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.”

  Ready to see how Reed family bastard Evan Cook schemes to find a wife?

  When Billionaire widower Evan Cook tries to hire a wife…he falls for his sassy, off-limits assistant instead. Join Evan and his newfound Maui family in the first of the steamy, emotional Reed Family Reckoning: Bastards novels.

  MORE THAN CRAVE YOU

  Reed Family Reckoning: Bastards, Book 4

  By Shayla Black

  Available in eBook, print, and audio.

  Click here to purchase!

  * * *

  I need to hire a wife. But I only want my assistant.

  I'm Evan Cook—billionaire tech entrepreneur and widower. Professionally, I’ve got it all. But since my wife died, my personal life has fallen apart. Remarrying seems like the obvious answer, so I place an ad. I'm not asking for much. The ideal woman only needs to be smart, organized, pretty, and helpful—both in and out of bed—without expecting romance. I never thought to look right in front of me…but it turns out that Nia Wright, my sexy, sassy assistant, just might be the perfect candidate.

  After an unexpectedly hot night together, I'm ready to stop interviewing strangers and simply marry her. On paper, she ticks every box on my list. Best of all, she's far too sensible to fall for me. I didn’t see the flaw in my logic until it was too late. I never thought I’d lose my heart for the first time. And I definitely never imagined Nia could consume me. But she's harboring a secret that could tear us apart. Can I prove I more than crave her before it’s too late?

  ABOUT SEDUCING THE BRIDE

  * * *

  Just how far will he go to claim her?

  * * *

  I’m Hayden.

  I’m old enough to know better.

  I can have any woman I want—except Perrie Atkins.

  She’s too young. Off limits. Innocent. Forbidden.

  My best friend’s daughter.

  Once, she had a crush on me. Now she’s grown and engaged to another man.

  Still, I can’t let her go.

  How many bridges am I willing to burn to convince her she’s mine?

  I’m about to find out…

  * * *

  Enjoy this Forbidden Confession. HEA guaranteed!

  August

  Phoenix

  * * *

  Hayden

  I’m going to hell.

  That’s not news; I’ve known for a while. But as I fantasize—not for the first time—about my friend and business partner’s barely legal daughter, I have no doubt purgatory has an engraved throne waiting for me.

  “Come on, slowpoke!” Perrie Atkins grabs my hand and flips her gaze my way, her dark, wet hair clinging to her pale, so-soft skin.

  She giggles as she drags me back into the simulated ocean to wait for another wave, her dimples flashing with rosy-cheeked excitement. I can’t not notice that her pink bikini bottoms, which are held up by little bows, reveal more of her ass than they conceal.

  “Again?” I pretend to grouse.

  I secretly love spending time with her.

  Eight years ago, when I was fresh out of college and had just bought half of a successful construction business, not so much. But at the time, my partner, Dan, was a newly single father. Business was booming, projects were at a critical point…and I was green. So I pulled a lot of babysitting duty. After watching teen angst movies, baking cookies, teaching Perrie pre-algebra, holding her while she’d cried over her first crush, and bringing her to this water park a lot, I got to know her. And I found myself enjoying the witty, intrepid kid.

  Then…puberty hit. Things changed. It was fine at first. Perrie was still cute, going on about anime that confused me and K-pop music. I loved teasing her about her “favorite tunes.” How could she possibly know which song she liked most when they were sung in Korean? She got a pixie cut before her sweet sixteen and sobbed afterward. But I managed to coax a smile out of her when I called her my brunette Tinker Bell.

  Then she decided to become a cheerleader her senior year. With her eighteenth birthday looming, and the skirts suddenly skimpy, I couldn’t deny that somewhere in the last few years of s’mores, arcade games, and bad B horror movies, she had grown up.

  I didn’t feel like a proud “uncle” at all. I felt like a perv for recognizing that Perrie was totally fuckable. Worse, I was dying to be the man who proved just how true that was. My fixation only seems more real because I haven’t had sex in nearly a year. She’s the only woman I want.

  Yeah, I’m going to hell.

  “What’s the matter? Getting old?” she taunts. “Should I sign you up for AARP?”

  I’m thirty—nowhere near retirement age. To her, I probably seem ancient. That’s depressing as hell.

  “What do you know? You’re barely old enough to wipe your own ass.”

  “Ha! Age is just a number. Besides…” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m better and smarter than you.”

  I don’t dare look at her beaded nipples poking her little bikini top. Well, not again. “Are you now?”

  We play this game a lot, too. She’s adorably competitive at everything—video games, sports, trivia, crosswords, driving records, reading lists—and I love that about her. She keeps me on my toes, encourages me, and makes me strive to be better.

  I already feel guilty for this blistering torch I’m carrying for her. But it’s worse this summer because it’s become absolutely clear that I don’t just want to peel off her clothes and pop her still-untouched cherry.

  I’m in love with her.

  Dan would crucify me if he had any idea what I was thinking about his baby girl. And I wouldn’t blame him.

  I absolutely, positively cannot cross the line with Perrie. Besides the risk of blowing up the business I share with the man I consider an older brother, there’s the girl herself. She’s got a big, bright future in front of her, starting with an Ivy League university back East—on a full scholarship. Yeah, she’s that smart. She needs to leave Phoenix, see the world, meet people, experience life. And she needs to do that without me.

  My head knows it. My cock hates that idea.

  Even if Dan didn’t bury me alive in quick-dry cement for touching his daughter, I doubt Perrie thinks of me that way. Sure, I’ve caught her looking once or twice. Curiosity about the opposite sex is normal, and because she’s an only child, she spends her time with adults—mostly me. She’s mature beyond her years and seriously hated the games high school boys played. But she’s human; she has hormones. Hell, I peeked into her room last week, thinking she was in bed with a headache…but I swear I caught her masturbating. Seeing her panting, flushed, and shuddering under her covers has plagued my sex drive since.

  I keep telling myself this is all moot. She’s leaving to start her amazing new life tomorrow morning, and our outing to this water park we’ve visited together many times is our last. But the subversive part of my brain keeps insisting I still have a whole night to find a creative way—preferably without clothes—to change her mind.

  God, I’m an idiot.

  “When we walked in, I saw they still have that Tempest machine in the arcade,” she remarked with a challenging smile. “Bet I can beat you again.”

  “You wish. This time will be different.”

  She raises that dark arch of a brow at me. “Because you’ve been practicing?”

  “Because I’m determined,” I lie.

  I’m actually relieved she’s found something else for us to do in public. As long as we’re not alone, I can’t be too reckless about putting my hands on her.

  “Here it comes!” Her smile brightens as the man-made wave spouts from the edge of the pool and swells across the water before crashing over us.

  The force of the water tugs at me and threatens to drag her under. Sputtering and gasping, she flings herself against me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and her legs around my middle. She’s petite, but her curves feel so fucking seductive and lush.

  Our eyes meet. Her lips part. She blinks, water droplets clinging to her long black lashes. She’s mere inches away. All I’d have to do to kiss her is grab a fistful of her lush brown hair, pull her against me, and crush her lips under my own.