by Sara Daniel
“Or the table either, I hope.”
“Or to each other.” Olivia joined them, confirming his suspicions of a coached speech.
“I won’t.” Austin shifted from one foot to another. “Can I play with my Legos now?”
“No Legos until Tuesday,” she said in a gentle but firm voice.
“But I apologized.” He kicked the table leg.
“That doesn’t mean your punishment goes away. You can color.”
“Coloring is dumb.”
“Hurting other people is not acceptable.” Turning from her son, she began clearing away the Sunday lunch dishes.
Austin glared at her, then him, and then stomped out of the room.
“You could have given him a break,” Caleb said.
“Sure, I could, and then he’d believe his actions have no consequences. Tossing around an ‘I’m sorry’ that he doesn’t mean isn’t enough. Maybe he’ll think twice next time if he knows he won’t get to play with his favorite toy for a couple of days.”
Caleb hadn’t expected such follow-through on parenting when her marriage vows hadn’t lasted.
“Will he take his frustration out on you later?”
Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Of course he will. I’m his mother. He’ll ask a dozen times to play with the forbidden toys, and he’ll get angry with me each time I say no.”
“Why do you put up with it?”
“If I don’t, who will?” She shrugged as she gathered the cloth napkins from each place setting. “Besides, he should feel comfortable enough with me to fall apart when he doesn’t get his way. He’s a little kid.”
“You’re making excuses for him.”
“Sometimes being a child is a legitimate excuse. I love it when he’s on his best behavior, but when the worst comes out, I’d rather have it directed at me than anyone else.”
Caleb had been expected to shoulder an adult-like responsibility for as long as he could remember, but Austin didn’t seem have the same expectations thrust on him. Had Caleb assumed an erroneous universal experience of children raised in single parent households? He’d categorized Olivia with his mother without examining more than the superficial similarities.
“Children—First Priority is the title of my latest book and focuses on how a marriage revolves around giving them the stable environment they need. I’ve decided to write a follow-up book dedicated to child-rearing. I’d like your opinion on the basics of my outline before I flesh out the details.”
“You want to give me pointers, in other words.” She squeezed a napkin in her fist and glared at him. “You are unbelievably condescending.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He’d been offering an olive branch.
Cheeks flushed, she stomped toward him. “You’ve never been married, but you condemn me for not making mine work? You didn’t know your son existed for the first three months of his life, but you think you can teach me how to raise mine? As of three days ago, you’d never changed a diaper or picked up a baby, but now you think you’re qualified to write a book on how everyone else should handle their kids?”
She’d boxed him in against the table, her breath hot on his neck. Her blue eyes lit his belly on fire, leaving him too captivated to form a thought, let alone an argument against her attack.
“You go have a perfect marriage and raise a kid without making any mistakes along the way. Then you can come back and lecture me about my failures,” she finished.
He rose to his feet and cupped her chin in his palm. Her alluring, red lips sent fierce want coursing through him. “I think you’re doing such a good job with Austin that I want you to give me suggestions.”
“Oh.” The fire banked in her eyes. She sagged, bringing her body closer to him. “You think I’m doing a good job? Really?”
“Really.” He bent his head to kiss her, but she shrank away. His lips brushed the tip of her nose as she ducked out of his grasp.
“The Scot’s Mansion is a professional establishment with a solid reputation carved by my grandmother’s hard work and determination. I don’t involve myself with the guests in any manner that could jeopardize her legacy,” she said, her stiffness reminding him of himself.
“So you’re saying my headache rub last night was a housekeeping amenity?”
Her cheeks burned crimson, and the fire in her eyes roared to life. “I apologize for my lack of—”
He gathered her in his arms. “You have no lack of anything. You have nothing to apologize for. I spent the entire night wishing I hadn’t made you stop.”
She stiffened in his embrace, but he was even more surprised by his admission. He hadn’t meant to admit so much and leave himself vulnerable.
Olivia traced her finger over the round, colorful knot on his forehead. “I’ll read your outline, but don’t expect my critique to be all nice fluff to spare your ego.”
He laughed in relief and released her. He needed her criticism and insightful comments to keep his theories fresh. Her challenges would improve Forever and help offset the looming crisis of Liam’s existence. “Going out of your way to spare my ego would be treating me with your most professional conduct.”
Her lips curved upward. “Don’t make me like you, Caleb.”
His chest cramped. “Would that be so bad?” He wanted to kiss her, to swallow every emotion blended into her smirk, and to experience each feeling with her.
“Very bad.” She stepped away until the table separated them again.
She was right. To give in to their emotions and physical desires would be worse than very bad.
Chapter 10
With no clue if the 1:37 on her nightstand clock indicated morning or night, Penelope stumbled from her bed into the lab, hating the post-nap disorientation.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I didn’t think you were down here.” Ethan stood in front of her work table.
She blinked. “What are you doing?”
“I brought your payment. I’d planned to leave it on the table.” Dressed in crisp jeans and a blue sweater over a white collared shirt, he exuded an Ivy League polish. She preferred the low-slung towel look.
“Payment for what?” Regardless, she held out her hand. She’d take any income.
“For the most awesome perfume ever. I’ve never smelled anything like it.”
As soon as her fingers closed around the paper, she stepped back. She had to brush her teeth before he caught a whiff of her morning breath. A comb hadn’t touched her hair in over twenty-four hours. She probably had lines on her cheek from the creases on her pillowcase. On the plus side, she wasn’t wearing a rubber apron or her Dorks-R-Us goggles.
“Is the price fair? I’ll cheerfully pay more, but I wanted you to take my amount seriously.” He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans.
She glanced down. Ugh, he’d given her a check. “What’s wrong with cash? Surely, you have a twenty in your well-padded pocket to save me a trip to the bank.”
“Look at the amount before you spout off, Penelope.” He sounded more amused than irritated.
Rubbing her eyes, she tried to focus on the amount. Five-zero-zero. Darn her vision for blurring. Of course, he hadn’t written a check for five hundred dollars.
She traced a finger over the numbers. Two zeroes. Holy smokes. “Did you have a lobotomy?”
He grinned. “You told me to pay you what I thought your perfume was worth. You’re just entering the market and you need to build your client base, so I gave myself a break.”
“You paid me more to make me feel better.” She’d rip his charitable donation to shreds.
“I paid you less than it was worth. Once your client base is solid, you could start charging a grand, at least.”
She continued to stare at the check. “You paid me five hundred dollars for an eight-ounce bottle of perfume.” Either he lived in an alternate reality, or she’d missed a vital piece of what else she owed him.
“That’s another thing. Cut down the size
while you up the price. No more than four ounces in a bottle. Make two the standard.”
She groped backward until she bumped into a cast-off folding chair and sat. “You’re making this up so you can convince me I need a marketing guy. Next, you’ll insist that person has to be you, and then you’ll hit me with how much you expect for a salary so you’ll get your money back a hundred times over.”
If he was insulted by her prediction, he didn’t show it. “You do need a marketing guy. Or lady, if she would make you more comfortable.”
She shook her head. The gender of the marketing department hardly mattered. Either way, sophisticated, socially adept people would take control of her business and turn it into what they thought it should be. She would become uncomfortable, out of place, and ultimately irrelevant to her own dream. “Your suggestions sound wonderful, but they’re not for me.”
He advanced toward her. “Do you want to make your living creating and selling custom perfumes?”
“I already do.”
“You call this a living?” He spread his arms and sneered at her cheap lab furnishings and charred toaster table.
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
“You’re afraid of success.”
“Yes.” She didn’t expect him to understand how her roadblocks were the parties, the public events, and the notoriety that came with success. He would bask in those things, not run from them. The mere idea of mingling and talking to strangers shriveled her will to dream. She folded the check and tucked it in her pocket. “Thank you for believing in me, Ethan. I’ll treasure it.”
“But you’re going to blow off everything I said.”
“I have to do things my way.”
He reached toward her shoulders, and she jumped to her feet to erase his advantage of standing over her while she sat. Unfortunately, standing toe-to-toe with him brought her closer to a whole lot more of his body.
And oh, he smelled good. Sexy. Erotic. The perfume played only a small part in it.
“Try things my way. You’ll like it.” He lowered his mouth toward her lips.
He couldn’t kiss her. She still hadn’t brushed her teeth.
She scrambled backward and tripped over the chair. Despite flailing her arms, she couldn’t stop from falling to her knees. Oh God, please let the floor swallow her, so she didn’t have to face him.
Ethan crouched next to her. “I didn’t tie your shoes to the chair, I swear.”
Rubbing her palms over her stinging kneecaps, she laughed in spite of her utter humiliation. She’d tripped over a chair, trying to escape a kiss from the sexiest man in the world. She must have had a lobotomy.
He caressed her back. “My kisses are nothing to run from.”
“Is my brother bothering you?”
She hadn’t heard Caleb approach, but he stood in front of them, looking both disapproving and concerned.
“Of course he’s bothering me. He doesn’t seem capable of anything else.” She stuck out her tongue at Ethan.
He grinned.
“Some lady just came over and insisted she wants to spend time with Liam for a couple of hours. Maude somebody,” Caleb said.
“Richardson. She’s a neighbor and considers Liam her grandchild. He’s in good hands with her.” Babbling nonsense was easier than acknowledging how flushed and alive her body became with Ethan smiling at her, his palm still resting on her back.
“So, if you have some time right now, we can finish our perfume,” Caleb continued.
She bit her tongue so she wouldn’t demand he match the check his brother had given her.
“I’d love to see your process too,” Ethan said.
No way could she concentrate with him around.
“You promised to go sledding, and Austin and Olivia are getting ready to go out now,” Caleb reminded him.
“I’ll leave you alone this afternoon.” Ethan’s eyes gleamed with a danger she couldn’t ignore. “Tonight I’ll bring food downstairs. We’ll have a business dinner.”
Nu-uh. She was not mixing her business with him. “And if I decline?”
“We can jump right to the hot sex.” He sauntered off. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned around and stuck out his tongue at her.
She clamped her hand over her mouth before she laughed aloud.
Caleb sighed. “My brother has a heartbreaker reputation with women. I’ll talk to him for you.”
“I can handle him,” she lied. But she couldn’t pretend she was up for an interminable afternoon in Caleb’s company. “I have some pressing business I need to work on this afternoon.” Like, uh, brushing her teeth and combing her hair. “Maybe we can finish your perfume the next time Maude comes over.”
* * * *
“Mommy, Mommy, come quick!” Austin yelled from the top of the stairs. “The toilet keeps going and going, and water’s everywhere.”
Olivia bolted up the stairs. The tan living room carpet sported a darker shade near the bathroom doorway. Dashing through it, she slipped on the vinyl floor inside and grabbed the door frame to steady herself. With a couple of jiggles to the finicky toilet handle, she stopped the water from flowing, but the floor had already transformed into a lake.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” Austin said in a small voice.
“I know.” She fixed a bright smile on her face and slung her arm around him. The rundown state of the house was her concern, not his. He certainly shouldn’t worry because the soaked living room carpet could lead to a ruined floor.
“You’re not hurt, and that matters more than any old house.” But she’d further failed her legacy by letting the house deteriorate.
Austin’s chin wobbled. “Can we still go sledding?”
Regardless of the disaster needing her attention, she’d promised him. After his father disappointing him on his birthday, she couldn’t let him down for anything less serious than a life-and-death matter. “Yes, but I need to clean the floor first. Can you tell Ethan I’ll be delayed for a few minutes?”
“Okay.” He turned and disappeared down the stairs.
Alone, she didn’t have to force cheerfulness. The more money she spent on repairs, the less she had left over to remodel the downstairs guest rooms into bedrooms and living space for the big family she craved. No matter how hard she worked, her dreams of expanding her family and giving children a better home were always pushed aside by the demands of the inn.
“How’s it going?” She hadn’t heard footsteps, but Caleb stood at the top of the stairs.
“Under control. Sometimes the water return in this toilet has a mind of its own and makes a big mess if it’s not caught in time.”
“Sounds like you need to replace it.”
A logical conclusion, if not financially viable. “It’s on my list. Unfortunately, the cracks in the foundation took priority this fall.”
“Cracks in the foundation and a possessed toilet? Have you considered demolishing the building and having it rebuilt?”
And have Grandma MacDermont curse her from the grave? “I’m remodeling as I have the money for it. Austin and I will make do in the meantime.”
“You’re putting the needs of your business before your child.”
“I am not.” He couldn’t have insulted her more. “The business is a family obligation, and given half a chance, I’d chuck it. Since I can’t, I’m transforming some of the guest rooms into family bedrooms and living space. My grand plan is a six-bedroom home with several baths, a private family room, and a family dining room.”
“Yes, Austin needs a home with a solid foundation and a working bathroom, but a bigger house won’t solve his issues,” Caleb pointed out.
Austin’s issues, again. She gritted her teeth. “We’ll need the space once he has a houseful of brothers and sisters.”
“Are you—” His eyes widened, and he stared at her stomach.
* * * *
“Pregnant?” Olivia finished the question with the word he’d been unable to speak. “I’d love to
hear the tirade you’re gearing up to launch, but I have a bathroom to clean and a kid who’s dying to go sledding, so it’s going to have to wait.”
Caleb adjusted his tie, trying not to let his panicked imagination get the best of him. “I’m not on the verge of a tirade. I’m concerned about what this sibling talk means for Austin.”
“I’m taking in foster kids, so he will have some life changes. Since he’s been accepting of Liam from the beginning, I don’t anticipate many problems adjusting.”
Not pregnant. He’d been stupid to jump to conclusions, but as a therapist, he needed to make sure she’d thought out her decision, especially because it affected more children than Austin. “Were you a foster child who feels the need to give back? Did your parents take in kids and you’re trying to continue their example?”
“I’m not doing this out of duty.” She grabbed a mop and swiped it over the bathroom floor. “Kids in my community need the love I can give them. I want to include them in my family for as long as they need me.”
“Why are you compelled to plunge your life into chaos for children you have no reason to care for?”
“Because my heart tells me they need me.”
He winced. If only she could have given him a logical, sensible reason. After all, foster families filled a critical need for children whose parents had abandoned them. But good intentions—like dumping a kid’s birthday party to secure a new dad—created more long-term problems. “Hearts are fickle. Austin and countless other children will pay the price for yours.”
She paused in her mopping, hurt and incredulity in her eyes. “In your professional opinion, I will do these children more harm than good?” she asked, her voice colder than the ice pack she’d given him last night.
“I’m reserving judgment—”
“Because their biological parents could be worse than me,” she finished. “After all, you admitted I was doing a decent job with Austin, and you’re the be-all-end-all expert.”
Ouch. “You’re missing my point.”
“I’m making my own point.” Fire replaced the ice in her tone. “If you’re so intent on helping children, why don’t you focus on them instead of marriages for your life’s work?”