The Takeover Tl Swan Quotes

Tristan fucking Miles.

He pays attention to the small things, and it’s the small things that matter.

I’m watching you,” I whisper. “I’ll tell you who to watch: that middle child of yours. The wizard.

So . . . sleeping with only you . . . isn’t a problem for me.” His lips touched mine. “However, not sleeping with you is a torture I won’t tolerate.

The sun’s reminder of what I have lost.

When the world gets too much, I go to my sadness sanctuary, the place where I can cry alone. I’ve cried buckets of tears in this shower. If the walls could talk, they would tell a very sad story indeed.

What was your favorite thing you saw today?” He changes the subject. “Honestly?” “Of course.” “It was you.” Our eyes lock. “You were the most beautiful thing I saw today, Tristan Miles.

Claire Anderson,” he calls from the stage. My horrified eyes meet his. “Sit back down.” “I . . .” I take another step toward the exit. “Claire,” he warns. I glance around at the 120 pairs of eyes fixed firmly on me and then back up at him. “I said sit. Back. Down.

You know, intelligent people scare stupid people.

Because she wasn't you.

When will you be back?” he asks. I turn back to him. “When my boys are men.

Wade still lives here with us, just not in flesh and blood. He’s dead enough that I’m lonely . . . but alive enough that I can’t fathom moving on. I’m stuck in the middle, halfway between heaven and hell. Madly in love with my husband’s ghost.

I hate my hand without his ring. I hate my life without his love.

Watch and learn, but always remember that you are an Anderson.

He’s dead enough that I’m lonely . . . but alive enough that I can’t fathom moving on.

In some strange way, I feel like this is the changing of the guard. The family he loved . . . is now with me. In my care, for me to love. “Nice to meet you, Wade,” I whisper.

A deep connection. She’s snuggled into my chest, and I smile into the darkness. She loves me. For the first time in my life, I feel at home.

Be a good boy, and you might get what you want.” He smiles darkly. “Or be a bad boy, and take it anyway.

He rushes me and grabs my face in his hands and kisses me. His tongue swipes through my lips, and he pushes me up against the wall. “Believe me, Claire Anderson . . . the last thing I feel when I look at you . . . is pity.

Is your mother there making you call me?” “Yep.” “Are you really sorry?” “No.” I narrow my eyes . . . what I really want to blurt out is I screwed your mother every which way, and she fucking loved every inch of my cock, you little shit. But I won’t. I’ll be the adult here.

I begin to feel faint. “My name is Patrick,” the little kid says. “Hi, Patrick,” I reply as I keep my eye on the serial-killer kid, and I gesture to him. “What’s your name?” I ask. “Your worst nightmare,” he whispers darkly in a monster voice. I frown . . . what the hell is up with this kid? “What a stupid name,” I whisper back. “His name is Harry,” Patrick says.

It’s as if the empty feeling that hurt my heart when he died is hurting again as something fills the void space. Someone else.

What fucking bullshit are you going on with, woman?

I’m not the kind of woman who thinks with her vagina.

My forever man died. Tristan Miles was just on loan.

I make an idle observation that enthusiasm like that seems to dissipate around the age of twenty-eight. I predict they have five good years left before life begins to really fuck them up the ass.

THE TAKEOVER EPILOGUE

Nerves dance in my stomach as I watch him. My Tris isn’t here. I’m dealing with Tristan Miles the takeover king in all his glory.

Do you want another drink?” he whispers. “No, thanks.” I smile. I’m too busy watching Elliot and this girl mentally fuck each other across the room.

And I’m going to kill Fletcher for listening through doors,” he adds. I giggle through tears. “And the Muff Cat is going fucking down. I’m going inside to piss in its bed right now.” I laugh out loud as he drags me into the house.

No. I will not,” he growls. “That’s it—tomorrow morning, nine a.m., I am at that fucking school.” He punches his fist. “Tick . . . tock . . . Mrs. Henderson.” I roll my eyes. “Good grief, this is all I need.

Maybe he wants to be here . . . excitement runs through me. Stop it. Play it cool. He’s probably just being nice . . . so nice. “Give Tristan some room, bubba,” I remind him. Patrick’s face falls as he realizes what he’s doing, and he moves back. Tristan grabs him and pulls him close again. “It’s cool. Stay close, brother.

Wade still lives here with us, just not in flesh and blood. He’s dead enough that I’m lonely . . . but alive enough that I can’t fathom moving on.

Damn asshole is a double-edged sword: gorgeous to look at, impossible to tolerate.

I smirk at my spot-on analogy as I drop my eyes to the floor. Tristan Miles is chocolate. Rich, delicious, and dreamy, he offers a high . . . but in the end, he is detrimental to your health and bad to the bone.

smile as I watch him . . . Tristan Miles is here, the takeover king. The take-no-shit, get-what-he-wants man whom I used to hate is here batting . . . for us. Somehow, he has taken my naughty little boy under his wing. I don’t think I’ve ever loved him like I do right now.

Tristan Miles, I have never met anyone quite like you.” “Ditto.” He holds his glass up. “A toast.” I take a big gulp of my champagne and touch my glass with his. “To swallowing semen,” he says. What the hell? I snort and spit my drink out, and it spurts all over the table as I laugh out loud. “You’re head obsessed today.” He sits back in his chair; his eyes are alight with mischief. “That’s because I can’t stop thinking about it.

I stare into the space he just left. Every cell in my body is tingling, every inch of me craving what he has to give. Good God, the devil really does wear Prada. I’m totally fucking screwed.

It’s amazing what laughter and orgasms do for the soul.

Don’t speak,” I whisper. “Can I whistle?” Marley whispers as she looks him up and down. “I totally want to wolf whistle the fuck out of this guy. Asshole or not.

I close my hand into a fist. It feels light without the weight of my rings, and I stare down at the white band left on my bare finger. The sun’s reminder of what I have lost. I hate my hand without his ring. I hate my life without his love.

He was never mine to keep. My forever man died. Tristan Miles was just on loan.

You think you’re a rock star or something.” “I am a fucking rock star, Anderson. When will you get with the program and realize it?” He gives me a sexy wink, and I smile broadly, happy to admit that I’m officially a groupie.

There’s a reason Tristan Miles is the takeover king. When he knows what he wants, he goes and gets it. A charming, aggressive sales pitch that is second to none. The master magician.

Tristan Miles: the head of acquisitions and the archenemy of every struggling company in the world. Like a leech, he takes over companies when they’re at their lowest, tears them apart, and then, with his never-ending funds, turns them into huge successes. He’s the biggest snake in the snake pit. Preying on weaknesses and getting paid millions of dollars a year for the privilege. He’s a rich, spoiled bastard with a reputation for being acutely intelligent, hard as nails, and conscience-free. He’s everything I hate about business.

He’s still with you. He will always be with you. Trust him to watch over you. You need to let him go, Claire.

I run the backs of my fingers through the hair on his lower stomach that leads down to his pubic hair. The power of touch. I never knew how much I needed it, craved it. And now that we’ve acknowledged that what’s between us is more, I can hardly keep my needy hands off him. Mine.

A perfect male specimen. Complete wolf-whistling material . . . whore-bag material too. I’m pretty sure that Tristan Miles could talk anyone onto their back and have them begging to open their legs for him.

When I’m holding her in my arms like this, intimacy is running between us like a river, and just for a moment . . . She is mine.

They take me inside. She sends that child to his room, and then she goes to get ice, and then another kid comes out.” I picture his face, and my eyes widen. “This kid . . . is fucking evil, man, I’m telling you.” “What’s his name?” I try to remember it. “Same as that nerdy wizard kid . . . the one with glasses.” I click my fingers as I try to think. “Who? Harry Potter?” “Yes, that’s it. His name is Harry.” Jameson smiles broadly. “He starts slicing his neck with his finger

think it’s just like having a best friend who you want to fuck.

high after it. When I’m holding her in my arms like this, intimacy is running between us like a river, and just for a moment . . . She is mine.

The air between us is heavy with anger and want; it’s a heady combination. “Call me in two hours,” he replies. “Why would I do that?” His dark eyes hold mine. “Because I’ve never needed to please a woman as much as I crave to please you . . . let me.” I get a

The whole world thinks I’m doing the wrong thing . . . maybe I am.

It’s okay, Tris,” I whisper. “I’ve only ever murdered two men in their sleep before. You’re completely safe.” He opens one eye. “The fact that that even crosses your mind to say is somewhat concerning, Claire.