by Stella Rhys
A year and a half ago, the news about Iain had looked so much different. He was being vilified. Stomped by the media. He’d lost so many of his clients, but Drew never stopped vociferously defending Iain, and eventually, one of Drew’s fans dug up security footage from a residential building across the street of the bar where the whole Shane Watt thing happened.
And just like that, the tides changed.
The media turned their focus on Shane, who had more than a few of his own personal scandals for them to focus on, and just like that, normalcy was restored. It took a few difficult months, but it happened, finally giving Iain and me the much-needed chance to just breathe.
Together.
“Okay, Holland, you have to stop that,” Mia said suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Don’t make sex faces at my TV when you have the real thing at home.”
“Fair,” I said, tearing my eyes off my gorgeous boyfriend on the screen before waving goodbye to everyone and giving Mia the biggest, tightest hug ever.
“Let me know if Iain loves the manicure,” she said before planting a big smooch on my cheek.
I laughed at her and said sure, and as I walked back out to see the city streets looking like a scene from a snow globe, I reached under my sleeve and with a gloved hand, I pinched myself, because two years later, I still had to remind myself sometimes.
Nope, not a dream, I grinned big behind my scarf. Still very much real.
On the final day of our trip, I was the one to wake up first in the morning, my lips already curved up in a smile before I even opened my eyes.
It was just instinct anytime Iain had me hugged to his body like this. His heavy arm wrapped around me, I nestled back against his warm chest, just luxuriating for a bit before I officially got up.
I’d gotten more than a year of this by now, and I still wasn’t used to it yet: Iain still being sound asleep when I woke up, his breathing soft and peaceful behind me.
It didn’t happen every morning—maybe a couple days out of the week—so it was still a novelty to me, because for so long, he hadn’t been much of a sleeper. Even back when he stayed out our house in Jersey. He was always up first, before anyone else, which was why I took the time to savor this moment before opening my eyes.
And when I finally did, I cracked a half-smile for what I saw in front of me.
Bits of yesterday’s Christmas celebration strewn across the floor. A bit of ribbon. A chunk of wrapping paper. Kai’s shark toy that he’d left behind for Iain.
We were in Jackson Hole for a week of skiing and snowboarding with the Maddoxes as well as Adam and A.J, and for the sake of keeping our luggage manageable, we’d agreed on a no-gifts-except-for-Kai rule.
Of course, Adam had broken the rule by bringing a present for Iain, though none of us gave him crap him for it because of what it was: the pair of Burton snowboarding socks that he “stole” from Iain on that last Christmas that Iain didn’t come to our house. It was still in the original wrapping paper that Dad had used forever ago, though of course it was pretty ripped and beat up from living in the back of one of Adam’s closets for so long.
With the blanket snuggled to my lips, I stared blearily at a chunk of that wrapping paper.
It was crazy to think that there was a physical piece of that year in my life right here in this room. I’d come so far since then, as evidenced by Iain sleeping behind me. That was already enough to blow my mind, but then I looked at Kai’s shark toy and remembered a moment from yesterday.
After opening presents, I’d played with Kai on the floor while Drew and Evie and everyone else finished their breakfast. And in the middle of drawing dinosaur-shark hybrids with him, I’d looked up to find Iain with a smile on his lips as he gazed down at our crayon masterpiece. I caught a split second of him raising his eyebrows and nodding a little, as if he’d been having a conversation with himself and just made a really good point. It made me laugh so hard I broke him out of his daze, and when I asked him what he was thinking about, he blinked, pausing for a moment then cracking a surprised half-smile as he mouthed, “Babies.”
Then it was my turn to raise my eyebrows.
“I know right?” he said. “Definitely a first.”
“Write it in the gratitude journal,” I’d joked.
I bit my grin as I replayed the memory, and just like that, I’d had my fill of enjoying Iain asleep. So arching my back, I rubbed myself against his stiff morning wood, my smile spreading as I heard his breathing growing heavier in his sleep.
And then I heard the very moment he woke up, because he inhaled deep with the sexiest sound. It was sleepy satisfaction mixed with just pure raw maleness, and it had me that much more aroused as I felt him bury his mouth into my hair and stretch his boxer briefs off his erection.
We didn’t get out so much as a “good morning” before my panties were ripped down and we were panting, my back pressed flush against his chest as he gave short, hard thrusts that shook the whole bed.
But he’d found his way on top of me before we finished, and when he spurted hotly inside me, I knew we were sharing one thought, because after the sharp groan and the shudder, we came down staring into each other with the same breathless smile and bright little look in our eyes. I was still on the pill, but it didn’t matter.
It was a fun fantasy for now.
“You know, we do have plans for the day,” I laughed after we finished and laid in bed for another forty-five minutes.
“I know. But this is nice,” Iain said, making me grin because I had a little collection of these moments—all the times he was the relaxed one. The one who didn’t care what time it was or what we had to do.
“Okay, well, I need to shower before we meet everyone for brunch, and I’d invite you to join me, but I don’t want any chance of us running any later than we already are,” I giggled, letting Iain pull me back into bed once, then twice, because dammit, it was pretty easy to lure me back to me him when he was stretched on his back with that magnificent torso on full display.
But by his third attempt, I got serious and officially got up to go shower.
“Don’t take too long in there,” Iain called into the bathroom from outside.
And since we were on track to be at least twenty minutes late, I took the quickest shower I could. Upon getting out, I grabbed the plush white hotel robe off its hanger in the bathroom and padded barefoot outside, where Iain was still sitting at the edge of the bed.
“Iain! Why aren’t you dressed yet?” I asked, though I failed at sounding remotely mad because Lord was he brutally fucking gorgeous with his thick hair tousled and his sweats hanging low on his hips. Something about that look just made me feel at home, and I was already smiling, helpless by the time he came over, till he was standing close enough to tip his head down and brush his smooth lips over mine.
All it took was a short, sweet, almost torturously soft kiss for me to feel like my head was floating off on a cloud.
But then he drew away and when I opened my eyes to look into his, they were glowing on me. Burning so green that it took awhile for me to notice what he held between us in his hand.
A little velvet box.
My eyes went wide. A short breath of air escaped my parted lips and tears stung my eyes the moment he opened it to show me the diamond ring inside.
It was absolutely exquisite. Beautiful and bright. Sparkling endlessly for me as I felt Iain brush a tear from my cheek.
“Holland,” he murmured, drawing my wet eyes back to him. “I don’t have the words to describe how much I love you. For always being the one in my corner. The woman who makes me strong,” he said, cracking a smile as I let out the first happy sob. “You’ve already made me a better man than I could’ve ever dreamed of being and all I want to do is keep making you prouder. Every day. As a husband. A father. I want everything with you. I want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you make me.”
I was full-on crying by the time he asked the question, nodding and
saying yes on repeat before he could even finish the words “marry me.”
And as he slipped the ring onto my finger, I realized why Mia had been so insistent on a manicure.
“You finally got some useful help from Mia, huh?” I teased through my tears, making Iain laugh as he held my ringed hand and kissed me all the way back to the bed.
It wasn’t long before I was feeling his weight on top of me again, wearing nothing but the diamond that was going to make me his wife.
And as we tangled on top of the sheets, Iain murmuring about how bad he wanted to see me in that white dress, I smiled against his lips, not even bothering to pinch myself, because this was my life—my whole world in this one bed.
The man of my dreams was actually mine.
And it couldn’t be realer.
Epilogue
IAIN
Eight Years Later
The sun swept across the dashboard as I pulled out onto the open road with a bag of groceries tucked safely into the passenger seat. Precious cargo.
It was hot today, but the good kind of hot. Specifically the beautiful, late-June East Hamptons kind of hot. It was weather like this that always had us heading to our summer home every year for Holland’s birthday.
Which was exactly what we were celebrating today.
“Strawberries? Chocolate chips?” Daniel asked, still firing off guesses from the backseat as to what the secret ingredient was.
I smiled at him through the rearview mirror. “No. But that sounds pretty good,” I admitted.
“Umm. French toast?” he guessed.
I laughed. “That’s what we’re making,” I reminded him. “We’re trying to guess Mommy’s secret ingredient right now.”
“But maybe I’m right, because you can’t make French toast without French toast,” Daniel pointed out, to which I nodded.
“Solid point,” I conceded, grinning to myself as I wondered if my four-year-old was spending too much time with his Uncle Adam, because he definitely had some Adam tendencies here and there.
But when he wasn’t being silly and joking, he was more often than not like Holland. Careful and observant. Thoughtful and sweet. Eager to make people smile.
He was, after all, the one who suggested we try the birthday French toast again, since he’d heard from Mommy all about the times Daddy tried and… maybe didn’t quite succeed.
My first attempt at it was about seven years ago, the first of Holland’s birthdays that we’d spent as a couple. We had rented a house in Venice Beach with Adam, A.J and the Maddoxes, and Adam turned the kitchen into such a madhouse of toys for Kai that I wound up getting distracted and burning the French toast.
I would have tried again the following year, but Holland and I were in Baia do Sancho after spending a week with my mom in Saõ Paulo, and there was entirely too much soft sand and turquoise water for us to think about cooking.
Then there was a period of time when Holland asked me—as gently as she could, but with a very teasing smile—to please just stop.
“Trust me when I say that I’d rather wake up to you in bed on the morning of my birthday,” she said, laughing endlessly at my reaction. “Besides, I think maybe it’s time for us to start our own birthday tradition,” she had smirked.
And that had been easy enough. Though it didn’t differ too much from what we did every other morning. The only difference was a special set of lacy white lingerie she’d wear to bed the prior night, that I wasn’t allowed to remove in any way. It all had to wait until the morning.
Which basically meant that the new birthday tradition was a very solid amount of torture for me—the exact kind that Holland had always enjoyed putting me through. And as much as it genuinely tormented me, it would be lie to say that I didn’t enjoy the hell out of it.
So for awhile, the birthday French toast was forgotten.
But then Daniel was born, and when he turned two, Holland started making it again.
I had watched her do it last year, but I’d been so busy chasing my son around that I missed the part with the secret ingredient. What she’d added that first year she made it for me in my kitchen, before we were even really dating.
“It’s a secret,” she had grinned. “And by that I mean the answer is right in front of you. You just have to look.”
Eight years later and I was still so stumped I was trying to have my four-year-old help me out, but somewhere in the middle of us rushing to get the meal together before Holland woke up, Daniel reminded me to juice the oranges, and I realized exactly what ingredient had always been there.
The oranges. In particular, the zest.
I couldn’t stop burying kisses in Daniel’s soft hair after I took the first bite of the finished product and realized we’d nailed it. We high fived about ten times in a row, but shortly after sharing that triumphant moment, my son got cocky on me.
“That was pretty obvious, Daddy,” he decided as we headed upstairs, and I could only laugh, because in fairness, he was right.
It was right in front of me the whole time. It had just taken me entirely too long to figure it out.
“You did it, baby,” Holland teased me later that day, after the counter and the dishes had been cleaned, and Daniel was drawing on his stomach right below where we sat on the couch.
“Only took me eight years,” I smirked as she snuggled next to me with her head on my chest. I felt her take a deep breath and sigh with content.
“Well, you know. Better late than never,” she said simply.
And again, she was right.
After all, she was my obvious solution. The answer that had been there all along, right under my nose. And a part of me often wished I could have told my younger self that one day, the answer would come easy. That a single addition in my life would somehow turn everything around.
Make everything right. And every day good.
But if there was anything my wife had taught me, it was how to get strong from the fight, so as I sat in my living room holding her, gazing down at my son, I quietly celebrated her love and wisdom like I did a thousand times a day without her knowing.
The road to this moment had indeed been long.
But the prize couldn’t be more worth it.
The End
The Irresistible Series
Thank you so much for reading Now Or Never! If you enjoyed Holland and Iain’s story, be sure to check out the rest of the Irresistible Series on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited!
SWEET SPOT - Lukas and Lia
BAD BOSS - Julian and Sara
DIRTY DEEDS - Emmett and Aly
HOTHEAD - Drew and Evie
CONTACT STELLA
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Also Available By Stella Rhys
IN TOO DEEP
TOO FAR GONE (IN TOO DEEP #2)
HAVOC
DAMAGE (HAVOC #2)
DARE ME
WRONG
EX GAMES
SWEET SPOT (IRRESISTIBLE BOOK 1)
BAD BOSS (IRRESISTIBLE BOOK 2)
DIRTY DEEDS (IRRESISTIBLE BOOK 3)
HOTHEAD (IRRESISTIBLE BOOK 4)
Turn the page for a preview from HOTHEAD
HOTHEAD
He's the hottest player in Major League Baseball, the most notorious playboy in all of Manhattan...
And my fake fiancé for the next three months.
I was drunk-dialing my ex the night I met him.
Six-three, sexy as sin and so incredibly rude I could smack the asshole smirk right off his face. Long story short, we got off to a bad start. But when the tabloids interpret our sparring as Drew Maddox "groveling" with a "mystery brunette," his agent presents us both a proposal:
Shacking up as a couple this summer.
It's an alleged "win-win." I need to prove to my ex that I'm fine. Drew needs to prove to his team that he's stable. Thanks to his on-field brawling and ne
ver-ending lady drama, Drew Maddox has suddenly found himself on the trade block - which means he needs a fast, easy way to show the team that he's settled down.
Hence this fiance thing.
Our fights are real, our kisses are fake, and thanks to the nonstop heat between us, I'm starting to mix up all my signs. But whether it's real or fake, there's one thing I do know:
I'm already addicted.
CHAPTER ONE
EVIE
Tequila or my phone – it was either one or the other, but I couldn’t have both.
I wanted to, obviously, but there were too many risk factors involved tonight, starting with the fact that I was still a walking train wreck of a human being. I hadn’t actually shed any tears today, but my eyes were still puffy and red from several weeks’ worth of ugly crying at home, and I was still all weepy and heartbroken and steeped deep in this post-breakup fog where all I wanted was to just talk to him.
Five weeks.
It had only been five weeks since I’d gone from happy and engaged and all packed to move to the city with my fiancé, to single and bawling in a Starbucks while searching Craigslist for rentals I could afford alone.
The good news was that I’d found a cheap studio on Long Island.
The bad news was that until tonight, I hadn’t left the place in about two weeks.
And while I was out for the first time in ages, I was pretty much at the bare minimum of presentable. For starters, the dress code tonight had called for cocktail attire and I’d trudged in wearing leggings and the grey raglan I’d gone to bed in. I did put on a bra, and I did bring makeup and a change of clothes in my purse, but I also got points knocked off for the fact that my purse was a reusable grocery bag from Trader Joe’s.
I know.
My being-out-in-public skills had dulled significantly after spending thirteen days inside. Post-breakup, my existence had basically been a pants-less, bleary-eyed purgatory that involved me doing nothing but sitting on the couch, staring at the TV and trying to figure out just how broken up Mike and I were.
