Hope for Her – Book #1
What do you HOPE for?
Josh is on his last chance to live up to his families obligations, but he meets a girl that his father won’t approve.
Carrington wants to feel special and Josh’s attention is exactly what she craves.
Their volatile relationship has Josh questioning their connection while Carrington develops feeling for someone else, but they aren’t ready to give up hope.
What happened towards the end, I wasn’t expecting. As I read, I was feeling all kinds of emotions …” Paranormal Yours Book Club R&R
Hope for Him – Book #2
What do you HOPE for now?
Carrington is ready to be with the man of her dreams.
Jackson has moved on in need of a more normal life.
After an epic kiss, they know their life will never be normal again.
Can Carrington and Jackson find their way back to each other or will their past continue to tear them apart?
“I want more!!! It just keeps getting better and better!” Heather Driscoll
Hope for Us – Book #3
What do you HOPE for still?
Carrington’s past haunts her around every corner. A move to Arizona will give her much needed distance.
Jackson is one mediocre season away from being a bust in the NFL. A trade to Arizona with no distractions is what he needs to turn his career around.
Carrington and Jackson are back tougher again.
Are they ready to admit, they have no hope without each other?
“Their story came together beautifully and they finally got their HEA.” Barb Online Book Club
Targeted Age Group:: Over 18
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I was inspired to write the Hope series based on my own experiences in college. I attended Florida State University and was . . . surprised by the division in the school between the races and classes. Old money, Florida families exhibit chacteristics of old world English Royalty were the oldest son is the revered despite his problems and mistakes. I enjoyed exploying how the dynamics interracted.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
The main Carrington Butler is based on a few people I went to school with.
Josh Griffin is based on a friend of mine who had a difficult time adjusting to the perceived demands of being the eldest son and taking over his father’s business.
Jackson Mitchell is my all around good guy, sports jock, alpha male with a heart. He is my ideal man.
He walked into class and I turned my head away as soon as he looked at me. It was all rather dramatic, and I didn’t even mean it. It was a reflex. I was embarrassed.
Snippets of the other night and my behavior kept popping in my head at the most inopportune times—I thought back to the way he looked when I showed up at his door.
It was the same look he held now, walking into class. He took care of me, when I half expected him to shut the door in my face. He invited me in, he cleaned me up and put me to bed, and how did I repay him—by ignoring him.
Real mature, Carrington.
I watched him from this angle. I imagined how messy his hair would look if he wore it longer. He carried the ‘rolled out of bed’ sexy look well. It might be why I kept having naughty dreams about him, none as real and explicit as the one I’d had when I woke up next to him.
My face flushed as he turned to stare at me again. I looked away.
I needed to suck it up and talk to him. I figured I had until the end of class to figure out something to say. I would start by apologizing for not returning his calls. Thank him for taking care of me the other night and try and persuade him to give me another chance. He would give me another chance because he liked me. He had asked me out in the first place, right?
My anxious heartbeat slowed to a relaxed rhythm, and I stopped sweating.
I tried paying attention to the professor, but Calculus held no interest up against the saga I created in my own head.
Lost in one of my fantasies, I caught Josh in the corner of my eye, gathering his stuff and walking out the door.
Where is he going?
The entire class turned to watch Josh exit.
I gathered my stuff and bolted down the steps. As I exited the room, the professor held his hands out and asked, “Anyone else need to leave?”
I ran down the hall and out the door. I assumed he exited this way. A desperate squeal escaped my lips, but it morphed into a squeal of excitement. I spotted him as he walked down the path to the student union.
I took off running but began slowing down halfway.
What am I going to say?
I caught up and fell in step two feet behind him. I reached out and grabbed his shirtsleeve and the book in his arm fell with a thud.
“What the fuck?” he said as he turned around. His expression softened, but then it got all hard and stern.
His eyes darted around, and he cleared his throat.
I fought the urge to bolt.
“What?” he yelled. Students stopped and stared.
He bent down to grab his book. I needed to figure out something; in a few seconds, he would stand up and walk away. I needed to speak up, or he would walk away forever.
My mind went blank.
He stood back up.
Standing in front of me, he tilted his head to the side and crinkled his nose. As I still didn’t say anything, he shook his head and turned to walk away.
“For someone who wants to be my boyfriend, you’re not acting like it,” I said.
He turned back to face me. Confusion and frustration spread across his face. I’d said the wrong thing. I dropped my head and turned. When he dropped his books. The sound made me jump, but not as much as when he reached out and wrapped his hands around my biceps. My instincts were to pull away from the sudden contact, but it only made him increase his grip. My stomach fluttered as I searched my brain trying to find something to say that didn’t sound stupid or pathetic or desperate.
He remained silent and pulled me close. I leaned toward him while my mind screamed, No, don’t do it, run away. I shouldn’t be doing this, not out of fear of him, but out of fear of losing control.
My breath increased and my heart was pounding out of my chest. A small part of my brain registered the pain from how tight he held my arms, but another part of my brain overrode the pain and my heart rate spiked with the realization.
Oh, shit. He’s going to kiss me.
And, he did. His lips landed on mine, and it made my head spin. I was thankful for the grip on my arms, because I would have otherwise melted into the ground. His firm hands were a direct contradiction to his soft lips. I felt him pulling away and I followed, seeking more contact, but his grip flexed as if warning me to stop. I didn’t have a second to think because his lips were back on mine, harder this time. He angled his head to the left, and he slid his tongue between my open lips. As soon as our tongues touched, he withdrew, and I sought it out. His grip on my arms tightened, but as my triceps began to shake, he loosened his grip. He let go and wrapped one arm around my waist. His other hand touched my chin to tilt it to the ideal angle in order for him to kiss me deeper. He directed this epic moment and I followed his cues. He paused and allowed air to pass between our moist lips, but my lips weren’t done.
He opened his mouth and my tongue found his as I lifted my arms and wrapped them around his neck. I pulled him closer, and he wrapped his arms around me and held me tight.
He no longer seemed in control of the situation. He reacted to my every move. I was in control.
God, it felt good.
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