Hate Me, Take Me: A Hate-to-Love Duet

by Clare James

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Book

  Also by Clare James

  Hate Me

  “Everything I know, I learned from dogs.”

  Jenna

  Michael

  Take Me

  A Temporary Truce…

  Aria

  Tristan

  The Following Wednesday…

  About the Author

  Hate Me, Take Me

  A Hate-to-Love Duet

  Clare James

  Copyright © August 2017, Clare James, KU edition

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  About the Book

  Also by Clare James

  Hate Me

  “Everything I know, I learned from dogs.”

  Prologue

  1. Jenna

  2. Michael

  3. Jenna

  4. Michael

  Jenna

  5. Michael

  6. Jenna

  7. Michael

  8. Jenna

  Michael

  9. Jenna

  10. Michael

  11. Jenna

  12. Michael

  13. Jenna

  14. Michael

  Jenna

  15. Michael

  Jenna

  Michael

  16. Jenna

  17. Michael

  18. Jenna

  Michael

  19. Jenna

  20. Michael

  21. Jenna

  22. Michael

  23. Jenna

  24. Michael

  Epilogue

  Take Me

  A Temporary Truce…

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  Tristan

  Aria

  The Following Wednesday…

  Also by Clare James

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  Dear readers,

  I can’t seem to get enough of enemies-to-lovers romance novels! There is nothing better…unless there’s two! So as a special thank you to my readers (new and old), I wanted to offer this special duet of my favorite hate-to-love books, previously released as Never Be Tamed and Two-Hour Truce, for a very special price.

  I hope you enjoy!

  xoxo,

  Clare

  About the Book

  They say there’s a thin line between love and hate, and in the case of these couples, we’re talking razor thin!

  In this hate-to-love duet by Clare James, two couples cross that dangerous line…more than once!

  Hate Me

  Falling for your sister’s nemesis? Only a low-life dog would do something like that, right? And that ain’t me, not anymore. I’m trying to be a stand-up guy—finally making smart decisions, helping my little sister, and getting my shit together. For once, things are finally going my way.

  Until Jenna shows up. As soon as I meet her, I know she’s the enemy. I’ve heard enough to understand that she’s off limits. Banned. Forbidden. But when she moves in next door, it’s impossible to stay away, and I soon discover she’s not as bad as everyone says. Of course, she’s difficult, selfish, and a royal pain in the ass, but she’s also gorgeous, smart, kind, and…well, let’s just say I am that low-life dog. Traitor. Turncoat. And the world’s shittiest brother. Woof. Woof.

  * * *

  Take Me

  It's an offer I can't refuse...

  He was my best friend. He is my current enemy. Yet he wants me and I want him. And since we’re both stuck in our hometown unattached, we agree to a truce.

  Two hours, once a week, no strings attached. But what sounds like the perfect arrangement, turns into so much more…yet not nearly enough.

  This hate-to-love duet includes: Never Be Tamed and Two-Hour Truce.

  Also by Clare James

  The Impossible Love Series

  Before You Go (One-Night-Stand Goes Wrong)

  More Than This (Friends-to-Lovers Romance)

  Not Without You (A Big Misunderstanding)

  Talk to Me (Standalone Bait and Switch, Hockey Romance)

  Two-Hour Truce (Standalone Enemies-to-Lovers, Second-Chance Romance)

  Never Be Tamed (Standalone Forbidden, Enemies-to-Lovers Romance)

  * * *

  The Fun and Games Series

  The Rules

  The List

  The Game

  The Deal

  The Guru (Fun and Games Spin-off, Coming Soon!)

  * * *

  The Elite Series

  Caught

  Played

  Exposed (Coming Soon!)

  Hate Me

  (Never Be Tamed)

  By Clare James

  “Everything I know, I learned from dogs.”

  -Nora Roberts, The Search

  Prologue

  Jenna

  The Ten Top Reasons Why Dogs are Better than Men

  Dogs don’t judge you, even when you do something really, really stupid.

  Dogs never come home drunk or cranky, but they don’t care if you do.

  Dogs actually feel guilty when they’ve been bad.

  Dogs don’t care how you look, or what you wear, or how much you weigh.

  Dogs are always excited to see you, and they miss you when you’re gone.

  Dogs love to cuddle, and won’t make you sleep in the wet spot.

  Dogs always let you control the remote.

  Dogs don't brag about the women they’ve slept with.

  Dogs are loyal, good listeners who love unconditionally.

  Dogs can be trained and, more importantly, tamed!

  * * *

  I fixated on the Top Ten list that my friend Tristian had sent me as a joke. He was always sending me Top Ten lists. This one in particular was something he’d thought I’d really appreciate. What can I say? The guy got me.

  I printed and laminated it and used it as my favorite bookmark. Little did Tris know how perfect it was, or how it’d become a sort of mantra or creed for me. One that, I might add, I was failing at miserably these days.

  Since I’d royally screwed up my life freshman year, I’d been clear about the dog-to-guy hierarchy in my life. Dogs before dudes, and all that. I mean, guys were great at one thing, and one thing only…helping me control my hormones. But for the important things—like companionship, entertainment, and love—my heart be
longed to the hounds.

  Or it did.

  Oscar, my beloved pet, looked up at me from the floor while someone else snoozed away in his rightful spot on my bed. I’d swear poor Oscar would flip me off if he had a middle finger. He released a low groan and turned away. I couldn’t blame him.

  But honestly, Michael was one of the good guys. I was sure of it. Mostly.

  Okay, I was hoping (praying!) he was, because I kinda liked having another human in bed with me, no offense to my good buddy.

  Michael sighed in his sleep, his warm breath washing over my sensitive skin. He was a work of art, truly. Thick dark hair that stuck up in all directions in the morning, especially when he’d ravaged me the night before, olive skin that covered ripple upon ripple of lean muscle, and a face that belonged gracing the covers of magazines. He was bossy and protective as hell, but swoony and sweet at the same time. Yes, Michael was a supreme catch—he was all man, and he was all mine. At least for now.

  Later today, however, would be the moment of truth—when he’d show me what he was really made of. It was funny (and by funny, I mean sad and pathetic) that even after all we’d shared together, I had no idea what he was going to do. Would he bare his teeth and claim me as his, or tuck his tail between his legs and retreat?

  My stomach knotted inside, because in a matter of hours, I was about to find out.

  1

  Jenna

  One Month Earlier

  Well, that was creepy. Tristan’s cute little text about why dogs were better than men came at the exact moment that I was thinking about the exact same thing—the compassion of canines versus the douchey-ness of dudes.

  Last night’s date—and I use that term lightly—did nothing to encourage my faith in mankind, either. His name was Toby, or was it Taylor? I couldn’t remember. It was some name that started with a T.

  Yeah, I was not the romantic sort. No need for flowers and candy for this girl. Just give me a few laughs and an O and I’d be content for months. Still, I did require that my quarterly hook-up maintain a certain level of hygiene. This degenerate, however, showed up to the bar wearing a pit-stained shirt, and had crumbs in his beard. Oh, and he forgot his wallet.

  This was the downside of being anti-relationship. See, I preferred to keep my sexual partners anonymous, and my personal life to myself. It was just safer that way. But the problem with mystery men was that you occasionally wound up with a troll who’d never been introduced to a shower.

  I ended the night after I slammed my beer and snuck out the backdoor. Alone. By nine p.m., I was at home and in bed all tense, anxious, and stressed out to the max —precisely why I needed a date in the first place. It’d been months since a two-legged male had been in my bed. That’s like a year and a half in dog years!

  Stupid, dirty Grizzly Adams.

  Thankfully, I got a little action in my dreams, so there was that.

  It was still dark outside when Tristan’s text came in, but that’d be changing next week when we set the clocks ahead for daylight saving time. I couldn’t wait. This spring would mark my last year of college and meant my decisions would actually belong to me now, instead of my parents. Plus, Top Dog, the animal shelter where I worked, would start picking up with adoptions and I’d be able to get the dogs out for long walks. Not to mention, menfolk would be out in droves (maybe even some with well-groomed facial hair and freshly laundered clothes), so things were looking up.

  I stretched out in my bed, as much as I could without disturbing the pups. The three sweetest dogs surrounded my body, creating a fuzzy little barricade to protect me from the real world. Not that anyone would believe someone like me would need protection.

  I did.

  Oscar opened an eye, silently telling me it was too early to get up. I agreed. It was my only morning to sleep in, and I’d been awake since five a.m., tossing and turning. Well, as much as one could toss and turn while sharing a bed with three dogs.

  I patted the big guy’s head and propped up against the pillows. There was no use trying to get back to sleep. Plus, I could use some human contact, even if it was only over the phone.

  Thought you’d like this, Tristan wrote in his text.

  It was like he was watching me, and always knew when I needed a pick-me-up. I checked the camera lens on my phone, staring deep into the dark eye. Maybe he was spying on me. If anyone could hack into my iPhone camera, it was Tristan.

  Nailed it, I typed back.

  Computer whiz, entrepreneur, business genius, and my only friend, that was Tristan Green. We’d interned for the same think tank for the entire summer after freshman year. Him? Because he was brilliant and the company recruited top talent. Me? Because my dad knew a guy. That year, my parents were desperate to be rid of me during the school break.

  Tristan: Let me guess, ur in bed with a pack right now, covered in dog hair.

  Me: Hardly.

  I pulled a stray, wiry strand of fur out of my mouth. Hmm, toffee brown. That was Oscar’s—my pride and joy and the most gorgeous Airedale mix in the Midwest.

  Tristan: Tell me, Peterson. How many animals are in bed with you?

  Me: Only three.

  Lying to him was pointless. There was Oscar, who was my full-time dog, protector, and only alpha male in my life. Sigh. And Ruby and Molly, two young labs, who just needed a place until their foster parents came through. Top Dog was at maximum capacity, so I had two choices: take them home or send them to another shelter—one that still enforced a euthanizing policy for unadoptable pets—like there was such thing. The way I saw it, the pups simply hadn’t found their forever homes yet. They just needed a little more time, a second chance.

  I totally got that.

  So did Tris. He knew my all my secrets, and I knew his. But what brought us both together was the fact that we were mostly alone in the world. Or, we were. Tris’ situation changed quite drastically once his high school sweetheart came back to his hometown on the Florida coast—exactly 1,501.18 miles away from Minneapolis. Sniffle.

  I was happy for him, really. If anyone deserved a forever home, it was him. His love story with Aria had the makings of a country song if I’d ever heard one. Thankfully, Tris wasn’t sappy about it. Even though he was all in love and practically a dad now, he was still the same guy I’d come to rely on to complain about any topic that was currently irritating me—usually love and life.

  I’d had my share of lowdown, dirty dogs over my college career—jerks, blowhards, drunks. Mostly, because I didn’t think I deserved better. Not after the crap I’d done in my life. But Tristan had convinced me that I could start over when I was ready. In the meantime, he listened to my rants, and arguments, and the occasional crying jag whenever I needed him. But most importantly, he rarely pushed. He didn’t badger me with niceties or positivity. He knew who I was, and he let me be.

  Me: Have you thought any more about my proposal?

  Tris: I’m in! Just need a little more time.

  “Yes,” I said silently, with a fist bump to my reflection on the wall mirror.

  It was the best news I’d heard since the adoption papers came through for Oscar. During our last talk, I tried to convince Tris to make a donation to Top Dog. Though it was desperation that drove me, I knew it’d be a good PR move on his part. His company recently purchased a line of cancer screening equipment for pets. Shortly after the acquisition, he established a foundation dedicated to pet health—something I suggested, thank you very much. And this was the next logical step. Tristan wasn’t a pet lover per se, but he had a heart of gold and was always looking for a worthy cause for his philanthropy efforts. He was the Bill Gates of the south, so I pushed my own agenda on him whenever it was appropriate.

  Tris: Think you can keep the place on the up and up until I push it through the foundation?

  Me: Of course.

  I cringed a little at his request. Ever since my boss, Gloria, took over the shelter a few years ago, we’ve done our best to repair its reputation after the previ
ous owner was found guilty of mistreating the animals. Trouble was, we were hanging on by a thread—low on employees, volunteers, and money for supplies and repairs. But it was the only no-kill shelter in the area, so we just had to keep it open. That’s where Tristan’s foundation came in.

  We needed the funds ASAP because we had an ornery, and surprisingly powerful, businessman up our ass, watching our every move and trying to get us to slip up. The shelter was on a decent piece of real estate that Chris Sullivan had been trying to buy up for years, and he was willing to do almost anything to make that happen—which included reporting even the slightest infringements of the shelter.