Surrender (Harris Brothers Book 4)

by Amy Daws

  He ushers me into the dimly lit pub, and an elderly hostess doesn’t even smile at us when we come in. She grabs a couple of menus and walks us over to a dark corner booth near an open log fire. The place is mostly empty, and no one gives us a second look as we take our seats.

  “Drinks?” the woman asks.

  Gareth orders a water and I ask for a wine. She returns a few minutes later with our drinks, then puts in our food orders.

  “This feels different,” I say, sipping my white wine thoughtfully and eyeing Gareth from across the table. “Being out of your house and around society together. I’m not sure how to act.”

  He gives me a confused look. “What do you mean?”

  I shrug. “Well, like, did you want me to order for you just now? Am I still in control?”

  My question has his brow furrowing. Before he has a chance to reply, light from the entrance blasts in and Hobo’s loud voice booms into our quiet sanctuary.

  “Hullo, neighbour! Fancy seeing you here!” I turn to see Hobo stepping back and gesturing for Brandi to walk inside ahead of him. The two make their way over to our table.

  My cheeks feel flaming hot as Gareth gives Hobo a forced sort of smile. “Hiya, Hobo. Brandi.”

  “Gareth.” Brandi smiles and flicks her curious eyes to me, her blonde ponytail swinging as she adds, “Hi, Sloan.”

  “How are you guys?” I ask, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and attempting to appear casual.

  “We’re super!” Hobo looks straight at me with a beaming smile. “Thought we’d nip in for a bite since neither of us could cook if our lives depended on it. This is great, though! Now we can have a double date!”

  “Oh, this isn’t a date.” I look nervously at Brandi, who feels like she’s inspecting me. I glance at Gareth for some help, but he remains silent, waiting for what I’m about to say next. “Gareth and I are just having a work-related dinner.”

  “A work-related dinner?” Hobo repeats, clearly not convinced. “That’s interesting. What are you discussing?”

  “Oh, erm…” I wrack my brain for an excuse, but I’m seriously blanking. My job is not the kind that requires me to wine and dine my current customers. I wine and dine prospective clients occasionally, but not people like Gareth.

  “We’re just friends having dinner.” Gareth’s deep voice saves me from my misery. His eyes are trained on mine in such a serious manner that I struggle to know what he’s thinking. “Sloan was delivering some clothes and mentioned she was hungry. I told her this place has the best fish and chips around, so I brought her here.”

  Brandi doesn’t look at all convinced, but Hobo smiles brightly and says, “Super! You won’t mind if we join you then.”

  Hobo shoves into the booth, forcing Gareth around the corner next to me so that our knees are touching. Brandi slides in next to Hobo, and the four of us begin what I can only describe as the most awkward non-double date I’ve ever experienced.

  They all instantly begin talking soccer. Brandi chimes in like one of the guys, equally as passionate about the sport as the men. I listen intently, actually really intrigued because I’ve never taken an interest in Gareth’s career up until this point. The majority of my clients are wealthy athletes or business moguls, and I find the less I know, the better. And I never want to come off like a fan. My clients get that enough. They don’t need it from me, too.

  I also think I was resistant to the sport of soccer when I came to England because Callum loved it so much. It represented one of the British customs I was resentful of at a time when I missed our life in Chicago. But hearing these guys speak so passionately has me kind of warming up to the sport.

  “So, Sloan, when did you say those dresses of mine are coming in again?” Brandi’s blue eyes are wide and friendly.

  “They are in already!” I waggle my eyebrows in excitement. “And they are so fierce. There’s one that I think is going to look fantastic on you, but I’m not saying a word until you try them all on. I think I have you scheduled for Monday, right?”

  She nods with a secret twinkle in her eyes. “Yes, that’s what I remember. The event feels like it will be a bit of a Cinderella moment. I’m not really a girly girl, but the idea of getting dressed up for a proper night out is hard not to get butterflies over.”

  “I don’t know much about the event, except that I think almost every single one of my clients is attending,” I state with a huff. “Any time there’s a black tie and red carpet event, it’s like my company’s Super Bowl. My business partner and I have been swamped getting everyone’s samples in and final decisions altered.”

  “So, is that why you’re wining and dining our honouree here?” Hobo teases, clapping Gareth on the shoulder.

  I look over at Gareth in confusion. “Honouree? What do you mean?”

  Gareth’s jaw tightens as he narrows a steely look at Hobo. “Nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing,” Hobo jeers, not the least bit intimidated by Gareth’s glower. “Our captain here is receiving the big award that night. He’s been named Player of the Year on behalf of the Football Press Association.”

  My jaw drops. “Seriously?”

  Gareth shrugs like he’s in pain as Hobo answers for him. “Seriously. He’s a super stud. I can’t believe he hasn’t been bragging to you about it. Our coach is over the moon.”

  “W—wow,” I stammer, then my face falls as realisation hits. Gareth hasn’t requested styling for this event. I didn’t even know he is attending. Did he hire someone else because we’re sleeping together? “Gareth, why haven’t you requested styling from me?”

  He finally makes eye contact with me, and I can see that he’s registering the hurt look on my face. His hand reaches under the table and squeezes my knee. “Because I already have a suit.”

  “Which one?” I ask, nervous that he’s going to wear something he’s worn before. I know it’s crazy, but he should not be re-wearing a suit for a red carpet event. The press will notice and call him out on it. He pays me to prevent that from happening.

  It has to be what we’re doing together that’s making him feel like he can’t ask me for anything. This is deeply upsetting because he swore our working relationship would remain the same.

  His hand moves up to my inner thigh as he states firmly, “I’m wearing the one you made.”

  “Made?” Brandi and Hobo echo each other.

  I can feel their surprised eyes on me, but I can’t look at them. Instead, my eyes are locked on Gareth’s, who’s looking annoyingly indifferent. “What do you mean?” I ask, my voice sounding far away for some reason.

  “The suit you made me a couple weeks ago. I haven’t worn it anywhere yet. I figured it’d be perfect for the event.”

  “I didn’t know you are a designer, too,” Brandi states, clearly impressed.

  I continue to ignore her. “Gareth, you should wear designer. Not mine.”

  “I don’t need designer,” he scoffs, tightening his grip on my leg. “I love the suit you made. I tried it on and it fits perfectly. I want to wear it. End of.”

  “Not end of,” I bark and shove his hand off my leg. “This is a big deal. There will be press, a red carpet, media asking who you’re wearing.”

  “Just tell me what to say then.” He flinches as a thought pops in his head. “In fact, you can go with me and tell them yourself.”

  “Go with you as what?” I am so shocked, I don’t know what end is up. I just found out a famous athlete is going to wear my suit on a red carpet. This is the kind of thing that aspiring designers only dream of, but it’s a dream that I’ve locked away inside a vault of pre-Sophia life goals. Not to mention Gareth Harris is never seen with women!

  “My date, of course.” Gareth turns his eyes from me and faces Hobo and Brandi while taking a sip of water.

  “I’m not sure that would be appropriate,” I grind out through clenched teeth. What’s he trying to do here?

  I swear I see Hobo and Brandi eating popcorn from the othe
r side of the table as Gareth and I have this non-fight right in front of them.

  “Fuck what’s appropriate,” Gareth scoffs. “If I don’t take you, I’ll have to take someone else. I’d rather have a friendly face as my date.”

  Anger simmers in my veins. Anger spliced with a dash of jealousy. Would I be okay with Gareth taking someone else? It would bother me for sure. Especially after Freya said every woman in England wants to have sex with him. But what is he trying to do? Our arrangement doesn’t include dating. It’s fucking. And him putting me on the spot in front of his friends is really maddening.

  Gareth’s eyes are firm on mine, flaming with a look of determination that I’ve never seen on him. “It’s a great opportunity for you to get your name out there as both a designer and a stylist. You can network. It would be excellent publicity.”

  “Gareth,” I state in a warning tone, my hands itching to strangle the smug look off his face.

  “Sloan.” He says my name so deliberately, I know this is about a hell of a lot more than networking and publicity.

  Hobo interjects. “It’s going to be a fun party at the very least. Come have a laugh with us. Brandi will be there with me and could use the support. She always hates the women my teammates bring to these events.”

  Brandi groans her approval. “Oh my God, yes. You’d be a welcome breath of fresh air for all of us.”

  I force a smile and silently agree to their insane request. I’m not about to fight with Gareth in front of his friends, but we’re certainly having words when we’re done here.

  We finish our dinner with much more comfortable small talk. Then Gareth and I trail behind Hobo and Brandi as we all make our way out of the pub. We wave our goodbyes and part ways.

  When we get to my car, Gareth snatches the keys from my hand.

  “Um, excuse you, those are my keys.” I begin to argue and reach for the keys in his hand.

  “You had wine, Sloan. I had water. I’m driving.”

  With a frown, I slowly cross my arms over my chest and hold my place in front of the driver’s side door. “I had two small glasses of wine in two hours. I’m fine.”

  Gareth’s gaze is serious as he looms over me, forcing me back against the door. “I’m not letting you put either of us in unnecessary danger. I’ll drive.”

  I grind my teeth together with annoyance. I know he’s right. Him driving makes the most sense, but I don’t like that he didn’t ask. He’s just telling me. He’s commanding me. He’s kind of been commanding me all night, and it’s really getting on my nerves.

  Not wanting to cause a scene, I bite my tongue and walk over to the other side of the car. Gareth tries to open the door for me, but I push him away and do it myself.

  As soon as both our doors are closed and we’re concealed in the silence of the dark vehicle, I turn on him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “What do you mean?” he asks, adjusting the driver’s seat and putting the key in the ignition.

  “In there…In front of Hobo and Brandi. Were you trying to show off?”

  “Show off?” he barks, one hand resting on the wheel even though he hasn’t started the car yet.

  I turn in my seat to face him more fully. “Yeah, you manipulated the whole scene to get me to go to the awards gala with you.”

  “I wasn’t being manipulative. I just think it’ll be a great opportunity for you.”

  “But it’s my decision. Not yours!” I exclaim, leaning in closer to him. Even in my state of frustration, I can’t help but want to be close to him. He smells too damn good. “What is this, Gareth? You want me to be in control, but the minute we’re caught in public together, you fucking flip on me like a switch.”

  His eyes are severe on mine. “I didn’t flip on you.”

  “The hell you didn’t!” I peal. “What’s going on? Am I still in control here or not?”

  “In the bedroom, yes,” he grinds through clenched teeth and reaches down to turn over the key.

  “But not in front of your friends,” I bark unattractively and face forward with a laugh. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming. You’re not surrendering your control. You’re topping from the bottom. You’ve been topping me this whole time!”

  “That’s utter bollocks!” he roars and hits the heel of his hand on the wheel. “When we get back to my place, I’ll let you do whatever the bloody hell you want to me. You can fucking whip me if you think that’s what I deserve, and it will turn you on because that’s what turns me on. But when we are out in public, I absolutely refuse to let you miss opportunities because we agreed to fuck each other a certain way.”

  “Well, it would have been nice if you had warned me.”

  “Why?” he asks. “Because then you wouldn’t go out in public with me? That’s bullshit, Sloan, and you know it.”

  “I don’t know what I know,” I growl. I feel like a petulant child, but I also feel a bit out of whack because of what’s happening between us.

  Gareth’s warm hand grips my arm. When I refuse to look at him, he reaches over the centre console and clasps my face in his hands, forcing me to do so. “Sloan, in case you need reminding, I get off on surrendering to you.” He pauses and stares down at my lips, his nostrils flaring as he husks out, “I even get off on pissing you off because I know it’s only going to add to what you do to me later. Fuck me, I’m getting hard just thinking about it.”

  I have to fight back a moan that’s traitorously clawing its way up my throat over the heated, turned-on look in his eyes. God, I want him underneath me so badly, but he’s not done.

  “But you need to know that there’s a whole other side to me. A side that doesn’t submit. I’m not just one thing.”

  My eyes flick back and forth between his, curiously trying to decipher him like a complicated puzzle. “So, what else are you?”

  He licks his lips. “I’m my own fucking man out on the streets. That means I get pushy and assertive and I claim what I want, when I want. But behind closed doors with you in front of me, I fucking give myself to you because, bloody hell, it feels right. I can be two things. Understood?”

  I fight back a gasp just as he releases me and puts the car in gear. He looks over his shoulder to back out of the parking stall as confusion envelops my entire body. Why is this so hot? Him all angry and demanding. This isn’t what I want from Gareth. I want control. I want power. I want to say when and where. I’ve been thriving on it! Finding myself with it! It has changed my life in such an elemental way. But right now, the steely firmness in his gaze is making my body hum to life.

  Instead of admitting all of that—instead of apologising for yelling at him and making a scene—I purse my lips and reply, “That’s fine, but you’re going to pay for it when we get back to your place.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkle with a frown, anger still ticking in his jaw muscle as he says, “I’m rock fucking hard just thinking about it.”

  Gareth is spread out naked on his bed. The blue lighting from his closet casts sexy shadows on his erection, which is already at full salute from the slow strip-tease I just tortured him with.

  An orange flame glows brightly against my bare breasts as I hold a pillar candle inside a clear jar. “Are you scared?” I ask, my voice revealing how turned on I am by the anticipation on his face.

  His eyes rake over my naked body. “Completely.”

  “Do you want me to stop?” I ask, cautiously staring back at him.

  His face is resolute. “Never.”

  I kneel down next to him on the bed, tucking my feet underneath me. I considered wearing sexy lingerie again, but this is something quite different for us, so I thought it would help him feel comfortable if I am naked, too. Plus, the way he looks at me when I’m naked makes me feel like I can conquer the damn world.

  I look up at him, brandishing the white candle in my hand. “The wax is vanilla scented because you said before you like how I smell so sweet all the time.”

 
The corner of his mouth lifts up. “I love how you smell.”

  “Well, it’s vanilla,” I say, swirling the wax building up inside the jar. “I use vanilla essential oil as a perfume. I make it myself with almond oil and water because it has lots of health benefits. I read somewhere once that it has an aphrodisiac quality to it as well.”

  Gareth’s abs flex with a low chuckle. “I was doomed from the beginning.” He looks up at me fondly, our earlier argument forgotten.

  “Completely,” I reply with a smirk and hold the candle over his stomach. “I want you to lay your hands out flat beside you and try not to move too much.” His muscles tighten and outline his beautiful six-pack as he braces himself for what’s about to come. “I want you to really feel this. Not only on the surface, but inside yourself. Absorb it, then tell me what goes through your mind as you do.”

  He nods, looking equally nervous and excited.

  I tilt the jar and drip a few dots of wax on his broad furry pecs. He hisses a sharp intake of air from the initial shock of the heat, but he relaxes and closes his eyes as soon as the wax dries.

  My fingers move to touch the pools of dried wax, relishing in the smooth texture over the coarseness of his hairy chest. “How does it feel?”

  “Hot,” he states with a half-smile.

  “Anything else?” I drizzle a little more. This time it runs down the valley between his pecs and over the ridges of his abs.

  “It’s creating a burning inside of me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I was already hard when we started, and now I feel like I’m going to explode.”

  “What would ease the pain?”

  “You.” His answer is instant as he opens his eyes, his expression deathly serious.

  I run my hands over the drops again, digging my nails into the design of the wax I’ve created. “Are you having any texture issues with this?”

  He shakes his head. “Not with you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He swallows and watches the jar tilt as I drip more wax on him. With a groan, he answers, “I trust you I guess. I don’t have any texture issues with you anymore because I always want what’s coming.”