by Amy Daws
Gareth: I can’t wait to see you again.
Me: Me too. I’m just packing now.
Gareth: Good. The car will be at your house to pick you up at eight a.m. tomorrow.
Me: I’ll be ready.
Gareth: You better be.
Me: Is that a threat? :)
Gareth: Treacle, I have plans for you these next few days. The doctor has cleared me of my injuries. I’m back at practice and nearly at 100% again. And I haven’t seen you in three weeks. This isn’t a threat. It’s a promise.
Me: Yes, Master. ;)
Gareth: Fuck me, I think I like the sound of that.
THE CAR PULLS ONTO A tarmac where a small private plane awaits. I’m so nervous, my hands are shaking. It’s a combination of not having seen Gareth in weeks, the uncertainty of how this is going to go, and flying private for the first time in my entire life. Callum comes from money, but Margaret is always in his head about how he spends it. I never realised how much he kneeled to her commands until our divorce.
The driver opens the door and gestures toward the black carpet stretched out to meet the steps that lead up into the plane. “Go ahead and climb aboard, miss. I’ll get your bags loaded.”
On wobbly feet, I make my way to the plane, tightening my long pea coat around my body like it can somehow protect me from what’s to come. When I grab hold of the railing, Gareth appears at the top of the stairs. With one smouldering glance from him, I realise there is no amount of clothing that can protect from the effect he has on me.
He stands there in all his brooding, tall, dark, and handsome glory, wearing simple jeans and a dress shirt. But his hazel eyes are anything but simple. They are filled with heat and excitement. He looks like he’s preparing to run out onto a soccer field rather than welcome me onto a plane.
I feel his eyes on me as I nervously climb the steps closer to his heat, closer to his allure. I feel like a comet orbiting straight into the sun. It was easier to consider ending things with Gareth when we only had phone contact. I told myself he wasn’t that handsome and our connection wasn’t anything extraordinary. But when I breach the threshold and he pulls me out of the cold January air, I realise that I am completely full of shit.
He steals inside my jacket, the warmth of his firm arms cinching tightly around my waist. His breath is hot on my neck as our bodies crush into each other, chests rubbing against one another with each intake of breath. He slides his nose down my neck and inhales deeply, causing a riot of goosebumps to erupt all over my skin.
Good God, he feels good. I worried it might feel awkward between us after the stress of the attack died down, but nothing about his touch on me feels wrong. It feels oh-so right.
He pulls back much too soon, but his eyes hold me captive with a look of certainty in them that’s harder to accept than his embrace. It’s a purposeful expression, full of so much need that I feel lightheaded under the weight of it.
“Fuck, it’s good to see you, Treacle.” His deep voice vibrates against my chest, and I have to blink slowly to control my internal reaction.
“It’s good to see you, too,” I admit and force myself to take a deep breath. The wound on his temple is only a faint scar now, but it isn’t difficult for me to recall the moment I woke up and saw him covered in blood.
A shudder runs over my shoulders as I stare at his lips and will him to kiss me. But he doesn’t. His eyes drop to my body instead.
“You’re shaking. Are you cold?” he asks, running his hands up and down my back.
I shake my head. “Just…anxious I suppose.” Anxious to feel your lips on mine again.
The corners of his mouth curve down sympathetically. “Me too. Come on, let’s get you more comfortable.”
We settle into a couple of tan leather seats that face each other while the pilot goes over safety features. It’s a small luxury plane with six seats and glossy walnut trim throughout. There’s a bathroom in the far back, and I exhale with relief when I see that there is no bedroom. I may be ready to kiss him, but becoming a member of the Mile High Club seems like too much, too soon.
I haven’t forgotten about Gareth’s promise to claim me right after the gala. Our moment in the shower at my house was only a glimpse of what I imagine to come. And with all the anxiety coursing through me, I find myself craving that control he had over me. Anything to help me find my footing because being whisked away on a private plane is so not my speed.
I look around the plane for some form of distraction. “Are we changing planes in London to join your family?”
Gareth shakes his head. “They left a couple of days ago, so they’re already there.”
“They are?” I ask in surprise as I slide the seatbelt across my lap and click the buckle. “Did you not want to go with them?”
Gareth shakes his head and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his muscular thighs to glance out the window. “No, I wanted to wait for you.”
His reply has my head jerking back. He chose to wait for me? “You what?”
He looks over at me like he doesn’t understand my confusion. “You drop Sophia off at her grandmother’s on Sundays, right?” he asks casually like it’s common knowledge to the whole world.
“Yes,” I reply, my face bent with shock. Over the past few weeks, we’ve done a lot of talking on the phone, but I never expected him to remember my schedule with Sophia. I’ve been quite limited in what I’ve shared about her because I’m not sure where we are going in this pseudo-relationship, and I want to protect her until I do.
“So you took it upon yourself to work around my schedule?” I ask, wrapping my fingers tightly around the armrests of my chair.
Gareth nods again and turns to look out the window as we begin to taxi toward the runway. I can’t help but stare at him in wonder. He’s acting like this is no big deal, but it is a very big freaking deal. Gareth Harris is a famous athlete with a demanding schedule and an equally demanding family. He just went through the ordeal of having his house broken into, being attacked, and having media swarm his every move. His life is full, yet he didn’t even ask before putting my plans with Sophia first.
I didn’t know men like him actually exist. I was married to Callum for years and his schedule always came first. Even when Sophia was sick.
Especially when Sophia was sick.
Overwhelming need unfurls in my lower belly. Before I know it, I’m unbuckling my seatbelt. Gareth looks at me curiously as I push myself to a standing position. I hesitate for only a second. Then, in one shaky breath, I’m on top of him, my legs spread over his lap and his face clutched firmly between my hands.
His hands wrap tightly around my waist as I stare hard into his eyes for a moment. His hazel, brownish-green eyes that hold so much intensity in their expression. So much promise, and passion, and pain, and just…acceptance. My eyes flick down to his lips. With a deep breath, I press my mouth to his.
Most kisses are meant to be savoured, appreciated, welcomed.
This isn’t one of those kisses.
This kiss is a brutal, needful embrace. It’s hard and fast. It’s expressing years of pent-up frustration because, in the seven years I’ve known Callum, I’ve never felt true, selfless respect. What actual generosity tastes like. After what feels like a lifetime of loneliness being cured with one kind act, this moment is something I have to claim for myself.
Gareth groans into my mouth, his hands running firmly up and down my back. His grip squeezes my ass and neck as I violently shove my tongue into his mouth and press against him as close as I can. He accepts me—all of me—giving up the control and only taking what I offer, not a smidgeon more.
This man is too much. He’s too different. Too unique. Too special. The overpowering emotions raking through my body should terrify me. They should have me leaping out of this plane and never looking back because I have so much to lose in this fight. Instead, I slow my assault on his mouth and wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him to me as our lips hold against each other. Then we slowly, pai
nfully, regretfully break apart.
Our breaths are hot on each other’s damp lips as we recover. Gareth moves a finger up between our mouths, running his digit along the flesh of my lower lip as our foreheads come together.
“That was a gift,” he husks, his peppermint-scented breath mixing with mine.
“What do you mean?” I ask, out of breath and nowhere near satisfied.
“You took that like you’ve taken other things from me before,” he replies slowly, my eyes fixating on his lips the entire time. “And I’m not complaining because, fuck, I love seeing that look in your eyes again. But things are going to be different this week, Treacle.”
I close my eyes, relishing in his endearment for me and nodding my agreement. “They are already more different than you know.”
With a soft, chaste kiss on my forehead, he helps me off of his lap. I move back to my rightful place and we both buckle up, ignoring the fact that one of the pilots had been telling us to fasten our seatbelts multiple times.
As the plane prepares for takeoff, my eyes drink in Gareth’s large frame as he adjusts the tightness around his groin. He looks exactly like the man I poured hot wax on, and blindfolded, and tied up. But somehow, he looks different. Changed. Maybe it’s because he made being a complete gentleman seem so casual and easy. I don’t know. Something is definitely different about him, though, and it’s something I really, really like.
As the plane begins to pick up speed for takeoff, I nervously run my hands up and down my thighs in an attempt to control my emotions so I don’t spontaneously combust.
Gareth sits back, eyeing me through his thick, black lashes. “Are you a nervous flier?”
I ball my hands up on my lap and squeeze my legs together. “It’s not the flying that makes me nervous.”
He smiles and the noise of the engine grows louder as the plane begins to ascend. Unable to hold Gareth’s heated gaze another moment longer, I turn to the window and watch Manchester shrink smaller and smaller behind us.
If I look hard enough, I can probably spot the giant Coleridge Estate—the home I lived in for several years with my husband and child before everything changed. I’m a completely different person than I was when I lived there. So much more opinionated and strong. Back then, I was a desperate housewife trying to keep my husband happy and give my daughter a chance at a normal life.
Now? I’m not sure what I am doing. There is nothing about a life with Gareth Harris that would be normal.
“Have you ever skydived before, Gareth?” I ask, turning my eyes back to him.
He shakes his head curiously. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t.”
“Would you ever skydive?”
He quirks a brow. “I could probably be convinced.”
I lick my lips and narrow my eyes. “It’s crazy, though, right? You go up as high as a plane can take you. Then you decide to bail out of the one thing that’s keeping you afloat and place all your trust in a tiny slip of fabric attached to your back. Why do you think people do it?”
Gareth shrugs. “The rush I guess.”
“And why do people care about getting a rush?”
His lips thin and he leans forward to prop his elbows on his knees. His knuckles brush my shins as he answers, “Probably because it’s dangerous and they come out of it feeling like they can do anything.”
I chew on my lip, pondering his answer as the plane levels out and the pilot announces that we’ve reached our cruising altitude. “What if someone’s too scared to skydive? Do you think that person’s life is less fulfilled as a result?”
His brows knit together. “No, not at all. But I think with great risk comes great reward.”
I nod slowly and do my best to hold Gareth’s watchful eyes on me. “What if they’ve had enough excitement for one lifetime?”
He continues to stare at me, trying to decipher the meaning behind my words. Honestly, I don’t even know the meaning behind my words. I know that I feel strange being so far away from Sophia. I feel protective over her history and my bond with her as a result of everything we endured together. I know it’s something important I should tell Gareth, but that conversation is a lot like jumping out of a plane when I don’t trust my parachute.
Until I know what Gareth and I are to each other, I need to keep some of my Sopapilla safely tucked away in my heart. Otherwise, it will make all of this that much more difficult if it doesn’t work out.
“Are you missing Sophia?” Gareth asks, seemingly reading my mind.
I nod woodenly. “Yes. But, believe it or not, I’m happy that I’m here. I don’t think I could have done this six months ago.”
“What do you mean?”
“Before we started our little arrangement, I was a mess when Sophia was away from me to be at Callum’s. Freya called them my dark days because I was barely functional. Sharing custody fifty-fifty was a really hard change for me.”
“A mother’s bond with her child is intense,” Gareth muses, looking out the window, his thoughts drifting somewhere I can only imagine.
“You said you were best friends with your mom, right?” I ask, wanting to take the spotlight off of me for a moment, but also more curious about his past than ever.
“I was.” He blinks slowly and turns his gaze back to me. He has a tight, emotionless expression when he adds, “She even wrote a poem about our friendship. Would you like to read it?”
I nod instantly and Gareth reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out his wallet, along with a piece of laminated paper that’s bent from the trifolds of his billfold. He looks at me nervously for a moment before handing it over to me.
Friendship has No Age
You drive toy cars, I drive real cars.
You like juice, I like coffee.
You read comics, I read novels.
You go to school while I take care of the house.
Friendship has no age.
Friendship has no limits.
No rules. No boundaries. No distance.
Friendship can be young or old.
Rich or poor.
Healthy
or sick.
Friendship can be in a mother’s eyes,
or a young boy’s heart.
Between man and wife.
Through laughter and strife.
Friendship has no age.
There are no limits to friendship.
No beginning.
No middle.
No end.
Even in death, friendship still gives us breath,
as it lives on in our hearts and souls.
Our tight little hugs and soft, cosy clothes.
In our weak, frail bones, and our aching, broken hearts.
Friendship…has no age.
I finish, turning my head into my shoulder to hide the tears that have welled up in my eyes. Clearly, this was written by his mother when she was ill. It’s almost too heartbreaking to handle, but I steel myself to be strong. I look over at Gareth to see the pain I feel reflected back at me.
He clears his throat and reaches out to grab the poem out of my hand. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
“It’s okay,” I reply as he tucks the paper back into his wallet. “That poem is beautiful, Gareth. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you to lose her.”
He nods stiffly, his jaw muscle ticking as he looks out the window. “I think I was too busy to ever have a chance to actually miss her. My siblings really needed me a lot back then, and I guess distractions are good for avoiding grief.”
“I guess,” I reply half-heartedly, hurting for the little boy who had to take on so much.
“How do you manage your days without Sophia? I’m sure you miss her a great deal when she’s with your ex.”
A sad smile lifts my face. “Surprisingly enough, nothing has worked as well as you.”
My answer surprises him. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares thoughtfully back at me. “So I guess I was right.”
He inhales deeply and replies, “With great risk comes great reward.”
I drop my head back against the seat cushion and shake my head in surrender. “Where do we go from here?”
Our attention is diverted toward the ceiling when the seatbelt light clicks off in the cabin. Without pause, Gareth undoes his buckle and moves over to the seat next to me. He grabs my hand and holds it between his own, squeezing my fingers tightly as he looks straight into my eyes.
“I hope that in between the moments of craziness with my family these next few days, you and I get a chance to reconnect and see what we could be together without boundaries. Without restrictions. I want to pick up where we left off, and I want you to stop being nervous and stop seeing this as less than it is.
“You played it safe with your ex, but being with me requires you to be brave. And, for the first time in my life, I want someone by my side. Someone to share the stuff that I’ve kept bottled up for fucking years. I want that with you. I need you to know that I’m all in, Sloan. And I’m not the kind of man who jumps out of airplanes for a rush. I’m the kind of man who stands on the ground, waiting to catch you.”
My breath whooshes out of my mouth from his last words. I feel myself nodding over and over, my eyes never leaving his, even for a second. Honestly, we could stay like this for the entire six-hour flight and I wouldn’t notice. Space and time don’t seem to exist when I’m staring into the eyes of Gareth Harris.
Six hours later, we arrive at the resort on the island of Sal. The landscape has a desert oasis feel to it, with palm trees sprouted up all over the place. The hotel we’re staying at looks like the palace in Aladdin plopped right on the beach. Inside the hotel are domed ceilings and arched windows. Dark wood furnishings, sprawling Indian rugs, and employees wearing crisp, white uniforms and carrying platters full of drinks. If this is how famous soccer players live, I could definitely get used to it.
Before we reach the check-in counter, I see Gareth’s sister out of the corner of my eye, walking up from the beach. On one side of her is a handsome, copper blonde-haired man whom I assume is her fiancé based on how he’s holding her hand. On the other side is Vaughn, who’s holding a stunning little girl on his hip. They’re all decked out in swim gear with overflowing bags of water toys tucked under their arms. They look sun-kissed, wind-whipped, and like a family on the perfect vacation.