One Bossy Proposal: Enemies to Lovers Romance

My face throbs with heat.

Big words from a really big lunk—and yet, they’re horribly true.

“Well, I do like being in bed with you,” I blurt out, quickly adding, “that is, when you’re not snoring like a hibernating bear.”

“There’s a cost to pleasure.” He grins, his eyes bursting with sweetness. “For the record, you’re my favorite way to warm my bed, too. Now if you get inside sometime this century, we could enjoy it rather than talking.”

I hold up a hand. I need to finish these lines before I lose my mojo.

The bond.

The tether

Always together.

“Fair warning,” he rumbles impatiently. “If you’re cheating on me with Mr. Fortunato, I will push him through a shredder.”

I glare at him. “Don’t you dare, Lincoln Burns.”

“Woman, don’t try me.” He steps off the deck, plodding down the short staircase and comes barreling at me.

I grab the journal, hop on top of the table I’m sitting at, and plod down the bench on the other side, running as fast as I can.

Lincoln chases me.

I sprint away, surprised I can still run when I’m doubled over laughing.

He’s gaining on me fast.

Crap. Here comes the hill, covered in freshly fallen leaves and emerald greenery still peeking through. Only one escape—and it’s also the best way to piss my man off.

I tuck Fortunato in my sweater, drop to the ground, and roll like I’m all of twelve years old again.

“Dakota!” he screams.

Before I can tumble three solid times, strong hands grab my sweater, tearing me back and blunting my momentum.

He scoops me up with ease, holding me like a naughty puppy.

“Are you crazy? Do you see how steep that drop is? You could’ve gotten hurt.” He jabs a finger down and—oops, yeah. He’s right.

It’s steeper than it looked in the heat of the moment, especially with the leaves carpeting everything.

“But I wasn’t.” I smile at him slowly.

“Only because I caught you in time,” he grumbles. “Don’t tell me I have to pull double duty as your boyfriend and your bodyguard? This is getting weird considering I’ve been your boss.”

“As long as you’re nice to Fortunato...we’ll see.”

He daggers me with a look so dirty it’s hysterical.

I slide my hand under my sweater, expecting to pull out my journal, but—

“Oh, crap. It’s gone! I must have dropped Fortunato when I rolled.” My heart climbs into my throat.

“Guess you deserve it then.”

“Lincoln, this isn’t funny. Put me down! I have to find my journal. I can’t lose my work.” My throat goes tight, and a hundred ways the little booklet could wind up waterlogged or carried off by a mischievous fox spin through my mind.

“Who’s the workaholic now?” He wraps his arms around me, holding me to his chest.

I lean up and kiss him before my panic resumes.

“Dude. As cute as that is, if I don’t find my journal, I’ll never forgive you.”

He sets me down with a slight exasperated sound.

“Hold on. I’ll go rescue him,” he promises.

“You will?”

“Like I’d risk your wrath, Nevermore. There’s a hell of a lot of places out here to hide my carcass, and I’m sure you’d find the worst,” he jokes.

“You’re so dramatic.” I laugh at him anyway, marveling at how his dumb jokes can brighten up even scary times like this.

“And you’re the one who named your damn journal.”

We walk together, staring at the ground, searching. Lincoln starts down the steeper incline, pulling his former Marine card and demanding I stay put.

Insanely annoying, but also sweet.

“I think I see it!” he calls up from the bottom of the hill, kicking leaves aside. He bends down, grabs it, and starts back up.

Delicious relief floods my system, cool and peaceful. I almost don’t notice the tiny flakes prickling my skin.

Just a handful at first, and then a proper dusting that swirls through the trees.

Weather gets intense at these elevations, and in late October, it isn’t unheard of for the rains to turn to snow.

I pull the tops down over my fingerless gloves and stick my tongue out as Lincoln approaches. “See what you did? I’m blaming this weather on you, Captain.”

Beside me, he chuckles. The last couple months, I’ve taken to calling him that. But he’s anything but a dipshit now.

Lincoln Burns is the light of my life, the first and last man I’d follow into hell.

“Careful or you’ll ruin the magic,” he warns, eclipsing me in those massive arms that always feel like they hold up the sky.

“Not possible. You saved Fortunato,” I whisper, taking the journal and giving it a good hand wipe.

“There’s enough magic inside, where it’s warm. I made a fire,” he whispers in my ear.

I look up with a grin. “You knew it was snowing?”

“Been in the forecast all week with more than a ninety percent chance,” he says.

“Wow. I’m surprised you went through with the trip.”

“A little winter never hurt anybody. Also, I plan on keeping you plenty occupied in the cabin for heat. Tomorrow, if you’re lucky, you’ll wake up sore as hell with a cup of coffee in hand and a nice view of the mountain in glittering white.”