Challenge (Harris Brothers, #1)

by Amy Daws

“Lying about your pain number doesn’t make your dick any bigger,” she mumbles under her breath.

a flurry of excitement rips through me when her eyes flash to my lips and, in that instant, I know what I have to do. I have to taste her. Without hesitating, I sample her lips, giving her what her eyes were so quietly begging for. She lets out an audible groan, but it’s not a frightened groan. It’s a “you cheeky sod, I like this” sort of groan.

“I was thinking I could call you Specs for a nickname instead of baby or Red, but Indie is just too sexy of a name I’m afraid. It’s beaten everything I’ve been workshopping in my head.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You’ve been workshopping pet names for me?” I chuckle, secretly chastising myself for loving the nickname Specs more than I should.

“My career is just as important as yours.” “I never said it wasn’t.” “That’s why I need to go. But me leaving doesn’t change anything between us. You have my number. Call me when you’re out of here. Right now I need to focus.” “So do I,” he snaps in a self-deprecating tone. “What does that mean?” “I need you to stay, Indie.” His voice is low and pleading, and his eyes are strained. “Please.” He swallows hard and watches me for my answer. “Why is this so important to you?” “Because I’m afraid if you leave, I will, too.” His words shock me. I stare back at his gorgeous, tortured, vulnerable face. Then I walk over to him and stand between his legs, cupping his face in my hands. “You can’t leave, Camden. You need this surgery. And you have nothing to be nervous about.” He closes his eyes before speaking. “You are my distraction from running out of this place, screaming.” His eyes pop open as he adds, “Football is all I have and, fuck, if this doesn’t work—” “It will work,” I reply, nodding my head but knowing that there are never any guarantees in life.

This entire exchange is childish and juvenile, but bloody hell, does it feel good on some deep, dark level. “It was nice to meet you, Dr. Porter.” He turns his wheelchair to look away from me, and my anger flatlines at his formal address. Our little affair is truly over before it even started. I’m left blanketed in the shame of everything I risked for someone like him.

I start rereading my margin notes to familiarise myself with where the plot was headed last I left off. An unfamiliar script stops me in my tracks. “What the hell?” I whisper and turn the book sideways to get a closer look. It’s not that the woman did not know how to juggle, she just didn’t have the balls to try.

Did she do it when she left my room that night? I recycle the words over and over in my mind, attempting to look for the hidden message within the phrase.

“It looked to me like you were just living a little.” He releases my hand. “And I’m sorry if I was pressuring you too much.” The remorseful look on his face gives me pause. “You didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. Just…this place,” I say, gesturing to the hospital behind me. “I’m normally a different person in that building. I don’t live my life in there. I save lives in there.”

“You’re always the one to kick it up a notch, though.” My eyes widen. “That seems unlikely. Who’s the virgin here?” I ask, laying it all out there in my lust-induced state. He laughs and pulls his head away from mine, glaring at me through his lash-framed eyes. “It’s the innocent ones that are the most dangerous.”

I don’t want to mislead you into thinking I’m someone I’m not, because I don’t do girlfriends. I do casual and safe. But never girlfriends…Except

“I have a plan all worked out and latching myself on to you isn’t a part of that. This is a one-night thing. I promise. My adventures in life have only just begun, Cam.” He loses a little brightness in his eyes and looks down. “What is it?” I ask. “Nothing.” He looks toward the door. “Right.” He purses his lips and leans in, dropping a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Then he leaves without a look back. My Penis List is finally going to start. Tequila Sunrise, baby.

It’s just too bad I can’t apply this effort to my chosen one. I giggle to myself at that label for Cam

Camden: So does this mean you’re with other guys? I suck my lip into my mouth and press my teeth on the squishy flesh. A little playful gaming never hurt anyone. Me: Would it be a problem if I were? A longer than normal pause spans between us as I wait for the bouncing dots to indicate he’s typing. Camden: Did I forget to mention I’m not a sharer? Me: It’s just a bit of dancing. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.

Indie Porter is doing a proper job of getting in my fucking head.

Indie Porter is this perfect un-plucked flower that has no clue how the elements of nature can affect her both negatively and positively. She needs guidance. She needs patience and understanding and experience so she can learn exactly how fucking fantastic sex can be.

“I can’t just take your virginity and leave. It’ll be awful.” My face falls but he catches himself quickly. “What I mean is, I’m going to make it good, don’t worry. But your first time won’t be as great as your third time. I want a third time. At least.” My gaze drops. “Camden.” “I’m not asking for a relationship or dating, or even friends with benefits. I’m just asking for more…sex.” He has the cheek to look sheepish. “More sex,” I huff. He has an uncanny way of simplifying meaningful conversations into two words.

He is the perfect Penis Number One. Pulling back, he breaks our kiss, leaving my lips feeling raw and swollen. “What are the odds of you coming home with me right the fuck now?” I swallow once. “I’d say pretty bloody good.”

But when Indie’s face is bare, she’s a secret kind of beautiful only noticeable to those who care enough to look. I liked that I was the only one looking then.

It was either kissing her or peeing on her so every guy knew to back the fuck off. Indie Porter belongs to Camden Harris.

Unable to withstand another minute of her expression, I crash my lips to hers, swirling a silent reassurance that she’s not alone. I’m right here with her and, even though this isn’t my first time, it’s still important. I still feel what’s happening. And then…and then…when she clutches me to her…trembling and thanking me for giving this to her… I’m drowning. I’m drowning in deep, dark, delirious destiny. I’m in a place I never want to leave. A place I never want to say goodbye to. A place I never want to let go. Just sinking further and further into a world I’ve never known.

I smile softly. “That’s a lovely way to remember her.” A fleeting look of surprise mars her face, but she’s quick to conceal it. “So…you know about our mum?”

I get to play with my brothers every day. That’s huge. Hearing our name chanted is like the most immense amount of family pride I can fathom. And my brothers are right beside me. They are my family. My teammates. My best friends.” I shrug, feeling myself lose control. “My family drives me crazy and we fight constantly, but they are mine and I can’t imagine a better life without them.”

I scoff, “Relax, Specs. You’ll have plenty of time to shag other blokes when I’m gone.” For some bizarre reason, the notion feels like razors in my stomach as it tumbles out of my mouth.

This Penis List of Indie’s has my stomach in knots. I’m not sure if it’s just the jealousy factor, or if it’s the fact that I’ve always loved a good challenge.

“Camden,” Tanner’s voice bellows from the archway of the hall, jolting me out of my rage. His hair is a mess and his beard is misshapen, but his eyes have that look that tells me he’s not in a joking mood. “What’s going on with you?” “Nothing. I’m just sick of talking about fucking football. It’s all we ever do!” I turn on my heel, determined to get the hell out of here before I completely break down like the emotional sap I am. Tanner steps in front of my path to the hallway and places both hands on my shoulders, gripping them firmly. But it’s not to stop me. It’s not to scold me. It’s to show me that he hears me. Our eyes lock for only a couple of seconds before he nods and lets me go. Go where, I don’t know.

What happens next is like nothing I ever imagined. Expected. Or asked for. Camden Harris makes love to me.

Then, just when I think things can’t get any worse—when I’m certain I can’t possibly feel anything more—he lies down beside me, pulls me into his arms, and softly whispers into my ear, “Thou art mine.”

She just curls up inside my arms, silently asking me to hold her. To be close to her. To not give her space. No words are exchanged over what I revealed while we made love. I think that’s what we did at least. I’m not even sure I fully know what I admitted. I just did what my body demanded that I do. It wasn’t a premediated act. It wasn’t me trying to be Penis Number Two. It was spontaneous and extraordinary. The last thing I feel before sleep takes me is the sting of tears behind my closed eyes as a painful realisation overcomes me.

I want her. In the early morning light of day, with no tears in her eyes, and no roaring desire to comfort her and make her feel special, I still want her. I want her for more than what our arrangement originally stated. I want her for many, many days. Maybe an infinite amount of days? Hell, I don’t know. Wanting someone like this is new to me. The passionate footballer inside of me is screaming, long term, which is insane. And utterly mental. But I’ve been awakened by Indie and I have to tell her.

Ready to lay all my shit bare, I pierce her with my eyes and say, “I want you, Indie. For more than five days. I want what I feel when I’m with you.” “Camden—” “Bloody hell, I’m falling for you!” I yell. My breath sputters out fast and ragged as the words tumble out and suspend in the air, floating…and then drifting…and then sinking as her eyes blaze fire against them.

“Why can’t you consider, even for a second, that you might like me, too?” “Because I don’t, Camden. Not like that.” “Indie,” I exhale, pulling my hands from her face and clutching hers to my heart. “I’m wide open on the table, bleeding all over the bloody place. Stop holding back and feel this.” My heart pounds beneath her touch, drumming away with anxiety. With desperation. With hope. “Feel me,” I croak, my shaky voice revealing how anguished I am.

Steeling myself to look at her one more time, I pause at the door and say, “The irony of all of this is that you are still the one doing the cutting.”

“Indie, I hurt you because I was angry. But you hurt me because you don’t care enough. One is certainly worse than the other.”

Regardless, I didn’t punch him because I’m still pining over Indie. After our talk today, I know that ship has sailed. Whatever fucked-up thoughts my mind was having over her are well and dead now. I truly think she is incapable of feeling. She’s got her head in the sand so far, she wouldn’t see a connection with someone if her glasses were binoculars. She set me up so perfectly, though, like a master heartbreaker. When we fucked on that chair…I had hope. But after it was over and I realised she was just saying goodbye, I knew I was doomed.

I begin slowly rocking her to the music, alternating between holding her, squeezing her, and running my fingers through her hair the entire time. Her shoulders shake every once in a while and I know she’s crying. All I want to do is take away the pain. I don’t want anything more in this world than to take away this pain she has in her. My desperation to do this for her trumps football. It trumps my family. It trumps my desire to kiss her. What I want for her to feel in this second supersedes any sexual desire I’ve ever had for her. I need her to feel this. “Let me take you home,” I whisper into her hair, loud enough she can hear me. Her eyes shoot up to mine and the pain in them guts me. “No,” she exclaims. “I couldn’t stand it.” My face falls. “Why, Indie?” She shakes her head side-to-side like the answer should be clear as day. “Because I’m not right for this. I’m not right for you.” I cup her face in my hands, my jawbone ticking with ferocious need to make her see. “Indie, please. Let me take you home.” She jerks her head out of my hands. “No, Cam. This was a mistake. I don’t want you.” Her words feel final as her watery eyes dry up, piercing through me once again. “Just go find one of your hundreds of girls at your beck and call. Or that girl you punched Tanner over. If she’s worth fighting your brother for, she’s who you should be with.” “She was you,” I growl, stepping back into her space. Her face crumples in pain, and she walks backwards away from me. “If she was m...

So I detached. I pushed him away not once, but twice. In my experience, that’s how most relationships are. Distant. Here one minute, gone the next. No goodbye hug. No thoughtful words. No grand gestures. Just a departure. That is what Camden Harris would have turned into if I gave too much of myself. If I allowed myself to depend on him for my sole happiness, he’d become like all the other absentee figures in my life. I just wish I knew why this is all still bothering me so much.

She scoffs and shakes her head. “You bleed passion. It’s your best feature.” Her words slice through me. The personal comment sinks into my soul, reminding me of all that we’ve shared with each other. But she’s still over there. I’m still over here. I have to stay strong because what I crave from her is more than this moment right now. Through clenched teeth, I utter, “Please don’t speak like you know me.” I’m not sure my heart can take it.

“Indie,” she says with wide, shocked eyes. “You’re like the dumbest smart person I know.” “What the hell does that mean?” I baulk. “Camden isn’t Penis Number One.” She reaches out and grabs my shoulders so I’m facing her more clearly. “He’s Penis Number Three.” My hands cover my cheeks and they feel as if they might melt off my face. “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes! Indie, he is the perfect mix of One and Two. He said ‘Thou Art Mine’ right after he made love to you. That’s the stuff love stories are made of.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I don’t know if I’m capable of more yet. I always thought I’d live a little before I found a Penis Number Three.” “Well, he’s certainly shown himself to you already, darling. You just have to decide if he’s worth it.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything because that’s not why I’m here, but I can’t help it. I’m so bloody proud of you! I’ve kept you with Bethnal longer than I should have because it was our home and I love seeing you play with your brothers. But now you have the opportunity to fly, and I’m so chuffed that I want to shout it at the top of my lungs.” I can’t believe the words he’s just said. A letter of intent? While I’m still injured? How is that even possible? “I don’t even know what to say, Dad.” “Don’t say anything. I just want to be proud of you. But I need you to know that if you don’t play football again, I will still be proud of you.”

I swallow around the knot in my throat and say, “I want to have the surgery, Dad. And if you’re okay with sticking by my side, I’d really like that, too.” His blue eyes pierce through my soul. “I’m not going anywhere, Cam.”

She moves toward me again, and my eyes swim with desperation as I cup her face in my hands. “Don’t kiss me again, Indie.” My voice is thick and heavy. “Because I’m trembling from how badly I want you. And if I kiss you, I will lose my fucking mind.” “So lose it with me,” she says simply, with all the confidence in the world. Then she whispers three words against my lips that make me come completely undone. “I am thine.” Just before she touches her lips to mine, my eyes begin to sting, so I hold her away from me to stare at her one last time. The warmth of her cheeks against my palms confirms that she is real and this is happening. Swallowing hard, I whisper back, “Thou art mine.”

“What did you just do, Specs? You’re going to lose your job.” “I don’t care.” She smiles with hooded eyes and moves to kiss me again. “That was a stupid thing to do, Indie Porter. This was a great opportunity for you,” I murmur, staring down at her swollen lips and aching to touch them again. She huffs out a soft laugh. “I think it’s the smartest thing I’ve done all week.”

I push him away. “There’s more I need to say.” He half smiles and pulls his hand out from under my shirt. “I’m listening. I promise.” I pull his hand up between us and twine my fingers with his, staring at the vast disparity. His hand is large and tan and rough. Mine is small and pale and soft. So different, but together, so beautiful. “I’ve never had any real relationships in my life, aside from Belle. No family meddling. No screaming, protective sisters. No ridiculous, hairy brothers. But since I’ve met you, I want that. I want sarcasm, I want drama. Hell, I want cheeky squeezes over coffee in the kitchen. I want to go to dinner with your dad, even if it means I get into a fight with him about you.” He pulls me into his chest and sighs heavily. “I want that, too.” “And I want this,” I say, squeezing around his waist. “I want affection. Lots and lots of affection. It might take me some time to get used to, and I might hate it at times when I’m feeling stressed. But I want you to keep helping me accept it.” “I can do that,” he murmurs and drops a soft kiss on my head. I pull back so I can look into his eyes for the next part. “Camden, I want you. I want more. I want lots more. I know my words are horribly delayed, but I’m falling for you, too.”

The corner of his mouth tilts up. “You’re really mine?” he asks, a sad flicker on his face as he awaits my answer. I cup his face in my hands and press my forehead against his. “As long as you are mine. Now please, make love to me so I can say those words back to you this time.”

Putting his hand on my shoulder, he eyes me hard and says, “Did you find your passion again, Son?” I smile back and a softness creeps into my chest. “I think I found a couple.”

Two days after my suspension, the chief called the Harrises and me back into the hospital for a meeting. Apparently they discovered the photo from the OR that was leaked to the media came from Prichard’s mobile. The whole ordeal was a huge violation of the Patient Data Protection Act and they were desperate to make it right. Part of the agreement was to send Camden to the States for the second half of The Wilson Repair. Then they offered me my job back.

“You completely embarrassed the lot of us when you flew up into the stands and kissed me after your first goal as a Gunner last week. We really don’t need extra media coverage.” “That stadium kiss was well worth the ten thousand pound fine,” I state confidently, staring back at Indie and marveling at how it’s still fun to just look at her.

“We’ve been together for three months now, you know.” “Three months? When did you start counting?” “You were mine the day of my injury, Specs. You just didn’t know it yet.” He leans over and kisses my forehead, sliding his fingers through my hair as he drops more kisses all the way down to my neck. “You look good with my coffee in your hand.”

“I love you a latte, Indie,” he rushes out anxiously. The dopey look on his face makes my heart swoon. “I just wanted you to know that.” The words fall down on me in the most delicious way possible. The scent of coffee all around us makes an instant memory fold in my mind. He watches me, nervously awaiting my reply. Because I promised never to hold back from him, I inhale deeply and answer, “Well, I love you from my head tomatoes.”