One More Step

by Colleen Hoover

  “Yeah. I think I knew it the second I got you into my arms in that fire. It was something different than I’d ever experienced. Like something came alive in me in that moment.”

  “Are we fools to believe in it?”

  “I think we’d be fools not to.”

  She smiled. Smiled this smile that cut through the middle of me and found the spot that had always been meant for her.

  I leaned down and kissed her. Kissed her slow. With devotion. With a promise.

  I grabbed a condom from the nightstand and I had it rolled on in a flash. I tucked her closer, my hand set on the small of her back and the other behind her neck.

  “Do you want me, Tessa?”

  “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

  So I gave myself to her.

  Drove deep, a grunt pulling up my throat as I seated myself in the tight clutch of her body.

  Perfection.

  I heaved out a breath. “Fuck. You are the best thing I’ve ever felt.”

  She gazed up at me. “You are everything.”

  I gathered her up, drove into her again and again.

  Deep.

  Possessive.

  Her pants rose into the air, this girl letting herself go.

  Getting lost.

  Taking me with her.

  I murmured every truth that I had.

  “I won’t let you go.”

  “I will cherish you.”

  “I promise I will never let anyone hurt you.”

  Got the feeling this was the purpose I’d always been called to.

  Never letting go of her gaze, I edged back a fraction so I could touch her, this girl’s body wound so tight I knew she was getting ready to blow.

  I swirled my fingers over her clit.

  She lit.

  Going off.

  She screamed my name, and her walls clutched my dick, and I was following her into bliss.

  Flames consuming.

  A heat unlike I’d ever known.

  Obliterating.

  A fire set to the sky.

  Nothing left but the two of us.

  I clutched her as I came.

  Swore to God, every question I’d ever had became clear in that moment.

  Both of us searching for breath, I rolled onto my side and took her with me.

  Tessa sighed and set her cheek on my chest. I kissed the top of her head.

  I didn’t think I’d ever been happier than in that second.

  “We’ll find him, Tessa. I promise you that. You aren’t going anywhere.”

  I’d die before I let that happen.

  She exhaled. So deep. The sound of it nothing but trust. “Okay.”

  FIVE

  Derrick

  I JOLTED AWAKE to the shrieking of the alarm, the high-pitched beep, beep, beep, deafening.

  I’d been woken enough to the sound of an alarm when I was sleeping at the station that my guts were already in tune to an emergency. Though this time, it was different.

  Darkness penetrated.

  Disorienting.

  Smoke filled the air and burned my lungs.

  Tessa bolted upright beside me.

  A scream tore up her throat.

  Terror radiating from her body and ricocheting from the walls.

  Adrenaline surged through my veins, shooting me into action. She was in my arms in a second flat.

  I had to focus.

  I squeezed my eyes closed, and I counted the steps from my bed to the window that I’d memorized when I’d first moved in.

  Training taking hold.

  Act fast.

  Don’t panic.

  Follow the plan.

  I fumbled around and slid the window open as the smoke swirled and thickened. It filled my throat. I hurried to slip over the windowsill, getting my girl to clear air.

  Her arms were around me, trusting me the way I told her that she could. I ran with her across the yard, and I set her in the grass at the far side where she would be safe.

  Sobs jutted from her chest, and I edged back, brushing back the hair matted to her face. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Her eyes were wild, and I pressed a kiss to her forehead, hearing the sirens coming in the distance. “I’ll be right back.”

  I had to get to Gigi. My mind calculated the time, sure she wouldn’t make it out if I waited for the crew to get here.

  “Oh, God, Derrick.” Tessa’s voice was torn. Her love for me and our love for this dog that had brought us together.

  I gave her a look that promised it would be okay, and I raced back across the yard. I dove through the window and onto the floor. I crawled through the dense smoke, grabbing a piece of whatever clothing we’d left on the ground and covering my nose to make it back to where Gigi had curled up in front of my door for the night.

  A rush of relief slammed me when I found her in the same spot, and she was in my arms in less than thirty seconds, and I was crawling back for the window, eyes squeezed closed but the path clear in my mind.

  I heaved us over the windowsill, thanking God as I did, Gigi squirming in my hold. Lights flashed through the night, coming closer, and I started to race in the direction of where I’d left Tessa.

  My heart rate kicked.

  She was gone.

  What the fuck?

  The panic I’d kept at bay swelled through my being.

  “Tessa!” I shouted. My gaze raced across the yard.

  Frantic. Frenzied.

  I caught sight of a shadow in the distance. A tussling of movement.

  Realization slammed me in a heartbeat.

  I set Gigi down and sprinted that way.

  Knowing someone was going to die.

  Rage burning.

  Violence lashing.

  I pushed myself as hard as I could, chest squeezed tight.

  “Tessa!” I shouted.

  She screamed. “No. Help. Please.”

  My teeth gritted as my feet pounded on the concrete, and I made the turn at the corner they’d just disappeared around.

  He was dragging her by the arm, and she was shrieking and fighting and kicking her feet.

  Good girl.

  Fight that bastard, my brave, beautiful girl.

  And that purpose just became clearer.

  Tessa. Tessa.

  Thanks to her fighting him, it took me two seconds to close the distance.

  Refusing to let the monster win.

  He was tall and a little thin, and the scrawny piece-of-shit could be sure he was going down.

  I dove right over the top of her, nailing the motherfucker in the side. Making him lose hold.

  We tumbled to the ground. Nothing but an instant flurry of fists and hatred.

  Only mine was greater.

  I got him onto his back and started whaling on him.

  Fist after fist.

  Blow after blow.

  Bone crunched under my knuckles.

  It became so clear.

  All the love I had for this girl filling me with the need to end any threat.

  Sirens blared, and shouts rode through the air, and a minute later a stampede of footsteps surrounded us. Hands pulling me off.

  I let them. Let them descend and put him in cuffs.

  I didn’t even stay to watch. I turned and went right to my girl who was on her knees. I dropped down onto mine, sagging down and hauling her into my lap.

  “Oh, God. Derrick. Derrick.”

  I wrapped my arms around her, and she tightened hers around my neck.

  The girl sobbed.

  Terrified but freed.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she cried into my neck. “I’m so sorry.”

  I held her tighter, murmured in her ear. “We all have a purpose in this life, Tessa. You are mine. Do you understand that? I will do anything for you. Live or die. Fight and will never settl
e for defeat.”

  I pulled back and framed her precious face in my hands.

  I’d always known I was meant to serve. Called to go into the academy. I was thankful for every person I’d ever helped in some small way. But, I knew, I was always supposed to be right here, in this moment.

  “I love you. Do you understand? You are it for me. You are my end.”

  Tears blurred her eyes and streaked down her cheeks. “And you…you are my new beginning. I love you. I love you so much.”

  And I kissed her.

  Kissed her mad while activity moved around us.

  A wet nose nuzzled my arm, and I pulled back just enough to gather up Gigi so I could hold her in the middle of us.

  Tessa giggled through her tears.

  “Forever,” I whispered at her lips.

  “Forever,” she whispered back.

  I was her beginning and she was my end.

  A circle.

  Endless.

  And it was time for us to begin.

  FOLLOW A.L. JACKSON

  A.L. Jackson Newsletter: https://geni.us/BookBeautiesOP

  A.L. Jackson Reader Hangout on Facebook: https://geni.us/AmysAngelsOP-

  Text “aljackson” to 33222 to receive new release alerts only

  Instagram: @aljacksonauthor

  KICK OFF

  * * *

  The Harris Family Beginnings

  AMY DAWS

  VAUGHN HARRIS

  ONE MORE STEP would mean certain death, I think as I stare at the striking woman sitting in a dingy East London pub. She’s a diamond in the rough of the strange assortment of people from all walks of life in here. My teammates and I usually try to find a local pub like this whenever we’re traveling for matches so we can drink without any fans disturbing us.

  But right now, it’s not the football fans bothering me.

  It’s this woman.

  I’ve been watching her for the better part of three hours, and every time I consider approaching, I psych myself out. Which is ridiculous, because I’m a professional footballer—I’ve played in the most intense matches, against world-class athletes. On top of that, I’ve slept with countless women while traveling the world, and while they sweeten the night, they never linger in my thoughts.

  But as I stare at this woman across this particular pub, the feeling building in my chest is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

  Certain death.

  However, I’m quite certain that my internal debate will be halting soon, because ten minutes ago, some drunken arsehole slithered his way up to her, and I’ve had a death grip on my pint glass ever since.

  The woman doesn’t look happy. But she doesn’t look like she needs saving, either…which only makes her more gorgeous. She’s tall with an elegant body that looks like it was made for dancing. However, her stance is strong and athletic. I imagine she can hold her own with some drunken arsehole.

  Christ, she’s beautiful.

  “Have you found your next conquest, Harris?” my teammate, Arthur, drunkenly croaks while ruffling my dark hair and slopping beer on the floor in front of us. His half-hooded eyes are glazed over as he stares at the blonde. “She looks like a rough tart in need of a hard shag.”

  “Shut up, you,” I bark, and shove him into the rest of my teammates who are drinking behind us.

  They look at me with confusion as Arthur straightens and licks the spilled beer off his hand. “Oi, no need to get your knickers in a twist. I’m just taking the piss.”

  My nostrils flare. “You could be talking about my future wife.” I turn away from him and glance back at the blonde, my eyes narrowing with intensity when I see that same drunken idiot has now wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she does not look pleased.

  The woman and I make eye contact for the hundredth time, and I decide then and there that death or not, I can’t stay away a moment longer.

  I barrel across the pub, ignoring the cackling of my teammates behind me as I watch the man attempt to whisper in the woman’s ear. She folds in on herself and tries to politely pull out of his embrace. Her uncomfortable demeanour causes my blood pressure to skyrocket while the drum of my heartbeat echoes in my ears. This twat must be a complete imbecile, because he doesn’t take the hint.

  I briefly consider how bad it could be for a professional footballer to assault a pub patron. Surely, that will end with me paying this arsehole a lot of money. But when I see his hand dip lower on her hip…I don’t give a fucking toss.

  When I reach him, I clamp down on his shoulder, and when he turns to look at me, he jolts as if I’ve struck him, and his face contorts into pure agony. I glance down to see the woman’s knee has landed smartly in the arsehole’s crown jewels. I try to yank the man away from her, but before I can, he crumples to the filthy pub floor and begins to howl like an injured animal.

  I swallow hard, barely stopping myself from cupping my own balls for comfort. I then shake that thought away and make a move to drag him off, but the blonde shoves me out of her way. She stands between his legs and kicks him in the balls one more time for good measure.

  “Touch me ever again, and my next kick will render you a eunuch,” she growls in a thick Scandinavian accent as the bloke looks like he’s going to pass out from the pain. He crawls away with his knackered cock, and my gaze turns to the beauty before me.

  “Christ,” I croak, my jaw dropping as my body remains paralysed in shock.

  Her chest heaves as she turns her fierce blue eyes on me. “What do you want?” she snaps, clearly ready for another brawl. “Do you have a problem with me eliminating this man’s cock?”

  “Not at all,” I stammer, my throat suddenly dry as her voice resonates through my entire body. I glance down, taking in her wide stance and fierce, no-bullshit expression. She flips her long, golden locks over her shoulders and eyes me with a warning that causes an ache in my chest. The ache is so intense it feels like a bloody truck has just run straight through me. I clear my throat, and add, “My only problem is that I think I might be in love with you.”

  The woman blinks, her intense sapphire gaze unrelenting on mine. “Emasculating a man is cause for love? Are you sick in the mind?”

  I nod and shake my head at the same time because bloody hell, maybe I am. “Probably,” I reply and then mentally try to get control of myself. “Can I buy you a drink? I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

  Her eyes narrow as she looks me up and down and reaches to the nearby pub table to retrieve her glass of wine. She takes a fortifying sip and lifts it to me. “I don’t need you to buy me a drink.”

  “Then let me give you a life,” I reply quickly, recovering the boldness that left me for a moment.

  The corner of her mouth quirks up. “Are you assuming I have no life?”

  “Not at all.” My eyes roam down her pale blonde hair, glowing in the dim pub lighting. “But my life didn’t start until I met you, so I figured it was only polite of me to return the favour.”

  She laughs, and it sounds like a fucking angel. I decide right then and there that I want to make this woman laugh forever.

  Moments later, we’re huddled over a small pub table by the front window. The yellow street light basks her in a golden light; it feels similar to gazing into a sunset. She’s like an elegant dream with a strength I’ve never seen in a woman. She’s enchanting.

  “What’s your name?” I ask hesitantly because she throws me off my game like no other.

  She stares back at me with a blank, unreadable expression. “Vilma Nyström.”

  I lick my lips and tilt my head. “Is that Swedish?”

  She nods, impressed. “How did you know?”

  “There was a famous footballer I loved who was Swedish and had the same last name. I’m sure it’s a common one up there.”

  She gets a peculiar look on her face and then takes a sip of her wine. “What is your name?”

  “I’m Vaughn Harris,” I reply smugly, expecting her to react because I
don’t come across many people who haven’t heard my name.

  She doesn’t react.

  I have to fight back my smile.

  “Do you like the name Harris?” I ask, eyeing her cheekily.

  She shrugs as if bored while looking to the bar where her friends are busy taking shots. “It’s a fine name, I guess. Why do you ask?”

  I need her attention back on me so I quickly reply, “Because if we get married someday, I’d quite like you to take my name.” I smirk and lift my drink to my lips as she whips her eyes back to me in surprise.

  She tries to hide her smile.

  She fails.

  I fucking love it.

  “Are you from London?” she asks, clearly not ready to discuss our future nuptials quite yet.

  This is a good sign. She wants to know more about me. The feeling is mutual, Vilma. I want to know everything about you. “Originally, I’m from here, but I currently live in Manchester.” I lower my pint to the table and casually add, “I play football for United.”

  I watch her carefully, expecting the reaction that most women have when they find out what I do for a living. When she stares blankly at me, I realise I should have known that Vilma…isn’t like most women.

  “I don’t understand football,” she says with a heavy sigh while propping her elbows on the table. “It’s so much running, and the scoring is so low. It’s a very dull sport, yes?”

  I blink.

  And blink.

  And blink some more.

  Clearing my throat, I lean forward. “I’m sorry…I must not have heard you correctly because it almost sounded like you called football dull?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, football is dull.”

  That ache in my chest returns, but it’s not the same sensation as before. This is the feeling I get when I miss a penalty kick, or like the kick in the nuts she executed only moments earlier.

  The love of my life cannot hate football.

  “Darling, how good is your English?” I ask, sending a prayer up to the heavens that this is some horrible language barrier.

  “My English is perfect,” she snaps defensively and narrows her eyes at me. “I’m at the University of London on a scholarship.”