One Bossy Proposal: Enemies to Lovers Romance

I lace my fingers through his. This man is the best thing that ever happened to me, even if I have a hard time putting it into words.

As soon as we step inside, I’m engulfed with cozy warmth, the orange flames twinkling in the fireplace.

“I love how you’re so thoughtful—when you want to be,” I tease.

My heart skips as he smiles back.

He pulls the door shut behind us, kisses my lips languidly, and moves past with a playful butt swat.

“Go put your journal somewhere safe and I’ll make you coffee,” he orders.

“Hmm, okay. But I can think of better ways to warm up than getting wired...”

He chuckles and kisses me again.

“Soon,” he whispers, low and firm.

He’s so perfect. I can’t help but stare, wondering how I ever got swept up in this whirlwind.

I haven’t even given up the lease on my apartment, despite all but living with Lincoln since the day he won me back by raven messenger.

If I were still a starry-eyed college girl who believed in weddings, he’d be the man I’d want to swap vows with, hands down. But something tells me we’re better off this way, easy and slow, committed with no formal, hard commitment yet.

I head into the bedroom and lay my journal on the desk. When I return to the living room, Linc has two cups of steaming coffee and a huge Regis roll on the coffee table, apparently warmed up like it was just made.

He lounges on the couch as I sit beside him, my curiosity rising.

“Whoa. You really thought of everything. When did you stop for this?” I ask, staring at the roll with my stomach growling.

“The morning we left. They sold it raw and I just had to pop it in the oven. I wanted this weekend to be perfect, and I know my girl loves pastries more than money.”

I laugh at him, suddenly suspicious.

“Lincoln, what are you doing?”

He holds his hands up like he’s innocent. “Nothing. Why?”

“You’re up to something.”

He shakes his head fiercely.

“You’re wrong. Scout’s honor.”

“Lincoln Burns, you’re no Boy Scout. How many times do I have to remind you?”

“Dakota Poe, eat your cinnamon roll and shut it,” he says playfully.

“What if I’m allergic to cinnamon now?”

“Liar.”

I pick up the ceramic plate he’s laid the Regis roll on. There’s a small silver fork next to it, waiting.

“Dig in,” he orders.

I do, and the cinnamon roll all but crumbles apart. I take a bite, but it’s weirdly flaky, almost like there’s something odd with the dough. I cough, sputtering small crumbs into my hand.

“Are you okay?”

I nod.

He slips an arm around me, pulls me closer, presses his mouth to mine, and traces my lips with his tongue.

I open my mouth.

He glides his tongue across mine.

I drop the fork and put my hand in his hair.

He covers my palm with his hand and pushes my hand back to the plate without breaking the kiss. He’s still tracing my tongue, the inside of my mouth, with his.

I sigh, already delirious as he breaks away.

“You need to eat,” he whispers, curling my hand around the fork with his own.

Together, we stab the cinnamon roll, closer to the center.

What’s he doing?

He kisses me again, this time deeper, his tongue flicking over mine.

Oh, God. I can’t care what he’s doing.

We pull at the cinnamon roll again, and this time the fork hits something solid. He guides my hand, lifting away the flaky layer.

He pulls away, sighs, and draws in a deep breath. “Dakota, look at your plate.”

What? I blink.

“Now?”

“Please?” The word is barely audible as it leaves his mouth.

I catch my breath and look down.

The fork hits something metallic almost like a small metal disc. I tap the fork again, peeling back more roll.

“Um, that’s a pretty big screwup for customer health. I think we should sue,” I joke, my head whirling with possibilities.

“Let’s see what it is before you sic the lawyers,” he says slowly, his eyes locked on mine.

I scrape cinnamon roll away from the rest of it. There’s something on top as I pry it out.

It’s...some kind of box? There’s a raven shape engraved across the top.

My breath catches.

My eyes flick back to Lincoln.

“Go on.” He gives me a half smile and shrugs. “Open it, Nevermore.”

Breathe, Dakota. Just breathe.

My fingers shake as I pull the box closer, touch it to make sure it’s cool, and gasp as I run my pointer finger over its seam.

Ready or not...

The hinges pop as I push it open.

Hello, vintage ring. A gorgeously large oval diamond clustered by smaller diamonds in a halo around it.

“Lincoln, this is—it’s beautiful,” I stammer, tripping on my words.

He leans over with a firm nod, lifting the ring from the box.

“Looks a hell of a lot better if you’re wearing it, beautiful,” he whispers.

I look at him, unsure what he’s doing, even if part of me knows.