Reprieve (Love's Second Chance Book 1) Read online

  Reprieve

  Love’s Second Chance Book 1

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2016 Scarlett Scott

  Formatting by Dallas Hodge, Everything But The Book

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is punishable by law.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  For more information, contact author Scarlett Scott.

  www.scarsco.com

  It’s been two years since Sophie lost her husband and daughter in a car wreck but time still hasn’t healed her wounds. A desperate choice leads her to Trevor, the handsome stranger who saves her life and leaves her wanting more than just a few steamy kisses.

  Trevor is content living the fast-paced life of a successful NYC entrepreneur. The last kind of complication he needs is a troubled woman like Sophie. But he’s immediately drawn to her even if his bachelor instincts scream for him to run.

  As Sophie struggles to fight her growing feelings for Trevor, she’s torn between her past and the future. Can she find the strength to finally let go and move on with a man who is everything she never thought she wanted?

  This book is dedicated to the incredible staff of the Center for Fetal Diagnosis and Treatment at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia who saved my twins’ lives. The work you do is inspiring, and I’m endlessly grateful to you all.

  Dismay hit Sophie hard as her gaze settled on the large banner hanging above the front door to her house. Its cheery blue lettering said, “Welcome Home Sophie” and the cars crammed into her driveway confirmed her suspicion.

  Her family had thrown her a party. The very last thing she wanted was to force a smile over a crudités tray and pretend everything was perfect in the world. She turned to her sister. Claire had picked Sophie up from the hospital just half an hour earlier. Though Sophie had expected her parents and Claire’s husband Garrett to be there as well, she had actually been relieved to find only her sister waiting for her.

  Over the past few days, she had been virtually smothered with nervous attention and she’d had quite enough of it. But now it was clear she was about to suffer through more sympathetic smiles and pitying looks. She could hear the whispers already.

  Poor Sophie, first losing Peter and Elizabeth and now this.

  Sophie couldn’t withstand any more polite torture. She’d already experienced more than her fair share for two years now.

  She refastened her seat belt. “Turn around, Claire.”

  Claire ignored Sophie’s command by guiding her BMW into a parking space in front of the house. “What do you mean? Did you forget something back at the hospital?”

  “No.” Frustration stabbed through her. “I don’t want a party. I just want to be alone. Take me somewhere else.”

  Claire unfastened her seat belt and turned the car off. “Don’t be silly, Soph. It’s just a few friends.”

  That was the problem. All her friends were married couples with children of their own, throwbacks to a day when she too had been happy, with a daughter and a husband under her roof. They couldn’t help but look at her and think of how miserable she must be while they lived meaningful lives filled with soccer games, anniversaries and bedtime stories. Sophie hated being on the receiving end of anyone’s pity. Most of all, she hated how her friends reminded her of all she’d lost.

  Panic threatened to overwhelm her. Just the thought of all those faces watching when she walked through the door made her stomach churn with nausea.

  “Please.” She wasn’t afraid to beg. She couldn’t possibly sink any lower. “Turn around. I can’t handle this, not right now.”

  Claire’s expression pinched with worry as she took Sophie’s hands in a comforting grip. “What’s the matter, Soph? You’ve been so withdrawn since the accident. I’m worried about you.”

  She wished she could tell Claire there was no cause for worry, that everything was just fine. But it would be a blatant lie. Her life wasn’t fine and wouldn’t be fine ever again.

  “Are Janine and Roger here?” she asked instead. Of all her friends, Janine and Roger were the worst. Their compassion was almost tangible, oozing from their collective pores. Janine deemed it her duty to invite Sophie to dinner and Roger repeatedly tried to set her up on dates with his nice-but-nerdy lawyer friends. Sophie wanted no part of their cheer-up-pathetic-Sophie scheme.

  Claire looked guilty. “Janine and Roger are here. We couldn’t avoid inviting them, Soph, not when all your other friends knew about it. Besides, there will be so many people you won’t even have to talk to them.”

  Sophie knew she was being stubborn but she didn’t care. “I’m not going in, so you might as well just start the car up right now.”

  “We’re only doing this to support you, to let you know we care.”

  She tore her hands from her sister’s grasp, aggravation boiling over as she slammed her fist into the dashboard. “This is what you’ve been doing since Peter and Elizabeth died. I’m so damn tired of everyone treating me like a lost puppy.”

  Claire eyed her like she had sprouted a third eyeball from the middle of her forehead. Sophie didn’t blame her. It wasn’t at all like her to swear or to get angry with her sister. But then, she hadn’t been herself lately, not since the night that had changed everything.

  “I mean it.” She softened her voice. “You don’t know what it’s like to have everyone tiptoeing around you. Everyone acts like Peter and Elizabeth never existed, like nothing’s wrong.” The seemingly ever-present tears pooled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. “Everything is wrong, Claire and I’m sick to death of pretending it’s not.”

  Claire, ever the practical one, rummaged through her purse. She pulled out a pack of tissues and handed one to Sophie. Sophie accepted it and dabbed at her eyes, thinking her sister probably carried designer tissues in that sleek bag of hers.

  Claire. Dear, sweet Claire with her picture-perfect life and her picture-perfect husband. Sophie hated to admit it, but she was jealous of her own sister.

  “We don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to,” Claire relented, her voice laced with concern.

  Sophie blew her nose and turned away from her sister to look back at her house. It was a beautiful stone home, one hundred twenty-eight years old, not too large and not too small. She remembered the first time she and Peter had stumbled upon it in the early days of their marriage, when they’d been searching for their dream house. Sophie had taken one look at its Old World charm and had known it was meant to be hers. Three months later, she and Peter had moved in and they spent almost two years renovating and decorating until the hardwood floors gleamed and they replaced their hand-me-down apartment furniture with matching sets.

  How many hours had she spent dreaming of the life she and Peter would have there? After becoming pregnant with Elizabeth, all Sophie’s hopes had been within reach. Life had seemed too easy, too perfect.

  And it had been.

  Her gaze skipped over the prettily blooming tulips in her flowerbed. The home still looked happy. With its matching mailbox and frothy curtains, it was
impossible to tell the house had become her private hell.

  She noticed then that her father had opened the front door to poke his graying head out into the late-spring sunshine. A few faces pressed to the downstairs windows, brimming with curiosity. Her father spotted her looking at him and smiled, beckoning her inside.

  She turned away from him, back to Claire. “I guess it’s too late to go now.” Dread formed a heavy ball in her stomach. “We’ve been spotted.”

  Claire appeared relieved. “Mom and Dad really wanted to do this for you, Soph. I’m glad you’ve changed your mind.”

  “I didn’t have much choice, now did I?” She couldn’t keep a sardonic tone from her voice.

  Claire frowned at her before getting out of the car. Sophie followed suit, grimacing as her head throbbed when she stood. Her headaches were the only evidence of the head trauma she had sustained in the accident. The doctors told her she was incredibly lucky to have escaped with no broken bones and no permanent neurological damage.

  Luck was a four-letter word.

  Claire linked her arm through Sophie’s in a display of support and solidarity. The gesture made the prospect of facing all the curious stares slightly less awful. Together, they went up the stone walkway and into the home amid choruses of “welcome home”.

  Her father immediately enveloped Sophie in a hug. She returned the embrace, taking comfort from his quiet strength. The familiar scent of his aftershave tickled her nose and his thick, gray hair brushed against her cheek.

  “Welcome home, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear, giving her another squeeze.

  A reluctant smile curved her lips. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Her mother swept her up in a perfumed embrace next, followed by her brother-in-law, Garrett. Garrett, with his quiet aquamarine eyes and golden good looks. As his brawny arms wrapped around her, Sophie returned his hug.

  “I’m so glad to see you out of that hospital bed.” He withdrew and let his gaze meet hers.

  Sophie’s smile broadened. She and Garrett had become friends over the years and he seemed to make Claire happy, which was all a sister could ask for. “Not as glad as I am,” she told him. It did feel wonderful to be back in the real world again, unwelcome party and all.

  Before she could carry on further conversation with him, a wave of well-wishers swept him aside, all determined to have their chance to greet Sophie. The names and faces blurred together and soon, the warmth she’d felt at seeing her parents and Garrett froze into ice. Sophie tried to paste on her best smile, tried to pretend she was having a splendid time and was marvelously happy to see everyone. But inside she was drained of all emotion. Her headache increased in insistence.

  Suddenly, her mother stood before her again, looking perfect in a lavender pantsuit, not a blonde hair out of place. Ever the consummate hostess, she was at home in the midst of the party, very Martha Stewart.

  “Now,” her mother was saying, clapping her hands together excitedly, “this party would not be complete without the man responsible for it.”

  Sophie’s heart plummeted. It couldn’t be. Dismay rushed over her. They wouldn’t invite him, would they?

  “Trevor,” her mother called out in a singsong voice. “Trevor, where are you?”

  The crowd parted to reveal the man who had saved her from the wreckage of her Explorer. She couldn’t help but notice again just how incredibly handsome he was, even with the slight tinge of red on his high cheekbones, no doubt the result of her mother’s accolades. His tawny gaze met hers, holding her captive.

  He closed the distance between them, his sensuous lips curving in a friendly smile. “We meet again.”

  Her heartbeat accelerated. A new awareness surged into her veins, leaving her breathless and lightheaded from the impact of his nearness. Or was it from her headache?

  Yes, that must be it. She was not, repeat not, attracted to any man, let alone the man who had saved her from her breaking point. Peter had been the only one for her.

  “It’s good to see you again,” she said, somewhat stiffly. Why was he here?

  As though he had heard her inner question, he replied so only she could hear, “Your mother was insistent that I come.”

  “I see.” So he was here as a courtesy. “Well. Don’t let me keep you from bigger and better things, Mr. James.”

  “Trevor.” His tone was easy, belying his almost rigid bearing. “And I promised to stay for the cake.”

  There was a cake? Sophie barely stifled a groan. She wanted nothing more than to go upstairs, crawl into her empty bed and cry herself to sleep. She far preferred to be miserable alone than to be miserable in the company of others. At least she didn’t have to feign happiness when she was by herself.

  Her mother reappeared, wedging herself next to Trevor, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement.

  “Sophie, Trevor owns an art gallery in New York City.” Her mother’s tone was blatantly suggestive. “I was just telling him about your work before you arrived.”

  Satisfied she had provided something more for Sophie and Trevor to discuss and, horrifyingly obvious in her matchmaking scheme, her mother drifted off into the crowd of guests.

  “From what your mother says, you’re quite talented.” Trevor raised a brow.

  It was merely a polite inquiry, made because her mother had all but forced him into it, Sophie knew.

  “Not really.” She kept her voice carefully neutral. “You know how mothers are. They brag you up to anyone who’ll listen.”

  Painting and sculpting had been a love of hers for as long as she could recall. She had nearly gone to art school, but had decided against it at the last moment, wanting to be with Peter instead. So she had attended college by his side and gotten a degree in English literature, ending up working part time in the local library. It wasn’t the career she’d envisioned for herself, but it had been enough.

  Besides, Sophie hardly took her art seriously any longer. Instead, she and Elizabeth had often painted together, a reason why Sophie had been unable to enter her studio for the two years since the accident. There were too many memories lurking within, too many happy thoughts to haunt her.

  “I’d like to see some of your work,” Trevor was saying. “I’m always interested in fresh new talent.”

  “I don’t have any training.” She didn’t want to share anything so personal with the man. Her artwork was hardly sellable, after all, and only of sentimental value to her. “I’m sure it would be a waste of your time.”

  He eyed her soberly. “You seem determined to play down your talents. Why?”

  His question startled her. She faltered, not really knowing how to respond.

  He had an uncanny habit of seeing into her thoughts, leaving her as transparent as a window. She didn’t think she liked it.

  “Why would you want to see my work, anyway?” she demanded, verbally turning the tables on him.

  He shrugged. “Call it curiosity.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” she returned.

  “Fine.” He sounded annoyed with her. “The more you don’t want me to see your work, the more I want to see it. Does that satisfy you?”

  “I suppose it does.”

  “So.” Trevor’s lips curved into a smile. “When do I get to see it?”

  Never.

  “I’ll think about it,” she told him, shocking herself. Now where had that come from?

  His smile grew wider. “I’ll remember that.”

  Just then, Janine came up to Sophie, laying a hand on her arm. Sophie turned, disappointed by the interruption. Janine was casually dressed in a ghastly bedazzled sweater set and jeans, her brown hair cropped into a sensible cut.

  “How are you feeling, dear?” Janine asked sympathetically. “We were so worried about you.”

  “Better, thank you,” Sophie replied distractedly. She turned back to Trevor, only to find he had slipped away.

  “I was just saying to Allen and Susie this was such a great idea.” Janine was chatteri
ng. “Roger brought a friend with him. Oh, you have to meet him, Sophie. He’s a lawyer and his name is Stuart…”

  Sophie allowed herself to be dragged away by her well-intentioned friend. She’d learned long ago the best way to deal with Janine was to agree with her.

  Sophie stared down at the business card she held loosely in her hands, mesmerized by it.

  “James Wesley Gallery,” she read aloud. “Trevor James.”

  It was a sleekly designed and expensive-looking card. Impressive, really. Much like the man himself. She’d learned from her mother that Trevor was only in southeastern Pennsylvania to visit his sister and her family. Just Sophie’s luck that the man who saved her life owned an art gallery. Yes, luck was definitely a four-letter word.

  The welcome-home party had finally disbanded a few hours before, leaving Sophie to her own devices. Initially, being alone had been a relief, but it was fast becoming stifling. A deafening silence invaded the house, mocking her, reminding her of all she had lost. Reminding her of why she had intentionally driven her car into that sound barrier wall a week ago.

  She took a sip of the apple-cinnamon tea she’d prepared for herself, savoring its warmth on her tongue. Her den was empty and she sat comfortably on her favorite sofa, caught up in her thoughts.

  The card seemed to burn her fingers. She should throw it away, she told herself. There would never be a reason to call his gallery or to send him an email.

  He had given it to her before he left the party, surprising her by finding her alone, brooding in the safe haven of her kitchen. Her guests had been too busy, too swept up in their chatter to notice her absence. Sophie hadn’t minded since she hadn’t wanted a party in the first place. So she had taken the opportunity to slip away from Janine and hide in the cozy comfort of her kitchen. With the sunshine pouring in its large windows and the cheerful yellow walls, it was the one room in her house that never failed to bolster her spirits.

  When the door clicked open behind her, she had turned, expecting to find Claire, startled to see Trevor instead. She knew at once he had been watching her, that he had sought her out. The knowledge both intrigued and disturbed her.