ELEMENTAL LOVE
A SINGLE DAD SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE
BY
SCARLET WILDER
COPYRIGHT 2018
SCARLET WILDER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
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Start
Cover
Title
Copyright 2018
Table of Contents
Important Notice
Warning
Note From The Author
Bonus Read
Description
Chapter 1: Rachel
Chapter 2: Alex
Chapter 3: Rachel
Chapter 4: Alex
Chapter 5: Rachel
Chapter 6: Alex
Chapter 7: Rachel
Chapter 8: Alex
Chapter 9: Rachel
Chapter 10: Alex
Chapter 11: Rachel
Chapter 12: Alex
Chapter 13: Rachel
Chapter 14: Alex
Chapter 15: Rachel
Chapter 16: Alex
Chapter 17: Rachel
Chapter 18: Alex
Chapter 19: Rachel
Chapter 20: Alex
Chapter 21: Rachel
Chapter 22: Alex
Chapter 23: Rachel
Chapter 24: Alex
Chapter 25: Rachel
Chapter 26: Alex
Chapter 27: Rachel
Chapter 28: Alex
Chapter 29: Rachel
Chapter 30: Alex
Chapter 31: Noah
Stay In The Know
Other Releases
About The Author
Connect & Get Social With Me
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WARNING
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“Elemental Love: A Single Dad Second Chance Romance” is a steamy romance novel with language and scenes that are for mature readers only.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
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This book is a work of fiction.
This fictional work does not claim to be an accurate account of
names, places, geography, times and events.
This work of fiction was created in the imagination of this author.
I invented the story and made up the characters, the plot or storyline, the dialogue and, when needed, the setting and other details so support the storyline.
BONUS READ
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DESCRIPTION
Elemental Love: A Single Dad Second Chance Romance
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Rachel
I’ve always had a thing for Thomas Maitland, if only from afar.
Call it a schoolgirl crush, an infatuation, it doesn’t matter.
I wanted him and him alone. Wanted him to be the one to give me my first real kiss.
But it was his brother, Alexander that kissed me that night only days before I left for college, shattering my dream.
Arrogant, egotistical and obnoxious. I loathed the man.
But how is it that my head told me I despised him, while my body was telling me a whole other story?
Ten years later, and I’m back home, living on the estate Alexander inherited.
He’s still the same arrogant pig he always was, and now he wants me to work for him.
How can I be in such close proximity to someone so infuriatingly arrogant, but who, for some reason, fills me with the strongest desire that I’ve ever known?
Alexander
Well, well, well. It seems the ugly duckling has turned into the beautiful swan.
Now that Rachel Evans is back, it’s not just my head that’s been turned, but Thomas’s too.
I can’t have him lusting after an employee’s daughter, though. It’s not good for business and not good for him, either.
So, to keep her out of the way, I’ve put her to work for one of my new companies.
Since my wife’s death, I haven’t had room in my heart for another woman and I’m sure as hell not about to fall in love with Rachel, no matter how beautiful she is.
That kiss ten years ago was a dumb mistake, and I only did it to shut her up.
But the longer I work with her, the more I like it.
She’s sassy, feisty, and has a body to die for.
My little boy, Noah, seems to love her and I get the feeling he wants the two of us to get together.
But how can I allow myself to take a chance when I can’t bring myself to love again?
Chapter 1
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RACHEL
As a child, nothing beat the glorious feeling of waking up to the first day of summer vacation, usually a Monday, and knowing that you didn’t have to get up and get ready for school. Summer was full of possibilities, of exciting adventures to come. September was as far away as Mars and it was so exciting, you didn’t know what to do first.
When you’re eighteen, though, waking up on the first day of summer has a different kind of feeling. It feels a little like waking up to the beginning of not just the summer, but the rest of your life. And it’s a bit more terrifying than exciting.
But, exams were long forgotten, graduation was done and dusted, and that was reason enough to celebrate. I now had eight weeks before having to go off to college, and I planned to spend an embarrassing amount of that time doing little more than lazing around the beachfront, stretched out on a sun-lounger while chatting with my friends and sipping mocktails with unintelligible names. That wasn’t difficult, of course; in Bridgehampton, you’re never far from a sandy beach.
What I didn’t know, though, was that Dad had other ideas about how I was going to spend my summer.
As I sat up and reached fo
r my cell phone to check whether anyone else was awake, there was a soft knock at the door. Dad came in carrying a tray and from the smell of cinnamon and freshly toasted bread that tickled my nose, I knew that breakfast was about to be served.
I smiled. “You’re never one to break tradition, Pops,” I said as I quickly propped the pillows up behind me before taking the tray from him. As always, he’d brought up a bowl of cornflakes, a plate of cinnamon toast cut into triangles and a little jug of fresh milk.
Steam was billowing from the sprout of a small floral-inlaid porcelain teapot and I was careful not to spill the hot liquid as I poured myself a cup. “Are you joining me?”
“No, I’ve got to go into town to get a package from the Post Office,” he said. “I should have left twenty minutes ago, but tradition’s tradition, after all.”
He grinned and winked at me as I added a splash of milk to my tea before taking a quick sip. “I could get used to this,” I said.
Wagging a finger at me, he pretended to be serious for a moment. “Now-now, you know the rules, young lady,” he said. “I’ve got plenty of work lined up for you this summer.”
I groaned. “Dad, I thought I might get the summer off this time seeing as I’ve just completed twelve years of compulsory education!”
“Well, there’s little you can learn from doing nothing, my dear. So, the sooner you start the sooner you’ll have some time off.”
I knew better than to argue. “What’s the first job?”
“Oh, don’t look so glum. It’s actually something you might enjoy doing,” Dad said. “Connie Maitland is coming to stay this weekend for the fair, and the house had requested some flowers to be put in her room. I figured you might like to put some bouquets together. You know what she likes.”
This made me smile. I’d always loved the oldest member of the Maitland household and was pleased to know that, even in her nineties, she was still going strong and was coming over to stay. My mind was already filled with images of yellow daffodils, heavenly pink gerberas and maybe some lavender stocks to complete a feminine arrangement. I sipped some more of my tea and munched on a piece of toast as I dreamily gazed off into the distance.
Dad laughed. “Well, I can see that you’ve got this well in hand. I’ll see you in a little while.”
“Sure,” I replied. “And thanks for breakfast.”
He grinned and blew me a kiss before he closed my bedroom door behind him as he left.
Every year, Dad and I followed the same tradition. On the first day of summer holiday, he’d always bring me breakfast in bed. When I was younger, it was Lucky Charms or Cap’n Crunch with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. As I got older, he started bringing me tea instead and I found that I loved it.
Then, once a year, I would return the favor, on his birthday. Only he liked fried eggs, crispy bacon and a little oatmeal with warm milk.
Once breakfast was over, though, I was never allowed to lounge around. Dad was a firm believer in the-devil-making-work-for-idle-hands and ever since I was old enough to hold a broomstick or pull a weed from between paving stones, I’d helped him around the grounds of the large manor. And I’d loved every second of it; I’d followed my father around like a shadow, learning the secrets of running an estate.
As much as I’d have loved to sleep in that morning, pushing the empty tray to one side and snuggling back down under the sheets again, I knew I had to get up.
So, I took a quick shower that left me fresh and awake. I dressed in a pair of jeans, boots and a vest over which I pulled a light cotton shirt.
In the kitchen, I opened a large drawer filled with an array of mixed tools and took out a pair of pruning shears, tucking them into my back pocket.
One of the things I’ve always loved about living on the estate has been the gardens. The Maitlands have long been the owners of the most beautiful grounds imaginable, from long, stretching lawns to wild jungles of exotic plants and everything in between.
Since I was little, I could tell exactly when spring had arrived just as the first crocuses and daffodils sprung up, seemingly overnight. I knew when fall was on its way, as white apple blossoms would fall and cover the lawns like a flowery blanket, which I would then pick up, one by one, following my father around as he pulled them into piles with a large rake.
Dad was right; giving me the job of putting a bouquet together for Connie was the perfect way to welcome me to my summer vacation. I walked along the stone path to the right of the front lawn, careful, as always, not to draw any attention to myself.
One of the first things Dad taught me was that while we may have lived at the Maitland Estate, we were, first and foremost, employees. The apartment above the stables was the only home I’d ever known and yet we couldn’t ever really call it our home. We didn’t own a single inch of it and, although we didn’t pay rent, we weren’t guests, either.
Whenever I explained our living arrangement to people, they found it strange that even though there were three pools where I lived, I never swam in any of them. The big house had nine bathrooms, but I never used any of them, and twenty bedrooms, but I never slept in a single one. Whenever I was in the house, I slipped around as silently as a mouse, as I’d been taught.
I knew that when I was a baby, I’d had another home. A little place in the middle of town, where I’d slept in a crib beside my parents’ bed but, of course, I don’t remember it at all. I was only eleven months old when we left that house. Dad used to tell me the story of how he’d packed up everything we owned, loaded it into the back of a hired car and driven over to the Maitland estate where we’d began our new life.
Being so small at the time not only meant that I didn’t remember moving house but, thankfully, I also had no recollection of the freezing cold day in March, three weeks earlier, when a truck skidded on the icy road and plowed into our car. It meant that I had no recollection of sitting upside down in a ditch for nearly an hour before I was finally cut free or being in the ambulance as they drove me to the nearest hospital. They drove my mom in a different ambulance, but I was the only one alive as both vehicles pulled up in front of the ER that day.
Dad never liked to talk about what happened, and I’d had to learn about it from my aunt Jackie, my mom’s sister, and as an only child myself, I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose a sister. I’d been so young when she’d died, I’d never known what it was like to grow up having a mother, either. Somehow, though, Dad had managed to suppress a lot of his pain when he was with me, and I couldn’t have asked for a better childhood, even if there were times I was lonely.
But now, childhood was officially over, and I had to admit that I was a little scared. I was excited about the thought of going to college but at the same time, moving away from home and leaving Dad and having to start a new life… it was all a little bit overwhelming and terrifying. I thought about how I wouldn’t wake up every morning to the sound of Martin, the stable master, coming to feed the horses. I wouldn’t be able to sit at my window and gaze out over the acres of fields anymore. I wouldn’t see any of the Maitlands any longer, either.
Not that they ever noticed me, of course, unless it was to fetch them something when I was around helping out at the stables; maybe to fetch a different riding crop or to take a mud-splattered saddle to be cleaned when they came back from a game of polo. But, that was about it. We never really interacted much. I think they knew my name. More than likely, though, I was simply “Dennis’s daughter.”
Even so, I knew the family well; mostly because of what my father had told me.
He was one of their most trusted employees and was well liked by the entire family. He wouldn’t have lasted so long on the estate as manager if they didn’t. And I knew that he loved the Maitlands, too, and appreciated how they’d been there for him after Mom died. He’d been working as a stable hand for the family since he was seventeen and had slowly learned more and more about the place. Once he was widowed at thirty, with a baby in tow, an invi
tation to come and live on-site came at exactly the right time.
His salary package was a drop in the ocean for a man like Beau Maitland, but it was certainly a generous one for someone like my father, who’d grown up relatively poor on the streets of Providence. He’d surely made his family very proud indeed by working on one of the largest estates in the Hamptons. A love of horses had driven him to start where all stable hands start - cleaning stalls.
Now, he was in charge of one of the most beautiful manors on Long Island, overseeing more than a hundred members of staff, all working for the Maitland family.
I was actually going to miss some of them, I thought, as I slowly walked around the garden and carefully snipped the long stems of flowers with the pruning shears as I went. The oldest member, Connie Maitland, was the original owner of the estate. Now long since widowed, she lived in a home for the elderly on the other side of Long Island, but was still sharp as a tack and visited whenever she could. She was the reason I was so carefully choosing and cutting the flowers. I wanted her whole room to be filled with the sweet scents of summer.
Her son, Beau, was a surprise baby who came late in her life. According to my father, Connie was told that she’d never have children. Then, at forty-five, and to everyone’s amazement, she fell pregnant with Beau.
Following his father’s death, the estate was passed to him, as much as he wanted his mother to stay, she insisted on leaving, giving him space to raise his own family. Soon after he married Anthea and brought her to live here, their firstborn son arrived, Alexander.
I’d never liked Alex. Aloof and self-centered, he’d been born to inherit the place, and I was pretty sure he’d known it the second he was placed into his mother’s arms. Now, at twenty-four, he was already home from college and I sure had no desire to bump into him.
And then, there was Thomas. Thomas Maitland.
I sighed as I snipped a peony and held it up to my nose, inhaling deeply. I’d always loved the huge, beautiful pink flower and, more than once, I’d imagined myself walking down the center aisle of an old stone church, beams of sunlight softly streaming in through stained-glass windows as I glide down towards the front, wearing a glamorous white dress and holding a bouquet of peonies in my hand. And always, waiting for me at the end of the aisle, was Thomas Maitland.
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