His Takeover: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Piper Sullivan

  And I realize something startling; I feel safe with him.

  He stands up straight and I know he’s wrestling with his anger. “Thank you for telling me,” he says stiffly, and I nod.

  “Go to bed,” I say gently as he stands before me, still internally fighting something I can only sense. “I’ve got things here.”

  Finally, he nods and heads back toward the hall. I watch him go, hoping he didn’t notice the tears in my eyes when he’d come in. Despite the talks I’d shared with Grace and all the calming influence she’d had on me this morning while getting ready to go, I’d still found myself sinking back into that scary pit of despair once I was alone.

  And even when I’d tried to distract myself, he’d still come creeping back to burrow under my skin and haunt the darkness in every blink.

  Still, Clint is every bit as intense as he’d been from that first moment. And every bit as able to make my heart stumble in my chest. And able to make a curious warmth pool deep in my belly.

  Then I hear him call my name from his room. With a sense of trepidation, I head back, hoping this isn’t about to get uncomfortable. At his door, I lift my knuckles to knock and he tells me to come in.

  I do so and find him under the blankets. My cheeks sting red and I look toward the floor as he speaks. “Before I forget,” he says, sounding a bit drunk with exhaustion. “I need to ask you a huge favor.”

  “Anything,” I say, my face flaming red hot. Please don’t ask me for something I can’t do. Please. Still, I can’t imagine anything I wouldn’t want to do with this man. Even the thought of him asking me to bed sends a warm tingling feeling through my pelvis.

  “Can you pretend to be my fiancée?”

  Jerking my head up, I meet his stare, shocked to my very toes. Never in a million years would I have expected anything like that. I feel my mouth drop open, but no words come out.

  He stares at me like he’s expecting an answer now, but I can’t quite formulate anything.

  “Why?” I ask, the word popping out like a cork from a bottle of bubbly.

  “It’s a long story,” He says, “We’ll talk more when I get up.”

  I nod and turn toward the door, but he stops me once more. “Thank you,” he says, and I look back at him, one hand on the door. He already looks like he’s sleeping, and there’s a peace to him that’s unexpected.

  He’s so handsome. In sleep, there’s a boyishness to him that is gone in the harsh light of his wakeful self. I study him, thinking about his proposal.

  I’d be safe if we went with a farce like this. But I’d be at his mercy. More at his mercy. And I don’t think I want to put myself in the mercy of any man, ever again. Not in a romantic sense. What would he expect of me with this farce? Nothing good, I’m sure. The kind of man who asks a woman to pretend to be in love with him is the kind that might do other evil, underhanded things.

  Still, as I leave his room, I find myself curious. Everything I know of him says he’s not a cruel, underhanded man. But I also won’t lie to myself by pretending I know him.

  It’s not like he can possibly be without prospects. He’s handsome. He’s successful. He’s got a kind heart, even if it might not look like it from the outside. He has to, or he wouldn’t have let me stay.

  Then again, was it all just to get me in a position where I’d have to accept some hair brained plan to be his fake fiancée? Is he really not the man I’d thought him to be? Is my judge of character that messed up?

  Then again, what kind of man asks something like that? And why?

  Why does he need me to pretend to be his fiancée? And if it’s a good reason, will that be enough to sway my mind on it? Because there’s no reason I can think of that I’d be okay with it or willing to even play along. I’m not a liar. And it’s not fair of him to ask me to be.

  With all these questions going through my mind, I head toward my room. My heart thunders in my chest as I think about what it would feel like to be Mrs. Quentin. Clearly, he doesn’t recognize me, but this is more than I’d ever dreamed of.

  I watch the hustle and bustle of the men as they lock up horses, clean up the yard, and head into a building that I’m fairly certain the farm hand house.

  As I stand, I see someone glance my way and I duck back to the side. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. I don’t want anyone to figure out who I am.

  That would be very, very bad.

  Clint

  I wake and hear the sweet sound of laughter from the living room. It’s such a good sound, I slip out the door quietly and peek into the kitchen. Grace is on a chair and May is behind her with her hands over Grace’s guiding them with a sharp knife right through an onion.

  “I’m crying!” Grace says, her voice filled with amusement.

  May laughs. “It’s so sad we’re torturing this onion.” She places her chin on Grace’s shoulder and I’m struck by how normal this looks, and how incredible it feels. They slice through the onion and I hear Grace sniff.

  And I realize I’m not worried. I know May won’t let Grace get hurt. It’s evident in her posture, in the easy way Grace leans back into her, trusting her with every motion.

  “Rinse it with cold water,” I say and two sets of eyes meet me. Grace’s brown eyes are excited and happy as she sees me. May’s eyes are wide, troubled, yet wildly beautiful.

  “Daddy!” Grace launches herself at me and I open my arms to catch her. With my arms around her, the world is suddenly okay again. I missed her more than I could ever imagine missing anyone.

  My eyes meet May’s and I see something there. Perhaps it’s disappointment. But why? Because I asked her to be my fake fiancée?

  Maybe I should talk to her.

  “We’re about done with dinner prep,” May says, returning to cutting onion as I set Grace on her feet.

  “Are you going to help?” Grace asks me and I look at May, who is ignoring me. Still, I can see her pulse in her soft throat and it’s much too quick. Perhaps the little miss is excited at the thought? My cock stirs but I tamp down those thoughts.

  Gathering my thoughts, I ask, “Sure. What can I do?”

  Grace lights up. But May shuts me down. “I think I’ve got this. Why don’t you two go catch up?” Grace nods, and I know she’s not sensing the tension mounting between May and I. But as my daughter takes my hand and leads me into the living room, I remember there’s something I wanted to talk to her about.

  We sit on the couch and I start in quick. “Was Gertie hitting you?” I ask. Grace’s face falls a little and I hope that this betrayal of trust doesn’t come back on May.

  “Yes,” Grace says, her face so very embarrassed I want to hug her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask gently. I don’t want her to think she’s in trouble, but I need to know why she didn’t trust me enough to come to me with this.

  Her eyes find the floor and it’s all I can do not to tilt her chin up to look me in the eyes. “She tells me I’m not a lady.”

  “Oh baby,” I say, gathering her into a hug. “You don’t have to be. You just have to be the best you you can be, okay?” I say, looking deep into her eyes as if I can convey the truth of my words.

  “Promise?” she says, and I cross my finger over my heart.

  She smiles and the cute expression lifts my heart. Everything in the world is better with her right here. And even the ugly moments manage to bring in good.

  “Dinner,” May says, peeking her head in.

  “Thank you,” I say as Grace bolts from my arms and into May’s grasp. I look at the two of them looking so much like a family it aches deep in the very depths of my soul. This is what I want for Grace. But it’s too much to ask of any woman. Even one as amazing as May.

  “She’s asleep,” I say, a finger to my lips as I sneak out of Grace’s room and close the door behind me.

  “She’s a light sleeper,” May says, a knowing look on her face. I nod in agreement and take her hand. Her skin is shockingly soft between my rough
fingers as I lead her toward the front door. Still, it feels good to hold her like this. It feels right.

  On the porch, we sit side by side on the swing. I notice the scent of her, sweet and floral. Her shining brown hair is bound up loosely, as if it wants nothing more than to escape. A few tendrils have and frame her face and cling to her neck in the fading heat of the Texas day.

  “I need more time to think about it,” she says, and I nod. I didn’t expect a quick answer. It’s a huge favor.

  “Did you have questions?” I ask, dreading the questions.

  “Why?” she says, looking sideways at me as if she’s afraid to fully face me. I think a moment, trying to figure out the best way to tell her.

  So I give her a short, sweet version. “My father and I don’t get along so well. He needs me to prove I’m a family man before he’ll really trust me.” It’s the reader’s digest version, but it’s not a lie. Her silence leaves me feeling like she’s thinking it over.

  “But you are a family man,” she says finally, her voice filled with a sweet confusion. “You’re an amazing dad. All Grace does all day is sing your praises.”

  “He means family man as in married man.” The words sting, even now, and I hate them as I spit them out like something bitter and vile I can expel.

  She is quiet again and I look at her. There’s a far way look in her eyes as she stares toward her car.

  “You don’t have to,” I say, needing her to know I’m not giving her an ultimatum. “You’re fully welcome to stay on as Grace’s caregiver for as long as you’re willing. She really likes you. And if you were to leave, I’d be in a bind.” As I think about it, the thought of her leaving fills me with something akin to fear.

  Still, she’s silent, and we stare out at the stars side by side as a gentle night wind cools us.

  May

  He’s quiet beside me. But it’s not a scary silence. It’s not one I feel I have to fill. He’s made himself clear. But not in a threatening way. I don’t’ feel pressured or guilty. And he alleviated my fear that it might change my being here if I decide not to. But still… what if his parents recognize me?

  “I’d still like time to think about it,” I say and he nods in agreement.

  “Take all the time you need,” he says, and I feel a curious warmth pooling in my belly.

  Here, under the stars with him, I feel… safe.

  “There’s something else,” he says, and my heart begins to pound as I glance at him and see a new intensity behind those warm brown eyes.

  “Yes?” I ask, feeling breathless. His eyes study my face as he speaks.

  “I need to know you’re safe here while I’m gone. Do you know how to shoot?” he asks, and I shake my head no. My father thought a lady had no place holding a gun or doing man’s work. I was there to cook, clean, and be pretty.

  “I’ll teach you tomorrow. The shotgun over the door is real, and it’s loaded. Don’t aim it at someone unless you plan to pull the trigger,” he says, his voice so serious a shiver runs down my spine.

  My own demons rear up, but I push them back to ask, “Do you get much trouble out here?”

  He shakes his head. “But it’s a good idea for you to be able to protect yourself and Grace.”

  I nod, fully agreeing with him. It would be a good piece of mind to be able to handle a gun. Not that I think I could ever pull the trigger. Not even on…

  “What are you thinking about right now?” he asks, and I realize tears are beginning to fill my eyes.

  “No one important,” I say, and realize I’ve slipped up. I glance at him in horror that I’ve let slip that it’s someone, not something.

  But he doesn’t push it. The feeling is there, though, that I can come to him, talk to him, confide in him. And it’s an amazing sensation. I hadn’t come here with the hope that I’d be able to trust a man ever again, much less so soon after arriving.

  Something about Clint… maybe it’s our past, our history. Sure he’s not who I remember, but he’s just a more grown up version of who he had been.

  “You know,” he says, not looking at me. I notice his face tighten up as he looks up at the stars. His jaw flexes like he’s clenching down against something unpleasant. “I feel like I’ve known you forever. Odd, huh?” he smiles at me, but his expression is strained. My pulse begins to thump softly against my collar bone and I struggle for words to say.

  But no words come.

  “I’m going to head to bed,” I say after a silence takes over us.

  “Have a good night,” he says. As I rise and walk toward the door, his hand once more finds mine. And like the first time, it feels like I’ve touched an electric fence. A tingle and warmth that’s unexpected travels from his touch up my arm and straight to my heart as I look down at him.

  “Thank you,” he says, his expression warm and his eyes filled with genuine gratitude. “For everything.”

  I can only smile at him, feeling bad for the deceit I’m guilty of.

  “Miss.”

  I smile at the man who’d interrupted me that first day. Now that he’s just standing in the kitchen and I’m pouring a glass of orange juice after having just seen Grace off to school, I decide to introduce myself. He seems like he’s the second in command. I’m just guessing based on how he interacts with Clint and the men.

  “I’m May,” I say, offering him my hand.

  He takes it and lifts it to pantomime a kiss on the back of my knuckles. “It’s my pleasure,” he says, “I’m Carson.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” I say as he releases my hand.

  “Boss is a good man. You’re safe here,” he says, as if reading every bit of fear I’ve been clutching since I got here. “Trust him,” he says and I jolt in surprise.

  “Why would you say that?” I ask, curious.

  He eyes me as I pour him a glass of juice and offer it. I’d already included his breakfast in the head count for the morning since he and Clint had been talking when I got up.

  “Thank you,” he says as he takes the glass. “I say it because you can trust him. Everything he does, he does for good reason, even if it’s hard to see what that reason is.”

  “Even asking me to be his fake fiancée?” I mumble, mostly joking.

  But Carson doesn’t blink an eye. “What his father is doing is wrong.” He shifts a bit in his seat. “And if you don’t mind me saying, that’s a big risk on his part. He wouldn’t put Gracie through something like that without good reason.”

  My heart aches as I think about Grace. Of course she’d know. She’d have to. What if it got her hopes up? What if it hurt her? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

  “Has he ever screwed up?” I ask, hoping against hope for an impossible answer. Carson, though, isn’t rising to the bait.

  “Boss?” he asks, as if not sure what I mean. When I nod, he lets out a snort. “Hell yes.” He seems chagrined. “Pardon my language.”

  “Please speak freely around me,” I reply. “I’m not a delicate flower. I prefer honesty and candor.”

  “You and me both, miss.” He smiles at me, and I realize he’s also a handsome man, but his looks take a second place to Clint.

  “So what is his father doing, exactly?” I ask, wondering if Clint gave me the full story. I can’t help but feel he might have left out an important detail or two.

  “Well,” Carson says around a swallow of juice, “that’s not really for me to say, miss.”

  “What’s not?” Clint asks, walking into the room as if he’s been here the whole time. I glance at Carson, feeling a stab of panic that he’ll out me for being rude and nosy. But he winks at me.

  “Where you went, Boss.” Carson says, and Clint looks over his shoulder quizzically at us.

  “Speak freely to May. I trust her and she needs to be in the loop with the goings on here.” Clint’s eyes meet mine and I feel an unexpected heat rising in my cheeks and sinking low in my belly.

  Clint

  “So, tell me about yo
urself, Carson,” May says and Carson shrugs.

  “Not much to tell, Miss.”

  “Don’t let him lie to you,” I say, looking over at Carson.

  But he shrugs again. “Wouldn’t interest the lady,” he says, and I wonder why it feels like I missed something.

  “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t curious,” May says, keeping her eyes off me as she speaks.

  “Perhaps another time, then,” Carson says respectfully. He gets up and washes his glass as I study May. When he leaves, I sense she’s ready to talk to me.

  “I’ll do it,” she says, still carefully avoiding my stare.

  But I need to know something. “Do you really understand what you’re agreeing to?” I ask, stepping close to her. She looks up at me, and I can see the thud of her heart against her breast bone.

  She nods, her pretty lower lip trembling a bit as she stares up at me. I grab her and pull her close. “I’ll have to touch you,” I say, knowing that my father will expect us to act like we’re in love. “They’ll expect us to look like we’re in love.” I find I like how she feels pressed up against me like this.

  She nods, still mute.

  “I’ll need to be close to you.” I touch her cheek with my free hand. Her eyes drift closed as if she’s really feeling me for the first time. I feel my body respond to her and I let it. As I expected, she jolts a bit as my hard cock presses into her belly.

  Before she can tell me no, I press my lips to hers. She’s sweet and tart, like orange juice and maple syrup. Like sin and surrender. Like everything I’ve ever craved and have never tasted.

  Her lips part and my tongue traces the pretty curve of her lower lip. She’s so delicious. So sweet and warm. I want more. More. All of her. Everything she’s willing to give.

  My cock pulses and her arms slip around my shoulders.

  Is this okay?” I murmur against her lips. In response, she shivers, her whole body responding to me. I grab her ass in both hands and she sucks in a deep breath as if shocked by my crass action. But she doesn’t say no. She doesn’t pull away. No, she melts into me.