Title – Falling For Hope
Series – Four Winds #3
Author– Anne Conley
Genre– Paranormal Romance
Publication Date – March 5, 2014
Length (Pages/#words)- 46,000 words
Publisher – Anne Conley
Cover Artist – Vanessa Booke
Falling for Hope is book three in the Four Winds series, but they are all stand-alone novels.
The next morning, Hope was watching her feet as she climbed the steps to the library. She cursed to herself as she tasted the tangy-sweet saliva in her mouth again. Maybe it was some sort of building issue? She’d never heard of asbestos making people taste funny things, but she’d be sure to ask the other employees today, just in case.
As she neared the top of the stairs, Hope felt the prickly feeling yet again, and her gaze rose to the man standing in front of the library doors waiting.
“Aren’t the doors open?” She tried to sound solicitous, but the truth of the matter was, this guy took her breath away. It was the man that had watched her all day yesterday.
“Yes, but I won’t be staying today.” The low rumble of his voice greeted her a cheery good morning unlike anything else she could ask for. Just the sound of his voice made her day perfect.
“Oh.” Disappointed that he wouldn’t be in her little room of the library bit through the fog of his voice.
“Come to dinner with me tonight.”
Shocked speechless, she stared at him. He had an air of expectation about him, and his forehead crinkled in thought at the same time that she heard his luxurious voice rumble inside her head.
Come. Say yes. His sexy-as-sin voice resonated inside her head.
Hope’s eyes darted around, making sure there wasn’t anybody else who could have done that, before she looked back up at him. “You don’t have to use the force on me. I’m thinking. I was just taken by surprise, is all.”
Both of his eyebrows rose, almost to his hairline and his eyes widened in surprise. “You heard that?”
“Didn’t you mean for me to?” She countered, putting a hand on her hip.
His face remained impassive. “Well…yes. But usually it’s not so obvious.” His tone of voice suggested he wasn’t expecting Hope to call him on his little trick, and seeing that gave her a little boost of confidence.
“You go around using Jedi mind tricks on women to get dates often?”
He chuckled, and his eyes dropped to the ground. “No. I’ve never done it for a date, no.”
Hope’s eyes roamed his body from his feet, clad in shiny leather loafers, up his gray woolen slacks (Hello, Fifty), to the black sweater vest he wore over a white long-sleeved button down shirt, open at the collar. His face held strong features: a square jaw with a small dimple in the middle, high, obscenely high cheekbones, a rather large mouth that made her mind travel to erotic places, and those eyes… The man exuded a strength that wasn’t visible. Well, it was visible, he looked like his muscles had muscles, but he had an air of intense power and vigor about him that told Hope he expected people to do what he said. Often.
Then her eyes traveled to herself. She had worn black dress pants today, with a shirt that actually sort of fit her large breasts, although it showed a little more cleavage than she was comfortable with. Hope looked at him again, and his eyes held the question. What was her answer?
The question in his eyes turned to surprise. Apparently, this guy didn’t get questioned very often. An image flitted through her mind, the two of them together at a table, lit with candles, Hope’s head thrown back in laughter.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you do that, too?”
He had the grace to look sheepish. “Will you go to dinner with me?”
His head snapped up, and his mouth fell open. “Why not?”
“Because I’m having dinner with my parents tonight. But you didn’t answer my question? Why do you want to take me out?”
It was his turn to peruse her. His eyes started at her feet, and slowly worked their way up her body. By the time they reached her face, Hope was squirming. “Why not?” The timbre of his voice washed over her, like it had yesterday, and Hope actually felt her breasts get heavier, as if they were swelling out of her bra.
Why not, indeed?
“Okay, my lunch is from one to two.”
“I’ll pick you up here, then? At one o’clock?”
Hope nodded, suddenly speechless again, unable to look away as he turned his long, lean frame and deftly descended the steps. Suppressing the urge to do a happy dance, lest he turn around and catch her, she scurried inside the library.
Anne Conley lives in a small town in East Texas, with her husband, two kids and numerous goats. She brazenly stole her pseudonym from her great-grandmother, a true pioneer woman who raised seven kids alone: churning butter, plucking chickens, knitting clothes, and putting coal oil on every visible wound. Anne’s Stories of serendipity feature real people, living life and finding love in a small town. She also has a Paranormal Romance series, the Four Winds about archangels “falling” in love and coping with turning into humans Her writing is escapist therepy, and she succumbs to it every chance she gets.
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