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Tempted By The Single Dad
Cara Colter
From Hollywood heartbreak… …to happy-ever-after? Heartbroken Ally Cook runs away to her grandmother’s beachside cottage. She doesn’t expect houseguest Sam Walker and his toddler and a puppy to be there too! Spending time with this single dad, Ally finds herself tempted to put her heart on the line for a family with this captivating tycoon?
From Hollywood heartbreak…
…to happy-ever-after?
After her heart is broken and her dreams are stolen, singer Allie Cook hides away in her grandmother’s Californian beachside cottage. Until unexpected houseguest Sam Walker arrives with a toddler and a puppy in tow! As Allie helps an out-of-his-depth Sam adjust to his new single-dad status, she finds herself tempted to put her heart on the line for her new dream—a family with the captivating tycoon.
CARA COLTER shares her life in beautiful British Columbia, Canada, with her husband, nine horses and one small Pomeranian with a large attitude. She loves to hear from readers, and you can learn more about her and contact her through Facebook.
Also by Cara Colter (#ufad726fc-0e45-5d3c-b449-7721a5647d7e)
Interview with a Tycoon
Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
The Pregnancy Secret
Soldier, Hero…Husband?
Housekeeper Under the Mistletoe
The Wedding Planner’s Big Day
Swept into the Tycoon’s World
Snowbound with the Single Dad
His Convenient Royal Bride
Cinderella’s Prince Under the Mistletoe
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Tempted by the Single Dad
Cara Colter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-0-008-90311-4
TEMPTED BY THE SINGLE DAD
© 2019 Cara Colter
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Note to Readers (#ufad726fc-0e45-5d3c-b449-7721a5647d7e)
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To the brother I found in my place of endless summer,
Jeffrey Byron Werle.
Contents
Cover (#uaae42daa-fa1c-57c0-9b7b-b97d6a8e9e70)
Back Cover Text (#u33e20995-4ff5-5931-85cb-3e059b7e17ef)
About the Author (#uc425623e-f333-567c-b735-69e87bcc14ec)
Booklist (#uf30ddcc4-1f81-52c1-a423-6055605bc986)
Title Page (#u9fc73871-4f9b-53ae-9853-894a4cb06c98)
Copyright (#u6d7d63e4-6e25-5097-828b-3558ebfb6e58)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#uc401d8e3-3f9c-55e9-993c-9f92d0058ee4)
CHAPTER ONE (#u9a0ce09c-f273-5d55-a907-e6576ded1f27)
CHAPTER TWO (#ue0ce9a7e-a182-5fa7-be19-546727b2ca9e)
CHAPTER THREE (#u6fbba8a9-3721-5c76-9c2d-497ab2c34875)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u74398d4a-c974-57cd-bbca-ba21a0637bcb)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u9a81c5c4-9ab1-5db8-aed3-67dd258595be)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ufad726fc-0e45-5d3c-b449-7721a5647d7e)
IT WAS A perfect moment. Of course, if there was one thing Alicia Cook had a right to distrust, that was it. Perfect moments.
Still, with a sigh, and a sip of her lime-infused club soda, Allie gave herself over to it. The setting sun was gilding the foam on the ocean waves, and turning the beach sand to pure, luminous gold. From the hanging porch swing in the shadows of her covered veranda, she observed as the daytime crowds dissipated.
Now, one last family remained, the father deflating a humungous ride-on dragon water toy, the mother shaking out a picnic blanket and calling the children back from the water’s edge as she packed the remains of their day into an oversize basket.
A pang of pure longing hovered at the edges of Allie’s perfect moment, so she shifted her focus. Farther down the beach a couple strolled, hand in hand.
The sense of longing intensified.
“Don’t believe a word he says,” Allie muttered, watching through narrowed eyes as they stopped, leaned into each other and he nuzzled her ear and said something to her that made her laughter carry up the beach.
Allie’s muttered words were a defense, of course, against all that weakness that was still there, even though she, of all people, should know better than to long for dangerous things.
Perfect moments. To not be alone. To share life. To be deeply connected…there, her perfect moment was gone. She looked away from the couple, ignored the family and took a determined sip of her drink, concentrating furiously on the beauty of the setting sun, hoping to get it back.
No, the moment had been as iridescent—and as fragile—as a soap bubble blown from a child’s wand. It was gone.
She set down her drink, leaned over and drew her guitar from a shadowed corner.
“Perfect moments do not pay bills, anyway,” Allie told herself sternly. The contract to produce a jingle was the practical approach to solving her financial difficulties.
The guitar, however, was unmoved by the urgency she felt. She ran her thumb coaxingly down the six strings—E, B, G, D, A, E—but the guitar refused to be seduced. The instrument was acting like a friend who was mad at her, silent, refusing to speak.
It was almost a relief—a reprieve—when Allie heard a muffled noise through the patio door that opened into the cottage behind her. What was that? Was someone at her front door? She strained her ears. That had to be her imagination.
The very same imagination that would not give her a song, was quite happy to indulge her fears, she noticed.
But as she strained to hear, she could have sworn the sound she was hearing was very real. She was hearing the creaky front door handle being tried!
A recent newspaper article had been pinned to the community bulletin board in front of the post office. Mimi Roberts’s villa—located just down the beach—had experienced a break-in. An audacious thief had come in the front door while Mimi was home, but fortunately for the well-known celebrity, she was out back enjoying her deck. A Sugar Cone Beach police spokesman said there had been several similar break-ins in the neighborhoods surrounding the beach community and urged people to lock those front doors, even while they were at home.
Honestly, Allie had had trouble sleeping ever since, awaking to every sound, too hot because she was keeping the doors and windows firmly locked. No wonder she couldn’t write a simple jingle. Sleep deprived.
A muffled bang made her jump. Okay. It was definitely her front door. Being kicked in? No, probably something way less threatening, like a newspaper being thrown up against it.
You don’t get the paper, a little voice insisted on reminding her.
Still Allie tried to reason with herself. It would take an extraordinarily unambitious thief to choose her little cottage for break-and-enter purposes. The end of Sugar Cone Beach that was farthest away from her had long since gone to developers. High-end hotels and condos, with their main floor restaurants and shops, vied for every inch of space along that baby-powder-fine stretch of sand.
But the beachfront properties at this end of Sugar Cone Beach—a sheltered bay—were largely single-family homes that had become the enclave of the very wealthy, like Mimi Roberts. For the past twenty years extravagant beach houses had been popping up here. The glass, concrete and steel behemoths rose out of the sand on either side of Allie.
And there she sat, in the middle of them all, in a sagging and tiny gray-shingled cottage, that had been her grandmother’s for as long as she could remember.
Gram. Allie felt the ache in her throat that momentarily overrode the adrenaline that was beginning to pump through her. Her Gram was the one person who had stuck by her, believed in her and never given up on her.
Gram was gone now but the cottage that was so beloved to them both had been her final gift to Allie.
If Allie could hold on to it. The taxes alone took her breath away. And every day, someone came, ignored the unfriendly sign that said No Soliciting and knocked on her front door. They were developers and real estate agents, and people just passing by, putting temptation in front of her, offering her ridiculous sums of money to sell the one place in the world where Allie felt safe and hidden from prying eyes.
And where the love of her grandmother remained, as comforting as a hug.
There was definitely somebody at the door but Allie calmed herself with the rationale it was probably not a thief, though it was unlikely to be a real estate agent at this time of day, either. Whoever it was, they weren’t ringing the bell.
The bell hasn’t worked for three weeks, Allie told herself. It’s not a thief.
