Can Emma fall for Mr. Unexpected when she doesn’t believe in Mr. Right or even Mr. Right Now…? Primary school teacher Emma Cupido compares the notion of “The One,” with believing in the Tooth Fairy. When the school holidays starts, she heads for her brother-in-law`s beach house in Strand, South Africa and stumbles on more than she bargained for. Hollywood heartthrob, Damian Davidson flees LA thinking his beach house in SA would be a safe hideout from his sex scandal. He’s had his fill of manipulative women and when he mistakes Emma for a crazy fan, all hell breaks loose. Emma and Damian get off to a rocky start but first impressions can be deceiving. Is there more to Damian than the superficial taint of Hollywood? And what happens when she agrees to a trip to LA? Will Emma become a believer in “The One” or just another Hollywood scandal?
She didn’t put her clothes back on, only lumped them together, shoes and all, and hurried back into the house via the still-open patio. Emma released a loud, earsplitting scream.
Before her stood a half-naked man, dressed only in a white towel.
As this knowledge registered, so did the fact she wore little else but her underwear. Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, and she still hadn’t stopped screaming.
“Would you stop that!” the half-naked stranger yelled in a deep baritone, causing her to clip her mouth shut.
“Who are you? What are you doing here? I’m calling the police!”
He didn’t flinch; instead, he turned his back on her and walked to the small side table next to a big white-and-blue sofa.
Before his huge frame obscured her vision, she made out a black cordless phone. Her chest heaved while she mutely watched him pick up the phone.
This must be an aberration brought on by the effects of frolicking in the ocean; there was no way she was having a confrontation with a half-naked man, in her sister’s house, on the first day of her stress-free beach holiday.
Her brain hiccupped at her illogical conclusion. Nope, what’s happening is, in fact, real.
“I’m sick and tired of this,” he said into the phone and gave her a glare over his shoulder. “If it’s not underwear in the mail, naked photos on my windshield, it’s an intruder running around naked in my home.” His fiery eyes burned holes into her.
“What?” she blurted. She clutched her dry clothes in front of herself. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”