by Amy Daws
My muscles tense as I imagine how horrific that must have been for her to see me like that. Luckily, her friend Freya brought her some clothes, so she’s no longer covered in my blood. It’s clear she is shaken to the core, and I hate that I put her through all of this. I wish I could remember exactly what the fuck happened. Everything is fuzzy.
Throughout the questioning, we learn that there was no sign of forced entry, so whoever got into the house either had the code or they were agile enough to scale the large security fence. Because of that, my staff members who have access to my home will need to be questioned.
“Did you see or hear anything unusual when you opened the door?” the male officer standing beside my bed asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t remember anything after getting out of the limo.”
“Ms. Montgomery?” The man looks at Sloan. “It seems your injuries were less severe. What do you recall?”
Sloan stares at me with nervous eyes. Eyes that I want to soothe and kiss and take all this ugly pain away from, but I can’t.
She clears her throat and replies, “I heard men’s voices, but I don’t know what they said. It all happened so quickly.”
“Have a think and try again,” the officer says, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s interrogating her. “You got out of the limo, walked up the steps, went inside, and…”
Sloan’s face tightens with horror as she recalls the blow to her face. The blow that apparently knocked her unconscious.
“I don’t know,” she croaks, her eyes welling with tears.
“Come now, it’s right there,” the officer says and my blood pressure instantly spikes.
“She told you she doesn’t know,” I snap, my voice deep and gruff, pushing the dull headache I have in my skull to a full-on migraine. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
The officer slides his beady eyes to me. “Mr. Harris, please understand, your memory will never be better than it is right now. The more we know now, the more we can do to catch whoever did this.”
“I understand that, but we’re not recalling anything. And I don’t like how you’re speaking to her.”
“Gareth, it’s fine,” Sloan murmurs softly.
“It’s not,” I retort dismissively. “She’s not the criminal here. She’s the victim. Fucking treat her as such.”
The female officer places a reassuring hand on Sloan’s shoulder. “You’re right. We have enough information for tonight. We have your mobile numbers and you have our cards. Just call us if anything else comes to mind.”
The male officer doesn’t look pleased but begins to follow the female out. He pauses in the doorway and turns back to add, “Your home is currently a crime scene, and it will take us a day to clear. You’ll need to find other accommodations until then.”
“Very well,” I reply through a clenched jaw. This prat is an obnoxious sod on a fucking ego trip. I need him to disappear.
As soon as the officer is out of sight, I exhale and realise how tense my body was the entire time they were in the room.
“Gareth, your pulse is racing,” Sloan says, rubbing my shoulder.
“Fucking wanker,” I mumble and attempt to relax my jaw.
“He’s just doing his job,” Sloan states softly.
“Sloan, that guy was pushing you way too fucking hard. You’ve just been attacked for Christ’s sake.” I turn my eyes to her sitting in the chair beside my bed. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, her messy hair scraped back into a low ponytail. The circles under her eyes are shadowy alongside the faint bruise darkening above her cheekbone. Anyone can see that she’s been through a trauma. “He should have directed everything at me. It’s my bloody fault we’re here.”
“What are you talking about?” she gasps, her golden eyes red-rimmed and glossy.
I ball my hands up into fists and stare straight ahead. “I should have been paying attention. I should have noticed something was amiss. I was so up my own arse, I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s my fault we’re here.”
“Well, I think some of that distraction was my fault, too,” she retorts with a huff.
“No, it wasn’t,” I state firmly, looking at her again. “Don’t push me on this, Sloan. I’m fucking sick over what could have happened to you tonight. I can’t imagine if—” My voice cuts off. I clear my throat and push through the last part of my sentence that is almost too difficult to utter. “You have a child.”
Sloan’s eyes fill with tears that quickly fall down her cheeks. “I know that.”
“She needs her mother,” I state to the universe just as much as to Sloan. Sophia is near the age I was when I lost my own mother, and that realisation isn’t lost on me.
Sloan sniffs loudly, then licks her lips as she grabs hold of my fisted hand. She pulls it to her mouth and drops a kiss on my knuckles. “I know that, Gareth. And I’m fine. Look at me. I’m right here and I’m okay.”
I shake my head in disgust. “Where is Sophia?”
Sloan swallows and her chin begins to wobble. “She’s at Callum’s. She has no clue what’s happened, and I’m going to keep it that way if I can.”
I nod woodenly, knowing that’s for the best. “My agent will keep this under the radar,” I reply, dropping my head back on my pillow. “This is a private hospital, so stuff doesn’t get leaked like it does elsewhere. He’ll take care of it, and I’ll do everything I can to keep you out of the papers.”
Sloan runs her hand down my arm in a soothing manner. “Stop worrying about me, Gareth. Whatever happens, happens. I’m just grateful we’re both okay.”
I take a big breath just as my dad walks back into the room with my brothers and Vi. They are deep in conversation when I interrupt them to say, “The police said I can’t return home until they’ve cleared the crime scene, so can one of you book me a hotel room?”
Vi nods and pulls her mobile out of her handbag. “I’m on it.”
“Then you guys should all go home. They are going to run some tests on me anyway. No sense in everyone sitting around here all night.”
Vi’s tired eyes look at me sharply. “Gareth, I’m not leaving you. I’ll book a room for myself as well.”
Sloan’s voice interrupts Vi’s dialing when she says, “Or you can stay at my house.”
I turn my eyes to her and feel an intense pressure in my chest that has nothing to do with my injuries and everything to do with Sloan.
She blushes from everyone’s attention on her and adds, “There’s room for whomever wants to stay. Of course, I understand if you’re more comfortable at a hotel.”
My dad begins voicing excuses for why a hotel would be better, but I cut him off and reply to Sloan, “I’ll stay with you.”
The corners of her mouth lift into a wobbly smile as she avoids eye contact with me. She’s nervous. The truth is, so am I. Sloan is opening up her home to me. Her life. Hell, maybe even her child? Am I ready for this? I bloody well better be. I told her I want more. No more boundaries. No more secrets. I may be injured, but my feelings for Sloan are still as strong as they’ve always been. Maybe even stronger after all of this.
If she’s going to offer me this olive branch, I’m going to take it and more.
WHEN IT COMES TO HARRIS siblings, it’s hard to do anything significant without each other. When one is honoured, we all celebrate with them. When one hurts, we all feel the pain alongside them. The support and the bond that we formed at a very young age is intense because of our upbringing. We were parentless, so it was necessary to band together or we all would have turned out as complete head cases.
Well, more than we already are I should say.
So it takes a lot of convincing to get my brothers to go back to London. I know they have football schedules that don’t allow them to be away, and I don’t want anyone missing matches just to watch me. I tried to push Vi to go back with them for Rocky because Christmas is only a few days away, but she seems adamant on staying. Probably to ensure Dad and I don’t
kill each other.
After the CT scan, Dr. Howard said I needed to stay overnight for observation, but Sloan was released since her injuries are less severe. I hated seeing her go, but she seemed to want to prepare her house for my arrival tomorrow, so I let the boys take her back to her house when they left. The urgency I have to protect her is strong and not something I’ve ever experienced with anyone outside of my family. It’s an unnerving feeling, so I ended up having my agent organise a security officer to watch over her house. Sloan wasn’t happy about it at first, but I think the fact that I’m lying in a hospital bed made her less inclined to argue with me.
After a fitful night’s sleep with Vi and Dad sitting in chairs beside me all night, I’m finally released the next day. We file into the car Dad rented and head toward Sloan’s address. Her neighbourhood is similar to my father’s in Chigwell, which I notice seems to soothe him somehow. That aggravates me further. He was harsh on Sloan last night and I don’t fucking know why. But my head isn’t in the right place to deal with his belated, overprotective bullshit right now.
A few minutes later, we pull up behind the security car in front of Sloan’s home. The last time I was here wasn’t an overly positive experience, so my nerves are on edge.
Sloan rushes out her front door, obviously having been watching out the window for our arrival. I struggle a bit to get out of the car as nausea and dizziness overwhelm me. Dad has his arm around me in an instant, but I pull away from him in frustration.
“I’m fine. Just give me a minute,” I state, refusing his offer of an arm while leaning on the open car door.
“The doctor said you’d be dizzy, Gareth,” Dad’s gruff voice retorts. “Stop being stubborn and let me help. You don’t want to injure yourself further.”
“I just need a minute,” I snap harshly just as Sloan reaches us.
She offers a tight smile to my father, then holds her hand out to me. “Allow me?” she asks and tucks herself under my arm and wraps her arm around my waist. She feels good. Warm and soft, yet her touch is firm on me.
She whispers under her breath so only I can hear, “Don’t backtalk me, Harris. You may be injured, but I’m not opposed to spanking some sense into you.”
A surprising chuckle rolls through my body, and I can’t help but relish in it for a moment. I’ve had so very little to feel good about in the last twenty-four hours, so Sloan speaking to me like normal is refreshing. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and lean on her as she walks me toward the front door. Dad and Vi come in behind me with a couple bags of clothes that Vi went out and bought for us all last night.
We step inside and the smell of food permeates my nose instantly. I do a quick survey of the space and note that Sloan’s house is so very Sloan. It’s bright and cheerful. It looks lived in.
Beside the front door is a clothing rack full of garment bags. To the left is a formal dining room with a table that’s covered in fabric and a couple of official-looking sewing machines stationed on either side.
“You have a beautiful home, Sloan,” Vi states excitedly, then points to the dining room table. “Is that where the magic happens?”
“My colleague, Freya, does most of the magic,” Sloan replies and her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I don’t do a lot of designing. My business consists of personal shopping, merchandising, and tailoring, which Freya is amazing at.”
Suddenly, the sound of a door slams down the hallway. All of our heads snap toward the noise as I instinctively push Sloan back behind me, my entire body stiffening with alert.
“Yoo-hoo!” a female voice echoes down the hall. “It’s me!”
“That’s just Freya,” Sloan states as she places her hands on my arm and moves to stand beside me again. “We’re in the foyer!”
Seconds later, Freya’s form fills the hallway entry. She lifts her eyebrows at me with a smile. “Well, hiya, everyone!”
“Hi, Freya. You remember Gareth,” Sloan states.
“Of course!” Freya beams, her eyes unusually wide. “Nice to see you again. So bloody sorry to hear about what happened at your home. I hope the coppers catch the bastards who did that to you. I can’t imagine the state you all must be in.”
I nod and exhale, realising I’m still a bit tense from everything. The adrenaline rush hasn’t really allowed me to fully process all that’s happened yet. Clearing my throat, I reply, “Thanks, Freya. It’s nice to see you again. This is my father, Vaughn, and my sister, Vi.”
Freya turns her smile to both of them. “Oh yes, of course. I saw them in the waiting room at the hospital, but it’s nice to meet you both officially. Welcome!”
“Freya lives in the guest house out back,” Sloan explains and eyes me nervously. “We’re colleagues but more like family.”
“So you both work from here?” I ask as I glance into the dining room and realise that Freya is the flatmate Sloan has mentioned before.
Freya replies, “Indeedy, we do! I was just nipping in to get some work done, but I’ll put the kettle on and make us all some tea before lunch is ready. Nothing settles nerves like a good cup of tea.”
“Tea sounds lovely,” Vi says with a smile. “Can I help?”
“Of course! Mr. Harris, would you like to join us? You’re staying for lunch, right?”
My father looks to me in question, but Freya grabs his arm and pulls him down the hallway before he can argue. He’s completely out of his element. Hell, even I’m a bit out of my element. When the three of them are out of sight, I exhale with relief.
“How are you feeling? Do you want to sit down?” Sloan turns to point toward the living area. “I can turn the telly on. Or maybe that will hurt your head? If you just want to sit, I’ll go get you some tea.”
She takes a step to help me walk again, but without hesitation, I shove her over to the wall and crush my lips to hers. She lets out a tiny yelp of surprise, then softens against me as I cradle her face in my hands and press my body to hers.
Slowly, her lips part, allowing my tongue to dip in and taste her. Really taste her. I’m smelly and in desperate need of a shower, but I don’t give a toss. I need to feel her in my arms. Taste the sweetness of her lips. Inhale the familiar scent of her that used to remind me of memories I’d long wanted to forget but somehow crave more than ever now. I hold her tightly and let the realness of her sink completely into my groggy head.
In the past twenty-four hours, I’ve gone from feeling euphoric because she was by my side, to being turned on because she was going to give herself to me, to being terrified beyond belief because I thought I lost her. I need to feel her in my arms and against my tongue to reassure myself that we’re still us. We still make sense, even under the most horrid of circumstances.
Sloan’s hands wrap around my waist as our lips move against each other. It’s a soft, warm kiss. It’s familiar because she tastes the same, yet somehow it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
My dick thumps in my lounge pants, and I press my groin against her stomach so she knows the effect she’s having on me.
“Good God, Gareth,” she croaks, separating our lips and sagging into me. “I thought you were supposed to be injured.”
My lips drag up to her forehead as I tuck her head beneath my chin. “This is the best medicine I’ve received so far.”
She gazes up at me, her golden eyes wary as I finger her hair and glance at the bruise on her cheekbone that’s turned a dark shade of purple overnight. “That looks bloody painful.”
She glances up to the stitches on my temple that are covered by a clear waterproof bandage. “Yours looks worse.”
I shake my head. “Have I mentioned I’m going to kill those fuckers?”
She smiles. “No you won’t, because a pretty boy like you won’t last a day in prison.”
“Pretty boy?” I bark out a laugh. “I’ve been called many things, but pretty is not one of them.”
With a soft huff, she presses her head against my chest. “I’m glad you’re
here,” she mumbles into my sweater.
“Me too.” I tighten my hold around her and look up toward the stairs. “Want to show me around?”
Her brow furrows slightly. “Like a tour?”
I nod. “Yes. I seem to recall you demanding a shirtless tour of my place, so this only seems fair.”
She flushes and pulls her lower lip between her teeth before replying, “Considering you’re concussed and your family is here, I think I’ll go ahead and keep my top on.”
I chuckle as she gestures around the main level and describes the rooms to me. She points down the hallway where there are two bedrooms and the kitchen. “Do you want to join them for some tea?” she asks, chewing her lower lip.
I shake my head. “Where do you sleep?”
“Upstairs,” she replies with a shy smile.
Oh, how I always love a shy Treacle. “Let’s see that room.”
She shakes her head with a knowing smirk and turns to walk up the stairs. An image of our first night together hits me as I stare at her curves under her artfully torn jeans and T-shirt. Such a casual look that I note is very similar to how she appeared the night she tied me up in my kitchen. Had she been with her daughter that day? Is this what she’s like when she’s being a mum? There’s still so much we have to learn about each other.
She passes a door on the right and I pause. “What’s in there?”
Her face flushes. “That’s…Sophia’s room.”
My brows lift. “I’d like to see it if she wouldn’t mind.”
“You would?”
“Yes. She’s not napping in there, is she?”
Sloan laughs softly. “No, she won’t come home for two more days…Just in time for Christmas morning.”
I briefly wonder what Sloan’s plans are for me for Christmas as she moves to put her hand on the knob beside me and murmurs, “And just for your information, Sophia is too old for naps. If I try to make her nap, she looks at me like I’ve grown three heads.”
“She sounds cheeky,” I reply with a half-smile. “I’m afraid my experience with children is limited to an adorable one-year-old and the little sods who come to Kid Kickers camps.”