Sleeping with the Enemy (An Enemies to Lovers Collection)

It feels strangely hot in the barn all of a sudden. Like a big blast of hot summer air just blew through the door, except the door isn’t open, and while it’s hot outside, it’s quite cool in here. My legs are all tingly, but not where Lindy’s head is lying. In fact, they haven’t gone numb in the right spots. Instead, they’re tingling further up. Quite far up. Ahem.

I clear my throat and concentrate on stroking Lindy’s face rather than thinking about Finn.

Goodness on a biscuit, how am I ever going to get through this? What was I thinking, opening up my house? Maybe I should move into the barn. Or perhaps I should just be normal and get on with my life because Finn being here has zero effect on anything for me. So what if he’s really freaking attractive? It’s pathetic to even think I’d stand a chance. I don’t want to stand a chance. There is no chance—chance isn’t even a word. Or a thing. Whatever. #whattheheckishappeningtomynipples #stophardeningortingling

I briefly think about giving myself a ta-ta-twister just to teach my nipples a lesson for refusing to listen to my much more rational brain, but I give them a pass since they’re probably just reacting to mixed signals and crazy hormones that I can’t control because I do know a thing or two about science, and I also know there’s a lot of water around here.

I’m still caressing Lindy’s face when a masculine shriek echoes from somewhere behind the house, off to the side of the barn, and definitely in the direction of the backyard.

“Guess that’s my cue to go and see what horror has befallen my new houseguest.”

Lindy raises her head and blinks at me. She looks happy. Like she thinks it’s funny. I smile down at her.

“I’ll be back shortly, once I defuse whatever’s going on out there.”

Lindy lets me get up. I shut the door to her stall and hurry out of the barn, biting hard on my bottom lip and perfecting my ability to keep a straight face. I’m sure I’m going to need one because nothing in this place merits a man-scream like that.

It might mean my new guest probably came face to face with a spider or just learned that carrots grow underground and not on trees. Or maybe it’s dirt. Perhaps he got some dirt on his expensive shoes and clothes. It’s a good thing I’m a wonder at getting out stains.

CHAPTER 5

Finn

A string of misfortunes.

That’s all I can call this, and by this, I mean being upside down with my leg twisted at a painful angle while my boot is caught in something. My hands are grazing the ground, and something wet and sticky is in my ear.

As if being stuck upside down isn’t bad enough, the wet and sticky thing that just happened causes me to pop my eyes open. When I come face to face with a set of huge brown eyes, a damp and hairy muzzle, and a very long, eager, pink and black spotted, wet tongue, wild fear chokes my voice for a second, but then I let out a high pitched, very undignified, and not at all masculine scream.

Unfortunately for me, it doesn’t deter the beast or its tongue. It continues to wet-willy my ear repeatedly while I thrash and squirm, trying to get away from it. Good thing I’m quite fit, and no, I don’t just hit the gym to lift weights. I do proper cardio, and I believe in yoga, thank you very much. Or maybe it’s just pure adrenaline that enables me to jackknife myself into a small ball. I flail my hands up and over, windmilling them wildly. It doesn’t really help since I’m caught with my head facing the ground, but I do manage to curl into myself enough to avoid Elly the Ear Licker over there.

“Help!” I yell. “Help!” The second time is more frantic. I don’t know what I’m going to do if Becki has headphones on and music playing or is just out of earshot and can’t hear me. “Help! Help me!”

Something wet and warm nuzzles the side of my face again, and a gentle moo sounds in my ear. I freeze. I don’t make a single movement or another sound.

“Please, no,” I beg as the muzzle digs under my arm despite my efforts to not move or make a sound. “I’m not that tasty. Please don’t devour me.”

Apparently, the giant behemoth doesn’t agree with my sentiment. Its sticky, long tongue emerges again, tickling and tasting the side of my face. The breath is sweet and earthy and very bovine.

“Moobelle! Moobelle, come here, sweetheart,” a soft voice calls.

I relax the way only someone, trapped upside down with his foot in a fence, his head dangling in midair while being tenderized and tasted by a cow, can relax—with my whole dang body.