I SMOOTH DOWN THE LAPELS of my suit as I sit in the backseat of a stretch limo that’s just pulled up to the red carpet of the National Football Museum. Photographers, fans, and fellow attendees swarm the grand entrance as celebrities and footballers make their way inside for the FPA Awards Gala. The same gala where I’ll be named Player of the Year.
How crazy is that?
What’s even crazier is that all I can focus on is the nauseous feeling this suit is giving me. The suit Sloan made me.
The texture of the material wasn’t an issue before. Come to think of it, nothing was an issue when I was with her. As we grew closer, she became the only woman who could touch me any way she liked and not send chills down my spine. My texture sensitivity had been magically cured. She was like my own personal anxiety medication that soothed away the unusual strain that a lifetime of painful memories had inflicted on me.
Now, everything aches. It’s like I can feel the stitches closing in on me with every breath, tightening around me like a noose.
My mobile vibrates in my hand. I glance down to check it, sickeningly hoping to see Sloan’s name on the screen.
Dad: I’m very proud of you, Gareth. Wish I could be there.
My traitorous heart splinters down the middle from the tone of his text. Part of me wants to text back and ask him what it would take for him to put me first for once in his bloody life. Even when he asked me to move back to London, I knew he was only thinking of himself. But there’s this new part of my heart—a part that never existed before—that understands a tiny fraction of the pain he feels on a daily basis.
It’s been over a week and still no word from Sloan. I thought for sure she’d be in touch for tonight because this is clearly a big moment for me. But nothing. It seems that the second I stopped chasing Sloan, she stopped turning around. And every day since I left her house, the memory of her lips on mine becomes fainter and fainter, like a melting ice cube evaporating before my eyes.
If she was just some random bird, I wouldn’t give a toss. I’d move on, grateful that I don’t have to worry about how little she knows about me. But Sloan isn’t random. She isn’t casual. She knows things. And the second I saw her with her daughter, something inside of me shifted. The wall between us has been knocked down, and she has been humanised to me outside of our sexual relationship. It wasn’t until I was staring down my pushy brothers that I realised what that truly meant to me.
I was seeing Sloan with my heart instead of my head.
But it was all for nothing because she’s not here. Now I have to go in front of all these people tonight and pretend like the last couple of months didn’t change everything I thought I knew about myself. Everything I thought I knew about Sloan.
I can do this…
…because control is something I’m far too familiar with.
My heart leaps into my throat when Gareth’s large frame climbs out of a black stretch limo. I’ve been standing here for ages in my enormous black ball-gown, waving at multiple clients whom I styled for the big night as they make their way inside. I was able to score a ticket to the event from one of them, and I took that as a sign that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be this evening. However, I didn’t know what time Gareth was due to arrive. Now I’m regretting this whole, grand gesture notion as I stand here like an idiot.
I positioned myself in front of the security officers that are holding fans back, and they all shoot me sympathetic smiles like I’m a girl getting stood up on prom night. But when I see Gareth’s stunning frame wearing the sleek navy suit I designed for him, I realise that I’d endure a lot worse for this sight of him. This moment is why I knew I had to style myself tonight as well.
Gareth freaking Harris.
I run my hands down the fitted bodice of the Alexander McQueen, long sleeve dress that Freya and I carefully selected for me this evening. It’s understated elegance—the perfect dress for a stylist to wear to an event because the very last thing one would ever want to do is outshine their clients.
It has a full sweeping skirt with pockets and an off-the-shoulder neckline that shows off my collarbone. My brunette curls are tucked back into a low, chignon hairstyle, and I chose a deep red lipstick to give me a sense of drama that I need in order to be brave enough to stand alongside the honouree tonight.
And standing beside Gareth is exactly what I intend to do.
Aside from the stress of work, he is all I’ve thought about for the past week. That kiss. Those hands. His words.
He said a lot, but what broke me—what changed me in my core—were his remarks about being proud of me for protecting Sophia. Gareth understood me more in the two minutes he witnessed me as a mother than Callum ever did in the six years we were married. As that realisation settled in over the week, I knew it wasn’t our arrangement that made me strong.
It was Gareth.
I also knew it would take a big moment for me to truly show him that I’m ready to dive in. I’m ready to change and stop running. To take charge of my life…together.
With a nod of determination, I move to head over to Gareth but pause mid-step as a stunning blonde in a gorgeous red dress climbs out behind him. He reaches down to offer his hand as she wobbles in her strappy silver sandals, and the affectionate exchange between them has my stomach dropping.
Just as Gareth’s hand moves to the small of her back, his eyes pass over me but immediately snap back with a confused, shocked expression.
Completely mortified, I turn away from him and begin pushing my way past the security team that’s evidently decided they aren’t just keeping people out. They are holding people in, too.
“Please excuse me,” I croak desperately. My need to flee is strong, but not stronger than eight grown ass men.
Why did I think showing up unexpectedly was a good idea? Why do I keep forgetting that he’s Gareth Harris—a famous soccer player who can get any woman he wants with the snap of a finger? Of course he wouldn’t sit idle for an entire week. I’m such an idiot!
A calloused hand wraps around my arm and slowly spins me in my black stiletto heels. “Sloan.” Gareth’s voice is so familiar and wonderful, I have to close my eyes to prepare myself for the sight of him up close.
My lids flutter open and I take in his masculine, strong beauty. The sexy scruff on his jaw. His smoky, hazel eyes rimmed with dark lashes. The perfect bend of his nose.
“Gareth,” I reply uncomfortably.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his eyes searching my entire face for answers I’m embarrassed to admit.
I look over his shoulder at the blonde. “I should have called.”
“Called for what?” he asks, redirecting my gaze back to him.
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re…here with somebody. I should have assumed.”
“With somebody?” he snaps and tightens his grip on my arm with urgency. “You mean my sister, Vi?”
My jaw drops as I look behind him again and see that the blonde is now flanked by three enormous guys whom I instantly recognise as Gareth’s brothers. I met them when I styled them for a wedding last year.
“That’s your sister?” I ask because I’m still forcing myself to believe it. “I’ve…never met her.”
“Tonight’s sort of a family affair.” He shrugs.
“How wonderful,” I reply hopefully. “Did your dad make it?”
Gareth’s face darkens and the muscle in his jaw ticks. “No.”
I’m instantly transported back into Gareth’s house. Back into the beautiful sanctuary that his home became for me. For us. Back into the moments of tender sharing that we only scratched the surface on.
There’s still so much I don’t know about him, yet I know enough to know the pain behind his reply. I force a wobbly smile. “Well, it’s nice your siblings could be here for you.”
He nods and looks back at them. “They all head back tonight, though…Games tomorrow.” He turns his eyes to me. “It’s good to see you. Are you here with someone?”
I shoot him a shy smile. “Hopefully you.”
The serious look on his face disappears. It’s replaced by a knee-trembling intensity that I can’t seem to look away from. It’s like a wall has dropped and he’s not holding anything back now. “What does this mean?” he asks, his voice deep and melodic.
“We’re friends.” I shrug and step closer to him, running my hands along the lapels of his jacket. “That’s all I know for certain at this point because this is complicated. I’m a mother and I have baggage we need to discuss. But I do know that I care about you and want to be with you tonight.” I tilt my head to look up at him through my long mascaraed lashes. “Is that enough?”
He stares down at me. Longing, and pain, and desire flick across his face like a slideshow just for me. “For now.”
With sweet, sweet relief, I reach out and grab the pocket square out of his jacket. “You look incredible.”
His chest vibrates with a silent laugh. “I know this woman who thinks she’s just a stylist, but she’s so much more.”
With a proud smirk, I refold the fabric the way I want and tuck it back into the pocket. “Is that right?” I look up at him and feel a riot of butterflies take flight in my belly.
“I’m always right,” he replies with a wink, then turns on his heel to offer me his elbow. “Are you ready for this?” he asks, staring down the red carpet like he can see the future.
“I’m ready for this and more,” I state with a meaningful look that he picks up easily. Then, off we go down a path I never saw myself travelling with a damn soccer player.
It’s an uncomfortable feeling to go from having a relationship with someone where you never leave the bedroom to being thrust into the limelight in front of friends, family, and, let’s face it, the rest of the world.
The entire first hour, I’m on the red carpet with Gareth in a flurry of photos, handshakes, and interviews. His brothers disperse, answering their own questions to the press, but they eventually make their way inside with their sister. Gareth, on the other hand, is moving at a much slower pace through the crowd, giving generous time to all the media outlets that are in attendance for him this evening.
Despite being the man of the hour, he is determined to pull me into every conversation. I do my best to be polite, but I can’t help but fidget when he continually introduces me as an up-and-coming designer. This isn’t something I was prepared for this evening, and the questions directed my way are not things I’ve considered yet.
Gareth gracefully dodges questions about the status of our personal relationship and pretty much anything pertaining to his father. He’s so damn charming, offering only a wink and a smile, they let him get away with it.
Above all, it’s an enlightening hour for Gareth Harris history. With every reporter’s question, it’s like hitting another Google search on the man whom I know intimately but not publicly. He’s being honoured tonight for his outstanding season and the work he’s done with his charity, Kid Kickers. He speaks so passionately about soccer, but when he mentions the children he gets to help because of his career, I have to admit to tearing up on more than one occasion.
It’s Gareth’s turn to get emotional when the press discuss the World Cup team potential with him. At one point, when he talks about playing alongside all of his brothers again, he presses his fist to his mouth to fight back the reaction that caught him off guard.
This man is so much more than I ever let myself see before.
When we finally make our way inside, the event coordinator ushers Sloan and me over to a large round table where my sister, my brothers, and Hobo and Brandi are seated. Their eyes are locked on the two of us holding hands, like we’re some sort of foreign objects they’ve never seen before.
Let them fucking look.
I’m done with the games. I’m done with the arrangement. The bullshit. The back and forth ghosting. I know part of me could be angry at the fact that Sloan went silent on me for an entire week, but she’s here now. Her hand is squeezing mine in a death grip, and a woman’s touch has never felt more right to me.
“Are these two seats taken?” I ask with a teasing waggle of my brows when we reach our extravagantly decorated dining table. My family and friends groan and roll their eyes at my daft question as I hold Sloan’s seat out before sitting down beside her. I unbutton my suit jacket and place my hand on the back of her chair. “Most of you know Sloan, but allow me to formally introduce you all. This is Sloan Montgomery. Sloan, this is everyone.”
I gesture across the table and point out Camden, Tanner, and Booker. Then I introduce Vi, who’s shamelessly shooting daggers at my Treacle. No surprise there. She’s in protective, fearsome mother mode, full stop, and I know there’s not a bloody thing I can do about it.
Sloan finally turns her attention to Brandi and Hobo, who are sitting on the other side of her. Her shoulders relax at the sight of a couple of familiar faces.
“Jaysus, this is a fancy soirée,” Hobo states, counting the number of forks on the table as several servers begin placing starters in front of us. “All for the likes of you, Harris? Don’t they know you’re rubbish on the pitch without me?”
I raise my brows at Hobo. “I’m sorry, is this coming from the midfielder who’s played for no less than nine teams in ten years?”
My brothers erupt with laughter and Hobo mock stabs himself through the heart. “You cut me deep, Harris.”
“Just ignore our moody older brother,” Camden interjects around a laugh. “He’s feeling the burn in those knees, I can tell.”
I pin him with a warning look. “I’m pretty sure I stopped a couple of your attempts this season already.”
Cam scoffs. “I let you block my shots. I have the utmost respect for the elderly.”
Sloan giggles beside me, and I turn to watch her cheeks flush with humour. I lean in close to her and slip my hand under the table to squeeze her knee. “Something funny?” She nearly chokes on her champagne when my hand moves higher.
Licking her lips, she looks at me from the corner of her eye and replies, “Just enjoying someone getting a rise out of you for a change.”
I blink at her surprising response because no one has ever gotten under my skin more than the woman I’m staring at right now. Moving in to whisper in her ear, I let my lips tickle her earlobe when I reply, “I’m pretty sure you’ve gotten a rise out of me on several occasions.”
She pulls her lower lip into her mouth and turns to face me so our eyes are inches apart. “Am I getting a rise out of you now?”
I lift a brow and purse my lips, willing myself to ignore the demanding thump of my cock in my trousers. She’s giving me those eyes again. Those powerful, magnetic, knee-drop-worthy eyes that I want to worship at the altar of.
With a chuckle, I remove my hand from her thigh and back to my food. “You wind me up like no one ever has, Treacle.”
She laughs happily at my familiar term of endearment, and the banter around the table continues as the main courses are served.
Over dessert, Sloan looks at my sister and says “Vi, I love your dress. Where did you get it?”
Vi’s brows rise as she dabs at the corner of her mouth with her cloth napkin. “I’m a bit of a Harrods lover I’m afraid.”
Sloan nods knowingly. “We do a lot of Harrods merchandising for our clients. That’s a Nicholas design, right?”
Vi nods. “Yes, I love his stuff.”
“It suits you beautifully,” Sloan replies.
Brandi chimes in next. “Sloan styled me tonight, too. I’m certainly more comfortable in football gear, but I have to admit that I feel quite brilliant. Next time I want a Sloan original, though.”
“Original?” Vi asks, turning her eyes to me and Sloan in question.
Brandi confirms that the suit I’m wearing was made by Sloan, and I can’t help but smile at my family for praising her work. It’s sometimes difficult for them to talk about anything other than football, but they are making a great effort with Sloan that I more than appreciate. Sloan is talented after all.
On the red carpet tonight, I looked every bit as stylish as everyone wearing well-known designers, and I’m glad she was here to see it for herself. I’ve always had the feeling that Sloan isn’t happy in her line of work. Since the second I met her, I knew she wasn’t fulfilled in her career. Tonight I can see her mood changing, though. I can see the light in her eyes as she accepts all the questions at the table and volleys back her answers. She’s stunning when she’s in her element and speaking passionately about something she truly loves.
It makes it bloody impossible to wipe the smile off my face.
Something important has happened to Sloan this evening. She’s no longer nervous and unsure of herself. She’s not twitching uncomfortably like she did on the red carpet. She’s not holding back her answers. She’s tucked herself under my arm and leaned on me in a way that I’ve never experienced from her. It’s not just the physical act of her movements, but the emotional as well.
We are connected. United.
She’s embracing me completely and it feels fucking fantastic. It makes me want her in ways I’ve never wanted a woman in my life. I feel protective of her. Possessive. Proud.
The longer the night drags on, the more I realise what exactly it is I need from her.
I need to claim her.
I excuse myself from the table to hit the bathroom before the awards portion of the night begins. I need a minute to collect my thoughts. To breathe. To pinch myself and make sure that tonight is really happening. That Gareth Harris is real and I’ve not slipped into some alternate universe. It isn’t until I step out of a ladies room stall that I finally get a dose of reality.
“Hello there,” a voice states, zapping my pulse with just a simple greeting.
My eyes shoot up to see Vi propped against the bathroom counter, arms crossed over her chest, staring at me like some sort of Jessica Rabbit spy who’s getting ready to interrogate me.
“Um…hey,” I reply stupidly as I make my way over to the nearby sink.
“I just wanted to take a moment to chat privately while we have the time,” she states, watching me out of the corner of her eye. She chuckles softly and adds, “Up until tonight, all I really knew about you was that you were Sloan—the stylist who’s been jerking my brother around for some time now.”
My blood runs cold at the tone in her voice. It’s as ice cold as the water coming out of the faucet. I look at Vi’s reflection in the mirror and reply, “It’s more complicated than that.”
She nods knowingly and eyes herself in the mirror, gently fluffing her long blonde curls. “I can respect complicated. Lord knows I’ve had my fair share of complications with my fiancé, Hayden.” She stops primping and stares at my reflection when she adds, “What I can’t respect are lies.”
Instantly, my eyes drop down to focus on the soap I’m pumping into my hand, willing the act to calm my nerves. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.”
She exhales and leans herself on the counter to face me. “I’m told you’re a mother.” My face falls further when she adds with a wink, “No secrets in the Harris family.”
I stare into her clear blue eyes to search for what mood she’s going for right now. Her eyes aren’t cold, but they aren’t warm either. They’re…cautious. She’s sending me a warning, and I’m picking it up loud and clear.
“You’re a mother, too, right?” I ask, reaching for a towel and recalling how excited Gareth was when he became an uncle last year. Maybe this small commonality will help Vi understand my point of view.
“Adrienne is one year old,” she replies with a serious nod.
“Then you know how important it is to protect our children from things we’re unsure of,” I reply, straightening my shoulders.
“Oh, I understand that completely,” Vi replies, moving in closer as she points to the bathroom door. “Adrienne has four uncles out there who would literally take a bullet for her if it meant they could protect her from something that might cause her harm.”
Tears prick the backs of my eyes from the conviction in her voice. She’s not overstating a thing. She’s speaking one hundred percent truth. This is the kind of family devotion that I’ve only ever dreamed of for Sophia.
“That’s incredible,” I state simply because it’s the truth.
Vi’s furrowed brow remains in place as she ignores my response. “Gareth may be my older brother, but he’s protected me his whole life, so now it’s my turn to protect him.”
“Vi, this isn’t necessary—”
“Speaking mother-to-mother here, I will kill you with my bare hands if you break his heart.” Her jaw is tight, but her face is so gorgeous, it’s at complete odds with her threat. Her beauty doesn’t stop the nervous goosebumps from erupting on my scalp, though.
“Why do you think I’m going to break his heart?” I croak.
She shakes her head, her eyes softening only slightly. “Because Gareth doesn’t smile.”
“What?” I ask with a frown. What the hell does that mean? I’ve seen him smile loads of times.
“Not the way he’s been smiling at you tonight.” Her eyes are no longer scary. They’re shiny and vulnerable. Afraid.
“Okay…” I reply slowly, my voice trailing off.
“Mother-to-mother, don’t screw this up, Sloan.” Her voice cracks as she moves back and clears her throat, clearly frustrated that her emotions are getting the best of her.
I’m reading through the lines, though. This isn’t a threat. It’s a plea. An intimidating plea, but one I can understand on so many levels.
She flicks her hair playfully. “I may not be as big as my brothers, but I am mighty.”
I smile at that. “I think that’s a Harris thing.”
“Bloody well right.” Her prideful smile is back as she makes her way to the door. Pausing, she looks over her shoulder and softly adds, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
She takes a deep breath. “For showing me this side of Gareth. I thought it was gone forever.”
With that, she strides out of the bathroom, leaving me in a wake of feelings that will take me years to fully process.
If I could sum up what tonight felt like in two words, they would be sexual fucking tension.
Okay, three words.
After I accept my award, say my speech, and offer up departing hugs to my family, Sloan and I are back in the limo and ripping at each other’s clothes before we’re even out of the city lights of Manchester.
“Tonight was incredible,” Sloan moans as she straddles me in the back of the limo. Her dress is rucked up like a sack between us, her fingers trembling on the buttons of my shirt as my hands slide up her bare thighs under her skirt.
I can hardly contain myself. It’s been two weeks since I’ve felt the warmth of her, but there’s so much we have to discuss. So much to figure out. She gave me herself tonight, but she has to know I need more.
“Do you have to go home to your daughter?” I ask. The words are unfamiliar on my tongue, but they’ve been on my mind since the second I saw her tonight.
She shakes her head. “No, Sophia is with Callum.”
Sophia, I think to myself. It’s a beautiful name, completely fitting the little girl whom I met on the football pitch last week.
I squeeze Sloan’s thighs to direct her attention back to me. “I liked your daughter.”
She pauses her action on my shirt and looks up to stare into my eyes. Her voice is shaky when she asks, “You did?”
“She had a spark to her. I noticed her straight away on the pitch,” I add, the corner of my mouth lifting as I recall how seriously she took all the instructions. “So many of those kids that day were pissing about, not paying attention. But Sophia…She had determination all over her adorable little face. She reminded me of someone I kind of like.”
Sloan inhales a deep breath, her eyes glossing over before me. “She did?”
I nod and move my hands off her legs to cup her face, my thumb grazing her lush lips that I’ve been longing for. I pull her to my mouth for a tender kiss. It’s not sexy. It’s not assertive.
It’s a sign of respect.
Sloan’s eyes open when she pulls back. She looks at me with such warmth that every nerve in my body roars to life. “You are being so incredibly sweet right now, but I have to admit that my mind is getting dirty really freaking fast.”
I laugh heartily as she resumes her earlier work on my shirt, the heat of her warming my groin and turning every part of my body to stone. My hands slip up her skirt again, and I nearly cry out in pain as I reach her arse and realise she’s not wearing any knickers. “Sloan, where are your knickers?”
She smiles and pulls her lip into her mouth. “I Gareth Harris’d tonight.”
“You what?” I ask as she grinds down onto my now rock-hard cock. Her head lolls back like I’ve just entered her, but we haven’t even gotten my trousers off yet.
“Do you have underwear on?” she asks, splaying her hands on the roof and riding me.
“No,” I reply, my hands roaming up her sides and cupping her breasts beneath the thin black fabric. She’s not wearing a bra either. I can feel her hardened nipples perfectly, and it’s making me lose my fucking mind.
She drops her head and squeezes my hands on her breasts, massaging herself with my embrace. Her chestnut hair falls down around her face in a sexy halo. “No underwear…I Gareth Harris’d.”
“Fuck me,” I growl and flip us in one quick shot so she’s flat on her back on the bench of the limo. Her legs wrap around me and my hand reaches between them, shoving past the layers of fabric to cup her smooth mound. “You’re fucking soaked, aren’t you?”
“Yes!” she cries when I glide my palm over her slickened clit. “I can’t help it. You were fucking amazing tonight. I wanted you so badly.”
“I don’t even know what I said,” I husk, ravishing her neck and sucking so hard, I hope I leave a mark. “All I could think about was getting you back to my house and fucking you until we both die.”
I plunge a finger into her hot, wet centre. She cries out, her hand fisting my hair so tightly, I roar in pain.
“I mean it. I’m so fucking proud of you,” she moans loudly, riding my finger and greedily pumping her hips against my hand. “There’s so much I still don’t know about you, Gareth. You’re…Oh my God! You’re so much more.”
I pause my assault and pull back from her neck to look in her eyes. “Sloan, I’m going to fuck you tonight.”
“Yes,” she cries, annoyed that I’ve stopped working her into a frenzy.
“And I’m going to kiss you tonight.”
She nods, her eyes hungry for me to continue, but I want to be sure she fully understands what I mean.
“What I’m saying is that there’s no more of what we were. You’re not in control right now, Treacle. Tonight I’m fucking you. I’m claiming you. I’m going to come in you so hard that no man will ever have what I take from you tonight. Do you understand?”
Her breath leaves her body, her pupils dilating into saucers. She pulls herself up close to me, her body quaking with need against mine as she cradles my face in her hands. “Yes, Gareth. Yes to all of it.”
It takes everything I have not to rip off all of our clothes and sink into her. To not fuck her into oblivion during the hour long drive out to Astbury. But I don’t want to claim her in a limo. I want her in my home. In my bed. In the one place I’ve claimed her before. But this time, I’ll hold nothing back.
When we arrive at my home, I can barely take my lips off of Sloan’s as we slowly clamour up the steps to the front door. The limo is long gone, but I can’t seem to get enough of the taste of Sloan to stop and open the door.
Finally, she pushes me away. “If I leave you in charge, we’ll never get inside and it’s freezing.”
I pull her into my arms. “I can warm you up.”
She giggles and gestures for me to unlock the door. When I fish my keys out of my pocket and begin fumbling with the lock, I realise we waited for nothing because the door is already unlocked. Did I forget to lock it earlier? It’s entirely possible because my head has been fucked since the second I left Sloan’s house last week.
I step back to let Sloan walk in first. Before I even have a chance to catch her, she crumples to the floor in front of me. I hear a familiar voice from inside, but my instinct is to crouch down and check on Sloan first.
Suddenly, a sharp force assaults my left temple, and I crash to a heap beside her motionless body. The last thing I see before my vision goes black is a pool of blood growing between us.
To Be Continued…
Part 2 of Gareth’s Story is Coming August 2, 2018!
Check out the other Harris Brother books, available now.
: Camden & Indie
: Tanner & Belle
: Booker & Poppy
Or go back to the sister’s story before the brothers became the brothers with : Vi & Hayden
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