Hemingway has spent her life trying to earn love she was never going to get. Not capable of earning the love of her mom, she found what she thought was a lifelong love, until it wasn't. When she meets Max, the new drummer in her brothers' band, she just might find that love she has been searching her whole life for.
No stranger to pain and heartache. Max has learned from his past, that when you find someone worthy of your love, you give it all. Losing his mom at a young age showed him how fragile life is. He lives life with as few regrets as possible, and when he wants something he fights with all he has to get it.
Hemingway doesn't stand a chance against the force that is Max's love and devotion, not that she would want to.
Will Hemingway be able to move on from her past and open her heart up to love? Will Max be the one to show her the way? Or will they give up and move on when Hemingway is forced to confront her past head on?
When he clears his throat my eyes shoot from his mouth to his eyes. There is a little mischievous glint in them, and I know I was caught watching his mouth for too long.
“Actually,” he starts as he slowly pushes the door wide enough that he can get inside. “I was coming to see you. You haven’t been around for a few days. I drove by your mom’s but your car was never there. So I talked to Becca and she told me you have been hiding here. So I have to ask again. Are you hiding from something?”
I pull the towel tighter around me, feeling more naked than before. When I look back up into his eyes, I notice that his gaze his shifted and he is watching my hands at the top of my towel.
“I already told you I’m not hiding.” I pull a little piece of my hair as I answer. If he notices the nervous habit, he doesn’t say anything.
“And I think you’re lying.” Stepping closer as he speaks in a low gravelly voice.
“I’m not lying. I’ve just been, um, busy.” Each step he takes forward I take one back, until there is nowhere left to step. I’m trapped against the wall. He is standing so close that I can breathe in his fresh scent. With the last step back, I hit the wall a little harder than I expected, I can feel my towel starting to slip.
“Why are you hiding?” he asks so slowly, like maybe if he slows down my stupid brain will understand that he already knows that truth. What am I supposed to say though? “I’m hiding because I had a dream about you, and now I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want you.” Or “I’m hiding because I’m a coward and can’t face the pull that I feel when I’m close to you.” Instead I go with the only thing I can think that might convince him to leave me alone.
“I’m not hiding so much as avoiding.” I say with a shrug, trying to keep my voice even.
Leaning in closer he puts a hand on each side of my head. I’m fighting the urge to lean into him.
“What are you avoiding Hem?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yes, that’s what I said isn’t it?”
“Why?”
“Because our little nothing of a kiss was a mistake. I didn’t want you to think it was anything more than a weakness I had on an emotional night.”
For the longest minute of my life he doesn’t say anything. I watch his eyes as they bounce back and forth between mine. Only once do I see them slip to my mouth.
“Huh,” there was that smirk again, God the things he could get me to agree to if only he knew the power behind that sexy smirk. Then again, maybe he did know. Maybe that’s why he uses it. “It was a little nothing kiss?”
“Uh huh”
“So if I kissed you now you wouldn’t enjoy it either?”
“Nope”
“Really? Is that why your eyes are darkening? Is that why your breathing has deepened? Is that why I can see your pulse thumping, right here?” he lightly taps the pulse point at the base of my throat. Am I that obvious? Can he tell by looking into my eyes how much I want him to do just that? How badly I want him to reach out and take what he wants from me?
Unable to speak, I just nod in response. I’m no longer sure if I am agreeing that I do want him to kiss me, or if I am confirming that it meant nothing. Which is total fucking lie.
Lifting my face with his fingers under my chin, he leans in to whisper. “You can lie to your friends. Hell you can lie to your brothers. Don’t ever fucking lie to me. Especially not about wanting me.”
I don’t get a chance to answer before his lips crush down onto mine. There is nothing slow and soft about this kiss. This is so different than what we shared just a few days before. Running his hand around to the back of my head, he lightly pulls my hair gaining better access to my mouth. As he deepens the kiss I bring my arms up wrapping them around his neck. His lips continue to move against mine, and I know he is waiting, trying to encourage me to open my mouth to him. When I feel his tongue move across the seam of my lips, I let out a small gasp, opening my mouth just enough to give him access. His tongue slowly dances across mine. When I feel him start to pull back, like he might break the connection, I gently bite down on his lower lip. Causing a low growl to come from deep in his chest, as his hips push forward into mine. Oh god, the feel of him warm and hard against my hot wet center. I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped even if I had wanted to, which I didn’t. Moving his mouth from mine and slowly trailing kisses down my neck and across my shoulder. I feel the hand that isn’t wrapped up in my hair, slowly slide down my side and across my hip so that he can find his way around to my ass. Gripping my butt he pulls me to him, to feel how hard he is against me. I can hear myself whimper as he bites down on my shoulder, just enough to sting, but not enough to hurt. Soothing the sting away with his tongue. He slides his other hand around to the other side of my butt and lifts me. Wrapping my legs around his waist.
“Where is your room Hem?”
Author JC Thompson was born in raised in the Pacific Northwest. Where she currently lives with her high school sweetheart, two little girls, and five furry kids (3 cats and 2 dogs). JC loves to read romance, the smuttier the better. She is a self-proclaimed book addict that likes to get last in a false reality anytime possible.
Hemingway’s Hope is JC’s debut novel, and it won’t be the last.
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