His Takeover: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Piper Sullivan

  “I am in love with you too,” she whispered.

  “Mio dolce amore, then we shall marry and take this world by storm. I will protect you and our child all of my days.”

  Suddenly her walls crumbled down and a sob ripped through her chest. All her pent up emotions like a raging river, broke the walls that she fought so hard to keep erected.

  “Once we are married, I will go with you to New York, and we will start afresh there,” he said as he cupped her face in his hands.

  “What will happen when your father finds out about El Pescore?” she asked searching his eyes.

  “Let me worry about that, mio caro, I’m his son, and you are now his daughter-in-law, he will find other ways to manage his business. I will help him set up a shelf company in the United States, one that will have no strings to El Pescore or the Benedetti’s,” he reassured her and then pressed his lips against her, kissing her softly.

  After the wedding, they both left for New York to start their own family. Belinda accepted the fact that her life will never be the same, but with Louis by her side and their child on the way, she knew she could face any circumstance. After her father passed away, she assumed the position as the Donna Benedetti in the largest Mafia Family in the United States.

  Louis earned his father’s respect, despite the fact that he created a shelf company for his family, withdrawing El Pescore as the front for the mafia.

  THE END

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  Home At Last: A Single Dad Romance

  May

  A glance in the rearview leaves me sure no one is following me. Not that there’s anyone to follow me anyway. Out here, under the stifling Texas sun, I realize I’ve driven nearly six hundred miles and I’m tired.

  The kind of tired that’s sinking right down deep into my bones. But that scared side of me tells me to keep running. I have to keep going. I haven’t gone far enough.

  Pushing aside the troubling thoughts, I try to settle into happier times, happier memories. Out here, on an old dirt road that reminds me of home, I’ve seen a few gates between stretches of fenced land. The gates have huge wooden frames of old logs that are a throwback the time when Texas was truly wild. Hung from each wooden frame is a name; the name of the ranch proudly on display. One creeps up on me now: Mustang Ranch.

  I slow down as I notice an odd-looking bit of paper clinging to the beam on the right side of the frame.

  Help wanted.

  It’s like every prayer I’ve ever said that’s gone unanswered has suddenly left me here, finally heard and saved.

  Before I can change my mind, I pull in before the closed gate. I sit for a moment. Am I really doing this? Am I crazy? I can’t stop. I haven’t put enough distance between me and…

  It’ll be fine.

  With a deep breath, I calm myself and I get out of my old car. It’s on its last legs after the punishing drive we’ve just endured. The sky just seems to stretch on endlessly as I open the gate before heading back to my car to pull through. On the other side, I get back out and close the gate behind me. Might as well make a good first impression, right?

  What was that old rule dad made sure I remembered? A closed gate must be closed behind oneself.

  The drive is dirt and rough, potholes claim my tires and jolt the car. Along both sides, fences trap plots of land and pastures stretch as far as the eye can see. The sparse grasses and few trees offer spotty shade to majestic-looking horses of many colors that stand in groups of two and threes.

  I drive slowly, but still, my tires kick up enough dust to announce my presence long before I ever even see the house.

  When the house comes into view, I feel my jaw drop. It’s not an old ranch house; it’s an old ranch mansion. It’s like a cross between an old plantation mansion and a castle. My heart thunders in my chest as I pull up and park my car.

  They’re looking for help, I remind myself. I know that Texas is a stand your ground state, but the sign said they’re looking for help. Besides, what self-respecting man would shoot an unarmed, obviously tired woman?

  With slow steps, I walk up the sprawling porch, loving the white swinging loveseat and the several matching white wicker chairs. This place reminds me more of home than home did in its final glory days.

  I step up to the door and gather my courage to knock. Before I can, the door swings open and I find myself under the intense brown stare of a man who’s taller than me by a foot and a half at least. He leans on the doorframe, his imposing form enough to make every drop of saliva dry up on my tongue.

  His heavy brow, shiny black hair and tanned skin all make up an incredibly handsome face. His eyes are hooded, like he trusts no one and nothing, his jaw is wide and powerful and working like he’s clenching it and deciding whether or not to shoot me.

  Maybe he should shoot me. Put me out of my misery.

  Suddenly, he smiles and it’s like the sun parting heavy gray thunderclouds. “Ma’am,” he says, tipping his hat. “May I help you?”

  At a loss for words, I turn and gesture back to the gate that’s easily several miles down the drive. “I’m May. You’re looking for help?” My voice sounds small and breathless, even to me and I see his eyes narrow a bit before someone behind him calls out something I don’t quite hear.

  “A lady inquiring about the job,” he says over his shoulder and I hear laughter. My face flames red hot and I turn to walk away, an apology quick on my lips.

  “I’m sorry for wasting your time--”

  The words die as a strong hand curls around my arm just above my elbow and stops me dead in my tracks. I turn to face the man and notice there’s not even a hint of amusement in his face.

  “Can you work hard, miss?” he asks, all seriousness that send my heart fluttering like a scrap of paper caught in the wind.

  “I can,” I say, wondering why I can hardly draw a deep breath.

  He looks me up and down, his hand falling away from me like he realized he’d been touching me for much longer than is proper. “You’re not suitable for a ranch hand, but I might have something else for you,” he says slowly, his eyes wandering across my face like he’s committing my features to memory – or like he recognizes me.

  Clint

  May isn’t what I’m looking for as far as help is concerned. I need men. Strong, hardworking, rough men willing to take on backbreaking labor, punishing hours, and fair pay. But May, she’s so pale and fragile looking I’m not sure she could handle the simplest task I’ve got here.

  Still, something in her eyes begs me to let her stay. And she looks so tired I wouldn’t forgive myself if I let her go right now. There’s a strength to her, a quiet power that leads me to believe she’s stronger than I’m giving her credit for.

  Her big blue eyes are as pale as the skies behind her, and there’s a light sprinkle of freckles across her nose. She’s so innocent looking I find myself needing to know how old she is.

  “How old are you?”

  She seems relieved, and I wonder what she expected me to say. “Twenty-four,” she says, her blue eyes solemn on me. Of age. I want to let out a breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. As she brings her hands forward to clasp before the hips of her jeans, I debate. What could I have her do?

  When she draws a deep breath, I notice the gentle thrust of her breasts under the thin material of her black shirt. I’m careful not to actually look, though, and keep my eyes locked on hers. Still, she’s a beautiful girl, and it’s hard to keep my attention off her charms.

  “Come in,” I say, suddenly remembering my manners. “My name’s Clint. Clint Quentin.” I can find something for her. Even now, a plan, partially formed, nags at the back of my mind. As I step back and allow her in, I hear the guys stand up and begin moving.

  We’ve got some horses we’ve got to get moving from beyond the pasture they’d escaped. It’ll take all ni
ght to ride out there and drive them back home, and I realize that May might help alleviate one problem I’ve got.

  “Have you ever taken care of kids?” I ask as she moves through the house to the dining room where men are filing out toward the front door. Shane lowers his shoulder as he comes to pass me and I engage my core, ready and braced for impact. He doesn’t disappoint and the clash of our shoulders would have been enough to knock a smaller man to the ground.

  After what he did, he should be glad it’s not my fist across his jaw again.

  “I haven’t, but I imagine it’s common sense.” May is solemn as I guide her into the emptying dining room. Carson meets my gaze and looks away, an unsure glint in his blue eyes. His harshly tanned Texas skin is rough from a layer of grit and sun.

  He takes his hat in his hands and May studies him as he nods to her with a thick air of politeness. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says to her, and she nods graciously as his eyes skip to me. As always, fixed with his icy stare, I’m a bit unsettled. “Should I saddle your horse, boss?”

  “Yes,” I say, and he dips his head, “Buy me ten.”

  He leaves as the last few guys file out of the room like sand whipped from the corner of a canyon by storm winds.

  “Am I keeping you?” May asks, her wide blue eyes worried.

  “Only a moment, miss,” I say, watching a bit of relief creep into her features. “I must ask you for a favor,” I say, and she nods.

  “Anything.” The way she says it, breathless and unintentionally seductive takes me aback. Clamping down with steely control, I get back on track. I can’t be thinking about how long it’s been since I had a woman in my bed.

  “My daughter, Grace, will be home from school this evening and I’ve got a long job ahead of me.” I hated to ask, but this is easier than calling on the babysitter. If only those damn mustangs hadn’t busted out. But I’d rather be there for the ride than let the guys handle it.

  But I didn’t want to call the sitter. She just eyes me with disproval every second and tries too hard to make Grace be a proper little lady.

  “How old is Grace?” May asks, and I wonder why that’s the first question.

  “She’s five,” I say, hoping that this isn’t the detail that breaks her. Grace could use a real woman, someone soft-spoken like May to talk to her. Gertie isn’t the best adult woman figure to have on hand. She’s brash, loud mouthed, and insists that Grace be a little lady at all times and quiet. Things I’m not all that happy with. I’ve thought about finding a new sitter for a while, but I hadn’t actively been looking.

  Maybe lady luck is smiling down on me today. Maybe May is the answer to a question I hadn’t known I had.

  “Allergies?” May asks, and I shake my head. She looks up at me as if she doesn’t trust that I’m not holding something back. “Is there anything I need to know?” She asks, those serious blue eyes on mine.

  Her full lips press together a bit and I can’t help but look at them. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and touch her lower lip with my thumb as if brushing away the stressed expression. It works. Her lips relax and she’s beautiful. My thumb travels toward the middle of her lower lip and there’s a sense of wonder in me that she’s softer than she looks somehow.

  And she shivers.

  Her lip is so soft, so kissable. My thumb leaves her chin to trace down her slim, pale throat, no longer even pretending at having a reason or right to be touching her. I look into those big, blue, trusting eyes and see she’s looking at my lips like she wants nothing more than for me to kiss her.

  I snap out of it and my hand drops from her satin skin. Somehow, my voice sounds like nothing happened between us, but my throbbing cock begs to differ.

  “I’ll be out of cell service,” I say without missing a beat. There’s disappointment in her big blue eyes and I suddenly wish I’d kissed her after all. But perhaps that would have left her disappointed for other reasons.

  “But there are other emergency numbers you can call on the fridge.” I gesture past her toward the kitchen and the fridge. I’m sure she’ll explore when she’s ready. Her eyes follow my gesture before snapping back to my face like she’s trying to decode the sudden distance I’d put between us. I’ve been hurt before. It’s not like me to just put myself out there. There’s no way she’d take on someone with baggage like mine.

  But fuck if I didn’t wish otherwise. “Other than that, I’ll set you up in the guest room and you’re free to make yourself at home.” The thought that she’ll be sleeping down the hall hits me like a tractor tire to the gut. I wish I’d thought that through. Hell, if I’d thought first, I’d have paid to have her stay in town… far away from me.

  Her tongue darts out to trace her lower lip and I feel a sudden wash of desire rush over me. The soft sheen of dampness makes my heart start thumping. Damn. This girl is going to ruin me.

  “Thank you,” she says softly.

  Wrestling to keep my reactions to her in check, I lead her back toward the guest room. She follows and when I glance back, she’s looking at pictures along the walls, tears sparkling in her eyes.

  Facing forward, I remind myself that it’s none of my business what she’s doing here. But I’d bet my bottom dollar she’s running from something… or someone.

  May

  Of everything I expected, I think that watching my boss’ child was near the end of the list. But then again, I’m not afraid of kids. It’s hard to screw up; make sure they eat and drink. Make sure they’re entertained. Get them to bed at a reasonable hour.

  How hard can it really be?

  I walk to the window of the room I’m going to be staying in. The half circle of guys are slouched in the saddle like the weight of the world is on their shoulders. I scan the group, looking for Clint. He’s shockingly good looking. And the way he looks at me, like he’s able to look past my skin, down deeper than bone to my deepest, darkest buried secret.

  It’s indescribable.

  As I watch, Clint walks over to a saddle horse that’s standing beside the man who’d asked him if he needed his horse saddled while Clint and I talked.

  He takes the reins of the grey animal with the spotted backside and he plants a foot in a stirrup before hauling himself up. He throws a leg over the horse, who sidesteps as if in an attempt to escape. Clint’s hands on the reins steady the animal and I admire the way he leans forward a bit and pats the horse’s neck.

  From here, I can see his lips move and I know he’s talking to the horse. Closing my eyes, I imagine how his voice might lower, that he’s saying something akin to it’s okay. Relax.

  Sudden tears sting behind my eyelids and I blink. My eyes meet the dark gaze of Clint, who’s watching me even as I stand here, watching him. Everything in me screams to hide, but I stand, arrested by his stare as if he’d grabbed my arm again and held me at his mercy.

  Even now the spot above my elbow tingles, as if he’s still holding onto me, refusing to let me go and walk out of his life.

  I stare at him as the guys begin to ride off. He hangs back, flanked by the same man who’d saddled up his horse for him and bought him ten, whatever that means. The man looks in my direction, then at his boss, then at the ground like he’s intruding.

  But all I can see is Clint. His eyes are narrowed a bit, as if he’s trying to figure me out. The whole time we’d talked I’d been terrified he knew or puzzling at the way he made my belly flip flop and my heart dance. Still - past all the thrill of him reacting to me like I’m a woman - with every passing second, I felt more secure that he didn’t remember.

  But now, with the sensation he’s peering into the depths of my soul, I’m not so certain. Lifting my chin, I study him, thinking about how kind he’d been. He was everything I could have hoped for and more.

  Suddenly, he faces the direction the guys had gone and in a fluid motion with his hips, he urged his horse on. As they galloped down the dirt road that I have to guess leads deeper into their land, I’m left picking up the shards o
f composure I still possess. I need to keep my distance. Clint is trouble with a capital T, I’m certain of it.

  Sinking onto the bed, I stare at my lap. The painful memories of the last few weeks rise up and I feel the tears threatening. They’re always just there, behind my eyes, ready to pounce on every unguarded moment of thought.

  A shower. That’ll help. I can wash away the grime of traveling and steam out the toxic thoughts. I’m on my feet quickly and I head toward my car. In the back, I grab my duffle and bring it into the room I have now. It feels weird, the thought that I might be able to unpack the bag. I might be able to stay more than a night.

  Grabbing some questionably clean clothes, I begin to hope that there’s a washing machine close by. With the change of clothes in hand, I head across the hall and lock myself in the bathroom. The room is white, reasonably clean, and airy. A huge window open to rolling pastures and a few horses are the only peepers in sight.

  I close the curtains anyway and stare at the faucet. It’s pretty standard, thankfully. I’m used to homes where only the person in residence knows how to make theirs work. Hell, the last hotel was stupid; the hot was labeled cold and the cold labeled hot.

  I turn on the water and instantly feel better. I missed this bit of normalcy. It’s such a simple thing we take for granted. I undress with shaking fingers and climb under the hot spray. With the water rinses away the fears and a new hope begins to bubble up in me.

  Maybe it will be different this time.

  When I get out of the shower, I dress and start wandering the house. It’s a beautiful sprawling ranch house. I pass on peeking into bedrooms, but assume that there must be a separate place for most of the help to sleep, since there aren’t enough bedrooms to house them all, unless there are tons of bunks tucked away somewhere.

  The dining room is warm partially due to the sunlight streaming in and partially due to the buttery accent wall that leaves me some hope that there’s a woman around. Then again, if there is, why does Clint need me to watch his daughter?