About LAST CHANCE FAMILY
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About Hope Ramsay
Hope Ramsay grew up on the North Shore of Long Island, but every summer Momma would pack her off under the care of Aunt Annie to go visiting with relatives in the midlands of South Carolina. Her extended family includes its share of colorful aunts and uncles, as well as cousins by the dozens, who provide the fodder for the characters you'll find in Last Chance, South Carolina. She's a two-time finalist in the Golden Heart and is married to a good ol' Georgia boy who resembles every single one of her heroes. She lives in Fairfax, Virginia, where you can often find her on the back deck, picking on her thirty-five-year-old Martin guitar.
Hope’s social media
Top 5 Favorite things about the holidays
2. Christmas Trees
3. Decorating the house
4. Christmas Eve dinner with friends and family
5. The new flannel PJs that Santa brings me every Christmas Eve.
Charlene stood in the kitchen doorway, her hair wet, her stomach empty, and her heart suddenly racing. Mike leaned against the counter, his head hung low. He seemed to be struggling to draw breath.
She crossed the room and put her hand on the middle of his back. His T-shirt was soft, the body beneath it hard and warm.
He straightened and let out a big breath. "Sorry."
"Killer heartburn," he said, then immediately changed the subject. He moved toward the coffee maker, shaking off her touch. "You want some coffee?"
He turned and gave her a quick glance. That's all it took.
Her heart wrenched, and she responded the way she always did when confronted with unspoken pain. She encountered it often, usually in the eyes of animals. But it was there, beyond that mild-mannered expression he tried to wear. He was hurting. She reached up to stroke his cheek. Her fingers encountered his warm skin and rough stubble. That touch flipped her switch. Electricity flowed inside her.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as her fingers moved over his face to his ear and up into his bright red hair.
"Don't," he whispered, but he made no attempt to move away. He reminded her of an abused animal that growls when all he wants is a little kindness. She cupped the nape of his neck and pulled him down as she rose up on tip-toes.
She gave him a soft, gentle kiss. Nothing deep or sexy, just a little kiss, intended to comfort. But it didn't stay that way. Mike grabbed her by the cheeks and pulled her up into it like a man starving for love. His tongue stroked hers. His right hand dropped to her hip, and he yanked her forward and into his chest.
Her knees almost buckled. But she didn't fall, because Mike had her. His hand found the small of her back as he sagged against the counter. They leaned together, thigh to thigh, chest to chest. The kiss turned utterly carnal. His hand wandered up over her spine to her breast. He palmed it. Her nipples came alive. He groaned.
His words ignited a bad-girl fire that pretty much torched her reservations about him. "Okay."
His gaze widened. "I'm not a reliable bet," he said.
She laughed. "You think I don't know that?"
She could almost feel him having second thoughts. And she had no intention of allowing that. She'd have the rest of her life to regret this choice. Or not.
Which would she regret more? Letting her reservations about him put the kibosh on this? Or spending the rest of her life wondering if maybe she should have bet on Mike Taggart?
Heartbreak was her middle name. "I'm a gambler," she whispered. "And sometimes the long shots pay off."
"Not usually," he said.
"Maybe not. But I'm the eternal optimist.”
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