I am so pleased to announce that the release date of the final instalment in Amy Daws’ Harris Brothers series has been moved up by a WHOLE WEEK. This is the highly anticipated conclusion to the gut-wrenching cliffhanger we got in Surrender. Full of banter, feels, and laughs, The Harris Brothers series centres around four British brothers, all four football players in England, and all four wild, fun, and crazy passionate men who find love on and off the pitch. The final Harris Brothers book is available for pre-order now (all links below) and I also have a little sneak peek for you from the first book in Gareth and Sloan’s duet—Surrender.
I’m so deep in my own head when I enter the changing room that I think I’m hallucinating when a familiar figure stands in front of one of my teammates’ locker.
“Sloan?” I hear myself saying, knowing it can’t possibly be her.
A frightened yelp comes from the figure as she turns and confirms my thoughts to be true. “Oh my God, Gareth. You scared me half to death.”
My jaw drops in amazement at the sight of her clutching a garment bag to her chest. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her alone. Now, here she stands in my changing room, like I conjured her here myself.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, propping my hands on my hips and fisting the sides of my red jersey. I do a cursory glance around the changing room to confirm the fact that the stars have aligned and I’m alone with Sloan in a room.
Her face blushes crimson as she hangs up the garment bag and adjusts the waistband of her yellow skirt. “I’m dropping off a uniform for Laurent. He has us alter his kits. He likes short shorts. It’s very French of him.” She nervously looks at the door. “The security guard said the team was at practice and that no one would be in here.”
“I got off early.” I can’t help but look her up and down. She looks like she’s lost some weight, but her curves are still present as ever. Her hair looks longer, too. Loose and full down her back. My hand itches to touch it again.
“How nice for you.” Her large lips pull back into a forced smile as she begins moving the long way around the room toward the door. She’s practically sliding her arse against the perimeter of the lockers to stay as far away from me as possible. “I really should be going…”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” I state, crossing my arms over my chest and holding my ground in front of the door.
“I have not!” she peals as she continues to take baby steps around the room and fidget with her fingers. “I saw you when your brother got married this past summer.”
“For a whole two minutes and you were twitching the entire time.”
“I wasn’t twitching!” she argues, looking defensive. “I was busy. I’ve been swamped with new clients. Business is really picking up.”
“Sloan”—I narrow my eyes at her—“we used to see each other on a very regular basis. What happened to me being your favourite client?”
“You are my favourite client.” She laughs nervously and sweeps a lock of chestnut hair out of her face. “Don’t be silly.”
“Are you divorced?” I ask boldly. If I have her alone, I’m taking full advantage.
She pauses mid-step and answers, “Yes.”
My brows lift. “Then why are you behaving this way?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She makes a move for the door, but I sidestep in front of her, my pecs brushing against her ample chest as I block her path.
The muffled groan she makes has flashes of our night together barrelling into my mind’s eye. The spark we had is still very much there, and it’s enough to keep me warm for weeks. “Sloan.”
“Gareth.” She states my name so firmly, my mind instantly transports to the way she was when she was commanding me to strip.
A small smile teases my lips. “Yes?”
Her honey-coloured eyes look up at me with a renewed sense of determination. “Step aside so I can leave.”
I tilt my head and shoot her a cheeky grin. “Is that a command?”
Her jaw drops with indignation. “Do you want me to make you freaking kneel?”
I smile at the faint sign of bemusement in her expression. It’s so sexy. I don’t know why I’m proud of her when she’s like this, but I bloody well am. The strength in the depths of her eyes is mesmerising.
“Promises, promises,” I murmur, chuckling softly.
The corner of her mouth quirks up, then she frowns, clearly frustrated that she’s enjoying herself. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Doing what?” I ask, reaching out and clasping her elbow in my hand. My fingers brush the soft skin in the crook of her arm, and her eyes dart down to watch the movement. “I miss you, Sloan. We used to be friends.”
Her eyes are practically hooded when she licks her lips and replies, “We were never friends.”
I smirk. “We were friendly.”
She smirks back. “Too friendly I seem to recall.”