Lynsey M Stewart - Let Me Be Your Hope
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Let Me Be Your Hope
Music and Letters Series Book
By: Lynsey M. Stewart .
Let Me Be Your Hope
Copyright 2017 by Lynsey M. Stewart
All Rights Reserved
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Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without prior written permission of the author of this book. The only exception is brief quotations to be used in book reviews .
This is a work of fiction . Names, characters, businesses, brands, places, events and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales is purely coincidental .
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction that have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners .
* * *
Editing: Duckman Proofreading
Proofreading: Duckman Proofreading
Cover design: Taylor Sullivan at Premade Cover Caf
Formatting : Duckman Proofreading
Abi Sinclair is a determined social worker and committed party girl. Shes independent, ballsy and living the single girls dream. But underneath the bravado and empty one-night stands, she's hiding a broken heart
Jamie Dawson is Abis lost love, the only man who ever made her feel alive. When he left Nottingham two years ago to take care of his terminally ill mother, they agreed to communicate only by letter, both believing their love was meant to be .
One regrettable lie forced them down very different paths .
One rash decision forced them apart .
But Jamie is back . And hes Abis new manager. Only hes a different mantoo different .
Desperate for answers , Abi wont stop until she uncovers the truth behind Jamies two-year absence
This novel touches on themes of loss, which may cause upset to some readers .
This novel contains strong language, mainly from Abi. She cant help it. Jamie is guilty too, particularly when passion gets the better of him .
There are also descriptions of sex, therefore this novel is only suitable for +
This is the second book in the Music and Letters series but can be read as a standalone .
T o all the second chancersbe brave .
Then
T hat right there he said, drawing his finger across my collarbone, is crying out to have my initials stamped across it. He leant down and kissed his way across the ridge, causing my skin to twist and twirl, my movements to jerk and shiver. It has to be the sexiest bone I've ever seen .
I watched him. He had a thin white scar above his right eyebrow. It was straight, but also a little jagged and uneven. Fuck, it was sexy and gorgeous and told me everything about this beautiful man in my arms. He was bold, took risks and lived. He wasnt afraid of the dark; he welcomed it and all of the adventure it could provide .
Let me take care of you. No one ever has, he said on a faint gasp as I kissed his neck. I didnt need him to take care of me. I wanted to take care of him. Every single piece .
I was highly aware of the blood rushing through my body. The normal, subconscious function that kept me alive was now beating my body down to a single shake and quiver. The pulse points throbbed and flickered, causing me to feel faint and highly aroused at the same time in perfect, wonderful sync .
I held his face in my hands and watched his eyes smile and his jaw flex as he nestled in, burrowing his face into my neck, clashing his mouth against my collarbone. He snuggled in, resting and claiming the space under my ribs so close to my heart. It opened up wide to let him settle and find the spot that would be forever his .
He made me feel alive in a way no one had ever done before. I felt completely accepted, wonderfully safe and protected. That's why the hurt was harder than the fall .
How I found myself saying goodbye to him, I will never fully understand .
Now .
T here was a mix up at the hospital when I was born. I should have been Adele, lyrical queen of the breakup. So she was three years older than me and the numbers didnt quite work, but every one of her albums was the soundtrack of my life. It was like she had a telescope peering into my fuck-ups as her own brand of inspiration for the next album of tearjerkers and haunting songs of lost love and broken hearts .
In my personal life, I was winging it, but in work, I had found my calling. It was the only place I knew what the fuck I was doing. I qualified as a social worker three years ago and loved it. I wasnt the type of person who knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life the moment I entered the world. I didnt even know my calling when the final bell rang at secondary school. I left when I had just turned sixteen, a summer baby, and waited for my dream job to find me. While waiting, I fell into tedious job after tedious job, and when I hit eighteen, I was sure that I had already worked hard enough to earn my pension and made enough tax contributions to build a whole housing estate and grit the winter roads .
Working various factory jobs meant absolutely nothing to me. They only helped to layer my devil-may-care attitude. After a short stint making pork pies, I left after witnessing a bloke casually push a scampering rat into a vat of pig meat. This turned me flexitarian and made me realise a dream job wouldnt just turn up and knock on my door .
I guess I was steered towards social work. And thank God I was because two weeks into packing socks for a well-known clothing store, I honestly thought I was going to die of boredom. I had visions of the night manager finding me under a pile of argyles and slipper socks, an empty bottle of whiskey at my side proving I needed a pick-me-up to continue the count .
I lived for meeting new people and learning things about them, accepting their fuck-ups and dramas, but guiding them in a different direction. Social work just clicked for me. As did Elle, my best friend, my guiding light and partner in crime. We trained together, shared the same placement, and were now working in the same child protection team .
Elle and I were polar opposites from the moment we entered the world. She was born without complications and was lovingly placed on her mothers chest as her father wrapped his arms around them and welcomed their beautiful new baby into their family. I, on the other hand, was born by emergency caesarean, kicking and screaming with an unconscious mother and a father who didnt know a babys arse from its elbow. I was a whirlwind child. I loved the water and was only happy when I was in a pool or a bath. Elles mum always described her as a quiet,
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