Page 88 of Surrender
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.
