The Forbidden Sitter E-Book

Michelle Love

• Herausgeber: Michelle Love
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

A kid dropped in my lap—2 years old, mine, and I’m out of my depth.
My best bud’s sister? She’s the answer: college girl, kid-whisperer, and off-limits.
He says hands off or I’m dead, but she’s living in my mansion, caring for my son, and lighting me up like a damn fire.
She’s untouched, forbidden, and too good at playing innocent.
I’m the billionaire who takes what he wants, and she’s got me aching.
She swears we’re a secret—family would flip—but I’m done sneaking around.
Thanksgiving’s here, and I’m thankful for one thing: her. Can I keep my promise, or will I risk it all for one taste?

Keywords: Guaranteed HEA, no cliffhangers, happily ever after. billionaire, bad boy, office romance, steamy romance, contemporary romance, love books, love stories, new adult, alpha male, romance, action, adventure, steamy romance, small-town secrets, hot, alpha hero. free book, free novels, romantic novels, and sexually romantic books.

Leseprobe

The Forbidden Sitter

A Billionaire Holiday Romance (Nightclub Sins 1)

Michelle Love

Hot and Steamy Romance

Contents

Blurb

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

21. Chapter 21

22. Chapter 22

23. Chapter 23

24. Chapter 24

25. Chapter 25

26. Chapter 26

27. Chapter 27

28. Chapter 28

29. Chapter 29

30. Chapter 30

31. Chapter 31

32. Chapter 32

33. Chapter 33

34. Chapter 34

35. Chapter 35

Sneak Peek - Chapter 1

Do you like FREEBIE Romance books?

©Copyright 2021 by Michelle Love - All rights Reserved

In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights are reserved.

Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

Created with Vellum

Blurb

A two-year-old. A best friend with a little sister who’d love to babysit. And one hard-on that refused to go away…

When in a bind who else would you look to for advice?

Your best friend, right?

And when this best friend tells you his little sister is majoring in child development then you know you gotta use her, right?

He only has one damn rule.

Do not touch his virgin baby sis…

Now how hard could it possibly be to keep a promise to your best bud when you’re in desperate need of a babysitter, because you’re clueless when it comes to kids?

Let me tell you the answer to that simple question.

Very f-ing hard!

From the moment I met her, everything became hard. And I soon found it was only going to get harder, since she was determined to keep me a secret.

Me!

Was I really gonna let her get away with hiding what we’d found?

A little boy needed me. A grown man needed me. And I needed to let go of my V-card …

Excitement and sadness are a rare combination, but that’s exactly how I felt when I went to work as my big brother’s best friend’s babysitter.

Tossed away by his horrible mother, the two-year-old needed me desperately.

I could be there for the poor boy.

But I fell in love.

With both the son and the father.

My overprotective family wouldn’t mind my love for the child.

But my love for the man who wasn’t supposed to be touching me at all?

Well, no one was going to be okay with that.

So I told the billionaire who was used to getting his way that we’d have to hide our relationship.

Keep the steamy sex a secret.

I found out billionaires do not like to be kept hidden.

So how long would I get to feel his phenomenal touch before we had to end it all?

1

Chapter 1

Gannon

The first day of November and a chilly wind tore through our fair city of Los Angeles at ten in the morning. The first cold front of the fall season had arrived, bringing with it an enthusiasm for change.

I stood, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my fifteenth-floor office. In the distance the waves coming in off the Pacific Ocean took my attention as I waited for my personal assistant, Janine Lee, to let me know when my video conference was up and going.

My job was CEO of Forester Industries; a business passed down to me by my father. He’d inherited the company from his father and had turned it from a million-dollar company to a billion-dollar one.

Was I born with a silver spoon in my mouth?

That would be a yes. I had never known hardships, poverty, or the feeling of going to bed hungry. I had only known the world of the super-rich. A world where you asked for something and you got it. And it all happened very quickly.

Maybe all that instant gratification wasn’t healthy for me, because I was impatiently waiting for the first time in my life. At thirty, some might say I hadn’t even begun to live my life yet, but waiting for my dream to be built felt like an eternity to me.

At a prestigious nightclub in Vegas one night a few months ago, I met a couple of fellow billionaire’s at Hakkasan, a nightclub for the extremely wealthy. One could blow a hundred grand with ease at the place. And it was there that a plan was hatched to build a nightclub comparable to that one.

Hakkasan was number one on the top-ten chart of high-status nightclubs around the world. The men I met that night wanted to build something even better than that. And right here in L.A., the place we all called home, coincidentally.

It took us no time to find a place and get construction going on the club. Currently, we were bantering about the name of the place—hence the conference I was waiting for. We were at the stage where the name was necessary to order insignia and other things that would carry the nightclub’s name on them.

I turned away from the window as my office door opened. There stood Janine, all four-feet-five-inches of her. Her short hair hung in dark-black, silky strands around her round face. Thick-framed glasses housed her chocolate eyes. One hand on her hip, she jerked her head in gesture. “Mr. Forester, your Skype conference is up in the conference room. August Harlow and Nixon Slaughter are ready and waiting for you, sir.”

“Excellent.” I strode across my large office, following her to the room at the end of the hallway. “Do you think you could find me a coffee this morning? Something that says fall is here?”

“I’m on it, boss.” She flipped her hair and turned, heading off to find what I’d asked for. The woman was amazing. At nearly forty, she was adept at making things happen for those she worked for. I was lucky enough to have found her when her old boss had passed away a few years back.

She and I had something in common, we found out, as we accidentally met at the funeral home where her boss’ memorial was taking place and where my father’s body had just arrived.

It was in the hallway that we both went for the same box of tissues. And in that tragic moment, we found each other. She told me about her boss and her lack of a job as a personal assistant. I told her about how I was —now—with the loss of my —father—the CEO of a large business and could use a personal assistant. And in that sad moment, a partnership was made that would make us both feel better about life in general after suffering from our losses.

My mother had passed on several years prior to my father. Breast cancer took her from us. Being an only child, my father’s death left me utterly alone in the world—something I wasn’t real crazy about being.

But with Janine’s appearance right at the time I felt the most alone I’d ever felt, came hope. Perhaps things wouldn’t always feel the way they did at that time. One day, things would get better. One day I wouldn’t be the only member of the Forester family. Or so I hoped anyway.

Not that I was looking for a wife or anything. I was a bit on the busy side to be doing that. But once I had things the way I wanted them, the nightclub included, then I would slow down and find time to date more and find Miss Right. Instead of what I had been doing—settling for Miss Right Now.

Currently, I wasn’t even messing with Miss Right Now. I was involved in my work as the CEO and my work with the club. There just wasn’t time for anything else.

Stepping into the conference room, I found my partners faces on two of the large screens that ran in a circle around the room. Some conferences for the business took up all seven screens at once. We were global, after all.

August and Nixon greeted me with wide smiles as I came in and took a seat. “Morning, gentlemen. And I do use that term lightly,” I joked.

August smirked. “So the time has come for us to put our bickering behind us and agree on a name for this nightclub.”.

Nixon picked up, “Let the record show, I like the name, Club X.”

I threw down, “And I’ve told you before, that name is much too common.”

“Yes,” August agreed. “But, Gannon, you have yet to come up with a name. You’ve shot down all the ones we’ve come up with, though. So I am throwing you into the middle of this debate and challenging you to come up with a name on the fly so to speak. You have one minute.”

“What?” I looked back and forth at the screens, finding two earnest faces. “I’m not that creative. You guys are …”

“You’re wasting time, Gannon,” Nixon reminded me.

August’s arched brow told me he was completely serious as he looked at his watch. “The time is ticking away. Thirty seconds, Gannon, or we’re sticking with Club X.”

“No! Wait—give me one more minute—I’m terrible under pressure.” I pinched the bridge of my nose as I tried to inject some creativity into my business brain.

August wasn’t giving in and was not about to give me any more time. “Nope, no extra time, and we’re coming in on ten, nine …”

One word popped into my head, and I blurted it out, “Swank!”

I looked back and forth at my partners and was shocked to see smiles curling their lips. August nodded. “I like it.”

Nixon chuckled. “Me too. Swank, it is, then.” He looked at August through the other screen. “Seems we’ve had a productive meeting, August. Time to get back to our real jobs. Catch you guys later in the week. Nixon, out.” The screen with his face on it went black.

August gave me a nod. “Back to work, buddy. Let’s get together on Friday evening for dinner and drinks.”

“You got it.” I had to laugh as he ended the call. My friends knew I worked best under pressure, and they were, as always, expert manipulators

Walking out of the conference room, I heard Janine arguing with another woman, “No, you may not go looking for Mr. Forester, Miss!”

“Out of my way, you midget!”

I headed in the direction I heard the voices coming from and found my assistant trying her best to stop a tall, skinny redhead with a small boy at her side. He huddled against her leg, eyes wide with dismay at the shouting.

The irate woman’s dark-brown eyes caught mine. “Gannon Forester, there you are.”

“And you are?” I inquired, giving the boy what I hoped was a reassuring smile. Not that I knew the first thing about kids. Surprisingly, he ducked his head shyly and then looked back up, offering a sweet gap-toothed grin.

The woman cleared her throat impatiently. “Cassandra Harrington. Surely you remember me.” Her thin lips pulled into a smile. “Club Acapulco on the strip?”

Not a clue …

I had the feeling I didn’t want to talk to the woman in the hallway with so many people’s ears leaning our way. “Would you mind stepping into my office, Mrs. Harrington?”

“Miss. And that’s where I wanted to talk to you at in the first place, but this little troll …”

I took her by the arm and ushered her and the little boy into my office. The way she shoved the kid forward, like he was a sack of flour, irked me for some reason. As I closed the door behind us, I rolled my eyes apologetically at Janine and she winked, ever-unperturbed. Her husband was a lucky man, and he knew it.

I turned back to Miss Harris and watched as her face twisted in what looked like disgust as she let the boy go and gave him a nudge—really more like a shove—away. “Stop clinging. Gannon, this is Braiden Michael Forester. Your son.”

My brain froze. My eyes shot straight to the little boy. He hovered uncertainly between the woman—his mother, presumably, poor kid—and my desk, before picking up courage. Walking around my desk and briefly disappearing, his tiny body dwarfed by its huge breadth and height, he reappeared moments later climbed up in my office chair. Leaning back in it, he kicked his feet and spun in a circle. Something tugged at my heartstrings—and let me tell you, up until then, I didn’t know I had heartstrings.

“Gannon?” the harpy snapped. “Did you hear me?”

I refocused my attention from the boy onto Cassandra, even as he began to play with my stapler. My automatic instinct was to take it from him, so he didn’t staple his little fingers. Which was bizarre, because … since when did I have automatic instincts when it came to anything except women and business?

Still buying time, I offered Braiden a box of paper clips in exchange for the high-powered electric stapler and liked when he didn’t fuss at all, switching gears seamlessly to playing with the colorful, little metal clips.

“Gannon!” Cassandra finally exploded.

Yes, he was a really nice kid.

But he wasn’t mine. That, I knew for sure. I didn’t know this crazy bitch. “Look, lady,” I informed her coolly and calmly. “I don’t know you.”

“Oh, but you do.” Her snarl transformed into an equally unpleasant smirk, stretching her thin lips into a wide rictus. “You and I went back to my place after drinking too much at that club that night, a little under three years ago. I ended up pregnant, something I didn’t bother you with for nearly three years. Your son is two, just so you know. And I’ve done all of the mothering I care to. I want out. I’m not cut out to be a mother.”

As she spat the words at me, I couldn’t help but marvel at how utterly unattractive she was in every way, way beyond just her witch-like exterior. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. I’d heard the expression, but had never actually seen it come to life until just now.

For some reason, the bombshell she’d dropped kept getting replaced with other thoughts. Maybe I was avoiding it. Or maybe I just couldn’t believe I would’ve had anything to do with a shrew. I had a type when I looked for female company—a very, very specific type that was more personality-based than physically-based, honestly. Gorgeous was hot, but fun to spend a long evening with was even better—and she didn’t fit it in the slightest.

“I don’t know you,” I repeated. “And he’s not mine.”

Cassandra didn’t even notice that the kid was reaching for scissors, or if she did, she didn’t care. I cut him off at the pass and handed him a stack of Post-Its instead.

Aggravated, she snarled, “I don’t care if you believe me. I just wanted to let you know you have a kid, and I can’t do this anymore. He’s yours or social services. Choose. Now.”

“Wait. What?” For the second time that day, I was being forced into an instant decision, but this time the stakes were infinitely higher. “Social services?” I echoed in disbelief, grateful that the boy was clueless about what he was hearing as he giggled and decorated himself with sticky papers. “What the hell is wrong with you? He’s your child!”

“And yours,” she retorted. “I’m not mother material. Are you listening to me at all, Gannon Forester? I’m tired of talking. I’ll just take the kid and dump him on social services’ doorstep. I can see you’re not going to be a father to him.” She started toward the boy, who dropped his newfound papers toys and shrank back into his seat. I felt a jolt of electricity shoot through me.

“Hey, wait a minute.” I stepped in front of her and the desk. The words that came out of my mouth didn’t even sound like mine. “Listen, give me time to get a DNA test done. If he’s mine, then I want him.”

Wait—what did I just say?

“One week. You have one week, and that is it, Gannon Forester.” She stalked around me, picked up the boy, whose big eyes were suddenly filled with tears, and left my office in such haste that I had to run to catch up to her.

“I need your phone number and address.” I grabbed a notepad off Janine’s desk and a pen as I hurried after her.

She stopped then and dumped Braiden—that was his name, right?—on top of the desk while she scribbled those things down on the paper. As she scrawled, pressing hard enough to undoubtedly indent the whole notepad, I hesitantly leaned in to check on the toddler. His dark hair did look a lot like mine, but plenty of kids had dark hair. And his wide blue eyes, gleaming with unshed tears, well, they kind of looked like what I saw in the mirror first thing every day, but still … just … not a possibility.

“Hey, buddy.” I smiled at him and handed him a fresh pad of Post-Its, these far more colorful than the ones from my own office. “How are you doing?”

Braiden sniffed and smiled back shyly, his pudgy little hand scrubbing across his eyes in a way that made those newly-discovered heartstrings twang once again.

Shoving the paper and pen back in my hands, Cassandra picked Braiden up like a sack of potatoes. “He can’t talk, you idiot. He’s only two.”

Stifling my anger, I straightened. “I think toddlers can usually talk. Mom just used to say that by the end of the evening, she’d have no ears left from my chatter.”

“Well. He’s stupid,” Cassandra informed me, and it was all I could do to keep from reaching out and wringing her scrawny neck. “I better hear from you by the end of the week, or it’s off to foster care for your son.”

And with that, she left my office with my potential son looking forlornly over her shoulder, one small hand stretched out to me.

2

Chapter 2

Brooke

The first day of November had a chilly breeze washing over our city of Los Angeles. Wearing a light sweater over my t-shirt and blue jeans, I was ready for autumn to take over for a while, leaving the heat of summer behind us.

My heels clicked along the sidewalk as I made my way to meet my brother, Brad, for lunch at Pitfire, a pizza joint my brother and I loved.

A whistle caught my attention, and I looked around to find Brad getting out of his brand-new Lambo, the fire-engine-red exterior sure to capture everyone’s attention. “Hey, show off.”

His hand ran over the hood of the car as he made his way to me. “You like my newest ride, baby sis?”

“It’s awfully bright. Did you really have to go all out and get fire-engine-red, Brad?” I crossed my arms as I stood there, looking at the high dollar piece of machinery.

My brother had struck it rich when he went to work for Forester Industries right out of college. From there, he jumped off into his own business venture, procuring investments overseas for wealthy people.

Brad came up to me, holding out his arms for a hug, which I gave him. “That’s not fire-engine-red, little sis; it’s called Rosso Mars, and that particular model is an Aventador Coupe.”

“Fancy.” I kissed his whisker-covered cheek. “So, you’re sporting a beard now. How fashionably progressive of you. But it needs more conditioner; it tickles my lips.”

His eyebrows wiggled as he grinned. “That’s what she said.”

I punched him in the arm. “Eww! Nasty!”

“I didn’t mean anything dirty by it, kid.” He looped his arm through mine, leading me into the eatery. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

I rolled my eyes and leaned into him, not about to say I’d missed him while away at college, even though I had.

After being seated in what used to be our usual booth and ordering a blistered cherry tomato pizza and some root beers, my brother and I started catching up. I had been away, staying in the dorms at Berkeley for the last year. With my first year of college behind me, I was excited about my future and the new semester that I was a couple of months into.

Brad had been gone all summer, having to work overseas, and had only been back a couple of weeks. He told me he was eager to talk to me and find out how my schooling was going. “So, how did you like your first year?”.

“I loved it, Brad!” I informed him, over a mouthful of lusciously buttery breadstick. “Mmm. I missed these. I mean, I knew I would love it. But it’s even better than I thought. The teachers, the campus, just … everything is amazing. And the classes. They’re all theory right now, but I’m more convinced than ever that teaching little ones is where I want to be.”

“No surprise there. What were you when you first started babysitting? Three?” The tiny wrinkles that etched the sides of his grin reminded me that he was in his early thirties. That age group of people who had kids, even though he didn’t have a wife and kids yet, himself.

“No, seven. I watched Lainey Bradshaw down the street while her mom took piano lessons in the next room.” Our conversation was briefly interrupted as our drinks arrived.

He gave the waitress a nod as his eyes roamed up and down her body. “Thanks.” He leaned forward, steepling his fingers while resting his elbows on the table, obviously trying to look distinguished. “You doing okay this afternoon,” he looked at her nametag that was strategically pinned just above her left breast, “Meghan?”

Gag me with a spoon. I groaned, kicking him hard under the table.

Her pretty green eyes lit up as she smiled at my brother. “I’m doing fine. You?”

“Pretty damn good.” He winked at her. “Thanks, sweetie.”

With a tiny wave and flushed cheeks, she left us alone as he watched her go. I rolled my eyes.

“Some things never change. So, Brad. Have any of your friends had kids since I left? I’ve missed working with kids who aren’t just textbook studies. And I want to try out some of the things I’ve learned.”

“None of my close friends have kids, kiddo. Sorry.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of car keys. “I have a surprise for you.”

“No way,” I mumbled, staring at his palm without touching the silvery keys. “Brad …”

Brad only had the most badass automobiles. He’d given everyone in the family one of his used ones at one time or another. Brad’s used cars weren’t like normal ones. Bentleys, Mercedes, Beemers—you name the expensive car, he had owned one or more at one time or another, and my big brother had always been generous with his hand-me-downs around his friends.

He jingled the keys playfully. “Say please …”

“Brad,” I repeated, just as our pizza arrived and we had to wait till everything was settled in front of us. When Megan sauntered away, I turned back to my brother. “Tell me you didn’t.”

He placed the keys in my outstretched palm. “You need transportation now that you’re back here. Taxis eat up way too much spare cash. You are now the proud new owner of a gently-used Carpathian Grey, Jaguar F-Type.”

Automatically, my fingers snapped shut around the keys. Even so, I had to protest. I mean, how did it look for a brother, even one as wealthy as mine, to be doling out hundred-thousand-dollar cars to his sister? I was no mooch. “You really shouldn’t have. I mean it, Brad. And I can’t even promise to pay you back, because that would take me 5,000 years on a teacher’s salary.”

He winked. “I’ll figure out some way for you to repay me.” Lifting a dripping cheesy slice, he dug in, grinning around his huge bite.

A little in a daze, I got up and hugged him hard before sitting back down. “You are crazy,” I informed him, reaching for my own slice. “But thank you. Wow. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And don’t even start about insurance and crap. I’ll find a way to pay for it.”

I had no idea how, but I would, I promised myself.

3

Chapter 3

Gannon

Only three days after having the DNA test done on the little boy, I held the envelope in my hand.

Janine was by my side in my office as I pulled out the sheet of paper that would either change my entire world or leave me free. “Before you read it, tell me what you’re hoping for, Mr. Forester.”

I’d been turning it over in my head ever since the bitch had stalked in and out of my office in less than five minutes, steamrollering my day and leaving my mouth close to hanging with her news.

“That he’s mine.”

It wasn’t that I wanted the responsibility of a kid. Far from it. But Cassandra had been such an obviously awful mother. And Braiden looked like such a nice kid. He deserved better. Way better.

With a nod, Janine placed her hand on my shoulder. “Then I’ll pray that way for you, sir.”

Closing my eyes, I finished pulling the paper out, then I opened it, wanting to surprise myself. “Ninety-nine percent.” I blinked and felt the strangest shifting in my newly-discovered heart. “He’s mine.”

We remained in silence for a long moment as I stared blankly at the page full of cryptic scientific info, with two bolder words standing out above everything:

Probability of Paternity: 99%

“I have a kid,” I whispered.

“Congratulations, daddy.” Janine squeezed my shoulder. “I know it’s not what you expected, but you’ll be a great father, Mr. Forester.”

Father. The fact that the word now applied to me didn’t feel even close to sinking in.

“Janine.” I cleared my throat and sat back. “Get my lawyer on the phone and let him know to proceed with the custody paperwork. I want it today, so I can take it to her when I pick up my … son.”

Son??

“Oh God. I’m a father …”

Janine touched my shoulder once again and started for the door. “I’ll get on that right away.”

After she left, I sat in dumb silence for who knows how long before I took out my cell and made the call.

“Finally,” she answered. “Well? What do you want?”

“I received the results—”

She didn’t bother to let me finish. “He’s your son.”

“Yes, he is.” I had to put my cell down on the desk and press the speaker button. My head was aching and spinning with the news. I was both happy and deathly afraid at the same time.

I don’t know one damn thing about kids.

“Then come get him.”

I’m a father. And she’s his mother! Jesus.

“Cassandra, aren’t you going to miss him at all?” I demanded. “How can you treat a kid that way? Any kid. Much less your own.”

“When will you be here?” she replied without answering. “I’ll have him ready to go.”

Shock had me numb inside. As if on auto-pilot, I moved forward with the horrible conversation, “My lawyer is drawing up papers you’ll need to sign. I want full custody. And I don’t want to wait through court proceedings to get it. Cassandra, you do realize you will never see your son again if you sign the papers, right? I’ll want to make a life for the boy. One without a mother who seems to hate him.”

“Yeah, whatever. Cry me a big old river. So hurry up and get your paper and I’ll sign it. I want to get rid of the burden your unprotected cock put on me.”

BITCH.

“Fine. I’ll be there just as soon as my lawyer tells me the documents are ready. Goodbye.” I ended the call, feeling as if I’d just had a conversation with the devil.

The intercom buzzed. “Brad Moore is here to see you.”

As protective as she was of me, Brad was likely one of the few men Janine would have patched through at this stage.

My head was still reeling as I leaned back in my chair. “Send him in, please.”

When my best friend opened the door to my office, he could tell immediately that something was wrong with me. “What the hell happened to you?”

I just shook my head, numb.

He made his way to my desk, taking the seat across from me. “You look like a Mack truck just ran over your dog or something. You don’t have a dog though, right?” The words weren’t coming to me. How in the hell do you tell someone this kind of news? Bluntly, apparently.

“I’m a father, Brad.”

His blue eyes went wide. His jaw dropped. He jumped up and slammed his palms on the desk, making a loud slapping noise. “The fuck you say!”

Yeah, he took it the way I thought he would.

“I have a two-year-old son. His name is Braiden Michael.” I got up and walked over to the minifridge to grab myself a bottle of something with alcohol in it. Picking out a bottle of beer, I tossed it to Brad then got myself one.

Brad just looked at his without opening it. “You know it’s like nine in the morning, right?”

Twisting the metal top off the bottle, I nodded. “And your point is?” I looked at him with no expression at all on my face.

With a shrug, he opened his bottle and took a swig. “So day-drinking it is, then.” He went back to sit in his chair, looking as if he was as lost in thought as I was. “Who’s the mother?”

“A redhead from a strip club who I don’t remember in the slightest. If DNA hadn’t confirmed the evidence, I wouldn’t believe it.”