Wrapped in Hope: A Forbidden Romance (The Hope Series Book 1)

by K. B. Andrews

  Just like I knew he would, his bike pulls into the drive as the garage door opens automatically. He pulls inside, cuts the engine, and puts the kickstand down. It’s quiet once again.

  I sit back and pick up my book, but curiosity rushes over me. I lean back up and move the curtain to the side again.

  The garage door is still open as he stands in front of the heater to remove his leather jacket and grease stained shirt — Jane has a fit when he comes inside covered in grease and oil.

  I know I shouldn’t be watching, but his body is mystifying. His biceps bulge as he pulls the shirt over his head and reaches for another. After pulling on the fresh shirt, he hits the button for the garage door. As it starts falling, I see him unfasten his belt and push his jeans down his muscular thighs. The door closes completely, leaving my body heated and confused.

  Thinking about that memory causes this wave of heat to rush over me. I feel my face heat up as a tingle swirls around inside my lower belly.

  “Is there anything else you want to talk about before we get into talking about that day?”

  His question pulls me from my memory, and causes me to jump with surprise.

  My eyes fall to my hands that are twisting into knots again. I’m embarrassed because I’ve been caught thinking about something I shouldn’t, but I’m also blanketed with sadness when I remember the reason he’s here to begin with. “What is it that you want me to tell you? Just the accident, or the whole weekend?”

  He shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

  “Well, I don’t really want to talk about any of it.” I want to avoid it, try to forget that it happened, try to ignore the hole that’s been in my heart for five years.

  He lets out a deep breath. “Look, Hope, I know these last five years have been hard on all of us. But I think if you look at the three of us, I’m the only one who’s trying to move on. You and my wife, you two are avoiding it. Things don’t heal if they’re ignored.”

  He’s right. Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting Dean. It’s something I owe myself. Do I deserve to be happy? I can honestly say that I’ve never really tried letting go of Dean. I mourned his loss, but didn’t let go. I need to let go, heal.

  With a deep breath, I tell him about the drive to the cabin. I tell him about how we had sex for the first time practically the moment we walked inside. I laugh when I go into how the spaghetti was burnt, and I cry when I get to the crash, the last moment I spent with Dean.

  He sits and listens to all of it. He doesn’t interrupt or judge me. He doesn’t say I was wrong by doing this or that, he just listens.

  When I’m crying more than breathing, he reaches over and takes my hand in his, his thumb gently stroking my skin. “Shhh, calm down. Breathe.”

  I let his touch soothe away all the negative feelings like Dean’s used to do, but it does so much more than that.

  When I’ve quieted down, cried out every drop I have, he stands and goes to retrieve me a bottle of water.

  “Thank you,” I say before taking a drink. Already, I feel a little better. My chest doesn’t feel as tight and my heart doesn’t feel as heavy. All it took was purging the words and letting the fit of tears come as they may.

  After I drink half the bottle, I replace the cap and sit it down. We sit in silence for a long minute. I feel relieved, but also a little uneasy. I’m still feeling this connection to him even though I know it’s stupid and wrong, that it will never happen. I feel the need to say something, break the tension between us. “Is there anything you need to talk about?” I ask, wiping the tears from my cheeks.

  “Me?” he asks, questions written all over his face.

  I shrug. “You listened to me. It’s only fair.”

  He lets out a soft laugh while shaking his head. “I don’t have much to tell.”

  I study him for a moment, wondering if I should bring it up. “You don’t want to talk about the death of your adopted son, your wife’s depression, or how that’s left you alone?”

  His eyes snap to mine. “That’s not for you to worry about,” he says, leaning his head back against the couch while rubbing his forehead, trying to ease the lines that have formed.

  The tone of his voice isn’t a friendly one and I know I should back off, but I don’t. If I have to talk about Dean, he has to talk too. “How’s she doing anyway?”

  He lifts his hand to his side and lets it fall back to the couch. “Who knows what she’s thinking. She refuses to talk to me. She won’t even leave her room if I’m home. She comes out long enough during the day to get something to eat, but even that’s not enough. She’s lost a lot of weight. She’s just lost, and she won’t let me show her the way back.”

  This time, I reach for his hand. “I’m sorry. That must be really hard dealing with everything all on your own.”

  “I’ve tried to help her. I have, but she just won’t let me. Do you know how angering that is? To want to help someone who just wants to die? I can’t fight this fight for her. She has to do it.”

  The vein in his forehead is damn near pulsating. His chest is rising and falling quickly with his anger, and every muscle looks rock hard.

  I scoot closer to him, hoping to comfort him the same way he did me. Just our closeness creates this pull between us. “It’s not your fault. You can only do so much. She has to want to get better.”

  He turns to look at me and we’re practically nose to nose. I didn’t realize I’d moved this close. His breath blows across my lips, making me wet them. His eyes flash down to my wet lips and back to my eyes. Something is popping and cracking between us. A tingle forms in the pit of my stomach and my heart hammers away. The intensity of his eyes lights a fire low in my stomach that burns a trail to the junction between my legs.

  My body wants to move in and kiss him, but I can’t let that happen. He’s not a man I can have. He’s married. He’s my dead boyfriend’s adoptive father and uncle. This is wrong on so many levels.

  Just touching his hand and being this close to him has sent tingles through my body that I can’t control. Everything about him is familiar, yet different, even more electrifying than Dean was. That makes me want him and hate him. How could I feel this strongly about him when Dean was the only one I’ve ever loved? The one I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with.

  I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His jaw flexes and every muscle in his body is tense like he’s fighting against something. Suddenly, he clears his throat, causing me to blink. It’s enough to break the spell I’m under.

  “I’m sorry,” I drop his hand and stand, moving toward the kitchen where I know Jenn keeps a bottle of vodka.

  I pull it out of the cabinet and reach for a glass, pouring a little in the bottom. I don’t want to be drunk, I just want to numb these feelings that are consuming me, burn them away if I must.

  I throw the drink back with my eyes closed, feeling nothing but the sting. When I open my eyes, he’s standing directly in front of me, scowling at me. The look causes fear to fill me, but also makes that fire burn even hotter.

  “Drinking won’t help you.” He takes the glass from my hand and sets it in the sink.

  He turns around and takes the bottle, replacing the cap and setting it on the counter, far out of my reach.

  “Let me help you. I can’t help my wife, but I can help you if you let me.” His blue-green eyes have darkened the way Dean’s used to. They are intense and unmoving as he watches me.

  A puff of air leaves my lips as a menacing sounding laugh escapes me. “And how do you intend on doing that? I’ve tried everything. Nothing works. I’m a lost cause.”

  He shakes his head with annoyance as he’s leaning against the counter, crossing his arms over his big chest. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. Do you understand me?” He walks closer as he looks down on me.

  My eyes seek his automatically, somewhere deep inside of me longs for his approval. I nod.

  He takes a deep breath before leaning against the cou
nter again. “We’ll get you into a routine. We will focus on making you stronger, mentally and physically. What do you say?”

  I feel my eyebrow lift. “You mean working out?”

  “You’d be surprised how much aggression it can take out. It will give you something else to focus on.”

  I lean against the island in the middle of the kitchen and cross my arms over my chest while I think it over.

  Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do just need to fill my time. Get healthy and let the healing come as it may.

  I nod my head slowly. “Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

  He gives me a breathtaking smile that makes every muscle in my body harden, trying to hold back the flood of desire that’s washing over me. “Good, the first thing to go, is this.” He picks up the bottle of vodka.

  “That’s not mine. It’s my roommate’s.”

  He looks at the bottle in his hand. “Then put it away. I better not see you with it again.” He holds it out for me to take.

  I feel like his stern warning should sound as if my dad has spoken the request, but it doesn’t. It feels like he’s dominating me and a small part of me wants more. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. Just his demands cause goosebumps to break out across my skin.

  I take the bottle and put it back in the cabinet. “So when does this new workout start?” I turn back around to face him. I watch as he runs his big, callused hand through the silky strands of his raven colored hair. “Today. First thing we’re going to do is go to a meeting where you can tell your story.”

  My head shakes vigorously. “No way. Not yet. Not today. I’m not strong enough for that yet. I need to build up to it.” Just thinking about sitting in the circle, telling a bunch of strangers why I’m so damaged causes anxiety to bubble up in my throat like acid. It burns and stings, and makes my throat feel like it’s closing up.

  I hold onto the counter so I don’t fall over. I didn’t even realize I’d stopped breathing with the pain that thought brought on.

  “Alright. Okay.” He places his hands on my shoulders to calm me. But all it does is make me more anxious. Every little touch from him feels like it’s searing my skin, like he’s claiming each and every piece me.

  He dips his head forward in an attempt to look me in the eye. “We can build up to that. How about we just head to the gym. Let you work off some of this anxiety and pent up aggression.”

  I nod while taking deep breaths to try and calm myself. “Okay. Just let me change first,” I say, whispering the words around my labored breathing from the near anxiety attack I just had.

  He releases me and I slowly walk toward my room to change. When I’m alone in my space, I sit on the edge of the bed, bending over to hold my head in my hands. I need to pull it together. I feel like everything in my life is unraveling around me. I lost the love of my life. I’ve lived five years when all I’ve wanted to do is die. And now I’m having extremely confusing feelings about Holden. I would be worried if I was having feelings for a guy I met here on campus, but the fact that I’m having feelings about the guy who raised my dead boyfriend, that’s a whole different can of worms.

  I take several deep breaths, trying to clear my head and talk my way out of the mess I’m buried in.

  These aren’t real feelings I’m having for Holden. It’s just a mess of emotions that’s confusing me. The feeling I get when we touch is nothing more than the connection I used to have with Dean. His eyes, his smell, I like it because it reminds me of someone I’ve missed for five years. It’s nothing more. Once I realize that, they will go away. Don’t touch him. Push Dean from your mind and everything I think I feel about Holden will fall away too.

  With those thoughts, I push myself up and dig around for something to wear to the gym. I’ve never been one to work out. The only gym clothes I have are the ones I bought to lounge around the house in. I finally find a pair of yoga pants, and I pull them on. I get lucky and find a sports bra that’s hidden in the bottom of my drawer. I match it with a dark gray tank top that hangs loose under my arms, revealing my sports bra and sides. I tie my dark hair up into a knot and step from the room.

  Holden is standing next to the front door, looking over my bookshelf. His eyes are trained on the last picture Dean and I took. The one at the cabin where we’re both looking at each other, lost in one another’s eyes.

  “Are you ready?” I ask as I come to a stop beside him.

  He quickly pulls his eyes away from the framed photograph and nods while motioning toward the door.

  We step into the gym and the place is nearly empty. There are only a couple of guys lifting weights while the rest of the machines are free. I’m glad there aren’t many people in here. I already feel like I have a giant spotlight on me.

  “Let’s start with some stretches,” Holden says, standing on a mat that’s laid out on the floor.

  He sits down with his legs spread apart, while reaching for his toes. I take a deep breath and take a seat next to him, repeating what he does.

  I’m surprised to find myself rather limber, reaching my toes with no problem while pulling my head down to my knee.

  “You’re pretty flexible for someone who doesn’t do this sort of thing,” he says, drawing my attention away from my stretches.

  “I used to do gymnastics when I was younger. I guess muscle memory?” I let out a short laugh that sounds more nervous than anything. I hope he doesn’t pick up on my nervousness. I don’t want him to think I’m uncomfortable being around him. It’s not his fault my mind and body are completely fucking confused.

  “Turn around and face me, placing your feet against mine,” he directs me.

  I turn around and put the bottoms of my shoes against his.

  “Now, give me your hands.”

  I reach forward and our hands touch, instantly sending that shock through me. It makes me take a sudden gasp. His eyes pop up to mine, but he pretends he didn’t hear it before pulling me forward.

  I feel the muscles in my legs start to stretch.

  “Can you take more?” he asks.

  I nod and he pulls me even further. My nipples are nearly touching the floor. With every breath I take, they graze the hard surface, making them harden and tingle with excitement.

  He starts easing me back into an upright position and I pull him forward. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor, but when he looks up and his eyes meet mine, my heart pounds wildly.

  “Okay, I think that’s good,” he says, turning away from me. I think maybe he can feel the desire exchange when we look at one another, so he breaks the connection, probably just as confused about it as I am.

  We both stand and I adjust my clothing. I feel completely out of place and my nerves haven’t settled in the least. My clothing is the only thing I can adjust.

  “Are you a runner?” he asks as he leads me in the direction of the treadmill.

  “Not really. I don’t usually exercise.”

  “You’ve got a good set of lungs and endurance then. I had to get in my Jeep to chase you last night when you took off from group. Let’s see how far you can run.” He comes to a stop in front of the treadmill.

  I jump up on the machine and start walking as he adjusts the speed and incline. “We’ll start you off easy,” he says with a grin. “Go as long as you can. I’ll be over there.” He points to some fancy machine with weights attached.

  I watch him walk away as I jog along with the treadmill.

  I can’t seem to keep my eyes off him as he lifts weights, making his biceps flex. They’re tanned, and big, and glistening with a sheen of sweat. I lick my dry lips as my stomach muscles tighten from wondering what those big arms would feel like holding me.

  Stop it.

  I can’t think about this. I have to get a handle on whatever is going on inside my body.

  I shake my head and force myself to look out the windows that line the front of the building.

  Chapter 10

  As I’m lifting weights,
my eyes keep falling back on her, the woman I want but can’t have for more reasons than one. Her attention is trained on the windows, looking completely at ease. For the first time since I ran into her, she doesn’t look like she’s in pain. She looks content.

  And here I am watching her fucking tits bounce as she runs. What the fuck is wrong with me? This woman is twenty years younger than me. She’s heartbroken over the loss of my son, and all I can think about is sinking deep inside her. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I should be keeping my distance, not trying to help her. Fuck, I can’t even help my wife, why do I think I can help her?

  Because she wants to be helped. She wants to heal so she can move on. I can see it when I look at her. She’s lost, but she’s looking for her way back — unlike my wife.

  I would be lying if I said that this was all for her though. The sick side of me wants to be with her, even if I can’t touch her or have her the way I want. I just have to fucking tease myself, putting her within mere inches of me. I could reach out and touch her at any time, but I won’t. I won’t allow myself to take advantage of her in that way.

  She’s so broken, there’s a chance she may let me. She may even think she wants me too, but she’s sick. She’s dealing with loss and depression. Even if she thinks she wants me, which she doesn’t, there’s a good chance that it’s all just some sort of Band-Aid for her.

  I have to keep myself in check. This attraction I feel toward her is my problem. She has enough problems of her own. I will just continue to tease myself until she no longer needs me to get her through this.

  I turn my back to her while I continue to lift just so I don’t have any other option but to ignore her. I curl the weight and look up to see a mirror. Automatically, I look in her direction and our eyes meet. Her chest is rising and falling quickly with her heavy breathing, her plump lips are parted, and her soft skin is glistening with sweat. A few strands of dark hair have fallen out of place. They now hang down around her face, clinging to her damp skin. I want more than anything to brush them away before pulling her against me where I can take what I want from her.