by Sara Daniel
Tempting Mr. Forever
Copyright © 2011 by Sara Daniel
Revised Edition Copyright © 2016 by Sara Daniel
Cover art by SelfPubBookCovers.com/AlbaCovers
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book was previously published under the title Mr. Forever and has been significantly revised for rerelease.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Bad Boys of Regret Hollow series
About the Author
Chapter 1
“You’re the father of my baby.”
Dr. Caleb Paden had heard the accusation before. Under the hot lights of the live television stage, he prepared to guide another set of young parents on building a successful marriage to ensure a stable home for their child. But first he had to get the other half of the couple in front of the camera. Someone had missed their cue, leaving the chesty brunette glaring at him.
“Did you hear me, Dr. Paden? You’re the father of my baby.”
Wait. He was the father? “Is this a joke?”
“It is not a joke,” the brittle blond host of The Brighid Show replied in the thick Scandinavian accent that her fans loved.
“Don’t you remember last year in Vegas?” The accusing woman folded her arms across her chest, pressing her breasts against her thin red shirt.
He vaguely remembered drowning his sorrows that awful weekend, but he never cut corners on protection and he never aired his own issues. “I don’t believe I could feasibly be your child’s father, but I’m happy to discuss your situation in private.” Not on national television. Forcing a smile for the talk show host, he attempted to take control of the situation. “Brighid, let’s bring out today’s couple in need of a Forever marriage.”
“Nobody else today.” His brother’s ex-wife almost let her fake accent slip, malicious glee in her voice. “My audience and I are much more interested in how you and Jennifer will resolve your differences for the sake of your child.”
Jennifer. The reminder of the woman’s name grounded him. Data and facts created the foundation of his advice. He wouldn’t worsen a bad situation by losing control of his emotions.
“I don’t have anything else to resolve,” Jennifer said, her confrontational tone replaced with satisfaction. “I needed to tell you I had a baby and now he’s yours. I’m not cut out to be a mother. I tried settling down in a small town to provide a wholesome environment, but that role isn’t for me. I’m so glad you know what’s best for children and can take over dealing with ours.”
Abandoning the childcare duty was the worst decision a parent could make. His stomach knotted. He couldn’t allow a backstage assistant to tote a terrified baby in front of the camera, terrorizing him for the sake of TV ratings. Jumping to his feet, Caleb demanded, “Where is the child?”
“I found someone to watch him until you can pick him up. He’s in Illinois. Don’t worry. This lady is a foster parent—well, almost. She wants to be one. I did her a favor by letting her keep the kid and get some practice.”
The baby lived halfway across the country with someone who didn’t qualify to be a foster parent. He had to get the child into a stable situation immediately. Then he could consider the paternity issue and remind everyone of the importance of using The Forever Marriage to ensure children were never abandoned by their parents.
* * * *
“The lawyers are researching if we have a claim to file a breach of contract suit with The Brighid Show. Bridgette definitely violated the terms of our divorce.” Ethan yanked Caleb into the waiting limousine. “In the meantime, hello, you have a kid? Tell me these things. Advanced warning equals damage control.”
Slamming the door shut before the reporter running down the sidewalk reached them, Caleb yelled for the driver to go. He never had to worry about his personal issues creating a media maelstrom because he didn’t have a personal life. “No one gave me advanced warning either.”
“Is the kid yours?”
“I don’t know.” Terror gripped him that his kid might be enduring trauma because of his carelessness, but at least he had a plan for the stability a child needed. If he wasn’t the father, the boy’s fate might be worse. “I used a condom. I’m always careful.”
“Yeah, you’re Mr. Responsible.”
He needed his brother’s support, not resentment. “Want to guess what compelled me to drown my sorrows in Vegas?”
“None of my business.”
“Actually, I flew out to talk some sense into you before you tied the knot for the third time. When you blew me off and said your vows in front of Elvis and a dozen showgirls, I went to the hotel bar for a couple of drinks.”
“You had a one-night stand with a woman you met in a bar? I take back the cautious and responsible labels.”
“She was the bartender.” And she’d been sympathetic to his frustration that he could fix marriages all over the country but couldn’t fix the ones in his own family. He didn’t need to apologize because two single, consenting adults had sought solace for the night.
But he’d abandoned a child, however unintentionally. He owed the boy an apology, along with his best effort to fix the situation and give him a stable childhood. “Call the company pilot and tell him I’ll meet him at the airport.”
“For all you know, this bartender did the same thing with a different man every night. She probably has no idea who the father is. Being on national television makes you a visible target,” Ethan said. “The lawyers will arrange with the court to have the kid's DNA tested. I’ll spin the PR in the meantime. If he does end up being yours, then you can pick him up and we’ll arrange a nice father-son photo op.”
“I don’t care about photo ops and DNA. A kid has been abandoned by his mother. Whether I’m the biological father or not, I’m the only one who can protect him and usher him into a stable environment.”
“You mean you’re actually going to follow the whole Children—First Priority mantra? Just because you wrote the book doesn’t mean anyone believes you practice what you preach.”
“Then do the PR thing you’re so good at.” He couldn’t focus on the backlash against his company, not until he’d taken care of the baby’s immediate needs. “Children have always been my first priority. Everyone better believe that, or you’re not doing your job.”
Ethan leaned toward him across the limousine seats. “If the kid
is yours, the only way you can make people believe you care about kids and save your company is to get married.”
“I’m not marrying a woman who abandons her baby.” He didn’t even know the kid’s name and had resorted to figuring out the gender through pronouns.
“Not to Jennifer. To a woman who will model your holy commandment of friendship is more important than any physical encounter. How can I convince people you believe that sound bite when kids are popping up across the country from one-night stands and you don’t have a single female friend in sight?”
“One accusation hardly constitutes ‘kids popping up across the country’. And I use Forever with every breath I take.” If he had a spouse, the relationship would require attention, leaving him less time to devote to divorce-proofing marriages and giving children a stable home.
“If I’m going to spin anything, you have to give me something to work with.” Ethan dumped a manila envelope on the seat next to him, covering the black leather with white and pink envelopes. A fuchsia one fluttered to the floor.
“These letters are from the office mailroom. The women who wrote them have embraced your methods and want to marry you. At least they did before they saw The Brighid Show today. Pick one and contact her. If you want to restore the public’s faith in your commitment to raising children in wedded bliss, show them you’re doing it in your own life.”
“You carry these around with you, waiting for the right moment for me to pick a wife by playing ‘Go Fish’?”
“Or if I get bored, I can cull through them for possible candidates for myself. I am on the hunt for a wife, you know.”
Caleb clenched his jaw. Ethan’s three failed marriages weren’t a joking matter. “Do another media blitz on John and Debbie Winston’s thirty-five year marriage. They follow the rules to the letter and couldn’t be happier. Plus, their four children are well-adjusted model citizens.” His vice-president of operations would uphold the company image, freeing him to rescue the child abandoned by his mother.
Ethan picked the fuchsia envelope off the floor and thrust it at him. “Using others as examples worked fine until Jennifer dropped the baby bomb and made you look like a fraud on the country’s most popular daytime talk show. Next time you sleep with a woman, give her your cell number so you can work out your issues privately.”
Yeah, like the easiest way for the average person to contact him was to hijack his TV advice segment instead of calling his company’s toll-free number. He tossed the envelope on the pile. “I’ll set up a conference call for first thing tomorrow morning with our counselors and staff to reassure them of my commitment to Forever.”
“Do you want to be a therapist that people respect and look to for advice, or do you want to be sneered at by the world and never see your face on TV again?” Ethan ripped open the fuchsia paper.
“I’d be perfectly happy never to see another television camera in my life. I do the TV gig because it gives my marriage model more exposure than I can get through any other medium.”
“Getting exposure is the least of your problems now.” He dangled the card between two fingers. “This woman thinks you have a hot body.”
“Not a requirement.”
Unperturbed, Ethan picked up another envelope. “Dear Dr. Paden, I am a firm believer in Forever.”
“A promising start,” he allowed, scanning the weather and traffic app on his phone. Once they emerged from the traffic snarl in Times Square, the only thing standing between him and rescuing the child was a snowstorm barreling down on the middle of the country.
“I’m looking for a rich husband, and you fit the bill. The thought of having sex with an arrogant prick like you really turns me off. But we can still be friends, of course.” His brother raised a brow. “How many women will give you an offer like that? Are we on? I can book the reception hall and the caterers.”
An arrogant prick. Really? Yet, he’d seen the videos of his televised advice sessions. He didn’t come across as compassionate despite a parade of image consultants who’d tried to soften his demeanor. But really, how could he show any sympathy for people who made their children suffer?
Ethan tossed the letter aside and tore into another one, his eyes widening. “Forget the gold digger. This is the one you want in your bed.”
He glanced over at woman who’d apparently spent so much money on breast augmentation surgery that she had none left to purchase clothing.
“On second thought, she needs someone who will appreciate her fine qualities, not be her friend.”
Caleb rolled his eyes. “Mock me to my face all you want. If you do it to the press, I will fire you. I don’t care if you’re the best marketing man in the world.”
“I am the best,” Ethan said. “And your only brother too.”
“That’s why I need you to have my back for the next couple of days while I get this baby into a safe environment. Remember how scared we were whenever Mom would walk out? I may not be able to stop it from happening to every child, but I can save this one. Whether he’s mine or not, right now I’m all he has.”
* * * *
As soon as he picked up his son, Caleb would stop at the nearest hotel for the night. He hadn’t seen a snowplow or a salt truck, let alone another car. Heck, he could hardly see the road through the blowing snow.
His pilot had made the right call by refusing to fly into the storm, landing near Chicago and leaving Caleb to navigate the unfamiliar rental car west in deteriorating road conditions.
The car fishtailed, and he fought the steering wheel to keep it on the road. Or at least where he thought the road was.
“Arriving at destination, on right,” the female GPS voice chirped.
Although he couldn’t discern a driveway, he pressed the brake. The car skidded and slid sideways. To his right, nothing disturbed the layers upon layers of snow, except for the vague outlines of what might have been trees.
“Make a U-turn at the next opportunity,” the GPS suggested.
Yeah sure. He squinted through the fat flakes battering his vehicle. Behind him to the right, something—possibly the top of a mailbox—protruded from the snow. Considering his sideways position on the slippery road, he didn’t like the odds of keeping the car straight while driving in reverse. He’d have to finish turning around. He twisted the wheel and pressed the gas. The tires spun. Then the car shot forward.
Too fast. Heart racing, he slammed the brakes. The car skidded toward the ditch. Oh no. Stop! By some miracle it did, inches from the drop-off. Despite wanting to turn the ignition off and not drive another inch until the weather cleared, he had to keep going for the child’s sake.
Filling his lungs with deep, confident breaths, he shifted into reverse. The tires spun again. He lifted his foot and then pushed the gas pedal. The car shot backward. He shoved on the brake, but the car continued to glide in reverse, mocking any control he tried to exercise.
He turned the wheel in a desperate attempt not to roll trunk-first into the ditch. The car spun in a circle and then slid in slow motion, nose first, down the steep embankment.
“Arriving at destination, on left,” the GPS chirped.
* * * *
The man who had promised to save her marriage—and instead ended it—stood on Olivia Wells’s doorstep. Despite his half-frozen form and snow-caked suit, he still managed to resemble his stuffy book jacket picture, only more approachable and sexier.
“Come in, Dr. Paden.” Pinching a plastic clip into her perennially tousled hair, she stepped away from the door to allow him inside. “I didn’t expect anyone would come for Liam tonight.”
The storm had been the answer to her prayers, giving her extra hours and potentially days to prepare. Jennifer had been more than ready to walk away from the boy, but she never would be. Letting him go would break her heart.
Letting him go to Dr. Fraud just might kill her.
“His name is Liam?”
Seriously? The man hadn’t bothered to learn his son’s nam
e? She dug her fingernails into her palm. “Yes, and mine is Olivia.” Not that she expected him to remember. Since she couldn’t in good conscious kick him out in the storm, she closed the door behind him. “Do you have a car somewhere?”
“I left it at the end of the driveway.”
“Babies travel with a lot of accessories. Why don’t you bring it up to the house?”
His lips twisted. “I’d thought of that, but it won’t move from the ditch without a tow truck.”
Her heart soared. She’d gladly deal with his presence in exchange for not giving up Liam. She led him through the house. “Come sit by the fire. I’ll get you some blankets and hot tea.”
“I’d prefer coffee if you have any.”
Gallons of coffee, check. She far preferred playing hostess to taking him to meet the baby. “I’ll put a pot on. Make yourself comfortable.” She handed him a quilt before escaping to the kitchen.
Two days ago, after living and working in the inn for five months, Jennifer had announced her intention to leave and send Liam’s father to pick up her three-month old baby. The identity of said father remained a mystery until dear old Maude Richardson’s urgent phone call to tune in to The Brighid Show.
Olivia carried a silver serving tray with the typical guest fare into the sitting room. Dr. Paden stood in front of the fireplace. He waved a glossy paper at her as she entered. “Your home is a bed and breakfast called—” he consulted the brochure “—The Scot’s Mansion?”
“That’s right.” She set down the tray and filled his cup from a carafe. Being a gracious hostess, whether or not she took a personal liking to her guests, had been engrained in her. She just had to think of him as a guest, not the man taking Liam away. Or the man who had broken up her marriage with horrendous advice.
“The Scot’s Mansion has been in my family for three generations. We’re known for miles for our scones.” She held out the tin and forced her hostess smile. “Enjoy.”
“Scones?” He recoiled as if she’d announced the kitchen teemed with roaches.
“You don’t like them?” She set the tin on the side table and arranged the dishes of butter and strawberry preserves.