by Wendy Vella
Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
THANK YOU!
SNEAK PEEK
A LONG WAY HOME
Sexy, contemporary romance filled with heart, humor and characters you’ll fall in love with.
Hope Lawrence’s life has imploded. Losing her job, savings, and lastly boyfriend, she thought she’d hit rock bottom. WRONG! She makes a fool of herself in front of her childhood nemesis. How is she to face Newman again, knowing his black eye was a result of her stupidity? Can she go back to Lake Howling and pick up the pieces of her life? Both seem unlikely, as does the sudden attraction she feels for the man who wears designer clothes and has a girl in every city. Her head is telling her to run, but her heart has other ideas.
Paul Theodore Newman liked his life. He has order, friendship and a job that allows him to help people, and until Hope Lawrence storms back into town, that was enough. Her fashion sense makes him shudder, as do her kale smoothies! Down on her luck, she challenges him at every turn, but when trouble follows her to Howling, he finds himself determined to help her, only to discover it’s him who needs rescuing from the demons of his past.
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A Long Way Home, is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Long Way Home is published by Wendy Vella
Copyright © 2017 Wendy Vella
ISBN: 978-09941388-7-3
DEDICATION
On the 4 th of July 2017, we welcomed Ari Dion Hurinui into our family.
Your arrival has only strengthened the bonds of love this family already have my sweet little grandson. Nana loves you to the moon and back already xx.
CHAPTER ONE
Denver
Newman’s week had been a clusterfuck. There was no other way to describe it. He’d been guilted by his mother’s friend into looking at the failing PR firm. Bribery had included cookies and a pot roast, and sucker that he was for food, added to the fact he couldn’t say no to anyone, he’d agreed. That was his first mistake. The second was he’d forgotten just what an arrogant son of a bitch Mrs. Marla’s son actually was.
Newman had hit a wall with every suggestion he’d offered. The thickheaded idiot and his colleagues on the board had vetoed each one. Today, he’d packed up his briefcase while the idiots watched, and then left. His parting shot had been “when you get real, call me.” His cell phone had rung five times since, but he’d ignored it.
Day had drifted into night while he sat in his hotel room and continued to read through files and try to work out how to do something for those stubborn fuckers. When frustration started to turn him mean, he decided on a walk to clear his head.
The problem was, Newman didn’t like failing, and he didn’t like letting people down. It was a fault, there was no doubting that, and one that had cost him dearly in his lifetime. It started when he was old enough to realize just how much he owed his parents, and had never diminished. People’s expectations had always weighed heavily on him, and so he did what he could in life to live up to them. Not this time, however. This time he’d walked away. A rarity, but it had either been that or maim someone.
“Let them simmer,” Newman muttered, looking at the sign up ahead. Beer and naked dancing girls. Seriously, who the hell could ask for more. In his current state of mind, he could spend a few happy hours drinking a buzz on, then head back to his hotel and fall into slumber.
The flashing neon sign said Come in for a eer. Which suggested someone needed to change the bulbs on the B . It didn’t look like a place you’d take your mom, but was perfect if you wanted to sulk in a dark corner.
Opening the door, Newman winced as a loud screeching noise assaulted his eardrums. Looking around the dark interior he searched for the culprit. A cat, maybe? Was someone torturing the poor animal? He hoped not, because he was a sucker for cats, and didn’t feel like getting into it with someone tonight. He wasn’t sure he would stop.
Moving through the dark recesses of the bar, Newman saw a group of men clustered around a chair. On top stood a woman. She had her back to Newman and appeared to be dancing and singing. He realized it was her making the god-awful noise.
She wore a tartan skirt that stopped above her knees, torn black tights, and a black tank top with two diagonal zips. Her boots were for shit kicking, black with laces up to the ankles. Not the kind of outfit to inspire lust while exotic dancing, Newman didn’t think, but then it took all kinds. Having said that, when she turned, she did a move with her hips that was quite something, and he had to admit, that was a fine ass. He believed the term for her moves was twerking, and the men watching seemed appreciative, but he hadn’t come here for that. He wanted beer.
Moving to the bar, he sat.
“What can I do you for?”
Newman gave his order and tried to block out the screeching still going on behind him.
“Seriously, man, she may have a fine ass, and seems to move well, but she can’t sing worth a damn,” Newman said, wincing as she hit a high note… wrong.
The man had that bored expression that said he’d been there too long, and while he wasn’t looking, life had passed him by.
“Never seen her before. She wandered in a few hours ago, started drinking bourbon. After three, ended up on the chair. She has the moves, and I don’t think those guys are worried about her voice. It’s the rack that’s the drawcard, and that ass.”
The barman said the words with no emotion, suggesting he’d seen too many of each and was immune.
“Not a heavy drinker then.”
“Lightweight,” the man said, looking disgusted. “And as the entertainment’s taking a break, I’m letting her keep the crowd happy. In fact, with those moves, I’d look at hiring her if she wanted work.”
“Hell of a crowd,” Newman said beneath his breath. There were a total of five men in the room, seven counting him and the barman.
Newman had just taken a mouthful of beer when the woman, who had her back to him, did some kind of shimmy that made his eyes cross, then turned to the front. The smile on his face froze as he got his first clear look at her. Sure it was dark, and he was some distance away, but he knew that face. What the hell was Hope Lawrence doing here? The woman was a serious nature freak, straight a
s they came, and he could add geeky to the mix. Other than that one embarrassing moment with his friend Buster, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her drink alcohol. Not that he’d seen her in years, but still, he didn’t think she’d have changed that much… or had she? Newman was on his feet before he realized it, and heading her way.
“Show us what you got, sweetheart!”
The men who ringed Hope were encouraging her to get her clothes off with whistles and calls of encouragement, and soon they were all chanting their demands.
Newman had nearly reached her when one of the men slid his hand up the outside of one long leg, and under the hem of her skirt. Hope looked down, and Newman could tell she was struggling to focus. She tried to slap the hand aside, but missed and nearly tumbled off the chair.
“How about you back off and give the lady some room?”
“Get lost!” one of the men said, not even bothering to look at Newman, who now stood behind the group. “She’s no lady.”
Newman was one of those people who took a while to anger, but when he got there it was best you stand clear. A slow burner, his friends called him. The combination of those idiots who’d been pushing his buttons all week, tiredness, and a longing to be home contributed to his current dark mood. And now some idiot was telling him to get lost.
“No,” Newman said, forcing his way through the ring of men all getting an eyeful of Hope’s breasts as she bent at the waist to shimmy her hips. “Now back off, or I’ll make you.”
Someone grabbed his shoulder, so he started swinging. The first blow got a guy on the jaw and sent him backward. He took a shot to the eye that had him seeing stars. Newman lived in a small town with several friends, all of whom kept fit like he did. They sparred often. He was grateful for that now. Swinging, he took the man down.
“Hope!”
She looked down at him, her dark eyes squinting as she tried to focus.
“N-Newman?”
He was pulled away, and got into it with another guy. Turning back seconds later, he lunged for Hope’s backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Taking one of her hands in his, he tugged her down until she fell over his shoulder, then made a run for the door. Someone barred his way, so he swung out with his foot and sent the man stumbling backward. He’d thank Katie McBride for that move when he saw her.
Noise erupted behind him, but he didn’t stop to look. Reaching the door, he threw it open and ran out into the night air, heading left. He kept moving at pace, with Hope jostling up and down on his shoulder. He only stopped when he was a safe distance from the bar, raising a hand as a cab cruised past. He opened the door after it had stopped, and lowered Hope into it.
“She pukes, you pay to have it cleaned.”
“Sure, whatever.” Newman got in beside Hope.
“Wuss ya doing?” she slurred.
“Taking you home. Where are you staying?”
“What?”
“Where are you staying?”
She frowned. “Ah, nnnot sure.”
Newman gave the driver directions to his hotel.
“I-I know you.”
Hope grabbed a handful of his shirt, and with a surprisingly firm grip, hauled him closer. She then squinted as she tried to focus in on him. Her eyes crossed.
“P-paul, Pr-pretty Boy Newman.”
“We’ve talked about you calling me pretty boy, Hope. Remember what happens? I counter with Hope Loco Lawrence, and you get all bent out of shape.”
He eased her back as she nearly tumbled into his lap.
“Ssshe sent you to fffind me.”
“Who?”
“My m-mother.”
“Your mother has no idea I’m even here, Hope. In fact, I had no idea you were here until I walked into that bar and heard you screeching, and saw you giving those patrons an eyeful.”
She slapped a hand on her chest. “I-I can sssing.”
“No, honey, you can’t. However, you can dance, which is a hell of a surprise to me. But it’ll take weeks for that bar to get its patrons back after your little vocal performance.”
She blinked again, then leaned forward. Newman braced a hand on her shoulder as she peered at him.
“Y-you’re wwway too good looking.”
A flash of street lights allowed him to see her golden skin and lovely dark-chocolate-brown eyes. As Newman studied her he realized that Hope Lawrence had grown into an attractive woman.
For years they had verbally sparred, each giving as good as they got, but there had always been something about her that unsettled him. Like his shoes were laced up too tight when she was around. Hope would give him a certain look and he’d feel exposed, almost as if she could see what others couldn’t. The dark, vulnerable places inside him that he kept hidden. He hoped not; that was some heavy shit.
The soft arch of her brows framed those amazing eyes. The curves and angles of her face were the same, but refined. To his surprise, she was now one beautiful woman, or maybe she always had been, and he’d never taken the time to notice because she’d annoyed him so much. Hope had worn baggy clothes and tried to blend silently into the scenery. Unless he was around, then she’d snarl and snap. She’d made no waves, studied hard, and didn’t speak unless absolutely necessary. In fact, she’d been the ideal child as far as he could tell. He wondered if when she sobered up that would still be the case.
“Thanks… I think.”
She moved closer, and he saw the soft pout of her lower lip.
“I-I always thought you were the m-most hanshome of them all.”
He almost felt sorry for her then. Sorry that she was giving him plenty of ammunition for when she sobered up and annoyed him again. Because that was how things worked between him and Hope Lawrence.
“You think I’m hot, Hope?”
She closed the distance between them, and he smelled the alcohol.
“Ssssseriously hot. Thash why I always annoyed you.”
“What’s my best feature?” he said, enjoying himself way too much, even though his eye throbbed like a bitch.
“Ffface is good, but your b-body….” She made a humming noise that went straight through Newman and settled in his groin. Weird. He’d never, not once felt a spark of interest for this woman.
“I-I shometimes wanted to messss you up.”
“Pardon?”
“Neat,” Hope said, squinting at him. “Wwway too neat and matching.”
“You wanted to mess me up because my clothes are coordinated?”
She nodded.
“Not everyone has your flair for 1980s punk, Hope.”
Her eyes crossed as she looked at his nose.
“I can’t believe you only had a few drinks. You’re a lightweight.”
“I-I can h-handle it.”
“Sure you can. A real trooper is what you are,” Newman said as she slumped forward into his lap.
When the cab stopped he paid the driver, hauled Hope out, and stood her upright.
“D-don’t f-feel good.”
“You being such a hardened drinker and all,” Neman muttered, swinging her up and into his arms.
He walked through the lobby to the elevator, ignoring the curious looks. Juggling her weight, he freed a hand and slapped the elevator buttons.
“F-feel sick.”
“No you don’t,” Newman said seconds later as he stepped out of the elevator. “You throw up on me and we’re going to have trouble.” Finding his key, he let himself into his room and kicked the door shut behind him.
Lowering Hope to the bed, he looked down at her. She did have a green tinge, and was sweating. “Bathroom,” he said, reaching for her. As the word left his mouth, she threw up… all over him.
“Well fuck.” Newman walked them into his bathroom and stripped down to his shorts. Then he stripped her, as she smelled no better. Turning the shower on, he marched her inside.
“Just as well you didn’t get down to those, you’d have incited a frenzy of lust in those guys then,” Newman muttered. She w
ore men’s stretchy white boxer shorts and a shabby gray bra with a strap just hanging on by a couple of threads.
“Stay still,” Newman ordered as she started to wriggle.
He washed them both, then shut off the water and wrapped her in a towel. Lifting her into his arms, he took her back to the bed and laid her on it. Then got himself dressed into shorts and a T-shirt.
“I-I ssh-should have known h-he did-n’t want me. He ruined my l-life!”
She sat upright and grabbed his hand as Newman returned to the bed with one of his shirts for her.
“Who didn’t want you? Who ruined you?”
He wrestled his shirt onto her over the towel. Her underwear was wet, but he wasn’t going there.
“That sssnake, Jay Herald.”
Dismissing her ramblings as those of a crazed drunk woman, he laid her back on the bed.
“You want to be sick again, you do it on this.” He spread out a towel because there was nothing else, then pulled up the duvet as she was shivering.
“C-cold.”
“Take off your underwear, it’s wet.”
He watched as she fumbled around for several seconds, then with a sigh that was totally wasted on her, he stuck his hands under the shirt and stripped her shorts and bra off. He then tucked her in.
“Now be quiet and sleep, you’ve caused me enough trouble.”
He called room service for ice, coffee, and food. His eye was pounding. He could only imagine the fun his friends were going to have at his expense when he got back to Lake Howling, his hometown.
“N-Newman?”
He came back to the bed. She looked pretty pathetic. Eyes bloodshot, hair a tangled mess, covers up to her chin. Pathetic, but there was something there. Good bones, his friend Willow would say.
“What?”
“I-I thought he loved me.”
She’d whispered the words, and he wanted to dismiss them as dramatic drunk-girl speak, but he looked down into her eyes and saw the sadness. Plus, Hope was many things, but dramatic had never been one of them.
“Who? This Jay Herald?” Newman dragged a chair closer so he could sit and look at her. “Guy’s probably got a small pecker, forget him.”
