.

  Her eyes glass over as she pushes past me to collect her bags. It takes a lot to break Megan, and as soon as I notice her sweep a tear away, guilt smacks me in the gut. I never meant to upset her.

  Shit.

  I’m sure doing a fine job of looking after her like Amelia asked.

  “Megan, wait.”

  “Fuck you!” She slams the door so hard she makes the walls rattle. Exhaling, I sit myself down on the arm of the sofa, scrubbing my hand over the scruff of my jaw and wondering what the hell had just happened as she completely overreacted. I want her to hate me, and I believe it’s working. Only the more I seem to act like a complete dickhead, the more I’m beginning to hate my own behaviour.

  I should have answered the damn phone.

  ***

  I’m going out of my mind. I’ve not seen Megan all day, she’s not answering my calls and she never returned to the office. Once I quizzed the staff, I realise she hasn’t been seen in the hotel either. I should be pissed at the fact she’s not doing the job, but apprehension sits heavily in my stomach. I need to find her.

  It’s late when I finally step out the office. I’ve not taken part in my daily routine of walking the hotel floor, greeting guests and making sure my team have everything in order, because the only person I’ve been looking for is Megan. I’m in two minds whether or not I should to call Marcus and Amelia, or even her brother.

  Rounding the corner on the ground floor, I head to the hotel bar and order a whiskey. At this time in the evening, the bar is occupied by businessmen relaxing from a hard day’s graft or holidaymakers who have recently arrived at the bay.

  I spot Megan in the far corner, and the tension I’ve been holding leaves my lungs with a sigh of relief. Thank God she’s safe. Curled up on a rounded leather chair, her heels are scattered on the floor and her holdall is by the table. I’ve done a lot of thinking today about the way I’ve treated her. She is not my past and nothing like the women that were in it.

  Maybe that’s my problem.

  I order her a drink and make my way over, the low lighting of creams and golds and the soft piano music from tonight’s entertainment creating a relaxed and welcoming vibe.

  “This seat taken?” I ask softly. She doesn’t respond so I sit down anyway. I could rip into her and tell her she’s been a disappointment to the team today and that I expected more from her, but the look on her face tells me to go easy. “I thought you would be out partying by now.” She doesn’t look at me, nor does she thank me when I slide her glass across the table. I’m struggling to know what to say. I’m never good at this sort of thing.

  She’s still silent, avoiding my eyes, and it frustrates me that she’s refusing to talk when she’s usually full of inappropriate vocabulary. I dip my head to try and find her eyes. “Where are you staying?”

  “Careful. It almost sounds as though you care.”

  I don’t bite back at her attitude. If she’s wanting an argument, she’s out of luck. “I do care, Megan, believe it or not. Now where are you—”

  “The beach.”

  “Be serious.”

  “I am being serious!” she yells, causing heads to turn and me to address to the room with a smile of apology for her outburst. Before I can stop her, she’s up from her seat and fleeing, storming out the hotel bar and almost running through the lobby as I command her to stop. When I reach her outside, I grab her elbow and spin her around.

  “I asked you to stop.” My voice remains low but comes out in a rasp.

  “And I chose not to listen! Good night, Andrew.”

  She looks hurt and is doing everything within her power to not falter, but tears soon fill her eyes, making them turn a darker shade of blue as she holds my gaze. I hate to see her cry and knowing that I’m the one that caused her to makes me feel like shit. “Where have you been all day?”

  “I thought I’d check out the new homeless shelter down at the pier, see if it needed a lick of paint!”

  “Jesus, can you just drop the attitude for five minutes?”

  “I’m tired, Andrew. I have a house with no ceiling, debris embedded into the carpets and a water damage bill the size of the fucking ocean. I’ve not slept properly in days because of the constant noise that’s rattled around me. I had to use the hotel’s bathroom this morning to freshen up rather than the one in the comfort of my own home, and I can’t tell you the last time I had a decent cup of coffee! So, I’m sorry for my attitude, but I’m not feeling myself right now.”

  Before I even realise it, I reach out and pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her to hold her close. First, I’m unsure who is more rigid—her or me—but then she relaxes and just lets me hold her. I instantly regret my actions because now I don’t want to let her go.

  Pulling away first, she wipes her eyes and I feel lost at the disconnection. I need to help her out. I can’t bear to see her this way. I shouldn’t even be contemplating what my mind is thinking right now because there’s a reason why I keep a wall between my work and home life, but before I have chance to stop myself, I bend down and pick up her bags.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  I continue to walk towards the car park.

  “Andrew?”

  Taking the key fob from my jacket pocket, I unlock my black Audi, opening the boot before placing her bags in. �
�Get in the car.”

  “Why?” she questions.

  “Is that really a question you need to ask? You’re staying with me.”

  She doesn’t seem too enthusiastic. She doesn’t even look thankful. Instead her stance instantly reverts to that confident blonde that’s never too far away as she stands with her hands on her hips. “You treat me like shit, Andrew,” she says, eyes wide and full of fire. “Our friends are getting married, for Christ sake, and you treat me like absolute fucking shit!”

  “I know. I treat everyone like that.”

  “No, just me.”

  She’s right, and I loathe myself for it, but it’s just too easy with her sometimes. I exhale, wanting to try and make up for the way I’ve been. “Will you please just get in and let me help you?”

  “No. I don't need your pity.”

  I’m surprised at how calm I am considering she’s being so fucking awkward. “I’m sure you don’t, but you do need a bed for the night and as much of an arsehole as you think I am, I'm not going to see you out on the street when I have a spare room. Now get in the car before I make you walk.”

  “I don’t need your charity either.”

  “Get in the car, Megan.” Our eyes hold each other’s in a fixed stare. She’s protesting. The woman even has the nerve to tap her foot. “Jesus, do you want me to drag you? Because I will. Now. Get. In. The. Car!”

  She lets out a sharp huff and stomps to the vehicle like some stroppy teen that’s just had her phone taken off her, getting in and slamming the door. I shake my head and exhale as I look up at the stars wondering what the hell I’ve just let myself in for. “So, help me, God.”

  Getting in, I fasten her seatbelt, tugging it tight to make her gasp. “There, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” I say in a sarcastic tone that makes her brows rise.

  “I still think you’re an arsehole.”

  “Yeah, and you’re still the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met.”

  She turns back to look out of the window, covering her mouth to hide the grin that’s plastered across her face. Maybe this crazy idea of mine can work, or maybe I’ve just thrown myself to a pack of wolfs. Either way, I’ll just have to resist temptation and find a way of blocking out the thought of sinking between her thighs. And I know that that’s one battle I’m not going to find easy.

  Chapter Nine

  Megan

  They say a home can tell you a lot about the person that lives on the inside, but the one that I’m currently standing in front of only makes me question the man that’s standing beside me even more. A man like Andrew shouldn’t belong in a house like this. He can be mean and mysterious, and from the outside this house is the complete opposite. Even in nightlight, the house looks fresh and vibrant. It’s a house that young women my age would dream of. It’s pure class and drips in cash signs and celebrity status. Situated at one of the highest points of Spring Rose, which overlooks the entire bay, the backdrop is a sea of orange from the nightlights of the coastal town, whilst the view before me is nothing more than a large driveway, bright spotlights and glass. There is so much glass.

  “Are you coming in?” Andrew asks as he reaches the front door.

  I’m hesitant. I want to go in but I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea, there is clearly a reason why this man keeps his private life so hidden, and even though I am invited, I still feel as though I’m prying.

  “Why are you doing this?” I question from across the driveway. It’s almost midnight. The sea breeze sweeps my hair across my face and the cool air sends chills channelling across my skin causing me to shiver.

  “Like I said, I have room.”

  “You had room this morning that could’ve been offered, yet you still threw me out of the hotel.”

  “I did not throw you out. I simply asked you to clean yourself up. You were the one that overreacted.”

  I overreacted? I left because I was hurt. I left because the bastard didn’t even have the decency to ask if I was alright, and now suddenly he’s offering me a bed. He’s behaviour is so contradictive. “You've not answered my question. Why are you really doing this?”

  He sighs and looks back at me. “Amelia asked me to look out for you.”

  I thought as much. “So you're doing this for her and not the fact that I genuinely need a place to stay?”

  “I'm doing it because I have the room, Megan,” he states. “Now are you coming in or sleeping on the driveway?”

  His house is like a show home: untouched, unlived in. Everything is immaculate, neatly place and… shiny. But the thrill of seeing the inside of a mysterious man’s home has disappointed me because again it’s the complete opposite to the fresh and bright look on the outside.

  The spot lights in the ceiling take the edge off the darkness each room carries. In the kitchen, the shiny marble worktops and chrome appliances are swallowed in dark units from floor to ceiling where four big windows draw in the town skyline. It’s a kitchen you can get lost in.

  The room is open-plan and flows into the biggest living room I’ve ever seen, with more floor to ceiling windows. For a moment, I think I’m in a hotel, the size and layout is far too big for a family let alone a single man to rattle around in. The carpet is jet black, and a black coffee table is situated between two large soft cream sofas’ that face each other. Along the sidewall are three large shelves with crystal glasses neatly placed in rows of six just above a mini bar where, again, the bottles stand all neatly in line. The back wall features the most beautiful open fireplace with bricks covering the entire wall space. But it is the main wall that partly divides the two rooms that strikes me. It’s dark. The block of deep, dark wood shadows into the room leaving the cream sofas looking cold and such a big area looking dull. It instantly makes me feel miserable.

  “I’ll show you to your room,” Andrew says behind me, bringing me out of my daze.

  We head down the hall, and again, it’s shadowy with little light and dark wood flooring, grey walls, and no pictures. It’s like walking down the corridor of death. From what I’ve observed so far, the inside of this house is like the man that walks in front of me. Cold and unreadable.

  My large double room is like a hotel suit of The Grand. A huge bed with fresh, cream bedding is in the middle of the room with eight pillows at its head and a nightstand either side. A cushioned bench that hides behind long drapes is placed just in front of the window, and the back wall behind the bed… well, it’s dark. The man clearly doesn’t like colour. I almost want to hug him and tell him that everything will be ok and that life really isn’t this glum.

  “You’re hungry,” he states as my stomach so grumbles loudly. It’s embarrassing.

  “Starving. I’ve not eaten since breakfast.”

  “I can rustle up an omelette or something if you want?”

  “Got any bacon you can throw in?”

  If Lucas were here now, I’d have gotten a death stare from my boldness. I’ve only been in Andrew’s house ten minutes and I’m demanding what I want him to cook for me. I should have just said no thank you and crashed for the night, but this is me and I’m not one to hold back.

  “I’ll see what I’ve got.” He smiles softly and I'm grateful that he's trying. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Make yourself at home. The bathroom is just to the left of the hall.”

  Before I can thank him, he’s gone, leaving me in a large bedroom that is nothing like my own. Mine is bright, fresh and laced with colour. This house is enough to put anyone in an instant depression.

  Strolling over to the bed, I place my bag on the floor before sitting down. After searching through my holdall for my oversized shirt and shorts, I change before making my way down the long corridor to the bathroom.

  Why the hell is he in a house this big? This… cold?

  It’s like a palace of darkness, fit for a king who’s afraid of the light.

  As predicted, the bathroom is just as vast with a dark marble floor I can see my refection in. Everyt
hing shines as though it’s never been touched. The man is clearly OCD; it explains the white walls of his office and everything placed exactly how he wants it.

  I place my hair up into a messy bun and head back to the kitchen.

  The smell of eggs and bacon makes my stomach grumble. “It smells so good,” I announce as I push myself up on the stool beside the breakfast bar. Andrew turns from the stove; his eyes instantly fall to my bare legs and I notice him straighten as though he’s doing wrong for looking.

  “I didn’t know what you liked, so I’ve prepared a little garnish and bread rolls to go with it. I know it’s late, but I can’t bear the thought of you being here and going hungry.”

  Well, fuck me. The man really does have a heart.

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh, and there’s some wine in the rack, or the fridge if you prefer white. Unless you want a juice? Or a coffee?”

  He seems nervous, the way he flits around the kitchen is as if he’s never cooked for a woman before, or brought one back to his place. Maybe he hasn’t. Either way, a man of his confidence and attitude has no need to be this skittish. Just watching him is making me feel a little uneasy. I want to reach out, take his hand in mine and tell him to relax.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come back for work today,” I say as I pour us both a glass of red. “I just had to get away.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Rixton pier. It’s my favourite place. I go there to think. Then it got a little busy so I went to Marbles Cove as I knew no one would disturb my peace.”

  “Does Marcus know you go to his beach uninvited?” he questions curiously as I pass him his wine.

  I raise my brows with a smile. “He won’t if you don’t tell him.”

  The grin that stretches across his lips has the power to catch my breath and soak my panties. This is going to be absolute torture sleeping under the same roof as him. Usually, getting him to hold a conversation is draining, but seeing him in his own environment—wanting to cook for me and sharing wine—it’s like he’s a different person. There is clearly more to Andrew Harris than he lets on.