“Shay.” I lift my gaze from staring at my huge baby bump and look at my husband, who rolls over when I turn the night lamp on. “You okay?” Cole questions drowsily, and I glower at him.
“Why won’t this baby come out.” I hiss angrily, and Cole groans, leaning up on his elbow and looks at me, his green eyes narrowed.
“Maybe he likes it in there and isn’t ready to leave just yet.” He smiles, rubbing my bump, and the baby squirms inside me at his father’s touch. My due date was six days ago, and this stubborn child is showing no indication of arriving anytime soon.
“I’ve had enough.” I whimper, agitated. “I’m uncomfortable. I haven’t slept a wink in days, and I’m swollen like a beached whale. Look at me.” I complain, gesturing to myself, and Cole lets his eyes wander over me, and he smiles. “What are you looking at?”
He blinks, bemused.
“You just said—”
“You get this baby out of me right now.” I huff, and Cole scratches his forehead, his brows fu
I exhale slowly, and Cole sits up and turns the night light on, blinking a couple of times till his eyes adjust to the light. “My water broke,” I tell him, and he shifts and pushes the covers off himself and gets out of bed. I watch him walk around the bed to my side, and he takes hold of my hand to help me sit up.“Are you having contractions?” He questions, brushing my hair away from my face, and I nod. “What do you need me to do?”I exhale slowly when another contraction comes. I wait for it to pass before I speak. “Call my midwife, then my mum. Tell her I’m in labour, and we’ll drop Laia to her.” I instruct him, and he kisses my forehead before he grabs my phone. While Cole was on the phone, I take off my wet clothes and change into a pair of grey comfortable tracksuit bottoms and one of Coles oversized hoodies. The pain was getting worse by the minute, and I was worried we wouldn’t make it to the hospital. “Cole, we have to go. Like right now.” I whimper, and he l
Sixteen years later…On a beautiful Saturday morning in the month of August, Shayla Hoult rolls over in the bed she shares with her gorgeous husband Tristan Cole Hoult and smiles contently. At the tender age of forty-six, he was still every bit as handsome as he always was. She lay on her side and admired him while he slept. He still looked the same—but older with fine lines that came with maturity, which made him even sexier. The stubble of his beard had specks of grey, which she loved.“Why are you staring at me?” Cole mumbles, his eyes still closed, causing his wife to start while she was lost deep in her thoughts. Shayla smiles, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly, and reaches over to brush her fingers over his cheek. Cole smiles, peels his eyes open, and blinks, looking at his beautiful wife smiling at him lovingly.“How long have you been awake?” Shayla giggles when he wraps his strong arm around her waist and drags he
Twenty minutes later, the house smelt sensational with home-cooked goodness. Cole strolls into the kitchen while his wife cooks pancakes. He wraps his arms around her from behind and kisses her pulse. “As good as this food smells, I can’t wait to eat you later,” Cole growls in her ear hungrily, making her grin. “Shh, baby, the kids are going to hear you,” Shayla whispers back, looking up at him, and he matches her grin leaning close. “They’re not even in here.” Cole chuckles, kissing her softly. Shayla wraps her arms around her husband’s neck and parts her lips when his tongue silently requests permission to meet her own. “Oh, barf. Mum and Dad are making out again.” RJ grumbles, walking into the kitchen, followed by Alaia, who grimaces as they take their seats at the dining table. Shayla and Cole laugh as they pull apart. “Now you know how we feel watching you slobber all over your little ‘friends’ you keep bringing over.” Alaia retorts, making air q
Authors note: This book was previously titled, 'The Accidental Wife' as the author and the rightful owner of this book I have made the decision to change the title to Accidentally Yours. The story in its entirety remains the same and the only changes will be the cover and the title of the book. Thank you! Happy reading. **** “MISS HART?” I blink and lift my gaze to the older man sitting in front of me, staring at me, patiently waiting for me to answer his question. I study his appearance, grey hair, but not completely white. He has streaks of a darker shade running through the strands—his eyes a startling green, cool and glorious. For an older gentleman, he was handsome. He’s sporting stubble of a greying beard. He is a silver fox in every sense of the word. I shift in my seat and cross my legs, sitting upright, hopeful this will give him the impression that I am confident and accomplished. “I believe my greatest quality is that I’m headstrong. While some may consider this a fla
“Dance with me.” I hear a deep voice purr in my ear. I look back and see the guy that was watching me from the VIP section. My god, he’s even more beautiful up close, and his eyes are so green, clever and curious, glittering like two emeralds, like every hue of the forest. Their brightness reminds me of summertime. I turn and face him, craning my neck to look up at him. He’s tall, well over six-foot, light brown hair, cut short on the sides and longer on the top, styled perfectly. My fingers itch to reach out and touch it to see if it’s as soft as it seems. His features are strong, chiselled, and so very masculine. “Was that a demand or a request?” I reply, narrowing my eyes at him. His soft, full lips curl up into a smirk. He licks his lips slowly, “Whichever one gets you to dance with me.” He drawls confidently. Someone tries to pass by him, so he takes a step closer to me. I lift my eyes and smile at the handsome stranger whose strong arms lock aro
Oh, sweet Jesus. The ache in my head rouses me from my very peaceful slumber: that and the distinct smell of coconut and passionfruit. I shift to roll onto my side and frown when I feel a heaviness on my chest. I force my eyes open and wince from the sheer brightness of the sun beaming on my face. I glance down at the head of silky brown hair and get another waft of the coconut, passionfruit concoction. It’s her. I shift my head to the side and study the face of the girl currently sprawled across my chest. Not bad. I’ve woken up with worse. Her lips soft and pink, long dark lashes, perfectly shaped eyebrows. What the hell happened last night? I can’t remember a damn thing. Who is this girl? I peel her arm away from my chest gently, detangle our legs, and she moans as I roll her off me, and she snuggles into the pillow with a sigh. I let my eyes wander over her naked body, half wrapped in the sheets while she’s sprawled out on her front, her long dark hair splayed out on the pillow. I
“Wait. You said you didn’t remember anything.” She says, pointing a finger in my face. I look at her finger and back at her again and roll my eyes. “I don’t. But the state of the room, when I woke up this morning, was a very clear indication of a good night,” I take a step closer to her, and she cranes her neck to look up at me. “There was a trail of clothes from the door to the bed, which means we were too engrossed in our passion to give a damn about who was whom's type,” I state matter-of-factly and wink at her. “Not to mention you’re sporting my signature ‘fucked out’ look.” Shayla’s green eyes grow wide, she huffs and takes a big step back putting some space between us. Raking her fingers through her hair, clearly frustrated. “Wow. I’m not even going to dignify that remark with a response.” She stops pacing and looks at me again. “What are we going to do? Is this marriage even legal?” “I’m afraid so.” Her shoulders slump, and she shakes her head. “How? How did they even marry
I jump awake when I hear my alarm chirping away on the bedside table next to me. I reach over and feel around for my phone; eyes still closed, I managed to find it and snooze the alarm. Ahh silence. Just as I’m about to doze off again, I remember it's my first day at my new job, and I jump out of bed excited. It was seven-forty-five, and I had to be there at nine o’clock. Satisfied I had enough time I drag myself to the bathroom to shower and get ready.I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I brush my teeth. Eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and a weekend of heavy drinking had me looking like something out of the night of the living dead. After a steaming hot shower and two mugs of strong coffee, I was feeling a little better. I was trying to convince myself the fluttering around in my stomach wasn’t nerves. Why would I be nervous? I can do this job in my sleep. Ugh, butterflies explode in my stomach again at the thought of work.I was applying my