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Gypsy Hope
by Jillian Neal
Ratings:
301 pages4 hours
Summary
From the time a car accident took her parents lives when she was a child, Hope Hendrix has lived in perpetual fear of most everything. Tired of always chickening out, she decides to grab onto life and really live it. For Hope, that means finally telling her best friend, Brock Camden, that she’s been in love with him since high school.
Misplaced cowboy and the town’s famed football star, Brock Camden, has lived a life of lies for so long all he knows is regret. It was never the life he wanted, but the past can’t be undone. Now, Hope, the one girl he’s always longed for, admits she wants him, too. Can he escape the web of deceit thrust upon him when he arrived at the shores of Gypsy Beach and have a real life with Hope, or will all the lies and uncertainty ultimately be their undoing?
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Thank you for your interest in Gypsy Hope. I promise all of the hot sexiness that always comes with every Gypsy Beach novel, but Brock and Hope’s tale has another element that I think makes their story all the more compelling.
Around the world, 757 million adults over the age of 15 cannot read or write a simple sentence. Thirty-two million American adults cannot read and the illiteracy rates in this country aren’t improving. We know that one in four American children grow up without learning how to read, and that students that don’t read proficiently by the end of third grade are four times more likely to drop out of school.
My oldest son was diagnosed with dyslexia when he was eight. Dyslexia is a learning disability that affects the ability to read and comprehend. Forty million American adults are dyslexic and make up a large portion of illiterate Americans. I wanted to give voice to those who struggle with illiteracy, and I’ve partnered with ProLiteracy for the release of Gypsy Hope to help them stamp out this global crisis. ProLiteracy is an organization that works to educate and provide resources to help teach adults to read. For every copy of Gypsy Hope sold, I will donate $1 to ProLiteracy.
If you love to read hot, sexy romance, or know someone who does, consider ordering a copy of Gypsy Hope and know that you’ve done something to help. Share the cover and the story on social media to help us get the word out. We can all do something to help. Working together, we can make a difference in the lives of so many. By simply purchasing a book, we can help ProLiteracy help those who need it most.
Publisher: Jillian NealReleased: Sep 22, 2015ISBN: 9781940174259Format: book
Book Preview
Gypsy Hope - Jillian Neal
Tutu
Chapter 1
Hope Hendrix needed to have sex. Not the epically disastrous sex she’d already had, either, but the mind-blowing sex her every-other-Thursday night book club friends were presently raving about. The kind the romance novels she loved to devour proclaimed possible. The kind that sizzled on the pages of the erotic novel the book club was reading. Somewhere between attempting to style her hair exactly like Tiffani Thiessen’s—from the 90210, not Saved by the Bell years—killing herself to get outstanding grades, trying to take care of her sister, Skye, minding her aunt’s archaic ideas about proper decorum for girls, getting through college in three years, and opening her own bookstore, she’d somehow forgotten to have good sex.
Now, she was 26, and quite possibly the least experienced person she knew. She’d finally come to accept that her stringy blonde, baby-fine hair was never going to do that sexy, shoulder-length, edgy thing, but never having an orgasm, or any fulfilling bedroom experience at all—she just couldn’t accept that.
Okay, you all know that I love Arley Copeland’s books as much as you do. All I’m saying is that her heroine got to have more orgasms in this book than I’ve had all freaking summer. I’m jealous. It’s getting to me,
Sophie DePriest huffed before downing another gulp of Sauvignon Blanc.
Hope joined her friends’ laughter, but didn’t comment. Sophie may not have had many orgasms in the last few months, but at least she’d had some. Her dry spells would be some kind of bountiful harvest for Hope.
With a sigh, Hope stood and headed to the storeroom of her beloved little beachside bookstore, Bandana Books. She returned with another bottle of wine, Pinot this time, and settled into the worn tweed sofa she’d picked up off of Craig’s List so patrons to her store would have a place to get lost deep between the covers of a book. That had been the idea, at least. Unfortunately, most of them used the sofa to flip through a book or magazine without ever making a purchase.
Discreetly, Hope slid to her left to cover the slight tear in the fabric with her thigh while she refilled a few of the empty glasses. She couldn’t afford to recover the sofa. She couldn’t really even afford the wine and snacks for her book club, but she hated to complain. She loved books and authors of all kinds. Her own bookstore was where she belonged … she hoped.
Okay, but what did you think of the silk robe belt as a tie-up scene?
Hope felt her pale cheeks begin to heat from the wine and the discussion. I’ve met Arley. I always wonder if she and her fiancée do that, or if she just comes up with it off the top of her head when she writes.
That scene is responsible for me attacking Kevin in bed four times in the last three days, so I’d say he’s a big fan.
Julie Morgan laughed hysterically, letting everyone know she wasn’t exaggerating.
Hope grinned. Kevin and Julie always made her wistful. They’d been married for five years, had adorable twin boys, and were still hot for each other. They had most everything she longed for. As always, whenever Hope considered marriage, she reminded herself that maintaining a decent dating relationship would be an excellent first step, and that always meant her next thought was going to be … Brock Camden. She’d just had breakfast with him that morning at Mac and Molly’s Surf, Turf, and Coffee shop, but she already missed him. Lately, he’d been busy helping Ryan McNamara with the new hotel that was going in on the other side of Gypsy Beach, the tiny, bohemian, North Carolina, beach town that had raised Hope. The hotel was a big job, and Brock was Ryan’s go-to roofer and framer.
She’d been swooning over him since ninth grade when he’d actually asked her to be his lab partner in biology. Hope always took advanced courses. She was one of the only freshmen in the class. Brock was a year older.
She could still recall the dumbfounded awe that had worked through her puberty-laden body when the star receiver for the Wellsley High football team asked if she’d like to sit with him at that lab table. The cool black laminate top that she’d clung to as she’d taken the seat had likely been what kept her from spontaneously combusting when he’d winked at her. No one like Brock had ever noticed her before that moment. And yet now, all these years later, they were still great friends. If Hope were being honest, as much as she adored the women seated around her in her book club, Brock was her best friend.
Well, you brought it up, Hope, so what did you think of it?
Sophie demanded, effectively ripping her out of the past and thrusting her firmly into the present.
Grinning, Hope set her wine glass down on the table and considered. Honestly, that’s the thing I love most about Arley’s writing. She’s able to put so much emotion into her work that you’re onboard with whatever the couple is doing. He was tying her up, and honestly, I thought the whole thing was very intimate and loving. If an author can’t effectively capture the emotions of both of the people involved, it comes off as cold and abusive, but hers never read that way. She’s my favorite erotic writer. In fact, I’m not reading any more BDSM books unless the relationship is healthy. It can be healthy and seductive, and should be for all parties involved not just the creepy, control-freak, sadistic guys.
Hear, hear!
Jana Evans, the fourth member of the Guilty Pleasures book club, lifted her wine glass. Julie and Sophie nodded their agreement as a wicked glint lit Sophie’s sky-blue eyes. I’m taking a group poll. Who here has either tied up a guy and had their way with him, or has let some guy tie you down and banged your brains out? Obviously, our little Hope-y hasn’t, but how about you two?
Hope tried not to let the comment get to her. She often exaggerated her experiences when talking to her friends, but they all knew she read about sex a lot more than she actually had it. That problem didn’t just cover sex. It pretty much applied to her entire life. She read about everything, but never did anything.
Rolling her eyes, Julie laughed. How the heck do you think I got Kev to sleep with me again after we birthed twins? We were terrified to touch each other. Two is enough. He has Superman sperm or something. At that point, we were certain we’d never sleep again, so I finally had to tie him down, show him the paperwork I made Doc Thompson sign swearing that he’d tied my tubes, and rode him cowgirl-style until we both temporarily forgot how freaking exhausted we were.
The group cracked up, but Hope doubted Julie had to work quite that hard to get Kevin in bed. He always seemed to be drooling over her. Kevin was a baseball coach at Wellsley High, the high school they’d all attended. Julie had been the cheerleading coach right up until the moment they’d gotten pregnant with twins and she could no longer see her feet.
Before anymore confessions could be made, thunder rumbled out over the Barrier Islands that buffeted Gypsy Beach from the stronger tides. A streak of lightning fractured the sky.
Oh, no.
Hope groaned as she frantically raced to the large plate-glass windows and tried to determine how long it would take the storm to reach them.
Brock Camden sat at a table in Whiskey Dave’s Sportsbar, nursing his second beer and contemplating approximately how hard he’d have to smash his head into the cheap wood-grain laminate to knock himself out cold. It seemed the only way to avoid hearing Matt Logan, Seth Moyar, and Ben Davis retell the story of how they’d taken Wellsley High all the way to the state championship back in the day, and how Brock’s impossible, behind-the-back catch and seventy-yard touchdown had brought home the trophy. It was eight fucking years ago. Why must they still talk about it every single time they all got together? Didn’t anyone have anything noteworthy to discuss that had happened in the last decade? His best high-school friends may want to revel in their heyday, but Brock would prefer to never think about the sham that had been his high school career ever again.
And here’s another round for the heroes of Gypsy Beach.
Dave, the owner and head bartender, placed several additional pitchers of beer before them. Brock fought not to vomit. The entire stupid town would never forget that championship game. Pictures of it were plastered all over the bar. Brock could never escape his legacy, no matter how hard he tried.
Turning to stare out the large windows that constructed the front of the only sports bar between Gypsy Beach and Wilmington, Brock noted the way the lightning danced in the distance. He grimaced and pulled his phone from his pocket to make sure she hadn’t already tried to call. Looked to be a heck of a storm. Late summer storms in Gypsy Beach always were—beautiful in their power, quick in their deluge, and a disaster for Hope.
Hey, I’m gonna head on.
He threw down two tens even though he’d never received a bill from Dave, who always insisted that it was a pleasure to serve the town heroes. Brock always insisted on paying anyway.
Nah, not yet! We haven’t even gotten to the no-hitter you pitched junior year,
Seth scoffed.
Brock rolled his eyes automatically. Are those stories ever going to get old? No one gives a fuck what I did in high school.
He’s in a bad mood. Needs to get laid,
Matt chuckled derisively.
Feeling no need to respond to the truthfulness of that, Brock slung his chair into the table and turned to leave.
Hey, wait. Nate said he’d take us out Saturday at half price since the season’s over. You in?
Matt urged as Brock headed towards the parking lot.
Oh yeah, that’s what he wanted to do. Spend all day Saturday stuck out on a fishing boat listening to more remembrances he wanted desperately to forget. He turned back briefly. Nah, I can’t. I’m hanging out with Hope.
He wasn’t certain that was true. They didn’t have anything planned, but if nothing else, he could go to her house, watch a movie or something.
Man, why don’t you just nail her and get her out of your system? You’ve been hanging out with her for years. She cannot possibly be that interesting. Just get a blow-up doll,
Seth chanted derisively.
Brock’s eyes narrowed. He fought the desperate urge to slam his fist into Seth’s smug face. Shut the fuck up, Seth. She’s one of my best friends. What’s it to you, anyway?
Don’t lie, man. You’ve had a thing for Hope Hendrix since before you caught that interception. Why not just ask her out?
Matt tried to smooth over Seth’s crude remark.
I’m leaving.
Brock offered a half wave and headed out. There were a million reasons he couldn’t ask Hope out, none of which he would ever get into with those morons, or anyone else for that matter. She was so far out of his league it wasn’t even funny. He counted himself lucky that she always seemed to want to hang with him. She was sweet, funny, smart as hell, and beautiful. He loved the way she just said whatever she was thinking. She was unlike any other woman he’d ever been around. He never had to guess with her. She was open and honest with him, and somehow seemed to think he was smart. When she asked his opinion, he was always dumbfounded. She was perfect and deserved so much more than he could ever give her. And she always has her head stuck in a book. That was the biggest problem, he reminded himself before he cranked his F-150 and headed back towards the shore.
He couldn’t make out one word of all of those books she read without end. That meant doing anything more than being Hope’s friend was absolutely out of the question.
Hope, here.
Sophie downed the last half of her glass of wine and set the glass on top of the mysteries shelf to catch yet another slow drip. You have got to get this roof fixed!
I know, I know,
Hope called from the storeroom where she was mopping up the drenched counter and setting out her collection of old pots and buckets to catch the incoming downpour. A slight grin formed on her features. An odd response to the disaster before her, for sure, but she couldn’t help it.
What are you grinning about?
Sophie huffed as she and Jana quickly removed the cheese tray and replaced it with another bucket.
Because she knows Brock is about to call and check on her, and with the insurance money from the storm last fall, and the money she’s been saving up all summer, she can now afford a new roof, which means Brock Camden and all of his extreme cowboy gorgeousness will be at her shop for the next week or so. She wants to husk his corn, so to speak,
Jana answered.
Fevered heat now blazed in Hope’s pale cheeks as she tried to catch her breath from racing around the shop to make sure all of the leaks were covered. She hated that when she blushed a slight remnant of the freckles that had dotted her complexion as a child reappeared. Jana, I’ve been friends with Brock for years. I can’t go out with him … no matter how badly I might want to.
Defeat weighted her entire form.
Girl, do you know how many men would love a fuck-a-friend plan for a few weeks, or heck, a few months with no strings attached? Friends with benefits. It’s practically de rigueur now. Offer him that. This is what happens when you brainiacs overthink everything. Let sex be sex. Let Brock Camden work his magic muscles, cowboy drawl, and his legendary bedroom skills over your body. When it runs its course, go back to being friends.
Sophie’s tone was aggravatingly matter-of-fact, as if her suggestion were a perfectly logical solution to Hope’s problem.
Soph.
Julie rolled her eyes. Rein in the randy, okay?
She turned to Hope and offered her a kind smile. You know Kev and I were friends for years before we finally started dating. We were both afraid if it didn’t work that we’d end up losing the friendship. I regret all of those years now, Hope. It was so worth taking a chance, and if you want more out of the relationship, you’ll always wonder. Why not take a chance? Men are basically very tall, muscular little boys. Sometimes you have to tell them or show them what they want. You already know he adores you. Why not just see if there’s more to this? What if it turns out to be more perfect than you’ve even been imagining all these years? And honestly, if you never do anything about your feelings for Brock, you’re going to end up regretting it for the rest of your life. Even if he isn’t the one, you’ll always wonder. That’s not good, and it’s certainly not fair to the right guy if it isn’t Brock. If he is the one, being married to your best friend, well, it just doesn’t get any better than that. I want that for you and for Brock. You both deserve that.
Hmm, sounds very much like what I’ve been telling you for the last decade or so.
Jana linked arms with Julie in a show of solidarity.
You two hang out all the time; just try to feel him out about it before you feel him up,
Sophie laughed.
Yeah, yeah, I’ll think about it,
Hope sighed. Get out of here. I’ll clean up.
Julie’s words tossed and pitched in her mind. Their fury matched the drenching rain outside. She was right, and Hope was sick and tired of never actually living life. She’d spent all of her teenage years and most of her twenties hiding between the covers of books. It was high time she actually experienced something for herself instead of vicariously through a heroine.
And even if Julie and Kev’s story was only fodder for a romance novel and marriage wasn’t the ending she was going to get, Sophie’s idea wasn’t necessarily a bad one. At least she’d know if there could be more to her and Brock than a good friendship. He certainly had plenty of experience he could bring to her bed. She had no doubt that Brock could take her to completely undiscovered sexual heights. He wouldn’t stop until she’d climaxed repeatedly and he was thoroughly spent. Brock Camden never left any job undone. His bedroom skills were legendary in high school, and she’d endured standing by and watching him sweet talk dozens of women into his bed since then. Hope tried to dam back the feelings of betrayal. He certainly wasn’t hers to feel jealous over, but she also wasn’t that mousy little know-it-all from high school anymore.
She may have graduated salutatorian, but she’d never had any fun in school. Her sister, Skye, had dared Rick Stilton to kiss her because she was sixteen and had never even been kissed. How lame was that? Her little sister had vastly more experience than she did. When Hope was at home, trying to please their overbearing aunt who had become their guardian after the car accident that had killed their parents, Skye was out actually living life. Sure, she got caught sneaking out occasionally, but who cared now?
Always anxious to please her aunt, Hope had thrown herself into her Lit degree at the small community college. There were no frat parties, football games, or any other opportunities to bloom,
as Skye always insisted that she needed to do. Feeling like a complete outcast from society, she’d gone out with Brad for six months her senior year, long enough to make him officially a boyfriend. She assumed that would count for something, but she and Brad certainly hadn’t even come close to the level of passion her favorite authors wrote about. She knew placing her high hopes on fiction was probably not the most logical thing in the world, but actually achieving an orgasm while you’re with a guy didn’t seem like she was asking for the moon.
A few weeks ago, she’d begrudgingly agreed to go out with Trent Young. She’d endured dinner a few times and had seen a movie with him, but he was almost as thrilling as watching paint dry. Sick to death of hearing about his rich family’s sailing business, she’d never let things go beyond a kiss and had broken it off after their third date.
Maybe her friends were right. It was time for her to loosen up a bit, and oh how she wanted Brock to be the one to do the loosening. He was more than welcome to loosen her clothing, her undergarments, her stubborn resolve, and her conviction that he would never be interested in anything more than a friendship.
She forcibly shut down all memories of staring at him over the cover of her books and watching him flirt, tease, and make-out with most every girl on the cheerleading squad in high school and a myriad of other tall, well-endowed, long-legged, beautiful creatures since then. He never dated anyone very long. They never seemed to capture his attention for any length of time, but she and Brock had been friends for almost twelve years. That had to count for something, right? Staring down at her own B-cupped breasts and her decidedly short legs, she sighed.
But determination began to build in her tensed abdomen. No more hiding or cowering in fear of what might happen if she took a chance. She was going after life, and that meant she was going after Brock. The resolve sped her heart as she considered how to bring up the fact that she’d been lusting after him for nearly half of her life. Her phone rang and a broad grin lit her entire face.
Hello.
Somehow her smile continued to widen.
Hope? You okay? I’m heading that way. I’ll be there in just a few minutes. Matt dragged me out to Dave’s again. Just hang tight. I’ll help you clean everything up. We’ve got to get a new roof on there. You know I’d do it at cost, but I can’t cut Ryan out since he’s my boss. But he’ll give you a deal. I’ll talk to him,
all of this fell from Brock’s mouth without breath.
Hope giggled. Actually, I was just about to call you. I have the money saved up. Do you think you could come by tomorrow and make sure it’s not going to be more than you originally quoted and tell me when you can get started? I’m more than ready to stop being my own very bizarre bucket brigade.
Brock’s insanely sexy chuckle warmed her entire being. It won’t be more than planned. I won’t let it be, and I’m pulling in now. See you in a sec.
A moment later, the door swung open, and he appeared in all of his glory. Rain dotted the dark grey t-shirt that pulled across his chest and biceps like it couldn’t quite contain his muscles. A well-worn pair of Wranglers slung low on his hips and were perfectly rubbed in the places where his thighs taunted the fabric. His customary Nebraska Cornhuskers baseball cap sat on his thick brown hair.
Before he stepped inside, he wiped his boots on the ancient red mat on the front porch. At one time, it had displayed the word READ, but now was so worn only half of the R and the D were visible.
Hope could just make out his chiseled pecs in the wet t-shirt. She put her hands behind her back and held her index finger to keep from running her hands over his stomach and up his chest as she’d imagined doing dozens upon dozens of times. Even in her sleep, she dreamed about touching his body and letting him touch hers.
Pointing to all of the wine glasses serving as makeshift rain-catchers, he laughed again.
Forgot it was book club night. Kinda shitty of them to abandon you to empty the wineglasses,
he huffed as he quickly lifted the half-full glass on one of the non-fiction shelves, stalked quickly to the storeroom, emptied it, and replaced it before much of a puddle had formed.
Thank you for coming by. I sent them all home. I feel bad making them clean up the store. It’s my fault the roof leaks.
How is that your fault?
He paced around the storeroom, quickly climbed up on the worktable, showing off his athletic prowess, and pressed his fingers against sagging drywall on the ceiling. He produced yet another drip. Shaking his head, he leapt back down, grabbed the last available pot, and set it on the counter under the falling water.
I should have made the former owners at least lower the price on this place. I should have let you look at the roof before I bought it. I should have done a lot of things I never did.
Hope sighed. I should have told you years ago how I feel about you.
"You should stop being so hard on yourself. He grasped her shoulders and gave a light squeeze before he grabbed the tray of cheeses.
I’m assuming we aren’t keeping the soggy cheese?"
Uh, definitely not.
Hope wrinkled her nose as he banged the tray against the interior of the trash can to shake loose the sodden cheese. Recalling that he’d been out with Matt and the guys to Whiskey Dave’s, she offered him a sympathetic smile. So, how many times did you have to hear the behind-the-back-catch, seventy-yard touchdown story?
Too damn many, that’s for fucking sure.
Brock shook his head. Hope’s heart ached. He had always had a vocabulary that would have her Aunt Cora lighting candles, but Hope never minded. She generally loved words of all varieties. They fascinated her. But if Brock was letting them fly like that, something had really gotten to him.
You didn’t have to come by.
She tried to feel badly that he’d, once again, come to check on her. He always made certain she was okay. His kind care and concern meant the world to her. Secretly, she was thrilled he was there, but hoped he hadn’t put himself out.
His brow furrowed as he dried the cheese tray with some paper towels. I never mind coming by, Hope. You know that. Where did that come from?
I don’t know. You just seem irritated.
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