by Shayla Black
Maybe I should pity them or feel sadness that my parents are probably going away for a long time. But no. They’re getting what they deserve. They won’t be able to hurt anyone again. My brothers and I, along with our spouses and future kids, can finally be a family without their dark presence in our lives. We can finally look to the future.
And after sleeping on it and listening to Keeley’s playlist again, I’m more sure of the future I want than ever.
I scramble down a series of hallways and wonder why these places are always like a maze. It’s frustrating. Parking was a bitch, and I just want to reach Noah, say my piece…and let the chips fall.
When I approach the meeting room, reporters are already jammed into the space, double-checking equipment and jockeying for the best angle. No one notices me as I slip in the back, hair pulled into a braid, borrowed ball cap low over my face.
My heart is pounding and my palms are sweating. This could end fairy-tale happy…or Greek-tragedy sad. The fear I haven’t learned to tame yet still nips at my heels with a hundred what-if questions and the accompanying doomsday scenarios. I shove them all down.
I’m choosing to embrace love.
Right on schedule, Cliff files into the front of the room, to a bank of mics set up at a podium behind a long banquet table. Noah is right behind him.
My heart stutters. If that sounds trite, I don’t know how else to describe my chest seizing up in joy at the sight of him, then pounding again simply because we’re in the same room together.
When he steps out of the shadow, he looks as big and Alpha and sexy as hell as usual. But he also looks exhausted, resigned. Grim.
I did that to him. Never mind if I might hurt him in the future. I’ve brought him pain now. And that’s something Noah Weston, football great and amazing husband, should never feel because of me. All season, he should be in the booth, providing the best color commentary for the sport that’s made him the man he is. The rest of the year, he should be letting me give him all my love and devotion.
He’ll give everything up if I don’t stop him. And he’s willing to do that. For me. To prove something I don’t need him to.
That realization tears at my heart.
Cliff steps behind the podium and taps the mic in the middle with his finger. It’s definitely hot, and the screeching feedback has reporters covering their ears. Then he clears his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, Noah Weston has a major announcement about his professional future. The message is prerecorded. He will only take questions afterward about the video.”
A tech dressed in a collared shirt with the hotel’s logo springs into action and taps a few keys to launch whatever they recorded onto the screen behind us as the lights dim.
I know what Noah’s announcement is, and I’m not having it. This is my moment. It’s now or never.
With my insides churning and chugging, I push away from the wall, tear off my ball cap, and stride down the middle aisle like a badass bitch with a point to make. “I know you said Noah would take questions after the announcement, but how about a comment beforehand?”
My husband’s head jerks up. He sees me. Our gazes meet, and a zip rolls down my spine. Brutal relief rips across his face as he stands. His eyes pierce me with hope and something that’s unmistakably lust. “You have something to say?”
Every camera suddenly swerves and points in my direction as I smile out my love to Noah. “Yeah. Wanna hear it?”
Noah doesn’t bother walking around the table. He leaps over and meets me halfway across the room. I hold out my arms to him and he takes me into his own. Our bodies meet. His heat seeps into me. His musky scent is arousing, but it’s also as familiar as coming home. He clasps me so tight I can barely breathe, but I don’t need to. I have the man I’ve realized I can’t breathe without.
“Why are you here, baby?” he whispers in my ear.
“Because I can’t let you give up this opportunity.”
He pulls back enough to scan my face. “Is that the only reason?”
I shake my head solemnly. “Because I can’t live another minute without you. Forgive me?”
“Already done.” Apparently he doesn’t care any more than I do who sees how elated we are to be together again. Euphoria slams me as his mouth crashes down on mine and he reminds me that I belong to him.
I’m going to kiss this man every day for the rest of my life. I’m going to tell him that I love him. And when I feel uncertain or scared, he’s going to tell me everything that’s in his heart. But I’ll never let him go again.
“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips.
“I love you, too,” I assure him as I sniff back tears, then whisper for his ears only. “You’ll never have to wonder again if it’s true or if I’m ready to be with you. I do and I am. I called the firm that offered me the job in San Diego and turned them down. If you’ll have me, I’m staying in Hawaii. With you.”
He looks as if he’s struggling to keep the press conference macho enough for the sports crowd, but he’d rather be alone with me, telling me exactly how he feels with his words—and his body. “Thank god. Oh, baby… Yes.”
Noah’s face clouds over with that mixture of love and need that tells me if I don’t wrangle control of this situation, I might find my clothes flying off because he’s too eager to touch me to wait. In truth, I’m eager, too. But I don’t want an audience. I very much want to be alone with my husband so I can atone and worship him in every way he deserves.
“Hold that thought, big guy. Let’s make an announcement.”
“What do you think I should be saying to these eager reporters?”
I brush a kiss across his mouth again. “Why don’t you let me get you started? Take over when you’re ready.”
I don’t say if. I know Noah will be able to speak and get his message across just fine.
He cocks his head, clearly intrigued as we stroll, hand in hand, to the front of the room, behind the podium. “You do that.”
Cliff shoots me a wary stare that says he’s waiting for me to tear his balls off. He should be. But I won’t…at least not today. No promises about tomorrow.
I give Noah’s hand one last squeeze, then step up to the mic. “Good afternoon, everyone. As some of you know, I’m Harlow Weston, Noah’s wife. He’s gathered you here this afternoon to let you know that he’ll be accepting a job to provide color commentary he was offered earlier this spring by Mr. Gus Chickman and his esteemed network. Noah will do a fantastic job, and he’s thrilled to be continuing to serve the sport he’s loved his whole life.” I send him another glance, and he beams back at me with pride, so I forge ahead. “I’m making the announcement for Noah to bring attention to an issue that doesn’t get the airtime it deserves. Too many players in this great game suffer concussive injuries and head trauma that can lead to lasting damage. I’m proud to tell you that my husband and I met because he hired me professionally as a speech therapist so he could accept Mr. Chickman’s offer with an open heart and an open conscience. He may occasionally struggle, and I ask that you be patient and remember that, unless you’ve had more than a handful of concussions, you can’t understand what he’s enduring. We’re hoping to use our platform to not only elevate the sport, but the wounded warriors who have played it bravely and paid a price they never anticipated. Noah and I are also thrilled to announce that we’re expecting our first child and now that the situation with Mercedes Fleet has been resolved, we’ll be taking an extended honeymoon before his exciting new job starts.” I turn to the man I love with all my heart. “Ready to take questions?”
The smile he turns my way is one I’ll never forget. He’s relieved to have his secret out. He’s grateful I did the heavy lifting, just in case anxiety tied his tongue in knots. Most of all, he feels blessed that we’re going to live the life we promised one another on our wedding day.
“Thank you, Harlow. I’d love to.” He squeezes my hand, takes a couple of calming breaths, and palms a foam ball he extracted from
the back of the podium. “But first I have to thank my wife for her wisdom and all she’s done to support me, for the joy she’s given me, and for reminding me today of all the reasons I fell for her. Progress, not perfection.”
“Progress, not perfection,” I chime back, wanting to kiss this man more than I can ever remember. But he needs his moment in the spotlight, and I’m so happy he’s taking it.
The next forty minutes are a whirlwind of questions, and Noah answers them both perfectly and patiently. He sounds smooth and relaxed, joking with reporters—looking nothing like the fatigued, washed-up athlete he did before the press conference began. He oozes confidence and charm as he provides enough details about the role he’ll be playing with the network, the nature of his speech issues, some of the therapy we’ve been employing, as well as announcing that we’ll be starting a players’ assistance organization to give advice and direction in the event a player, current or former, needs help, direction, or an ear.
I’ve never been prouder of him.
The inevitable question about my parents’ arrests arises. He lets me field that with a vague answer that the investigation has just begun, no criminal charges have been filed yet, and that I know very little about the allegations because I haven’t been involved with my parents in quite some time and never with their business.
Finally, the rapid-fire queries slow, and Cliff steps in to end the press conference. With a wave, we clasp hands again and file into the back room, away from reporters’ prying eyes and his watchful agent.
“You came back to me. I’m so relieved.” He cups my face in his hands and searches my face for answers. “What changed your mind?”
“I realized I was an idiot.”
“You were afraid.”
I nod. “Of getting hurt. Of hurting you. Of how much I love you. So many things… Then I realized that I was hurting you anyway. All of my brothers talked to me, even Evan. Keeley came to my rescue with songs, and Britta gave me space when I needed it. These last two days, my family has been there. But something still felt missing, and that was you. I’m not whole without you. It’s hard for me to admit that.”
“I know. But your trust means so much to me.”
“You’ve done nothing to make me doubt you. It was all in my head. And I had to decide whether to make us both miserable or fulfilled for the rest of our lives.” I cock my head with a little grin. “I think I chose well.”
“I know you did. What shall we do now, Mrs. Weston? Go home and celebrate naked?”
“We’re awfully far from home. Isn’t this a hotel? Can’t we just get a room?”
“We could, but I want you in our pool, on our dining room table, and wrapped around me in our bed.”
“That sounds”—I sigh, contentment brimming inside me that’s so bright and sharp I’m almost painfully happy—“perfect. I want you inside me, next to me, a part of me forever.”
“You’ve got it, baby. You can have me however you want me. Once we’re both sated, which may be a few decades from now, can you show me how to kill that damn Draugr Deathlord who keeps whipping my ass on that fucking video game?”
I toss back my head and laugh. I might not be good at love with the usual guy in the usual way. But I think I’m going to be damn good at loving this one for the rest of my life. “You’re on.”
Noah brushes a kiss over my lips. “You know what I thought the first time I saw you?”
“Tell me,” I whisper.
“That I had no idea when I purchased my dream home that it would come with the woman straight out of my fantasies.”
His words make me smile. He makes me glow. With Noah, I’m sublimely happy. “Well, now I’m your reality, big guy.”
“And I’m so blessed.”
I join our hands, thumbing his wedding ring, gratified that he’s still wearing it. He thrusts his hand into the pocket of his pants, pulls out my wedding ring, and begins fitting it on my finger again. “I’ve been carrying this around because I can’t stop thinking of you. Do you, forever this time?”
“I do. Forever and always. I promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“You can hold me to that, hold me down, or just hold me tight. I’ll always be yours.”
The End
Read on for excerpts from Shayla Black!
MORE THAN WANT YOU
More Than Words, Book 1
By Shayla Black
NOW AVAILABLE!
Click here to purchase!
A fresh, sexy, and emotional contemporary romance series by Shayla Black…
I’m Maxon Reed—real estate mogul, shark, asshole. If a deal isn’t high profile and big money, I pass. Now that I’ve found the property of a lifetime, I’m jumping. But one tenacious bastard stands between me and success—my brother. I’ll need one hell of a devious ploy to distract cynical Griff. Then fate drops a luscious redhead in my lap who’s just his type.
Sassy college senior Keeley Kent accepts my challenge to learn how to become Griff’s perfect girlfriend. But somewhere between the makeover and the witty conversation, I’m having trouble resisting her. The quirky dreamer is everything I usually don’t tolerate. But she’s beyond charming. I more than want her; I’m desperate to own her. I’m not even sure how drastic I’m willing to get to make her mine—but I’m about to find out.
This book is the first in the More Than Words series. The books are companions, not serials, meaning that backstory, secondary characters, and other elements will be easier to relate to if you read the installments in order, but the main romance of each book is a stand-alone.
This book contains lines that may make you laugh, events that may make you cry, and scenes that will probably have you squirming in your seat. Don’t worry about cliffhangers or cheating. HEA guaranteed! (Does not contain elements of BDSM or romantic suspense.)
“This will be our last song for the set. If you have requests, write them down and leave them in the jar.” She points to the clear vessel at her feet. “We’ll be back to play in thirty. If you have a dirty proposition, I’ll entertain them at the bar in five.” She says the words like she’s kidding.
I, however, am totally serious.
Keeley starts her next song, a more recent pop tune, in a breathy, a capella murmur. “Can’t keep my hands to myself.”
She taps her thigh in a rhythm only she can hear until the band joins during the crescendo to the chorus. Keeley bounces her way through the lyrics with a flirty smile. It’s both alluring and fun, a tease of a song.
Though I rarely smile, I find myself grinning along.
As she finishes, I glance around. There’s more than one hungry dog with a bone in this damn bar.
I didn’t get ahead in business or life by being polite or waiting my turn. She hasn’t even wrapped her vocal cords around the last note but I’m on my feet and charging across the room.
I’m the first one to reach the corner of the bar closest to the stage. I prop my elbow on the slightly sticky wood to claim my territory, then glare back at the three other men who think they should end Keeley’s supposed sex drought. They are not watering her garden, and my snarl makes that clear.
One sees my face, stops in his tracks, and immediately backs off. Smart man.
Number Two looks like a smarmy car salesman. He rakes Keeley up and down with his gaze like she’s a slab of beef, but she’s flirting my way as she tucks her mic on its stand. I smile back.
She’s not really my type, but man, I’d love to hit that.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the approaching dirtbag finger his porn ‘stouche. To stake my claim, I reach out to help Keeley off the stage. She looks pleasantly surprised by my gesture as she wraps her fingers around mine.
I can be a gentleman…when it suits me.
Fuck, she’s warm and velvety, and her touch makes my cock jolt. Her second would-be one-night stand curses then slinks back to his seat.
That leaves me to fend off Number Three. H
e looks like a WWE reject—hulking and hit in the face too many times. If she prefers brawn over brains, I’ll have to find another D-cup distraction for Griff.
That would truly suck. My gut tells me Keeley is perfect for the job.
Would it be really awful if I slept with her before I introduced her to my brother?
MORE THAN NEED YOU
More Than Words, Book 2
By Shayla Black
NOW AVAILABLE!
Click here to purchase!
I’m Griffin Reed—cutthroat entrepreneur and competitive bastard. Trust is a four-letter word and everyone is disposable…except Britta Stone. Three years ago, she was my everything before I stupidly threw her away. I thought I’d paid for my sin in misery—until I learned we have a son. Finding out she’s engaged to a bore who’s rushing her to the altar pisses me off even more. I intend to win her back so we can raise our boy together. I’ll have to get ruthless, of course. Luckily, that’s one of my more singular talents.
Sixty days. That’s what I’m asking the gritty, independent single mother to give me—twenty-four/seven. Under my roof. And if I have my way, in my bed. Britta says she wants nothing to do with me. But her body language and passionate kisses make her a liar. Now all I have to do is coax her into surrendering to the old magic between us. Once I have her right where I want her, I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I more than need her.
Working to take my fury down ten notches, I try to stay practical, scan the yard. I don’t see any children. Is Jamie already asleep? Maybe so. It’s ten thirty. Do little kids go to bed early? I don’t know. I didn’t consider that sooner. Damn it.
Now what do I do? I’m hardly in the mood to stand here and toast the bride.
Britta isn’t hard to find since she’s the only blonde among a sea of native Hawaiians in bright, tropical prints and sandals, clinking glasses and smiling.
