Unexpectedly Yours Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Also by Rebecca Shea

  Connect with Rebecca Shea

  Copyright

  Unexpectedly Yours

  Copyright ©2020 Rebecca Shea Author, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the written permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN-13: (eBook) 9780986428852

  Cover design by: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs

  Edited by: Megan Hand - Story Girl Editing and

  Beth Lynne - Hercules Editing

  One

  My eyes snap open when I feel the soft puffs of warm air against the back of my neck. That same warm air causes a shiver to roll through me just before shame sets in. I curl into myself as the guilt of last night’s events flash through my memory, when a hand suddenly palms the curve of my hip, trapping me in this bed. I’m spooning a stranger. Technically, a stranger is spooning me. A handsome stranger as I recall, one I willingly had sex with last night, but a stranger nonetheless.

  Drew.

  He said his name was Drew.

  I can feel his bare legs curving into the back of my knees, and his hard as hell washboard abs pressing against my back. But it’s his rock hard— “Jesus,” I hiss when my phone buzzes on the nightstand, startling me. It’s the buzzing phone that steals my attention from his long, thick member pressed against my bottom. I reach for the phone carefully, pulling away from all the body parts this man has pressed against me. The phone continues to buzz as I strain for it, and my heart rate kicks into high gear when Drew shifts behind me, pulling me even tighter to him.

  Please don’t wake up. Please don’t wake up…

  My fingers nudge the phone to the edge of the nightstand where I can finally get my full hand around it and pull it to me. Pressing my thumb against the home button, I launch the phone to life and instantly notice the crazy amount of text messages I’ve missed, all of them—except for one—from Jamie. My best friend and co-worker who got me into the shenanigans that led me here…in Drew’s bed, at a swanky Midtown Manhattan hotel. I should be home in my shitty Brooklyn apartment.

  1:07am: Jamie – Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…which means DO IT. He’s hot and I’m 99% sure he’s not a serial killer.

  1:15am: Jamie – Use protection though. I’m not worried that he’s going to kill you, but I am worried he might give you herpes…or a kid.

  1:23am: Jamie – I also want details tomorrow. Specific. Details. Comprende?

  5:30am: Jamie – You didn’t text me that you made it home. Are you alive?

  5:31am: Jamie – Gracie. Answer me.

  5:32 am: Jamie – Oh, god. He killed you.

  5:33am: Jamie – There better be a good reason you’re not answering me. Are you having morning sex?

  5:35am: Jamie – Gracie. This is bad, isn’t it? TEXT ME BACK.

  6:23am: Jamie – Shit. Marisol just called. Urgent work meeting at 8:30. Text me ASAP.

  7:01am: Mom – Happy birthday to my best girl. I hope you had a wonderful night with Jamie. I’m so thankful you have such a great friend. I miss you and love you dearly.

  I glance at the clock, 7:03am. Guilt continues to roll through me thinking of my mom texting me birthday wishes while I lie with a naked, albeit hot-as-fuck stranger wrapped around me. Happy birthday to me. I pinch my eyes closed, trying to remember last night’s events in specific detail. One drink. Then two. Then a shot. Then another drink. Laughing, a whole ton of flirting, and then sex. A lot of sex.

  I type out a quick text to Jamie: I’m alive. Just woke up. I’ll be at the office in 45 minutes.

  Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, I do my best to wiggle out of Drew’s grasp. His breathing is heavy, telling me he’s sound asleep, and I’m thankful for that. My toes dig into the plush carpet as I gently slide out of the bed and hustle across the room to the bathroom, picking up my undergarments and purse as I go. Quietly sliding the large pocket door closed, I make quick work of my hair, wrapping the long, dark tresses into a bun on top of my head. I step into the shower and take the fastest one I’ve ever taken in hopes I can wash away any hints of sweat, sex, cologne, and booze still lingering on me.

  Patting myself dry, I wrap a large towel around myself and spot Drew’s toothbrush and toothpaste on the counter. My hands shake as I hesitate for half a second before squeezing a generous string of toothpaste onto the bristles and scrub my teeth clean. This is a new low for me, using the toothbrush of my one-night stand.

  Silently, I praise myself for keeping some make-up samples in my oversized purse. Brushing my cheeks with blush and my eyelashes with a heavy coat of mascara, I finish with a quick dab of red lipstick and give myself an approving smile in the mirror. I can’t believe I’ve almost pulled off a look that doesn’t give the appearance that I just crawled out of a stranger’s hotel bed in Manhattan.

  Sliding into my panties and fastening my bra, I leave the towel in a pile on the bathroom floor. I wiggle into the same black pencil skirt I wore yesterday and glance at the red silk blouse sitting wrinkled on the floor, a reminder of last night’s adventures. I can’t help but sigh. How the hell am I going to pull off wearing the exact same outfit I wore to the office yesterday? Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a crisp white dress shirt hanging on the back of the bathroom door still in the thin plastic bag, which tells me it was recently laundered and pressed.

  I rip the bag from the shirt and wince at the noise the plastic makes. Sliding the starched fabric off the hanger, I pull it over my arms and button the oversized shirt, tucking the long length into my black skirt. I roll the sleeves carefully and decide to leave the top three buttons undone, giving the appearance the shirt is supposed to be wide-collared and feminine. I smile at myself in the mirror, not believing I was able to pull this off.

  Sliding the bathroom door open, I pause, taking in the sight of Drew, last name unknown, sleeping peacefully with a white sheet twisted around his waist. His tan skin and dark hair are a stark contrast to the white sheet, comforter, and pillows he’s encased in. My heart race
s and I’m relieved he’s still sleeping. I’ve never had a one-night stand before, and I’m not prepared to have an awkward morning-after conversation. What do people say anyway? Thanks for last night? See ya around? No thanks. This morning will just be me high-tailing my embarrassed ass out of this hotel room, thankful I’ll never have to see him again.

  I tiptoe quietly across the room to the door, twisting the handle slowly to avoid any sounds or chance of waking the hunk of a man in the bed. Swallowing back my regret, I remember our deal: “One night, no strings attached.” I remember that sexy smirk of his when I said that. With one last glance over my shoulder, I take in the sight of the sexiest mistake I’ve ever made.

  Two

  It’s just after eight in the morning when I slide into my office chair and power up my computer. I kick off my black heels and open my desk drawer, pulling out a pair of nude heels, and slip into those. I’ve never been more grateful that I always keep spare accessories and shoes at work for last-minute client meetings or after-work drinks. It’s amazing what a change of jewelry and shoes can do to change up an outfit.

  It’s hard not to notice Jamie coming down the hall, with her oversized Louis Vuitton bag hanging from her shoulder while she balances a cup of coffee in each hand, a giant smirk on her face.

  I ignore her and punch my password into my computer, launching the home screen. I know Jamie is about to grill me on the details of last night, and I groan inwardly, just wanting to forget last evening’s indiscretion. I click on the envelope icon and my email springs to life, filling my inbox with unread emails. A cardboard cup suddenly appears in front of my face just as Jamie drops her designer bag to the floor and slides her butt across my desk, crossing her legs. She rolls her perfectly manicured fingernails on my desk but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. Her face says it all. It screams, “Tell me every last detail and don’t leave anything out.”

  I pretend to ignore her and the dangling cup of coffee, but there is no ignoring Jamie McQuiston. She’s over the top, in your face, and a presence that takes up all of a room. She’s personable, beautiful, a force that cannot be ignored. Plus, that coffee smells delicious.

  I swivel in my desk chair and sit back, my shoulders slouching. She pushes the cup of coffee toward me and I take it.

  “Details. All of them. The Cliff Notes version. We have to be in the conference room in twenty minutes.” She looks at the watch on her wrist, that I guarantee cost more than my entire college education, before scanning the nearby desks around us. Our nosy co-workers would get off on the gossip of last night’s escapades, especially because it is one-hundred percent not like me to do what I did. I don’t do casual. I don’t do one-night stands with strangers in hotel rooms, or even shitty New York apartments. I do relationships. At least, that was what I did until last night. She whispers, “Tell me everything.”

  Blushing, I take a sip of my coffee, cradling the cup in both hands before I look up at her. What do I tell her, the truth? He rocked my world. He was kind and considerate and the ultimate gentleman. A man I could see myself falling in love with. I swallow down the emotion I feel rising from the pit of my belly, and I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. “He was nice.”

  “Nice?” she whisper-yells.

  I shrug. “Yes. Nice. He was a gentleman.”

  She rolls her eyes and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t want nice. I want wild. I want raucous. Did he twist his fists in your hair and spank you—”

  “Jamie!” I look around the office to see if anyone is listening and hold up a hand to stop her right there.

  “Tell me you at least—”

  “Yes,” I shush her. “We did. It was great—”

  “And much needed. You look like a new woman.” She rawrs at me and giggles.

  I roll my eyes at her. “Yes, it was needed; he fulfilled a need.” He actually broke an eighteen-month dry spell, thank the good Lord. “He scratched an itch, and I’ll never see him again. Thank God,” I mumble under my breath, not sure if it’s relief or guilt I’m feeling.

  Jamie smiles widely. “Was it worth it? I mean, I know you were hesitant…”

  Was it? I’ve asked myself the same question over and over this morning.

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly, turning back to my keyboard. Part of me is proud I let go of my inhibitions, and another part of me is ashamed I was so careless to go home with a stranger.

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Gracie,” Jamie says, sliding off my desk. She knows exactly where my mind is. “You deserve to let loose and have a little fun.” She picks up her purse and takes a drink of her coffee. “You’re the most serious person I know—”

  “Because I have to be,” I interject, reminding her of my reality.

  She smiles compassionately, my pathetic life a total conversation downer. “I know. But it’s also okay to have some fun once in a while. You’re the best person I know, and if enjoying a romp in the sheets with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen is the worst thing you do, consider yourself Mother Teresa.”

  I close my eyes and choke down the sudden lump growing in my throat. Guilt hits me like a brick wall and shame fills me. For one night, it was nice to forget my money problems or the fact that I can’t get a guy to even go on a date with me. Every man wants something I’ll never be: pussy he can hit when it’s convenient for him, a cover model, or a wealthy Hampton’s girl like Jamie that they can marry and proudly display as arm candy. None of those are me.

  I nod my head, unable to speak.

  Jamie pauses, seeing my mood shift. “Don’t beat yourself up,” she nudges me with her shoulder, “but fix your hair. That bun isn’t working.” She winks at me, trying to lighten the suddenly somber mood before she saunters away, giving me time to collect my thoughts.

  * * *

  “You clean up good, kid,” Jamie says, sliding into the chair next to me. I'm sitting along the long side of the giant conference room table, and I have my notebook, pen, and coffee placed right in front of me. Everything perfectly in its place. It’s how I operate. I’m timely, efficient, and the most Type A person you’ll find east of the Mississippi. Everything has a place and a purpose. Routine is what keeps me sane. I run my hands over my dark hair, which I untangled from its bun fifteen minutes ago in the bathroom. It now hangs in long, perfect waves just past my shoulders. I also touched up my makeup and suddenly felt more put together.

  “Thanks.” I roll my eyes at her and she lets out a little laugh.

  She hands me a small box and I look at her funny. “You didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, did you, bestie?” I thought that that was what we were celebrating last night, but obviously, that wasn’t enough. A couple of other co-workers filter into the room, and having overheard Jamie, offer up their own birthday wishes, so I thank them. I open the box to find a pair of gold filigree hoop earrings and a matching bracelet. Classic and beautiful.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, choking back another growing lump in my throat. I can’t remember the last time I got a birthday gift. The best my mom could do for me was a homemade vanilla cake, and that stopped when I turned ten. “It’s beautiful.”

  Jamie reaches over and squeezes my hand when she sees me get emotional.

  A man clears his throat behind me, and suddenly, the room falls silent. Jamie’s eyes grow wide like she’s seen a ghost, and she turns away from me, folding her hands in her lap. Just as I’m about to turn around, a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

  “What do we have here?” A hand reaches over my shoulder and picks up the box. I’d recognize those long, perfectly manicured masculine fingers anywhere—because they’ve been everywhere—on me, in me, holding me.

  Drew.

  My heartrate spikes and I can feel my entire face burn with embarrassment, or maybe lust, or perhaps a combination of both. Whatever it is, I can feel that burn crawl from my face to my chest, and suddenly, my lungs constrict. What in the hell is he doing here?

  He�
��s bent over my shoulder, holding the box Jamie gave me, his hot breath hitting my ear as he whispers, “Nice shirt.”

  I sit up taller as I remember that I’m wearing the shirt I stole from his bathroom this morning. “It’s Gracie’s birthday,” Jeff from accounting says from across the table as Drew stands back up, the box still in his hand.

  “Gracie.” Drew says my name like it’s the first time he’s ever heard it.

  “Grace.” Slowly, I turn in my chair to face him. “You can call me Grace. Only my friends call me Gracie.” I do my best to still my voice and calm my racing heart. What in the actual hell is he doing here?

  Our eyes meet. His smoldering blue to my green hazel. Eyes I spent all of last night peering into. Eyes that have seen every part of me. I shake the thought away and notice the vein in his neck pulse before he swallows and his head tilts ever so slightly. His eyes narrow and his lips tighten in what looks like a mischievous smile that he’s trying to hold back. I’m thankful I’m sitting down, because my entire body is shaking from the intensity of his smoldering stare.

  “Grace,” he corrects, reaching out to shake my hand as if he’s meeting me for the first time. Clearly, a show for the audience in the room. “Happy birthday.” He holds out the box and I take it back from him as I spin around in my chair, away from him, and face the conference room table. My stomach churns violently. I want to barf. I chance a glance at Jamie, who meets my gaze and shrugs at the unasked question she sees in my eyes. What is Drew doing here?