Boyfrenemy

by Sosie Frost

  Not many people understood what I was trying to do.

  Not many people knew the guilt that drove it.

  “It’s my family’s home,” I said. “Has been for generations. There’s nothing more important in this world than restoring the farm.”

  “But you hate your family.”

  “They’re still my family,” I said. “And we got along, once upon a time. Family used to be bigger too. Had my brothers. Cassi. A couple foster kids who’d stayed with us. The farm was more than land. It was memories and family and a place to call home.”

  “I guess.”

  “And now there’s a new generation.” My words quieted her. “He or she will deserve a home too.”

  Micah looked down, twisting her hair behind her ear. Ashamed?

  “The only reason my parents married was because of me,” she said. “My mother and father weren’t in love—but they were respectable members of the community. A child out of wedlock would have humiliated them. So, they married, and then my mother realized the type of bastard my father was.”

  “That bad?”

  “We moved. Often. Anytime a business deal fell through, anytime he lost major money. First the lawsuits, then uprooting our lives so he could swindle a new sucker for another venture. From the time I was a child, he’d planned every aspect of my life to help him with the firm. He put me in the right private schools, sent me to a fancy boarding school with a focus on business, and even chose my major—real estate law. He expected me to work for him so I could finagle the contracts to help him scam more people out of their hard-earned money.”

  “Someone else signing off on your life plan?” I asked.

  She stiffened, the insult hardening her voice and stare. “You might not understand, but I invented my life plan after I severed ties with my father. After I refused his money, paid my own way through college, and had to scrape together a dollar in quarters and nickels to pay for a Raman Noodle Soup so I wouldn’t starve. I needed a set of goals and a timeline of events so I could survive.” She frowned. “And it worked. Or it had…until now.”

  Damn it. No wonder she was so damned organized. Christ, I’d gone through life with my parents sacrificing everything for my future. Never had to go it alone until…now. But at least I was a thirty-four-year-old man with some money in the bank and more than enough life experience. Micah had just been a kid when she started with nothing.

  “So, you ran away to join the government?” I asked.

  I shifted, but Micah didn’t let me move my hand from her tummy. Instead, she traced her fingers over mine, voice soft. “Someone has to stop men like him. And I do it with all the laws and regulations he hates so much.”

  “You’re a regular superhero.”

  “I sow order into chaos.” Her pride was adorable. “Without me, the whole of creation in Sawyer County would collapse into anarchy.”

  “Can’t have that.”

  “My work is very important,” she said.

  “Herding cats?”

  “No. That’s your work.”

  And I’d have the scars to prove it. “There’s gotta be something better I can do.”

  Her lips parted as I gently caressed her tummy. “I think you’ve done enough damage.”

  “I’d call it creation.”

  “This is doing nothing for your ego, is it?”

  I leaned down, voice low, savoring the sweet scent of her.

  “Shouldn’t a man be proud when a woman is swelling with his baby?”

  She licked her lips and stared at mine. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  I glanced down, my jeans tight. “Which one?”

  “You put that away.” Micah scolded me with an arched eyebrow. “I’ve had my fill, cowboy.”

  “That was hardly a fill…” I pushed against her, pinning her to the truck. She didn’t resist, only turning her head so my nibbling kisses traced along her neck. “Next time, I won’t stop until you’re completely stuffed.”

  Micah groaned as I captured her lips in a kiss. The heat surged between us, and the hungry swipe of her tongue revealed everything she’d hoped to hide. She shivered, but her body ground against mine. Every curve. Every secret. My hand slipped from her stomach down to her perfect thigh. God, what I’d do to grab those hips again. To spin her. Pin her against the truck. Rip off those panties and slip inside her heat until we both set on fire.

  And she wanted it too. That’s why her murmured protests urged me to stop. Both palms pushed against my chest, accidentally grazing one of the cat scratches.

  “We can’t…” Micah sucked in a troubled breath and escaped from my arms. “Look, I’ve got work to do. And you…” Her gaze lingered over my bare chest for a moment too long. “You should see a doctor.”

  “Only if this persists for longer than four hours.”

  “What? Oh.” Her eyes dropped to my pants. The priss avoided direct contact with the erection. She teased me with an awkward smile. “One Mississippi, two Mississippi…”

  “I know a better way to pass the time.”

  “So do I.” A calm, professional, rather boring Micah had returned. The one who treated me like a nuisance instead of a sex toy. “I have an idea.”

  “Your ideas usually end with me muddy, stung, or clawed,” I said.

  “I know how to get your barn approved.”

  Now this I liked. But what had I done to deserve it?

  And what would she make me do to get it?

  “It’s nearly foolproof,” she said.

  And there was the catch. “I don’t like nearly.”

  She shrugged. “Well, you’re involved, so…”

  “Thanks.”

  “Leave it to me.” She pulled her phone and began scrolling through her contacts. “I think I just figured out a way…”

  She ducked from my arms and hurried across the field as quickly as her heels could carry her and her hips could sway. As much as I loved the sight of her ass, it only reminded me of the hefty price I’d pay for merely looking.

  “Princess.” I called to her. “What’s with the change of heart?”

  She hesitated, turning only to offer me a smile. I didn’t know much about the woman, but I could tell when she faked happiness.

  And it killed me.

  “When I was growing up, I didn’t have a good family,” she said. “Didn’t have anyone, really. No real place to call home. Nowhere I wanted to be except away from my parents.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “But now I can use my job to protect yours.”

  “You’re only doing it for the job?”

  Her hand grazed where mine had just touched, a soft pat her to belly. “I might have ulterior motives.”

  “How ulterior?”

  There was the real smile—bright, honest, and beautiful. “I’m gonna give my baby a farm.”

  Chapter Nine

  Micah

  Whoever said pregnancy was hard never tried to lure a three-legged goat out of the backseat of a Honda Accord.

  I hadn’t planned on hauling any kids in my car yet, but I made an exception for Clyde. After all, I needed to get used to small critters pooping on my leather seats. Though I hoped a baby wouldn’t gnaw on my headrest.

  Or my hair.

  Billy Fraiser had offered me a leash for Clyde, but he’d warned the goat would be unlikely to follow. He was right. Julian’s salvation and my only legal loophole to get him his barn was too busy bucking against my back windshield on one leg to frolic in his new home.

  I’d hoped to present the goat as a truce. Less a dove of peace and more a…can-eating, hoof-stomping, head-butting excuse for a barn.

  Alternatively, Clyde would also be a conversation starter that skipped the small talk and all discussion about all other unmentionables.

  Like the kiss.

  Like his body over mine. His touches. The soft caress of his hand against my tummy.

  How his confidence, sexiness, and utter possessiveness of me had soothed my nerves for
the first time since I’d realized I was pregnant.

  No budget had ever calmed my jitters. And the life plan? Forget it. I’d scribbled and pitched two planners just trying to balance my regular schedule and meeting nights with the words maternity leave. My usual stress relief had failed. Julian was now the only calming influence in my life.

  And I couldn’t even tell him. Why risk awakening the beast that was his arrogance? The cocky bastard didn’t need any more encouragement.

  With a flurry of hooves, grunting, and cursing, I led Clyde onto the porch. He brayed and pounced the wicker furniture, kicking a one-eighty off the house siding before bee-lining for the potted herbs on the railing. One good chomp, and the basil was destroyed.

  I really hoped that wasn’t the only crop Julian had planted.

  Clyde attempted to strip the paint off the railing for dessert as the porch door swung open.

  Did Julian ever wear a shirt?

  Today was worse than usual. Or maybe better. A damp towel draped low over his waist—the thick muscles and pronounced V of his hips a welcomed sight for my hormone-addled brain.

  No man had a right to look as strong as Julian. Not even rugged. Just…practiced. Honed muscles and a strong core, broad shoulders and a heavy jaw. Of course, that perfect chest was minced with cat scratches, but he wore the injuries well, no matter if the bruises came from a bar fight or an angry little kitten.

  The sight of a half-naked Julian Payne did nothing to quell the churning, aching heat that slurred my words in my watering mouth.

  “Ta…” I tugged the goat’s leash and attempted to bring Clyde to Julian. “…Da!”

  Clyde had other places to be, people to meet, and a whole farm to explore. He launched from the porch and hopped onto the railing, knocked over the potted plants, and began to poo.

  Julian wasn’t impressed.

  “What…” He ran a hand through his wet hair, his towel accidentally slipping further down his hips. “Where…what the hell is that?”

  “It’s a goat.” I gave Clyde a scratch behind the ears. I…assumed goats liked that.

  “What?”

  I smirked. “A goat, Farmer Payne. E-I-E-I-O.”

  “But…why?”

  “His name is Clyde. He’s yours now.”

  Julian’s eyebrow cocked. “Where’s the rest of him?”

  “This is all of him.”

  Three legs didn’t slow Clyde down. I unhooked the leash and sent him to raid the garbage can. He hobbled off without a problem, as if all goats were born with three legs and a ravenous appetite for trash.

  “I had an idea,” I said.

  “Yeah?” Julian frowned. “I got a lot of questions.”

  “There’s a provision in the county ordinances that state exemptions can be made for repairs to agricultural structures that are currently housing animals outside the scope of domesticated companions, as defined by cats, dogs, and chickens.” I winced as Clyde toppled the garbage cans and frolicked in the empty pizza boxes. “Well, there’s your scope. Clyde needs a home, and housing him should get you the variance, simple and easy.”

  “Where the hell did you find a goat?”

  “Apple Orchard Farms, over in Marshall Township. One of the farmers owed me a favor. He said I could borrow any animal I needed to satisfy the ordinance.”

  “O…kay.”

  I gave him a moment’s pause before arching an eyebrow. “You can thank me now.”

  “For borrowing a goat?”

  “Well…technically…”

  I bit my lip as Clyde returned to the porch, eyeing Julian’s terrycloth towel as a likely dinner. He gave it one good chew and attempted to bolt down the stairs. Julian shouted, nearly losing the towel. His bare ass flashed for a teasing second before he was decent once more.

  He wore the towel better than the scowl.

  Didn’t make the next part any easier. “Um, see…you didn’t actually borrow Clyde. He’s kinda…yours now.”

  “Mine?”

  “Permanently.”

  Julian thrust a hand towards his empty farm. “Princess, I don’t even have a barn! Where am I supposed to keep a three-legged goat?”

  The damn hormones. Tears prickled my eyes—again. It wasn’t Julian’s tone or raised voice. I’d wept during a Lady Gaga song, cried when I’d forgotten my water bottle in the office, and bawled when Clyde had brayed from the back seat. In my defense, his baa baa had sounded like mama, and I wasn’t able to cope with that flurry of emotion.

  “They were going to put Clyde down…” I fought the tears. Crying over this made less sense than sniffling over my salad because I only had four croutons. “They thought…cause of his leg…”

  The tears came. Julian froze, eyes wide.

  “Oh, princess, I…”

  “And he’s okay. He’s a wether—means he’s neutered and everything.” My words blended into one wail. “And he gets around well, just needs a farm where he won’t be bullied by the other four-legged creatures.”

  “Okay…” Julian said. “It’s okay!”

  He ran a hand through his damp hair. Droplets cascaded down his biceps and chest. Suddenly, my cheeks weren’t the only part of me that got wet. The tears stopped, and, in its place, a burning, aching, desperate lust blossomed.

  Pregnancy was exhausting.

  “He can stay,” Julian said. “We’ll…put him in Quint’s room.”

  Clyde bleated, gnawing on the leg of a wicker chair, and took his lunch to go, exploring the rest of the porch. Julian ignored him, his gaze focusing on the car bounding up the driveway. His grip tightened on the towel.

  “Fucking great,” he said.

  I frowned as the car parked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Trouble’s here.”

  “What sort?”

  “My sister brought my brother home from the hospital.”

  A pretty girl hopped from the driver’s seat. Her skin was a shade darker than mine, but that didn’t make her any less of a sister to the Paynes. I’d heard the gossip in town—Cassi might have been adopted, but all five of her brothers fiercely protected her.

  Which made the brother she was bringing home…

  “Marius.” Julian hadn’t busted out any balloons to welcome home the wounded warrior. “This oughta be good.”

  Cassi raced to the passenger side of the teeny little Ford Fiesta, but the door had already wrenched open. A prosthetic leg crunched in the gravel first, the cane second. Their hushed voices rose.

  “Marius, let me…” Cassi reached for him, had her hand batted away, then reached into the car to smack him herself. “I am not taking you back to the hospital if you fall.”

  “I don’t need your help.” Marius grunted as he un-wedged himself from the teeny car. “I’m fine.”

  Cassi gave an exasperated sigh and allowed him to take the lead, a position I was certain a man like Marius Payne had assumed often.

  The injured SEAL was just a rumor around town. Hurt overseas in a secret mission only to return home after years of absence without a leg. I doubted the injury would slow him down. Marius was well over six feet of stoicism, quiet aggression, and muscle. The man was built for raw physical strength. Bulging biceps. A leg like a tree trunk. A core that rippled even under his t-shirt.

  And yet, the steps to the porch gave him pause.

  So did the goat.

  Marius scowled. “What the hell is that?”

  Julian didn’t greet his brother. “My new goat.”

  Cassi gathered her brother’s bag from the car and sprinted to help him with the stairs. The luggage dropped to the dirt as she raced to greet the goat instead.

  Her aww cut short.

  “Where’s…” Cassi slapped Julian’s arm. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Julian shrugged. “What?”

  “He’s missing a leg!” Cassi fumed, pushing him from their path as she marched into the house. “You have one sick sense of humor, you know that?”

  Marius ripped op
en the screen door and glared at his brother. Julian shouted after them.

  “It’s not what you think. He’s for the…” The door slammed. “Barn.”

  I flinched. Julian didn’t. Tensions apparently ran high at the Payne Farm.

  He collapsed on the porch swing and attempted to adjust the towel. It didn’t hide much.

  “You shouldn’t be standing,” he said. “You’re…”

  “Pregnant?”

  He grimaced. “Yeah. Just keep it down.”

  I approached, but I didn’t sit, planting my hands on my hips. “You didn’t tell your family yet?”

  “Did you?”

  “That’s different. I don’t get along with my father, and my mother is off in France, sipping champagne out of some artist’s belly button.”

  Julian curled a finger. I really didn’t trust myself to sit next to him, especially as nearly every inch of his tanned skin was exposed, begging to be touched, licked, caressed…

  What was it about this man that encouraged a woman to make bad decisions?

  He’d make a good girl go naughty, and a naughty girl even better. Or would that be worse? Regardless, he was particularly dangerous for fertile wombs and foolish women.

  He held the swing steady—a relief as my tummy treated climbing stairs like a roller coaster ride anymore. I sat and crossed my ankles. If only I had done that a couple of weeks ago. Too little, too late.

  “My family is dysfunctional,” I said. “But yours…”

  “Is the very definition.”

  “I doubt that.”

  He stretched, arms crossed behind his head. Every muscle in his chest tensed, but he winced. With a twist, he rubbed his lower back and sighed.

  “After Dad died…” His words were shadowed with a grief that he tried so hard to hide. “We all moved home. Had no choice. Dad’s will stated that every decision about the farm had to be made in unison. We’re not allowed to subdivide or sell our own parts. Either the parcel goes as one piece, or we all work together to rebuild the farm.”

  “And your siblings…”

  “Not on board.” He pointed across the field. “Five years ago, we lost the barn to the fire.”

  I’d heard the rumors. “What happened?”