Skye: an enemies-to-lovers, marriage of convenience, and fake relationship stand alone romance (Signature Sweethearts) Read online

  Skye

  A Signature Sweethearts Novel

  Kelsie Rae

  Copyright © 2020 Kelsie Rae

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. The reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek

  Prologue

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Also by Kelsie Rae

  Cover Art by Cover My Wagon Dragon Art

  Editing by My Brother’s Editor

  Proofreading by Stephanie Taylor

  January 2020 Edition

  Published in the United States of America

  Chapter One

  Skye

  As we pull up to Brody’s home, I purse my lips and study the unfamiliar car parked out front. It’s a flashy, red BMW, though I can’t tell you what the model is for the life of me. My favorite six-year-old squirms in the back seat, grabbing my attention. With a glance in the rearview mirror, I shove my SUV into park and focus on more important matters. Like preventing urine from seeping into my leather seats.

  “Do you need to go to the bathroom?” I ask Brody. I’ve been his nanny for a couple of years, and it’s pretty much the best job ever. He has a mop of dark, curly hair on his head, and a set of dimples that lets him get away with murder. Most of the time, anyway.

  With a brisk nod, Brody unbuckles his seat belt and slides toward the back passenger door like his pants are on fire.

  That’s what you get for not going before we left my sister’s house, I want to say, but I keep my lips zipped. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell the kid to listen to me, if he doesn’t want to, he won’t. And rubbing in the fact that I’m right won’t help matters, either.

  Hustling to keep up with the kid, I search for the keys that will unlock his front door while eyeing the strange car curiously.

  Brody reaches the front door first and shoves it open, making me drop my key-wielding hand to my side. If the door is unlocked, then that means a certain older brother is home. Well, half-brother if we’re being technical. I don’t know much about the elusive Liam Davis other than the fact that he has the same dimples as his little brother––and the same penchant for disobeying the rules. The guy has rubbed me the wrong way during every encounter we’ve had, and I’ve quickly learned to keep my distance if I have any hopes of keeping my sanity intact, as well.

  “Yay, me,” I mumble under my breath before stepping into the gigantic foyer. The floors are covered with white and black marble tiles, and the fresh scent of bleach permeates the air making Brody’s house feel more like a sterile museum than a home.

  Maybe Celia, the cleaning lady, bought a new car, and the asshat whom I refuse to talk to is still out man-whoring in the city.

  Then I remember the make of the car, and my shoulders deflate. It was a BMW. There’s no way Celia could afford a BMW.

  Dammit.

  Expecting the blessed cool air to touch my cheeks, I notice it’s hot as Hades inside, and my brows pinch in confusion.

  What the hell?

  Brody’s parents are out of town, so it looks like I get to call a handyman to come fix the AC unit.

  My ears perk at the unfamiliar sound of rap music coming from deeper inside the home, distracting me from the abnormal warmth accompanying me in the foyer. Following the noise, I glance into the dining room and find it empty before venturing further into the house. The family room is empty, as well as the kitchen. Curiously, I search the study when Brody’s voice startles me from behind.

  “Hey, Skye. What’s this?” Dangling from his six-year-old fingers is a red, lacy bra, and my eyes nearly pop out of my head.

  Reaching out, I tug the flimsy material from him before hiding it behind my back.

  “Where the heck did you get that?” I seethe, my face turning hot with anger and embarrassment.

  “It was on the couch. Is that…?” Now it’s his face turning bright red.

  Digging into my back pocket, I pull out my phone and practically shove it into Brody’s chest. “It’s nothing. Here. Take this, stay in here, and play some games for a few, okay? Don’t come out until I come and get you. Understand?”

  The electronic-addicted kid doesn’t even bother to answer before he unlocks my phone and dives into the first game his little fingers can find.

  Satisfied he’ll be occupied for a few minutes, I stomp toward the rap music like a woman on a mission as the stupid bra swings from side to side.

  When girlish laughter reaches my ears––along with the stifling heat from a crack in the back door––I grit my teeth.

  Swinging it open with more gusto than I probably should, I march toward the steaming hot tub tucked toward the side of the house.

  They don’t notice me at first. Clearly, the two people in the hot tub are both preoccupied. Still, it doesn’t stop me from taking in their precarious position. Mr. Asshat is lounging in the hot tub while Ms. Lacy Bra is straddling him…topless. His tattooed arms roam her back lazily while she peppers kisses along his neck. It takes everything inside of me not to avert my eyes or slink back into the house before they notice me.

  Yet, somehow, I find the nerve to stay firm and yell, “Hey, Asshat! Mind if we chat for a second?”

  The girl in his lap twirls around in surprise before pressing her bare chest into Liam’s.

  Her shrill voice could break glass as she shrieks, “Who the hell are you?”

  “She’s the nanny,” Liam answers her, his tone laced with indifference before he addresses me. “Is there a problem?”

  I balk. “Yeah. I’d say so. Your little brother just found his first bra lying on the couch. Thanks for that, by the way. The back door was open, letting all the cool air out, so your house is like a freaking sauna. The music is so loud that I’m surprised the cops aren’t knocking down the front door for disturbing the peace, and don’t even get me started on the profanity that’s blasting louder than a foghorn. Do you really think it’s appropriate for a six-year-old to listen to this crap?” Waving my hand at the topless bimbo, I add, “And let’s not forget about your houseguest. What if Brody had seen this? Do you have a
ny decency at all?”

  I point to said bimbo. “And you! Do you have any self-respect? Do you know who this asshat is? I’d bet twenty bucks right now that he doesn’t even know your name. Yet, here you are, straddling the guy and moaning like he’s a freaking gift from the heavens. Give it a rest. Get some clothes on. And get the hell out of here before I make you.”

  My chest is heaving by the time I finish my little monologue only to see Liam’s mouth quirked up in amusement.

  “Anything else, Nanny?” he sneers.

  Teeth gritting, I wad the bra up into the shape of a baseball and chuck it at his head. Bimbo squeals as the flimsy material narrowly misses her before landing on the side of the hot tub and slipping into the water.

  Liam’s gaze darkens as he murmurs, “You missed.”

  “Next time, I won’t.”

  Turning on my heel, I rush inside, slamming the door behind me. My blood is boiling as I rest my back against the glass door and take a few deep breaths.

  I hate him. I hate him. I hate him, I chant to myself.

  “Everything okay?” Brody asks, making me jump.

  “Yup,” I force out. “Just peachy.”

  Chapter Two

  Liam

  My hair is still wet from the hot tub as I run my fingers through it before gripping the sleek leather steering wheel in front of me. The GPS blares through the Bluetooth speaker, telling me to take a left.

  “Thanks again for today. I had fun,” the blonde purrs from the passenger seat.

  Ignoring her, I adjust my aviators to block out the blaring sun and flip my blinker on. Ever since Nanny barged in on us, I’ve been…annoyed. Not enough to turn down a second orgasm in the hot tub, mind you. But enough to drive her home minutes after finishing.

  I’m an ass. So sue me.

  With a quick glance to my right, my nostrils flare. Nanny wasn’t wrong. I don’t know this girl’s name. We met through a dating app with one goal in mind. I asked if she was DTF. She said yes. I picked her up. We had our fun. Now, I’m driving her home.

  Simple. Transactional. And numbing. Though I wouldn’t ever admit it out loud.

  “So…,” the blonde starts as she twirls her hair into a ponytail. “We should do this again sometime.”

  When I stay silent and her elastic is firmly in place, she rests her perfectly polished, blood-red nails on my upper thigh. The intimate touch hints at another tryst before dropping her off, and I debate on taking her up on it.

  “What do you think? I mean, I don’t know about you but—“

  The shrill sound of my phone ringing cuts her off. Looking at the screen on the center console, I barely restrain my groan.

  “Who’s Robert Davis? Is that your dad?”

  Shifting forward, I push the red button on the touch screen. A cold silence is left in its wake, mingling with the air conditioning as it blasts through the vents.

  The girl isn’t bright enough to catch onto my frigid posture and begins to trail her hand up toward my crotch.

  “Sorry, babe. Not gonna happen again today.” I grab her wrist and move it to her own lap. Sticking her lower lip out, she pouts like a little kid who was told she couldn’t have dessert before folding her arms across her perky tits.

  Siri’s voice echoes through the speakers, informing me that my destination is on the right before it’s cut off by another call from Daddy Dearest.

  Pulling over, I shove the car in park and lift my chin at the girl, motioning for her to get out.

  It doesn’t surprise me when she opens her own door without a second thought, proving to me that she respects herself about as much as I do.

  Once her stiletto-clad feet are on solid ground, she bends down and pops her head back into the car before purring a second time, “Text me.”

  “See you around, babe.”

  With a sexy smirk, she slams the passenger door then saunters up the sidewalk as I push the damn red button on the touch screen for a second time.

  There’s no use ignoring him. He’ll keep calling until I answer. But sometimes I can’t help but feed the flames. You know, the ones that have been burning like an inferno since the time I turned thirteen.

  After another ten calls, a text comes through.

  Robert Davis: Answer your damn phone, or I cut off your credit cards.

  My jaw flexes as I read the message.

  Seconds later, the screen lights up with another call, and I squeeze the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. After a few more tense seconds, I release the pressure and push the answer button on the touch screen.

  “Interesting,” my dad says.

  “And what’s that?”

  “Like father like son, boy. We’ll do anything for money now, won’t we?”

  My blood begins to boil in my veins at the prospect of ending up anything like my dad.

  “There a reason you called?” I grit out.

  “Just checking in to see if my eldest son has finally gotten his head out of his ass.”

  With a dry laugh, I shake my head. “Nope. Like father like son, remember?”

  “Very funny, Liam. I just got off the phone with Skye. She said you’re still hanging around home?”

  Of course, the nanny would tattle.

  “Sure am.”

  “There a reason why? You usually disappear a day or two after coming home for a fresh credit card once yours wears out from overuse.” The sarcasm in his voice grates on my nerves.

  I blow out a long, slow breath through my mouth before responding. “You promised to finally sign over my inheritance instead of holding it over my head like you have for the past five years?”

  “Don’t use that tone with me, Liam. Since your mom left, you’ve been nothing but an ungrateful little shit, and I’m sick of it. I didn’t promise to sign over your inheritance. I promised to discuss how we can make that happen. Don’t twist my words, boy.”

  You have got to be kidding me.

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I pray for patience.

  “So, you’re not planning on signing over my inheritance?” I hide my disbelief behind a tone of indifference.

  “I have a few stipulations before I give you your money. Though I do find it interesting that I pay off your credit cards without asking any questions, yet you still seem to rack up the bill without blinking an eye. Why insist on me signing it over to you when you spend all my money regardless?”

  “Come on, Bob. The sooner you sign over my inheritance, the sooner you’ll be rid of me forever. No more endless bills for you to pay. They’ll all finally be in my name.”

  “Don’t call me Bob,” he growls. “You know how much I hate that kind of disrespect. And they could be in your name right now if you got your head out of your ass and applied yourself.”

  I scoff. “And how would I do that, Father? I’m your dumb son, remember? The only reason I graduated high school was because you bribed my teachers.”

  “You left me no choice. You refused to go! And how would it look if my eldest son didn’t graduate from high school?”

  “Why do you think I failed all my classes in the first place?” I counter with a cocky smirk. I’m not stupid. Far from it. I’ve just never applied myself because it was always easier this way. Disappoint them on the first try, instead of giving it everything you have only to fall short all over again.

  His sharp voice cuts through my self-deprecating thoughts. “You think you’re punishing me by being a screwup, but the only person you’re hurting is yourself.”

  I look out the windshield, my father’s words echoing in my head as I take in the city’s skyline. A normal person would feel a sense of peace with a view like that. I don’t feel anything. In fact, I haven’t felt much in years.

  “Do you have any intention of letting me off your leash?” I press. “The only reason you haven’t signed over my inheritance is because you like telling me when to jump, leaving me no choice but to respond with, ‘How high?’ So, how high, Daddy Dearest? What
do you need from me now?”

  “You want to play hardball, Liam? You want your inheritance so damn badly you’ll do anything to get it?”

  A tiny part of me dies as I play his game. “Yes.”

  “Then find a wife. Find a purpose. And stop being a screwup.”

  With that, the call goes dead.

  Chapter Three

  Skye

  “Skye,” Brody groans, dragging out my name. His eyes are squeezed shut as I rub sunscreen all over his handsome little face. He’s going to be quite the stud when he grows up. I pay close attention to his cheekbones and the tips of his ears to make sure they’re protected from the unforgiving sun.

  “No ifs, ands, or buts, mister.” Rubbing the lotion in, I inspect my work before nodding in approval.

  “Perfect. Do you remember the rules for the four-wheelers?”

  Rolling his eyes, he starts naming them off. “If I can’t see you, you can’t see me. Always wear a helmet. Don’t go faster than you’re comfortable. Don’t break any bones. Don’t tell Mom or Dad.”

  With a laugh, I wrap my arm around his neck and give him a quick noogie before gently shoving him toward the machines on my parents’ property.

  “And have fun!” I add before turning to my sister, Sway. “So, where’s Anthony?”

  “He’s changing Taffy’s oil in the garage. He’ll be out in a minute.” Taffy is Sway’s SUV. She, like the rest of us Swenson girls, has a weird habit of naming inanimate objects. There are three of us. Saylor, my oldest sister, then Sway, the middle child, then me, the runt of the family.