Heart of Hope: Books 1-4

by Williams, Ajme

  “Sláinte,” echoed through the restaurant.

  “St. Patrick’s Day is special. Yes, it is a religious holiday or a drinking one, depending on who you talk to, but it’s also a day where the Irish, those of true Irish descent and those who are Irish in spirit, can celebrate our traditions. For me, it’s more special than that. Five years ago today, I met an Irish woman who stole my heart.”

  I looked over at Serena. She blew me a kiss.

  “And she’s given me the most precious gift of a son.”

  “That’s me!” Andrew patted his chest.

  “This St. Patrick’s Day, I want to up the ante a bit.” I held Serena’s gaze, noting her hesitant expression. “Serena Moore. I love you. I love our son. Will you marry me?”

  There was a gasp from my mother that didn’t sound happy, but the rest of the room did.

  I pulled the emerald ring surrounded by diamonds nestled between Irish love knots from my pocket and held it toward her.

  “Say yes, lass,” someone called from the room.

  “Yes. Of course, yes.” She hurried toward me and I was so happy she didn’t seem to make a single glance at my mother. I didn’t either. What she said or did didn't matter.

  She launched herself into my arms to the cheers of everyone in the room. I slipped the ring on her finger and kissed her, never feeling as happy as I felt at that moment.

  “I’m so happy, make it two rounds of Guinness,” I announced.

  Another big cheer rumbled through the room.

  I pulled Serena away, letting the band play again and people go back to their meals.

  “Congratulations,” my father shook my hand. He turned to Serena. “You have a wonderful man in Devin, and terrific son in Andrew, which to my mind must mean you’re something special too.”

  Serena teared up. “Thank you.”

  “Yay, I finally get a sister too,” Bri said, hugging Serena.

  My mother maintained her dour expression, but knowing that people could be watching, she nodded toward Serena. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Mommy, what’s happening?” Andrew asked.

  I leaned down to pick him up. “Mommy has agreed to be with me forever. We’re getting married.”

  “Can I get married to you too? I want to be with you forever.”

  “Yes. We’re going to be a real family.” I was so fucking lucky.

  Epilogue

  Serena—Five Months Later

  Life really could be a roller coaster. One moment, my world had ended because of a careless and selfish mistake. And then I was so happy to have a second chance. But it just kept getting better. On St. Patrick’s Day, Devin asked me to marry him, and I was the happiest, luckiest woman in the world. I didn’t even care that my mother-in-law hated me. I’d endure anything to be Devin’s wife and Andrew’s mother.

  Devin and I were in agreement that we didn’t want a long engagement or big wedding. In fact, we’d nearly run off to Las Vegas. However, neither of our parents liked that idea and we figured we owed them a ceremony.

  So less than two months later, on Beltane or May Day, we were married on the terrace of the Roarke. Andrew was the ring bearer and Bri was my maid of honor. Our parents were thrilled, except, of course, Mrs. Roarke, but at least she didn’t give me death stares anymore. Once the DNA test came back indicating that yes, Devin was Andrew’s father, she retracted her thorns, which wasn’t to say she welcomed me into the family, but she wasn’t as obviously rude to me.

  “She treats everyone like pond scum,” Bri told me one night while she and I had gone out leaving Devin and Andrew to have a father-son night. “In fact, you might consider it a good thing. She treats you as badly as she treats me. You’re family.”

  We spent our wedding night naked in the suite of the hotel where five years Devin first initiated me into the pleasure of the body, and the next day, we gathered Andrew from my parents’ house, and got on a plane to Ireland.

  “You’re full Irish,” Devin had explained to Andrew. “You should see the homeland.”

  We brought Bri along, as she was now learning much about the business and the clubs to help Devin out. It gave him more time with us, and something to keep her out of trouble, or so Devin said. It also gave us a sitter the few times we wanted some alone time.

  Now it was the first of August, or in Celtic, Lá Lúnasa. Devin and I had taken Andrew to the zoo at Central Park and had a picnic afterward. That afternoon, we dropped Andrew off with Bri at the Roarke house.

  “I’m going to beat grandfather in chess,” Andrew said as he walked up the marble steps.

  “You can try,” Mr. Roarke said as he appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Then we’re going swimming, right?” Bri said, standing with her arm through her father’s.

  “Yay!”

  Mrs. Roarke was off at one of her women’s meetings, but Andrew was spending the night, which meant she’d be there while he was. It always put me on edge, but my own parents were off on a cruise and I’d planned a special night for me and Devin. So I had to trust that Bri would keep any negativity from Mrs. Roarke away from Andrew.

  After leaving Andrew, Devin and I got into the car and Doug drove us to our destination.

  “You’re hardcore Irish to be celebrating Lá Lúnasa,” Devin said. “I’m not sure how many Irish American’s celebrate that.”

  “I like celebrating things with you.” I rubbed my hand down his leg.

  His eyes glinted. “Is this a Celtic pagan ritual we’ll be doing?”

  “Something like that.”

  He turned in his seat, pushing me back. “Can we start now?”

  “No. I think we’re here.”

  Doug pulled in front of the hotel that Devin had first taken me to on St. Patrick’s Day, and then again, on our wedding night.

  He grinned when he saw the building. “I should buy this place.”

  “Indeed. It’s not a far leap for the Roarke business to expand into hotels.”

  “You’re right.”

  Up in the room, a candlelight dinner was already waiting.

  “Is this how you celebrate Lá Lúnasa?” he asked as he helped me into my chair.

  “It’s how we do it.” I pulled off the dome. “Irish stew—”

  “With mutton?”

  “Of course. And potato bread. For dipping.”

  He grinned. “What’s for dessert?”

  “Me.”

  He groaned. “Can we skip to that?”

  “Eat your dinner.”

  We settled into the meal, all the while, my nerves feeling a little rattled. There was no reason to be on edge, and yet I was.

  “You know, it always makes me a little nervous when I feel like you're hiding something,” he said, taking my hand. “Pavlovian response.”

  “I do have something to tell you.”

  I could see him steady himself.

  “Want to go to the couch?”

  He shook his head. “No, I want you to tell me what’s going on.”

  I moved my chair next to him and took his hands, trying to figure out the best way to share this. Finally, I decided on the direct route.

  “Devin.”

  “Serena.” His voice sounded apprehensive.

  “You knocked me up again.”

  It took him a moment to register what I said. Then a slow grin came to his face. “I did?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  He stood, pulling me up with him. He cradled my face in his hands. “It just keeps getting better and better with you.” His hand went to my belly. “How? I thought you were on the pill.”

  “Remember back in June when I had the flu?”

  “Yes.”

  “I missed a few. I’m sorry—”

  “Sorry? Don’t be sorry, baby.” He grinned. “Andrew is going to be a big brother.”

  “Yes.” I was relieved. We’d talked about more kids in an abstract sort of way, but hadn’t made any specific
plans so I wasn’t sure how he’d feel.

  “I’ll get to see it all. See you ripe with my child in you.”

  I snorted. “You mean fat.”

  “See our child as a baby.”

  I felt bad that he’d missed that with Andrew.

  “I love you so much.” He kissed me hard and maneuvered me to the bed. “Is it perverse that thinking of impregnating you makes me hard?”

  I laughed. “No.”

  “Is it okay to have sex?”

  “Yes,” I said pulling him down over me.

  “Lots of it? Because I’m feeling particularly horny.”

  I pushed him over and undid his belt. “I want to see.”

  We were a rush of arms and legs as we got undressed. Once naked, Devin slowed things down, trailing kisses from my neck to my breasts and lower, hovering over my abdomen.

  “There’s a baby in there.”

  I ran my fingers through his hair. “Yes. It will be here in March.”

  “I love March. I met you in March. I got engaged to you in March.”

  “I think St. Patrick’s Day should be renamed Devin Roarke took my virginity and my heart day.”

  He snorted and then groaned. “Fuck that makes me hard too.”

  “What?”

  “I took your virginity. I’m the only man who’ll ever be in your sweet body.”

  “Do you plan to start soon, because I’m wet for you.”

  “I think I just came.” He grinned up at me, and then lowered his head into my nest of curls and sent me soaring into pleasure.

  I was still coming down when he moved up my body, and slid inside me. He took my hands in his, holding them over my head. His body pressed over mine and he kissed me. It was like every single inch of me was in contact with every inch of him.

  His hips rocked in a slow rhythm. I didn’t know what other men were like in bed, but I couldn’t imagine any of them making me feel the way Devin did. Not just the pleasure, although that was spectacular. But he also made me feel loved and cherished. Laying together like this, it wasn’t just our bodies entwined, but our hearts and souls as well.

  His lips tore from mine as he groaned and his hips picked up speed. “Tell me you’re close.”

  “Yes,” I gasped as my orgasm teetered on the edge.

  He lowered his lips to my nipple and sucked hard, and that was it, I was off to the heavens.

  “Devin!” I cried out as my entire body was awash in the sweetest pleasure.

  “Yes, baby…I’m there…” He groaned and thrust in, releasing warm liquid inside me. He did it again and again.

  When he finished, he rolled us until I was splayed over him. My head rested on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

  “Let’s make Lá Lúnasa a regular holiday too,” he said through a ragged breath.

  I laughed. “You know Lá Saoire i mí Dheireadh Fómhair is in October.”

  “What is that?”

  “I don’t know. I think something to do with Daylight Savings time and maybe Halloween.”

  “You’ve been researching this?”

  I lifted my head to look at him. “Yes. Do you think it’s weird?”

  He gave me a wicked grin. “Not as long as all these holidays have us end up naked and sated.”

  “Well, yeah,” I said as a matter of course.

  He pushed my hair behind my ear as his face turned more serious. “You’re amazing, Serena. Thank you for taking away my boredom and bringing such joy to my life.”

  I kissed him. “Devin, don’t you know? You’re my dream come true.”

  Book Three: So Wrong

  Description

  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.

  He shares Maisie with his ex-wife.

  But I see the concern in his eyes.

  He wants his daughter to be loved, to be safe.

  …and he needs my help.

  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.

  I shouldn’t have kept it a secret.

  Now, I have a baby and divorce papers on the way.

  After all, our relationship was always fake…

  Or was it?

  Prologue

  Dylan Hyatt was nearly perfect, with his flawlessly sculpted body, sexy smile, and most attractive of all, the love he had for his daughter. But he was wrong about me. The reason I was still a virgin at twenty-three had nothing to do with waiting for Mr. Right, although if I was, he would be Dylan Hyatt. I wasn’t a prude nor a believer in fairy tales of saving myself for marriage, although I’d admit I enjoyed fantasizing about true love where Dylan was concerned. It was probably why, for some reason, I’d just confessed that I was a card-carrying virgin.

  “I’m not waiting for my life mate,” I said, digging my thumbs into his shoulder blades as I massaged away the tension. I wondered if I could release more than his tension and make him forget his ex-wife.

  “Then what are you waiting for?” he asked with a groan and sigh as I felt his muscles begin to relax.

  “Opportunity and desire.”

  He turned, shifting to sit looking at me. We were close, and I bit my lower lip to stop a groan as I got a front row seat to his magnificently full mouth.

  “I find it hard to believe you haven’t had both already.”

  The way his eyes shifted down to my lips made my mouth water to taste him. I was one misstep from embarrassing myself by launching into his arms. “Opportunity, yes; desire, not so much.”

  “You don’t feel desire?”

  My entire body tingled with it.

  “I can’t imagine there aren’t plenty of good-looking guys on campus,” he finished.

  I shrugged. “Desire isn’t just about looks.” Not for me anyway. For someone like Dylan, maybe looks were important. After all, his ex-wife was a model. I wasn’t ugly, but I wasn’t in her league.

  “So what gets your engine going, Tessa?”

  He was teasing me, which made me feel even more like a dumb school girl for the fact that I was ready to rip his shirt off and run my tongue over every hard plain of his chest.

  Even feeling silly, my libido decided to test the waters. “Sculpted pecs.”

  He smiled playfully, but shifted as if he was uncomfortable. “You should come to the gym. We’ve got lots of those.”

  “Kind. Smart. Funny.” I took a breath as I prepared to say something that would either lead to losing my V-card once and for all, or humiliating myself. “Someone like you.”

  His gaze, which had been lingering on my lips, jerked up to mine. He stilled, and I immediately prepared myself to run out of his home feeling like an idiot.

  “Me?”

  I nodded, or at least I tried to. I was paralyzed.

  “I’m too old for you.” His voice lowered, not in volume but in pitch. At least he didn’t seem revolted.

  “Six years isn’t that big of a difference.”

  “In life experience it is.” He looked down. “I’m a divorced single father.”

  “So?”

  He lifted his head, and I saw a resolve to send me off. “So, you’re a young woman with her life ahead of her.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You make it sound like you don’t have anything to look forward in your life.”

  “I have baggage. A lot of it.”

  “Maisie isn’t baggage.” I spoke softly, feeling like he was withdrawing from me.

  “She’s the best thing in my life. My life is hers now. Totally and completely. I have nothing to offer a woman. You deserve to have a man who does, especially the first time.”

  I frowned. “So you’ve given up on ever finding love again?” I could
accept that I wasn’t the woman for Dylan even if I wanted to be, but I couldn’t believe that someday there wouldn’t be a woman that would make him and Maisie happy. I’d hate that woman even as I would be happy that he’d found love again.

  “I’ve had step parents.” His eyes darkened in a way I hadn’t seen before. Clearly, something happened to him as a child. “I won’t put Maisie through that. And I certainly don’t want my heart stomped on again.”

  As I stared into his dark eyes, my heart went out to him. I hated the people in his life that had hurt him and made him fearful of love.

  “How come men are able to have sex because it’s enjoyable, but for a woman it needs to be some sort of fairy tale?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t. But a woman who has waited as long as you usually does so for a reason.”

  “You’ve had experience in this, have you?” I should have just shut up and gone home. Pushing him wasn’t going to change things, and in the end, I’d be more embarrassed than I already was.

  He smiled sheepishly. “Actually, no. But having gotten to know you over the last year, I can see you’re not an impulsive woman. Everything you do is with a plan. Men, on the other hand, tend to be a slave to urges. It’s like an itch.”

  “You don’t think women have urges?” I did. My entire body hummed with need for him to touch me.

  “Yes. But they’re also able to control them. As you clearly do.”

  I was finding it hard not to lean forward through the foot-wide chasm between us and plant my lips on his. What kept me from following that urge was that his statement suggested that, as a man, he wouldn’t be able to control a sexual urge. I was practically throwing myself at him, so if he was a slave to his urge, he’d have taken me up on my clear offer. That meant he didn’t feel an urge with me. Of course, he didn’t. He saw me as a college kid, not a sensual woman.

  Realizing I’d started leaning toward him, I shifted back, swallowing the burn of embarrassment.

  “I’ve hurt your feelings,” he said, his voice soft and concerned. His empathy was another thing I loved about him. Why couldn’t he be a jerk?