by Sara Daniel
“We would love for all three of you—Olivia, Penelope, and Austin—to come to Manhattan and show that Liam has been loved and well cared for,” Ethan continued.
“Of course he has.” Anyone who spent time with Liam could see the truth. She didn’t need to prove it to a bunch of strangers. “I have an inn to run. I won’t be able to get away.”
Jetting to New York on a whim would never be possible for her. She resented the inn for many reasons, but not for tying her down. She just wanted the children she cared for to keep her from jaunting around the country, not the obligations of a business that had been thrust upon her.
“Penelope?” Ethan asked.
“I’m busy.” She didn’t look up from her plate.
“We could tie in a perfume promotion. Do you market your fragrances to tourists or locals?”
“I customize.” She stabbed her peas. “I have to do it for people I know.”
“You can do it for anyone,” Ethan reasoned, “as long as they tell you what they want.”
She snorted. “They don’t know what they want. Take Caleb for example. He wants to make a perfume for his mother but can’t even fill out a basic questionnaire.”
Ethan’s eyes rounded as he turned to his brother. “You commissioned her to make a perfume for Mom?”
Panic filled his gaze for a brief moment before his expression turned blank. Wow. He wouldn’t discuss his mother with Ethan. Maybe Olivia had been too hard on him by pushing for information.
“I want to learn about the perfume process. The recipient of the product is inconsequential,” he said.
Austin dropped his napkin on the floor and bent to pick it up.
“Your mother is inconsequential?” Olivia asked. Surely, he must realize the absurdity of his statement.
“You’re twisting my words. She’s not important in my life.”
Olivia glanced at Ethan, but he concentrated on his food every bit as diligently as Penelope had. Caleb needed people willing to force him to confront his issues. Someone had to point out the obvious.
“Your entire life is devoted to your mother and correcting her mistakes.”
“That’s ridiculous.” He narrowed his eyes at her, no doubt to eviscerate the messenger. “My life is devoted to kids. By preventing mothers from making lousy decisions with men, I create better lives for their children.”
Fury bolted through her. So, fathers could make lousy dating decisions without affecting their kids? “You have a lot of nerve to pass judgment on choices you’ve never been forced to make.”
“I know which decisions are best for the kids. I lived that part.”
He hadn’t lived Austin’s childhood, which was the only one her mistakes should be judged on. “Exactly what should have I done differently, oh Great One?”
“You don’t need to be sarcastic.”
Anger and disgust boiled inside her. Standing, she grabbed the empty roll basket as an excuse to go to the kitchen to compose herself. But she couldn’t leave her son in his company. “Austin, did you find your napkin yet?”
“Just a minute.”
“Open your eyes, Olivia,” Caleb continued in his grating therapist voice. “Your child has issues.”
She braced her hands on the table, leaning toward the overbearing, way too gorgeous asshole. “You will keep your concerns to yourself in the presence of my son. Is that clear?”
“Found it.” Austin popped above the table, waving his napkin like a flag.
Not a moment too soon. Any longer and she would have shoved the roll basket on Caleb’s head to shut him up. She’d never come so close to resorting to violence against a guest. But no one else had ever aired their personal grievances and then attempted to diagnose her kid—in Austin’s presence, no less. “Take your plate to the kitchen please.”
“Why?” Austin demanded. “No one else has to.”
She gritted her teeth. “Mr. Paden and Dr. Paden are our guests, and Aunt Penelope is still eating.”
“I’ll carry my plate,” Caleb offered.
She glared at him. Instead of promoting a good example, he was undermining her authority.
Austin didn’t move.
Caleb pushed back his chair. He stood and stumbled against it. Catching himself, he smoothed his jacket. He reached for his plate and stepped away from the table. Inexplicably off-balance, he windmilled his arms. The plate flew across the table as he crashed into the chair and sprawled on the floor.
Oh my God. The guy had never appeared the least bit clumsy before. She rushed around the table and knelt at his side. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t know yet.” He raised his hand to a red goose egg swelling on his forehead. Sliding his fingers over it, he flinched.
Definitely hurt. “I’ll get some ice.”
Before she could move, he grasped her hand in a surprisingly powerful grip for a guy with a head injury. “Look at me and tell me your child doesn’t have issues.”
“This has nothing to do with Austin.”
“Nothing,” he agreed, “besides the fact that he tied my shoelaces to the chair.”
What? She perused the length of his hot body to his untied shoes, following the lace to a knot fastened around the upended chair leg. Oh no. Austin couldn’t have. “You didn’t notice him doing it?”
“I was too busy trying to knock some sense into you.”
She squeezed her eyes closed. Part of her wanted to applaud Austin for putting Caleb in his place, but of course, she couldn’t. He’d seriously injured one of her guests. On purpose.
“Our war may not be over, but Austin definitely won this battle,” she murmured.
“I’ll take that ice now,” Caleb said.
She opened her eyes. The bright red lump on his forehead already showed signs of colorful bruising. For a six year old to mark a grown man so severely, any intelligent person would conclude the kid had issues. Maybe she needed to reevaluate the therapist’s professional opinion, after all.
Chapter 9
Caleb exited the dining room with an ice pack on his head. Olivia carried Liam through the kitchen, while dragging a sullen Austin by the hand. Penelope didn’t mind being left alone, but the prospect of being alone with the sexiest, most obstinate firefighter she’d ever met terrified her.
“I checked my shoes. I’m clear.” Ethan grinned, his right cheek denting with a tiny dimple.
She wiggled her feet to prevent making a fool of herself too. Regardless, she always managed to embarrass herself around hot, charming guys. “I don’t understand Austin’s issue with Caleb.”
Ethan shrugged. “My brother can stand to be brought down a couple of pegs. How much do you charge for your perfumes?”
“As much as the people buying them can afford.” She’d hike up the price for him.
“If you can’t afford a new toaster, you ought to consider selling to people who can pay more.”
Her dreams and pride in her product warred with her automatic denial of abandoning her low-budget customer base. “Are you interested in a custom scent?”
“Perfumes are for women. I wear cologne.”
She shook her head, savoring the moment of superiority. “Perfume and cologne are not gender-specific words. The label refers to the amount of oils and fragrances in the mix.”
His eyes didn’t glaze over as she expected. Instead, he pushed his plate away and leaned across the table toward her. “What’s the difference?”
“Colognes are usually ten to twenty percent fragrance while perfumes are fifty percent. Some of mine run as high as sixty percent.”
“In other words, you create a high quality product.”
“Exactly.”
“Your clients should pay a premium for it.” He crooked his finger. “Come over here and give me your impression of my cologne.”
“I’m still eating.” She picked up her forgotten fork. If she stuck her nose in his neck, she’d definitely make a fool of herself.
“I’m not afraid of
criticism. Tell me what you think.” With slow, deliberate steps, he rounded the table and sank into the empty chair next to her. Leaning over, he placed his cheek in front of her mouth.
With the slightest movement forward, her lips would connect to his skin. She could kiss him. She jerked back.
He tilted his head toward her. “What do you think?”
The closer he came, the more handsome his sculpted cheekbones, arched eyebrows, and full lips.
“I, uh, haven’t smelled you yet.”
“What are you waiting for?”
The floor to open up and swallow her. She scrunched her eyes closed to block his physical perfection. Then she lowered her head and pressed her nose to his neck, nearly losing her mind as her skin touched his warm, smooth, perfect skin.
He smelled disgusting.
She jerked back. “What’d you do? Wallow in garbage?”
He jumped to his feet, shattering her fantasies of sensual bliss. “Excuse me?”
“Mimosa and gardenia are all wrong for you. Did you pick this out yourself?”
“An ex-girlfriend gave it to me as a gift.”
“She obviously didn’t know you.” Then again, Penelope didn’t know him. “Or she knew you were a cross-dresser who enjoys smelling like rotting fish.”
“Cross-dresser?” he exploded. He didn’t take criticism nearly as well as he claimed. “I like women’s clothes, but only on women.”
“Or off.” She smirked, pleased she’d hacked away his polish and charm.
“If you take off your clothes in front of me, I guarantee I won’t spend any time looking at them.” His eyes smoldered.
Never had a single look left her so exposed. She’d been an idiot to play his game. “You need a better perfume. I’ll make one. If you like it, you can pay me what you think it’s worth.”
She dashed out of the room and down the stairs before he could say what he had to be thinking. Her opinion was worth nothing and her perfumes even less.
* * * *
“Come in,” Caleb croaked. Answering the door required moving. Ethan wasn’t worth the effort.
“How are you?” Olivia meandered to his side.
He should have sucked up his discomfort and gotten up. Now he lay flat on his back in bed with Olivia bending over him, a spectacular fantasy. But in reality, Dr. Caleb Paden didn’t act on his sexual urges when the object of said urges had children who could become hurt by his actions. Decisions stemming from hormones instead of logic harmed innocent people and caused years of regret.
“I’m fine,” he lied. “Where’s Liam?”
“Ethan’s watching him, and I’ll put him to bed. Do you want something to drink?”
“Do you have any 7UP?” He’d accept it at the door and close her out with little more than a “thank you,” ensuring his fantasies stayed in fantasyland.
“Yes.” She sat on the side of the bed and leaned toward him, nibbling on her full bottom lip as she lifted the ice pack from his forehead.
He closed his eyes. He wrote books about why men should pick friendship with women over physical relationships. At the moment, he couldn’t recall a single reason.
“You’re going to have a bruise, but the ice helped with the swelling.” She replaced the pack on his skin and trailed a cold finger down his cheek.
If she kept shifting on the mattress and hovering her fingers around him, he’d need the ice pack to remove the swelling in his groin. Or he could dispel the sexual tension by finding the topical equivalent of an ice pack. “I assume you disciplined Austin.”
She stiffened and removed her hands from his body but didn’t leave the bed. “We had a long discussion. I didn’t think you’d be ready to see him this evening, so he’ll apologize tomorrow.”
No, he didn’t dare talk to the kid while he was lying in bed with the boy’s mother. Damn it. He needed to get his priorities straight. “What kind of punishment did you give him?”
“That’s between him and me.” Her tone sharpened. “He’ll think twice before pulling this stunt again.”
The throbbing bump on his head gave him the right to the specifics. His psychology degree provided the tools to evaluate the appropriateness of her methods. “Single parents don’t get the opportunity for a second opinion to weigh in very often. Don’t waste your chance with an expert.”
Her expression should have made him wither but instead sparked Miracle Gro in certain nether regions. “Some expert you are. You’re the only person in this house who can’t relate to my son.”
The truth stung, but he couldn’t let it go. “Why can’t you respect the work I do?” He needed to understand her reasoning. Whether she agreed with his diagnosis or not, her respect for him as a professional mattered.
She rubbed her fingers over his temples, avoiding his injury. “Let’s not talk anymore. You don’t want to worsen your headache.”
She traced her fingers along his jawbone and neck, bringing heaven with every caress. He held his breath, hoping she’d continue downward and relieve all his swelling problems.
No. Damn it, no. Needing to regain his legendary control, he jackknifed into a sitting position. His forehead smacked against Olivia’s. The dull ache in his head exploded into brilliant, full-color pain, and he fell back on the pillow. “Oh, ouch.”
She cupped her hand over her forehead and bent at the waist, toward the floor, before standing slowly. “Why did you do that?”
“You hit a nerve,” he mumbled, placing the ice pack on his tender flesh.
“If you don’t want me touching you, just say so.”
He did want her touching him. Even more damning, he wanted to give himself permission to caress her. But if he did, he would jeopardize any chance of developing a friendship with her sister. He would raise Austin’s expectations, only to let the boy down. A romp with Olivia wasn’t worth the risks.
At least his throbbing head told him so. Other pulsing body parts vehemently disagreed.
* * * *
An urgent pounding on the door interrupted Ethan’s morning shave. He finished swiping with his razor, but the insistent knocking continued. After tossing the razor in the sink, he stomped to the door and threw it open.
“I got your perfume.” Penelope thrust a brown bottle over her head in a triumphant fist and sashayed by him into the room.
“A perfume couldn’t wait until I was dressed? I thought you were burning down the building or some other real emergency.”
She froze and dropped her gaze to the towel slung low on his hips. “I—I’m sorry. I wanted to get this to you before you put your other cologne on.”
“Do you really think I would wear it again after what you said?” Rotting fish. A cross-dresser. He shuddered at her condemnation. Image mattered, and he didn’t want her carrying around that image of him.
She backed toward the door, her gaze still on his torso, her initial expression of near-horror replaced by awe. Hopefully, the towel would remain secure, or she’d get a lot more awe than either of them anticipated.
“Why don’t we try out your perfume?” He reached for the bottle in her hand. “You can tell me if it smells as good on me as it does in the lab.”
She tightened her fingers around it. “I’m not sniffing you like that.”
“Like what?”
“Without a shirt on.”
“My chest offends you?”
“How could your body offend me?” She finally met his gaze.
He wished he could bottle her refreshing essence and spray it on the other women who’d come and gone from his life as if he’d meant nothing to them. He stepped toward her, and she backed against the closet.
Desperate not to scare her, he threw up his hands in the classic surrender gesture. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just trying to get a shirt from behind you.”
“I’ll give you privacy to get dressed.” She lunged for the door.
“Don’t you want to give me the perfume first? You woke up early to get it to me.�
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“I haven’t gone to sleep yet. I worked all night and just finished it.”
“You worked all night to make something for me?” Abandoning the shirt he’d been reaching for, he stepped toward her, amazed and entranced she’d gone to such effort for him.
Her cheeks flushed. “I wanted you to have it as soon as possible.”
Chest aching from the depth of her sweetness, he eased the bottle from her fingers. “Then I’ll put it on right away.”
He squirted some on his wrist and held his arm out for her to smell. “Here, you don’t have to get too close.”
She glanced at his chest. “You haven’t put a shirt on yet.”
“Surely, you’ve seen a naked wrist before.”
Her shoulders tensed, as if he’d asked her to do something distasteful. Maybe he had. Just because she liked looking at him didn’t mean she desired physical contact.
“Lift your arm higher,” she said.
He braced his hand against the wall next to the door, bringing his wrist level with her nose but not touching her.
She stuck her nose against his wrist. Her deep inhale prickled the skin on his arm.
He stared at her backside. A small hole in the right cheek of her jeans revealed the pale pink fabric of her panties. He groaned and pulled his arm free, turning away before he gave in to his desire to ground his hardness against her. “What’s the verdict?”
“You won’t be cross-dressing anymore.”
The smirk in her voice compelled him to look over his shoulder. Her satisfied expression fueled his arousal. “Oh yeah? What will I be doing?”
“Sniffing yourself.” She ran out the door.
He did exactly as she predicted.
* * * *
“I’m sorry I tied your shoes to the chair and made you fall and hit your head, Dr. Paden,” Austin said, his voice subdued as he stood across the dining room table, gripping the back of a chair.
What kind of torture do you have planned for me next? Since Caleb wasn’t prepared to deal with the possibilities, he said, “Apology accepted.”
“I won’t tie your shoes to the chair ever again,” Austin continued, scrunching his face as if trying to remember what else he’d been commanded to say.