An Accidental Love Affair Read online

  Table of Contents

  AN ACCIDENTAL LOVE AFFAIR

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Epilogue

  AN ACCIDENTAL LOVE AFFAIR

  DAVIDA ANN SAMENSKI

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  AN ACCIDENTAL LOVE AFFAIR

  Copyright©2018

  DAVIDA ANN SAMENSKI

  Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-68291-794-7

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is dedicated to all the writers,

  both published and unpublished,

  whose love for words, opens up unknown possibilities

  to the readers of this world.

  You shine light into the darkness

  and make the world just a little bit brighter

  for however long your stories last.

  I am honored to be welcomed into your ranks.

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not have been possible without the love and support of my family and friends, who’ve been on this journey with me from the very beginning.

  I want to thank my critique partner, Heidi Skinner, who always has an encouraging word for me, even when she doesn’t like the story.

  To my best friend, Dottie, who proves it’s okay to be crazy sometimes. You will always be my favorite psycho witch from hell.

  To my co-worker and fellow writer, Betsy, who laughs at all my jokes and gets me on a level few will ever understand.

  To my mom and dad, thank you for teaching me to be a tough, independent woman. You made me the person (good and bad) I am today.

  To my children—Samantha, Billy, and Nicholas, you are the reason I still wake up in the morning. And to Jocelyne, Raymond, and Ryan in Heaven, I miss you all more than words can say.

  To the ladies at Heart of Carolina, thank you for giving me the courage to not give up on this crazy thing we all love to do.

  To my editor, Debby, for taking a chance on me. Thank you so much for this opportunity.

  Last but not least, to my husband, Ray, who has encouraged me from the first day you knew I could write, to pursue this dream of mine. You inspire me to be the best writer, person, and wife I can be and you let me bounce ideas off your head, even when they don’t make any sense to you. You also provide me with great writing material. There’s a piece of me and you in every story I write. I love you Mr. Twitch, Forever and a Day.

  Chapter 1

  She could see her tombstone now: Here lies Nicole Elizabeth DeLancey—Procrastination was her downfall.

  She knew there were things she needed to do; important things. But no matter how much time she had to plan or organize, she always waited until the last minute to get things done, landing her in a worse predicament than when she began.

  Here she stood in the middle of JFK International, lost, with the announcement that her flight to Heathrow was boarding blasting over the intercom. Where the hell was gate 36-B? She shook her head in despair, turning in a circle.

  This is what you get, she thought. Once again, your ‘I’ll do it later’ attitude is causing you trouble. If you don’t make this flight, you can kiss your writing career goodbye. Dad’s not going to give you any more chances to follow your dreams. Not on his dime.

  Nicole didn’t want to do anything with her life but write romance novels. She wanted to write love stories so intense and beautiful they would rank up there with the best of them. A knock-down, drag-out war on the senses, capturing the reader’s attention so deeply, her fans would think of her characters long after the book was finished, living in their minds the way Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, Jamie and Claire, and Scarlett and Rhett all did. Yes, this was her dream. It was quickly becoming a nightmare.

  The second announcement rang over the intercom, causing a swarm of butterflies to flutter their wings in her stomach. Butterflies, hell, it was more like a herd of stampeding buffalo. Her pulse started pounding hard as sweat was breaking out across her forehead. Was she ever going to find the damn gate?

  The powers that be were listening, parting the crowd and allowing her to spy the sign that would lead her to her destination. Hmmm, she thought, not too far to go.

  Hefting her laptop case to her shoulder, she sprinted down the hall, relieved to see other passengers still filing through at check-in. She wasn’t late at all, and from the sounds of the ruckus behind her, she knew she wouldn’t be the last passenger in line.

  “Hold the plane,” someone yelled, as if the airline attendant could hear him over the noise level, which had suddenly increased one thousand percent. It sounded like a swarm of killer bees were heading straight for her.

  Do not look, Nicole, she warned herself. You’re on a mission here. What’s happening behind you is not your concern.

  Click, click, click. The constant buzz of camera lenses shuttering and refocusing was getting closer, not to mention the hard pounding of someone’s feet running down the corridor. They were coming up on her fast with bright lights flashing, bouncing off the walls in her peripheral vision.

  “What the hell?” She stopped dead in her tracks, beginning to turn, but she didn’t make it half a rotation.

  “Oi, watch out!” the man swore, barreling into her.

  Nicole and her assailant collided, stumbling over each other as the speed of his flight carried them a good five feet before her ankle twisted. They went down, her face slamming into the floor and the laptop case banging her in the back of the head.

  “Bloody hell! Are you all right?” the man asked, his accent thick with British crispness.

  She lay on the floor, practically French kissing the tile while trying to catch her breath.

  It serves you right, her subconscious nagged. You should have gotten here sooner to avoid things like this.

  “Oh, shut up,” she mumbled
under her breath.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she replied, her voice muffled and low as she spoke from under her arms. “Just give me a moment.” Her nose felt like it was a scrunched-up accordion.

  “I’m in a bit of a hurry. At least let me assist you to your feet.” He shoved his hand in her face.

  She ignored the offering, shaking her head. “I can do it.” Just give me about five million years.

  “If you’re certain . . .” he asked in a ‘I really need to go, but I’ll look like an ass if I don’t help you’ kind of way.

  “I’m positive.” She waved him off, her face still hidden beneath her arm. “Go. There’s no point in both of us missing the flight.”

  “All right then,” he replied, still sounding hesitant to leave her behind.

  She was sprawled across the tiles, listening to the sound of his footfalls fading away.

  Giving up was looking pretty good to her now. She’d just stay here to allow the stampeding herd to crush her bones to ash.

  Boo-hoo, Nicole, she snapped at herself. Get up! Catch the damn plane if you still can.

  She raised her head, and intense pain sliced across her eyeballs, centering in the middle of her forehead. She glimpsed a tall man handing his boarding pass to the attendant. A worried frown was on his face as he glanced back in her direction. Was that her assailant?

  Shifting the laptop case around to her shoulder, and with her head still swimming, she rose to her knees. Bending her left leg, she pushed upward until both feet were planted firmly beneath her.

  “Take a deep breath, open your eyes, put one foot in front of the other. Put one foot in front of the other. One foot . . .”On and on she chanted as she hobbled the last few feet to the gate.

  Please don’t close the door, she thought. You still have a passenger to board.

  She didn’t concern herself with the camera phones capturing her image or the fascinated crowd watching her hobble her way to the gate. She focused on making that flight.

  Here was Gate 36-B at last. The attendant was smiling at her.

  “Congratulate me,” she said with a sigh, handing over her boarding pass. “The tortoise has finished the race.”

  “I’m sorry?” the girl replied, clearly confused.

  Nicole waved her hand. “Please tell me you’re still allowing passengers to board.”

  “We’re just waiting for you, Miss, uh . . .” She examined the ticket, “DeLancey. We saw the incident.”

  Nicole cringed. “Did it look as bad as it felt?”

  The attendant chuckled. “Worse. Luckily, the gentleman who ran you down was adamant we hold the plane for you. He was considering going back to help when we assured him we wouldn’t leave without you.”

  This was surprising news. “That was nice of him.”

  The girl leaned close. “He was trying to avoid his adoring public when he ran into you.”

  Nicole frowned, wincing. “He has an adoring public?”

  “Yes, the gentleman is a very popular actor.” Her voice was breathy.

  “Did he get away unscathed?”

  “He did, but I wouldn’t be surprised if by morning your face is plastered across the front page of every tabloid known to man. It seems everyone was recording it.”

  Nicole shut her eyes tight as the pain in her head escalated. “Great! Hello bad luck; my name is Nicole,” she mumbled.

  The girl chuckled, handing back the boarding pass. “Just relax and enjoy the flight, Miss DeLancey.”

  “Thank you. I’ll try.” She limped down the track as fast as her injured ankle could carry her, hoping none of the passengers were upset over the delay. That’s just what she needed—a seven-hour flight over the Atlantic with a planeload of disgruntled cabin mates.

  “Hi,” she said to the waiting flight attendant. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  “You’re fine,” the pretty brunette said. “Do you need help finding your seat?”

  “No, I’ve got it. Thank you.” 25-A. She glanced down the aisle. Three rows to go before she could finally sit down.

  “Excuse me, Miss DeLancey?” the girl called.

  Nicole stopped, slowly pivoting. Her ankle was throbbing, and her head was pounding. She was going to cry any minute, but she plastered on the best smile she could manage. “Yes?”

  “Could you come with me, please?” The attendant gestured for her to follow.

  “Why? Have I done something wrong?” Were they going to refuse her passage? She glared up at the ceiling while hopeless tears were building in her eyes.

  The girl smiled. “Right this way.”

  Nicole slowly followed, relieved when they passed the hatch and kept going. Where was the girl taking her?

  They were now entering the first-class area, heading toward the cockpit. Was the pilot going to reprimand her for the delay? That wasn’t fair. She wasn’t the only one at fault.

  “Here you are,” the girl said as she turned to her with a smile, indicating the empty seat.

  Nicole frowned. “What is this? I don’t understand.”

  The attendant continued to smile. “Have a seat, Miss DeLancey. The pilot wishes to prepare for take-off. I promise to explain everything in a few minutes.”

  Nicole sat down, the comfort of the seat making her feel loads better already. She leaned her head against the back of the seat, closing her eyes and sighing in contentment. The next thing she knew, the seatbelt sign was dinging. They were already in the sky.

  “You look like you could use these.”

  Nicole opened her eyes to find two large hands in front of her face. One held a glass of water while the other held two Tylenol. Her eyes traced from the hands, up the arms to the torso, and then past the neck and shoulders to the face with its blond hair, blue eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and serious cleft in the chin. She stared, long and hard, blinked, and then continued to stare.

  Had her jaw dropped? It felt that way. She reached under her chin to be certain. No, her mouth was closed. It must be her imagination. There was no way . . .

  “Hello,” the man said as he flashed his one-sided smile. “I’m . . .”

  “I know who you are. You’re Reece Collins.” She winced at the excited, fan-girl tone of her voice. She was making herself look like a groupie.

  “Yes, I know, but . . .” With a sheepish expression, he glanced away then back again. “I’m the one who knocked you down.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That figures.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Nicole shook her head, groaning when the pounding in her brain began again. “It’s my bad luck.”

  “Oh.” He was still holding out the water and pills. “I acquired these for you. You must have a monster of a headache about now.”

  She snorted, “You have no idea,” she said, reaching for the offering.

  He sat down on the seat across the aisle. “I truly am sorry about that.” He cocked his head to the side. “At times my job can be a whopping pain in the . . .”

  “Head?” she inserted, a snarky grin touching the corners of her mouth.

  He chuckled. “Yeah,” he said, leaning over and studying her face. “You’re going to have one hell of a black eye.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. I feel like I just lost a boxing match.” She peered up at him with a rueful expression. “So, is this the way you sweep all the girls off their feet, or am I just special?”

  He smiled, sliding sideways in the seat, his head resting on the armrest and his feet dangling in the aisle, swinging back and forth. “I didn’t catch your name as we were falling all over each other.”

  “It’s Nicole . . . Nicole DeLancey.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “Should you be do
ing that?”

  He leaned up on his elbow. “Doing what?”

  “Sitting in the seat like that. What if someone wants to get by you?”

  He snorted. “They can use the other aisle.” He glanced around. “I don’t think we’ll have much of a problem with crowding.”

  She peeked from beneath her lashes. The section was empty except for them and a few other passengers. “Did you have something to do with it?”

  He considered the question. “Not so much. The studio may have bought one or two extra seats to grant me a bit of peace and relaxation, but not an entire section. They like me, but not that much.”

  “Must be nice,” she mumbled, reaching down to pull her laptop case onto her lap. “They could’ve rented a private jet for you, saving themselves a ton of money.”

  He grinned. “If I were on a private jet, I never would’ve met you.”

  “Lucky me,” she replied with a snarky tone.

  He chose to ignore her sarcasm. “So, Nicole, what takes you to England?”

  She pulled down the tray, setting her computer atop it. “I’m going for research purposes.”

  He tilted his head. “What type of research?”

  She pursed her lips; her defensive walls were rising. She hated when people asked about her chosen profession. Most folks looked down on it. Her own family felt she was wasting her time.

  He nudged her armrest with his foot. “Nicole?”

  “I’m writing a book,” she blurted, waiting for him to react the way most people did—with scorn.

  He leaned up on his elbows. “Truly? That’s wicked cool.”

  He looked genuine, even sincere, but she was doubtful of his reaction. “Are you serious?”

  He frowned. “Of course I’m serious. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  She scratched her head. “Most of the people I’ve met don’t think it’s a lucrative profession.”