Love In A Hopeless Place (BWWM Romance)

by Anna Rudolph

  Love In A Hopeless Place

  A once in a lifetime love formed from darker days

  A touching romance, brought to you by Anna Rudolph of BWWM Club.

  Sonya is a dedicated nurse, doing a wonderful job taking care of Ray, a stage 3 liver cancer patient nearing the end of his life.

  They’ve bonded and become great friends, but Ray’s billionaire son Philip?

  He’s another story.

  Although he’s gorgeous, he’s also aloof and arrogant, and doesn’t spend nearly enough time with his ailing father.

  So when Ray tries to set them up, thinking they’d be a great couple, Sonya takes a lot of convincing.

  Eventually she comes around, and when they go on a dinner date they warm to each other, and soon sparks are flying.

  But when Ray lets her know it’s his time to go, and passes away, her new lover withdraws, leaving Sonya deeply hurt – she’s now lost Ray and Philip.

  Will their grief drive them apart for good?

  Or can they learn how to heal together, and find the love they’ve always wanted?

  Find out in this exciting yet touching romance by Anna Rudolph of BWWM Club.

  Suitable for over 18s only due to sex scenes so hot, you’ll want a doctor on call!

  Tip: Search BWWM Club on Amazon to see more of our great books.

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  Copyright © 2016 to Anna Rudolph and AfroRomanceBooks.com. No part of this book can be copied or distributed without written permission from the above copyright holders.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Bonus Book – Surrogate For The Billionaire

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

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  Chapter 1

  The sunlight seemed to eagerly charge into the room as Sonya pulled back the heavy, maroon drapes. She tied them off to the side of the window with a silky gold rope and pulled the cord to open the dark wood blinds behind them. She pushed open the window and a chilly, moist, spring breeze relieved the muggy room.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she cooed, her voice soft and lovely.

  Beep. Click-whoosh. Beep.

  The room seemed an improper setting for the hospital bed. It was decently spacious, the walls a rich golden hue. Along one wall stood a row of tall bookcases that had once played home to a seemingly endless, and disturbingly neat, collection of giant leather-bound encyclopedias. Now, the shelves were packed with hardcovers and paperbacks of all sizes and a myriad of sport and fishing magazines. On the far side of the bed sat a large antique globe, the inside of which used to serve as a classy hidden bar full of crystal tumblers and ancient scotch. The top hung back now, the small table inside a mess of orange and white pill bottles and a clear plastic cup of water with an attached straw.

  “Ray?” She rested her hand softly on her patient’s frail forearm.

  “Ungh,” Ray grunted back at her. His eyelids seemed to unstick from each other as he slowly woke, flexing and twisting his facial muscles.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she repeated. Her voice and smile was loving, sweet, and totally genuine. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like a million bucks,” he said, dryly, through a wide yawn.

  She laughed. “I’ll bet you do.”

  They began their morning routine. She helped Ray sit up slowly, bringing his bare feet to the soft, thick Oriental rug. She sat beside him, draping his thin arm across her shoulders and stood with him. He used his other hand to hold his IV roller, a tall metal rod on wheels. A bag dangled from the top and a green oxygen canister rested in a rack on the bottom, a mess of tubes led to his arm and nose. It was a slow process to the bathroom, and once the door was closed behind him, she returned to his room. With deft, practiced motions, Sonya undressed the bed, stripping away the used sheets and pillowcases and replacing them from the shelf under the bed. She came back around to the globe, counting out his first batch of pills for the morning from the assorted bottles. Cupping the pills in her hand and grabbing his water bottle, she walked back to the bathroom and rapped softly on the door. Ray opened and accepted the tablets and water bottle, and Sonya waited, praying for an easy morning.

  The prayers seemed lost on the wind though; on the other side of the door she heard Ray vomit. His sensitive digestive system immediately rejected the pile of pills. With each dry, violent retch, Sonya winced as though it was her own body in pain.

  Ray finished. After brushing his teeth, he opened the door and leaned back on Sonya who led him back to bed. Once he was propped back up on his pillows, Sonya plumped a fresh IV bag and replaced the flat one on his rack.

  “Breakfast!” she sang.

  Ray laughed, a brittle chuckle that broke off into coughs in his inflamed throat.

  A pang of sympathetic sadness ricocheted around inside Sonya’s heart. She could remember when she had first met Ray just over a year ago, a strong and cynical man. He had just been diagnosed with stage three cancer of the liver, though an outsider would never have known. His six-foot frame had been fleshed out with the muscles of a healthy, athletic, sixty-year-old man. His hair, though almost entirely silver, was thick and full, and the yellow tint from the jaundice almost blended in with his outdoorsy, sun-kissed skin. Ray was one of Sonya’s first chemo patients and definitely her favorite. His pessimistic humor and down to earth wisdom made him quite a conversationalist and they had quickly developed a friendly bond.

  Six months later, they found more cancer in his lymph nodes. Though Sonya would always see the best of Ray, objectively he looked every part the sick elderly man. He’d lost almost sixty pounds, his head was shiny bald and his pale skin, and the whites of his eyes were dramatically yellowed. Sonya had been in the office with him, holding his frail hand, when the doctor had given him less than a year to live. She’d shed and quickly wiped away a tear so that Ray wouldn’t see her cry.

  “What would you actually like for breakfast?” she asked him. “Brownies or cookies?”

  Ray cracked a smile. “Sonya, if a pretty woman like you had said that to me forty years ago, I would’ve married you on the spot.”

  “My, what a gentleman,” she gasped and fluttered her hand in front of her, feeling like a silly southern lass. She didn’t know what it was about Ray, he brought out the fun in her.

  “But a brownie sounds divine.” He comically winked a yellow eye.

  Sonya laughed, piling her long braids into a giant bun and securing them with a loose elastic. Most of her former colleagues probably would’ve found their banter degrading, or even racist, but Sonya enjoyed it. They both knew the flirt wasn’t real, and Sonya was comfortable and proud in her chocolate skin. She told Ray she’d be right back and padded her bare feet down the hall.

  After that day at the doctors
, Sonya had been surprised the next day when Ray’s oncologist had paged her. Dr. Collins, a wiry, eccentric man with round spectacles that always looked as though they were about to fall off his long nose, had asked her to close the door and have a seat. She had been nervous, she had no idea what the meeting could be about.

  “So, Sonya,” the doctor began, “I’ve noticed you have quite the relationship with Mr. Jones.”

  “Oh, um,” she stuttered, “yes, sir. He’s quite the guy. But it’s always been professional! I don’t want you to think-”

  “Hold it right there, Ms. Layman,” he chuckled. “No one’s accusing you of anything inappropriate now. Take a breath.”

  She did, deep and slow. She waited.

  “Mr. Jones, as you know, has decided to forego further chemotherapy and radiation treatment.”

  She nodded sullenly, the wound still raw in her gut.

  “His son has contacted me to set up a 24/7 home care situation for Ray-”

  “Wait, he has a son?” Sonya was shocked. Ray had never mentioned a son. How could she never have heard of this? Why had his son never been to a single appointment with his father? She’d known his wife had passed several years before in a car accident, she’d assumed he’d had no other family…

  “Yes, his son Philip. You’ve never heard of Philip Jones?”

  Had she ever heard of Philip Jones. He was a notorious local celebrity, a gifted boy who had come up with next to nothing and rocketed into an adulthood making billions of dollars doing something with computers that went right over Sonya’s head. “That...That’s Ray’s son?” She was in shock. Jones was a common last name, she had never even considered it.

  “Yes,” the doctor continued, “and he’s asked me to refer a caregiver for his father. You’re the obvious number one choice, I just wanted to make sure it was alright with you before I put your name forward. The pay he’s offering is… handsome.”

  “I don’t care about the pay.” She’d meant it. “I would love to be there for Ray.”

  So there she was. Barefoot, in yoga pants at work, in the world’s most bittersweet job. She loved Ray, truly, but as the months passed it was becoming clearer and clearer that she wouldn’t be here much longer. She’d been so distracted by the pain that losing Ray would bring, she had forgotten to think about the fact that once he did she would also be out of work. She pondered this as she made her way to the kitchen.

  Once Ray had made the decision to ride out the cancer, Philip had moved him in. The house was a modern marvel, one sprawling level of smooth wood and stone. Despite the perfect straight lines and right angles, it looked perfectly at home on its hilly lot surrounded by unnaturally green grass. Sonya remembered her first drive up the unnaturally smooth driveway, gaping at the sleek house. She’d been given a garage door opener and watched with uneasy wonder as the dark wood garage door slid sideways when she clicked the button. The floor was done in hardwood that looked nicer than most houses she’d been in, and she’d felt guilty driving her blue Honda Accord into the impeccably clean and empty space. The house had always intimidated her; even after six months, she didn’t feel at home anywhere but Ray’s room. It was one of the things she was looking forward to leaving behind once Ray passed on.

  She considered her plans for the future as she passed through the hallway and then the living room. The incredible high walls and expensive abstract art were just background noise to Sonya; she’d always thought the sleek modern furniture in the living room looked uncomfortable. She’d saved so much money working here, her food and board were practically included and the doctor hadn’t been exaggerating about the generous salary she made here. She thought maybe she would take some time off once the job here was through. It was a unique experience planning to support your own grief of a loved one, and Sonya felt slightly morbid and guilty at the thought before shaking it away.

  The dining room was almost never used but always impeccably clean. The table dominated the room, a long matte black surface with a stripe of glass down the middle. Simple black chairs with padded leather seats and backs lined the table on either side, the two chairs on the ends boasting high backs and masculine arm rests. A strange light fixture hung from the high, arched ceilings, a mass of bent metal, lights and chains that looked like moving water and shimmered with the sunlight pouring through two-story high windows. Sonya made her way through there to the kitchen, a slightly homier room with a staggered, sandy tile floor and smooth, dark cabinets. Coming around the solid counter island, she opened the sleek stainless steel refrigerator door, coming face to face with a plate of Ray’s special brownies.

  Philip had a full-time chef, a hip culinary schoolboy prodigy named Ferne. Ferne was a funny kid in his mid-twenties, his black hair always swept back from his forehead in a flourished wave, chunky black glasses framing his half-Asian eyes. When Ray had been prescribed medical marijuana, Ferne had been almost too eager to try some “magical” baking. The kitchen always smelled funny the day he made new batches, but Ray had come to really prefer the way the brownies helped his pain. Not to mention the way they helped his constant nausea.

  She peeled back the cellophane, carefully pinching a fat brownie off the top of the pile. She should’ve grabbed a plate first, she realized. The brownie looked delicious, fluffy and chocolatey with a beautiful, crackled crust on top. Ferne really knew what he was doing. She cupped a hand under the treat to catch any crumbs, she didn’t want to make a mess for Maricelle, Philip’s cleaner. She was so focused on her task, she hadn’t heard anyone else walk into the kitchen and was startled when Philip was standing behind the door to the fridge as it closed. She gasped, immediately embarrassed.

  Even though she and Philip had technically lived in the same building for half a year, she knew next to nothing about him. He was a tall man, well over six feet, with the type of confidence that made him seem even taller. His thick brunette hair was trimmed professionally short, and he had Ray’s golden hazel eyes. While undeniably handsome, Sonya had never stopped resenting him for the way he treated his father. Or anyone, for that matter. Paying Sonya to babysit Ray about summed up his involvement with his father’s illness. He was courteous to his staff, that she'd seen, but definitely not friendly.

  “Philip,” she said politely.

  “Sonya,” his tone was equally dry.

  “Ray’s going to be happy to see you.” The accusation in her voice was clear, she almost dared him to go visit his father.

  “Oh,” Philip at least had the grace to look embarrassed, “um, I've actually got to pretty much eat and run...unfortunately… And I, uh, wouldn't want to disturb him-”

  “Actually, he's already up.” She smiled. She was usually above spite like this, but she could feel it seething through her narrowed, glaring eyes. She watched Philip’s ego deflate a little as he fidgeted and stuttered. She would never understand his discomfort around Ray, the fumbling boyish way he ducked his own father. She had never met her father and liked to think if she had any chance at a relationship with him like Philip had she would take full advantage.

  She reached past Philip to the cabinet behind him, and he physically jumped. She tried to contain a smile that he was so nervous, and he stepped aside so she could grab a plate. The square plate was matte gray porcelain and made the brownie look even more appetizing. She thrust the plate into Philip’s hands and said, “Why don't you take him his breakfast and say hello?” Her voice was almost too sweet.

  “I..,” he started, then stopped. He sighed heavily. “Alright.” He turned and reluctantly shuffled out of the kitchen. Sonya watched him go, trying not to notice the way his white shirt hugged his taught back muscles. She's definitely seen worse in boxers too, she thought.

  She followed him through the house to Ray’s room in the west wing. He paused before the door, his hand on the knob and took a slow, deep breath. He pushed the door open and she heard him hesitantly call out as he stepped in, “Heyyyy, Dad…”

  Sonya walked past Ray’s d
oor to her own. Her room was just down the hall. Her clothes were in the dressers and her toiletries dominated the bathroom counter, but the stylish guest room had always felt like just that; a guest room. She felt again that this wasn't her home. There was a comfortable, soft couch in Ray’s room where she usually slept. He was rigged up to enough alarms during the night to wake an entire city, so she didn't necessarily need to be that close, but she preferred it.

  Through the wall, she heard the men murmuring, and she smiled to herself. She knew Philip’s visit, though unwilling as it was, would brighten Ray’s entire day. Pulling on the elastic in her hair, Sonya released her braids. The woven hair fell down straight to her waist, the fuzziness at her roots reminding her again that she would need someone to watch Ray so she could get her hair done. She'd felt selfish and put it off, but it was starting to get unruly. She examined herself in the mirror, passively pleased with what she saw. As far as Sonya was concerned, being self conscious was a waste of time. You're given one face, one body, she thought. Why waste time hating it? That's what her mother had always said. Marsha Layman had been one hell of a woman, bringing Sonya up alone in a less than ideal neighborhood. She'd motivated Sonya every day of her life, making her feel fiercely loved up until her last breath. Her fight and eventual loss to breast cancer six years ago pushed Sonya through nursing school. All she'd ever wanted was to help people like her mom.

  Sonya had heard her entire life that she was the spitting image of her mother, and looking now she could see it was true. “You've got none of your bastard daddy in you,” her mom had told her, all the time, “and girl, you have no idea how lucky that makes you.” Her mocha skin was smooth and clear; a splatter of barely distinguishable freckles lined the bridge of her beautifully wide nose. Her lips were full and plush; her sultry eyes brown with a small ring of emerald green around her pupils. She'd been a runner and mild fitness enthusiast in high school and college, though six months of hanging out with Ray indoors had padded her naturally curvy frame just a bit. She turned side to side, scrutinizing her figure. Not bad, she thought.