The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)

by T.L. Swan

“What did you do?” I exhale heavily. “I did what any self-respecting man does when his life is in danger.” “What’s that?” “I got the fuck out of there.” “You drove home with that ankle?” he asks in surprise. “Sped the entire way.”

“I could always come to see you in your office tomorrow, Claire . . . on your desk.” “You mean at her desk,” Gabriel replies. Tristan gives me a slow, sexy smile. “I know what I meant.” Oh . . . fuck a duck.

“I know for a fact that if I wanted to take you home, I could have you riding my cock all night.”

“Admit it, Anderson; you think about me . . . just as much as I think about you.”

“You think about me?” I whisper. “All the fucking time. You’re driving me insane.”

“Call me in two hours,” he replies. “Why would I do that?” His dark eyes hold mine. “Because I’ve never needed to please a woman as much as I crave to please you . . . let me.”

Good God, the devil really does wear Prada.

“What if I really was here with Gabriel?” I stammer. “Then I’m about to steal his girl.” He smiles as he takes my face in his hands. My God, he’s so naughty. “Stop it,” I breathe. “No.” He kisses me, soft and slow.

He’s perfect.

The way he looks at me.

“You don’t get to break up with me.”

“We don’t end . . . until we both decide.”

“We don’t end . . . until we fucking end.”

“I missed you, Anderson,” he whispers as he brushes the hair back from my face.

“We’re so good together,” I whisper as I pull his face back to me. “In . . . in another life, we could have been great. Just not this one.”

“Promise me something.” “What?” He sighs, unimpressed. “Promise me . . . that sometimes . . . you’ll think of me.” Our eyes are locked. “No, I can’t do that, Anderson . . . if I can’t have you, I don’t want to think about you.”

He would have fought me if he wanted it. He didn’t. And now I know.

Oh well, it is what it is.

What did that fucking Claire Anderson do to my sex drive?

“Contrary to what you believe, Fletcher, I’m not the devil. I have no plans to kill you and bury you in a ditch on a deserted road.” And besides, I want to see your mother.

Fletcher has grown on me. He’s not a bad kid after all. Smart and funny, like his mom.

What the actual fuck is going on here?

I turn to Fletcher. “What are you going to do about this?” “Nothing. Why?” “Why aren’t you attacking him with underpants?” I snap, annoyed. “What good are you if you’re not going to be consistent?” I hit his chest with the backs of my fingers. “Consistency is key, Fletcher. If your mother isn’t allowed to date, she isn’t allowed to date anyone.”

who the hell is Paul from Pilates? He looks like a real tool.”

“I swear sometimes. Don’t tell your mother.” “Okay.” He shrugs. “Harry swears too.” Hmm, I bet he does.

This one is definitely my favorite.

If you kiss him, you’re in deep shit, woman.

Do you mind telling me who the fuck Pilates Paul is?”

“I’m allergic to cats, Claire. I need to sleep with you,” I call. “In your bed.” Her bedroom door slams.

I’m missing her.

“Meow.” “Shut the fuck up.”

She’s like an angel. She’s so beautiful.

I’ve never known a woman as beautiful as she is. She’s perfect—everything about her is perfect.

“I nearly died last night, Claire, between the cement couch, the clock, the cat, and now the fucking crazy nut outside.” She jumps out of bed. “But it was all worth it . . . just to see you wake up,” I say.

“I’ve got two words for you.” I hold up two fingers. “What are they?” I lean in real close. “Boarding. School.” He narrows his eyes. “You’re going down, pretty boy.” I grit my teeth. “Bring it.”

“If you want to do something useful, keep Paul from Pilates off the property and away from your mother. He’s no good, that guy.” Claire tries to hide her smile and fails abysmally. “Goodbye, Tristan.” Harry’s eyes widen in horror. “Who’s Paul from Pilates?” he says as he looks between us. I smile at Claire and give her a wink.

“Oh, Tristan,” Harry calls, and I turn back toward them. “Tick. Tock.” He smiles darkly, as if he has a secret. I narrow my eyes . . . what the fuck does that mean? I shake it off. “Goodbye, Claire. Goodbye, Wizard.”

“Because I can’t fight this anymore. I can’t pretend that I don’t want you. Because I do.”

“Tris,” I whisper. “I’m sick of playing these stupid fucking games.” “Such as?” “Stop acting dumb, Anderson; it doesn’t suit you at all.”

“I don’t want you to go out with that Pilates fuckwit again.” “Why?” “Because I want you all to myself.” “And yet you expect me to share?” “No. I won’t see anyone else either.”

“I don’t have a choice in the matter, so we need to do this.” “Why don’t you have a choice?” I ask. “Because I only want you.”

“So . . . sleeping with only you . . . isn’t a problem for me.” His lips touched mine. “However, not sleeping with you is a torture I won’t tolerate.”

“You know . . . ,” he whispers. I stare at a spot on the carpet—anything to take myself away from the intensity of his gaze on my body. He drags my face to his. “I had forgotten how beautiful you are, Anderson.”

Claire Anderson makes me happy. Stupidly fucking happy.

That evil wizard has put hair-removal cream in my conditioner . . . and fucked up my car.

I sip my beer and glare at my infuriating brother across the bar table. Every time he looks at me, he bursts out laughing. He’s been doing this for half an hour.

“Hi, I’m here to take over your company. Don’t mind me. I got fucked up by a thirteen-year-old.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with us, but I do know that I want to be with her in the right now, and a fucktard little kid isn’t winning and keeping her from me.”

“Tristan probably has somewhere better to go, bubba,” I reply. Tristan’s eyes hold mine. “No. I’m exactly where I want to be.

“I think I love you.”