Heart of Hope: Books 1 - 4 Read online

  Heart of Hope

  Books 1-4

  Ajme Williams

  Copyright © 2020 by Ajme Williams

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers only.

  All characters are 18+ years of age and all sexual acts are consensual.

  Contents

  Also by Ajme Williams

  Description

  Book One: Our Last Chance

  Book Two: An Irish Affair

  Book Three: So Wrong

  Book Four: Imperfect Love

  Excerpt: Eight Long Years

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  Description

  Over 11,500 combined individual book copies sold!

  400 plus reviews on individual books.

  Four standalone romance novels that will melt your heart.

  Our Last Chance

  I made a mistake.

  A huge mistake.

  I knew I shouldn’t have left.

  The town.

  My life.

  Him…

  Nick, my brother’s best friend, had me at first touch.

  It’s hard to resist a hot doctor like him.

  Even for an innocent girl like me.

  An Irish Affair

  I’d always found Irish men to be irresistible.

  And Devin?

  He’s the hottest one of them all.

  I had my chance with him.

  Heck, I even have a baby with him.

  A four-year old boy.

  My only secret.

  So Wrong

  One plan.

  One fake marriage.

  One big disaster.

  Everything about Dylan melts me.

  He’s more than that ripped chest… those strong arms.

  The best thing about him is his daughter.

  The daughter that I babysit.

  A fake marriage with me would win him the custody battle.

  The only hiccup?

  I let him take my V-card and get me pregnant.

  Imperfect Love

  A broken marriage.

  A broken heart.

  A broken home.

  Brayden and I have everything going against us.

  There was a time when we were madly in love.

  Our laughter still echoes in my ears.

  They say marriage is built on trust.

  They said love is the foundation.

  I wonder if we have either of those now.

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  Book One: Our Last Chance

  Description

  ARC - Not for Sale or Redistribution

  I made a mistake.

  A huge mistake.

  I knew I shouldn’t have left.

  The town.

  My life.

  Him…

  Nick, my brother’s best friend, had me at first touch.

  It’s hard to resist a hot doctor like him.

  Even for an innocent girl like me.

  He’s a perfect blend of muscle and brains.

  And the way he trails his fingers across my curves melts me.

  I’ve spent years in the big city, longing for him.

  Now, I’m back in my hometown.

  Back in the same place as Nick.

  Working for the same damn hospital.

  What are the odds?

  The universe has pushed us back into a forbidden relationship.

  Right in the middle of a crisis.

  A lawsuit.

  Well, it’s a good thing I’m an attorney.

  I can make it go away in a second.

  But what about the crisis that I have no control over?

  Nick got me pregnant.

  The last thing I wanted was an accidental pregnancy.

  But could it be the only thing we both need?

  Prologue

  Mia

  The last time I had sex with Nick Foster was four years ago. It was slow, sweet … perfect. I’d been hopelessly in love with him. So much so, I’d been seriously considering abandoning my dream of taking a job at a prestigious law firm in big city to live Nick’s dream of returning to our small hometown together. No one at home knew we were in a relationship beyond friendship, but Nick was sure our families would be supportive of it. Just after I had a delicious orgasm, we learned he was wrong when my brother, Nick’s best friend showed up by surprise. He wasn’t supportive, he was pissed, feeling betrayed by Nick. That altercation caused the initial crack in our relationship. It didn’t take long for it to grow and tear us apart. The love that I thought would last forever was gone within forty-eight hours. Well, maybe not the love, but the relationship was over.

  Now here I was, letting him touch me again. We weren’t in love now. Sure, the attraction was still strong, but that wasn’t love. He was in pain and wanted to get lost in someone. Would any woman have done? If that was true, I should have stopped. While I knew this wasn’t the beginning of a relationship, I didn’t want to be just a convenient fuck. And yet as he pulled my blouse off and dragged his tongue over the swells of my breasts, I knew I wouldn’t stop him. The truth was, I wanted this too.

  Four years ago, Nick was vocal during sex, but tonight he was quiet. His hands kneaded my breasts, his tongue taking turns lapping at one nipple and then the other. Soon we were both naked on his couch. The room was dark, but I could see him clearly. I could see the guilt and pain on his face even though that was what this encounter was supposed to help him escape.

  I wondered again at the wisdom of this encounter. Nick’s heart and mind needed soothing, but sex probably wasn’t the right balm.

  “Fuck me, Mia.” His words came out soft, almost like it was a thought, and not something he meant to say out loud. Once again, I found myself powerless to stop. I’d tried to move on from Nick when we broke up four years ago. I was sure I was over him. But I couldn’t deny that I’d never met anyone who made me yearn for them the way he did. It was like my entire body remembered him and had come alive in anticipation of his touch.

  I straddled his thighs, rubbing my pussy over his sheathed dick. I looked at him, but his head was down, resting against my breasts. His hands were on my hips, as I lowered down over him.

  He was thick and hot, and I realized my memory of him was lacking. He filled every bit inside me and it was spectacular. I gripped his shoulders, and began to move, up and down, in a slow long ride.

  He groaned, his fingers kneading my hips. It seemed impossible but he thickened inside me, th
e friction increasing with each delicious slide until I was bouncing on him, driving towards my orgasm. I teetered on the edge, release just a thrust away. I was sure he was close too.

  Then his hands squeezed, and held me as I dropped over him, his dick filling me. He kept me from moving, his breathing was harsh as he dropped his head between my breasts again.

  I started to say something, but his grip loosened. I rocked and he groaned. Then I started to ride again. Quickly I was back up, riding him hard. My pussy throbbed as each slide of him pushed me closer to the edge again.

  “Oh God, Nick.” My fingers dug into his shoulders as my climax rushed toward me. I sank down, knowing next time, pleasure would fill my body. His hands squeezed again, holding me in place, preventing me from taking that one last ride. I groaned in frustration. “Nick.”

  His thumb slid between my thighs and rubbed over my clit. I tried to rise, but he held me there, so all I could do was rock over him.

  My breath was harsh as I sought my pleasure. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” I chanted, worried he’d tease me again. Fortunately, he didn’t stop. I tilted my pelvis, his dick hitting that one exquisite spot, just as his thumb stroked over my clit. My orgasm roared through me reminding me how much better they were when they were given from someone else instead of alone by myself.

  He growled against my chest, as my pussy convulsed in pleasure. Finally, I was done. I looked down on him, as I gulped in a breath. Why was he denying himself pleasure?

  “What’s going on?” I asked. He wanted sex to help him forget someone under his care had died, and yet he wouldn’t let himself enjoy it.

  He ignored my question as he also took in a couple of deep breaths, and then encouraged me to move over him again. He was hard as a rock and thicker and longer than I remembered. I rode him again, watching him as brought him up and up, only to have him stop me again when he was on the brink. His expression was pained. Was that what he was doing? Torturing himself? He was letting himself get to the edge of pleasure but not taking that final leap.

  Was this how he liked sex now, or was he punishing himself?

  I pressed my hands on his face. “What are you doing?”

  His expression was lost and helpless. “This is wrong.”

  “What the hell, Nick.” I started to pull away, feeling angry and humiliated.

  “No. Not you, baby.” He held me to him, his hand moving to cup my cheek. “You’re not wrong. This is. It doesn’t seem right that I should be enjoying something so life affirming after what happened today.”

  “Why? It seems like a good time to appreciate life after seeing how fleeting it can be.”

  He closed his eyes. “I feel guilty.”

  My heart broke for him.

  “I don’t deserve this.”

  This whole thing was wrong before it started, and clearly it had gone off the rails. “Then maybe I should go.” I started to move off of him again.

  “Mia.” His hands held me to him. “Don’t go.”

  “Then come.” I took his hands and held them so he couldn’t stop me as I started to ride. Out of the gate, I bounced up and down fast and furious, not giving him time to think. He’d wanted only to feel, so that was what I was trying to make happen. For him to stop thinking and just feel.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck …” he chanted. I could feel my own pleasure start to build again.

  I pressed his hands on my breasts, and fortunately he didn’t fight his instinct. He pinched my nipples, sending white hot lava rushing to my core.

  “Fuck I’m coming,” he growled as his body arched back and his hips jerked up.

  I rode him harder, not wanting him to be able to stop himself. My pussy gripped him as it seized and pleasure shot through me.

  He groaned again, and this time when his hands went to my hips, it was to help them rock over him and draw out his orgasm.

  The minute he was done, I was off of him. “Don’t you ever use me to punish yourself again.”

  1

  Nick, One Week Earlier

  Working in the emergency room of a small mountain hospital was a far cry from my residency in San Francisco. Here in Goldrush Lake, we rarely had gunshot or knife wounds, and the ones we had were nearly always hunting related, not an attempted murder. We had heart attacks, strokes, and car accidents, especially in winter during the ski season when out-of-towners who didn’t know how to drive on slick roads would pile into town. We had quite a few outdoor accidents, such as breaking a leg skiing, or falling on a hike. Each summer, we had more than a few near drownings from boaters and swimmers on the lake.

  Did I ever lose a patient? In the four years I’d been here, there were a few times that I was unable to save a patient. Twice, it was a heart attack that was too severe for medicine to fix. Last winter, a skier fell and hit his head, but didn’t seek medical help. By the time the headache brought him to the emergency room, it was too late. Internal bleeding in the brain led to his death. Those stood out, but there were others.

  All deaths were difficult, but the one that haunted me was a car accident just over a year ago. Although she wasn’t my patient, being that we were a small town, I’d known her and felt the loss deeply. In fact, I’d known her all my life, so it had been like losing a member of my family.

  Today, I hadn’t had any life-threatening ailments so far in my shift. I diagnosed eczema in a toddler and I stitched up a construction worker’s hand.

  “Joyce is here to see you again, Dr. Foster,” Peggy Shoals, one of the nurses on duty today said.

  I rolled my eyes. Joyce was my age, thirty-three, and a pretty woman, who either suffered from hypochondria or was trying to get a date with me. Since having moved back home four years ago, she was fairly regular in the emergency room. I’d checked her for ticks at least twice before, along with various sprains, migraines, and, my favorite, concerns that her breast implant had broken.

  I made my way to the area where Joyce was waiting for treatment.

  “Dr. Foster.” Her blue eyes lit up and she sat up straighter, showing of her store-bought tits in a tank top.

  “Ms. Maynard, what seems to be the trouble today?” I asked, going to the computer to see what had been entered in the electronic medical record, or EMR, we’d been forced to adapt to several years ago. In theory, it was supposed to make treating patients easier, but in truth, it was a pain in the ass.

  “I’ve got terrible stomach pains,” she said, lifting her shirt to expose her belly. She rubbed her hand over it.

  “What have you had to eat today?” I pulled up her file on the computer.

  “Nothing. I woke with a stomach ache.”

  I motioned for her to lay back. I was sure she didn’t have a stomach ache, but I couldn’t dismiss her on the off chance she really was sick. “Any diarrhea?”

  She made a face. “God, no.”

  “Vomiting?”

  She shook her head.

  “When was the last time you had a bowel movement?” Maybe she was constipated.

  She made another face. “Why are you asking about my shit?”

  I took a breath to hide my annoyance. “Clues to the reason for a stomach ailment can sometimes be determined by … your shit,” I said using her term.

  I did my exam, checking for anything unusual in her abdomen. She pushed her shorts down far enough for me to see that she waxed.

  I ignored that as I pressed the soft tissue. “Any pain or discomfort?”

  “No.”

  I ruled out a variety of possibilities including appendicitis.

  I pulled up prescriptions on her chart and noted that she was on birth control. Even so, I asked, “Any chance you’re pregnant?”

  Her eyes widened. “No.”

  “You haven’t missed any pills?” I looked again at the medications and didn’t see antibiotics, which could sometimes lower birth control pills’ effectiveness. “Have you been on any antibiotics?”

  “No.” Her hand rested on my forearm. “The pills wor
k great. Maybe we could test them.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes. “You probably have a little bug. Have some broth soup, and maybe a few crackers, then see how you feel.”

  She nodded. “Why don’t you come to Dina’s Diner with me for lunch. To make sure I don’t faint or something.”

  “Have you fainted or felt lightheaded?” I asked, typing in the information into the EMR.

  She hesitated and I turned to look at her. “Well … maybe a little.”

  For the most part, I was amused by Joyce, but the truth was, she was wasting hospital time and resources each time she came in with a bogus ailment.

  I turned my full attention to her. “Have you ever read the story about the boy who cried wolf?”

  It took her a moment to grasp my meaning. “My stomach really does hurt.”

  “Take some bismuth subsalicylate, it’s the pink medicine. Have a little soup and maybe a few crackers. If it continues, we can arrange to have a sample of your bowel movement brought in and tested,” I said, mostly to figure out how real this stomach ailment was. Anyone willing to gather a sample of their shit to bring in was likely feeling poorly.

  She made a face. I suspected the next time she came in, it wouldn’t be for a stomach issue. She held her hand out so I’d help her down from the exam table. Since I was a gentleman, I did. And as usual, she jumped down in such a way as she bumped into me.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, her coy eyes showing she wasn’t sorry at all.