Words From The Heart (Spring-Summer Romance Book 2) by Alex Greenville Page A
Authors: Alex Greenville
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pair, the kids, their children.
He was the best dad. He included August in everything. What he did for Jeff and June, he never left her son out. In fact, in August’s eyes, he was “dad”. She worried about that only a little because of Cale, who, almost six months into living here, hadn’t paid a dime of his child support.
“Hopefully, they won’t have a problem with …” She silenced, unwilling to finish her thought.
But Bennett appeared to know what she’d almost said. “Our living situation is for us to deal with. I would hope people would be fair-minded. My girlfriend deserves an award, not judgment.”
The word spiked sharp in her mind, and Audrey rose over him. “Did you just call me that?”
He smiled. “I did, and I have a mind to prove it.”
He snatched at her top, but she scooted backwards out-of-reach. He chased after her, catching hold before she could fully escape. His hands around her waist, he rolled her over and pinned her to the mattress, one hand on either side. Breaths heaving, laughter in her throat, Audrey gazed upward.
“You’re going to torment me again, aren’t you?” she asked.
He didn’t respond, but his eyes became miles deep, the tip of his lips forming a hard line. She couldn’t find her thoughts when he looked at her like that, couldn’t believe she held any attraction at all. Yet, his mouth pressed between her breasts, his tongue massaging her tender flesh, she fell into the moment one more time.
He was an expert lover, knew exactly how to excite her, where to place his hands, his lips. He was tender and avid and zealous, and she was pliable beneath him.
“You are glorious,” he said, shifting left.
His breath heated, his body firm, he thrust against her, and she wished for completion, yet knew he wouldn’t. His girlfriend in name, his ardor meaningful, but always held back by that one level of restraint.
She understood it, that something he’d dedicated to his wife he couldn’t quite let go of. Yet, she craved the fulfilment for herself, to belong to Bennett Adams, mind, body, and soul.
CHAPTER 9
“Bennett Adams.”
“Robert Harris.”
Bennett and the boy, Bobby’s, father shook hands, leaving Audrey to face his wife. Thin, sporting a boyish hairdo, Mrs. Harris dressed as if she’d just returned from a jog: elastic-waist shorts, a stretchy tank top, and expensive running sneakers. She appeared friendly however, if way too tanned from time outdoors.
“Audrey Ferguson,” Audrey offered. She adjusted her hold on June, turning her small face outward. “This is June.” She nodded toward her son. “That’s August.”
The names raised the woman’s brows. “You have your hands full. They look close in age.”
Which couldn’t comfortably be explained. Audrey tried not to act like it, however, smiling until she thought her face might crack. “We’re a combined family,” she replied.
Her comment drew Robert Harris’s gaze. He was the sporting type as well: baseball jersey and a ball cap, his arms thick from exercise. Between the pair of them, she felt “momish” and out-of-place.
“You have a lovely home,” Mrs. Harris said. “I have a friend who lives a block over.”
There really was nothing to say to that, so awkward silence followed, the swish of their breaths loud in the room.
“You’re a CPA,” Robert Harris practically shouted. “Never was into numbers myself … unless it involves sports.”
“Him and his sports.” His wife rolled her eyes.
They shared a laugh, which ended abruptly with the stinging scent of August’s dirty diaper. Her face flaming, Audrey glanced at Bennett. “Could you take June?”
He obeyed, shifting his daughter into his arms, and she grasped August, slinging him onto one hip. “My apologies. I’ve got to … go.” Her head ducked, she dashed up the stairs.
When she descended, the Harrises were at the door.
“We’ll pick him up at four,” Robert Harris said.
“Perfect. Thanks
He was the best dad. He included August in everything. What he did for Jeff and June, he never left her son out. In fact, in August’s eyes, he was “dad”. She worried about that only a little because of Cale, who, almost six months into living here, hadn’t paid a dime of his child support.
“Hopefully, they won’t have a problem with …” She silenced, unwilling to finish her thought.
But Bennett appeared to know what she’d almost said. “Our living situation is for us to deal with. I would hope people would be fair-minded. My girlfriend deserves an award, not judgment.”
The word spiked sharp in her mind, and Audrey rose over him. “Did you just call me that?”
He smiled. “I did, and I have a mind to prove it.”
He snatched at her top, but she scooted backwards out-of-reach. He chased after her, catching hold before she could fully escape. His hands around her waist, he rolled her over and pinned her to the mattress, one hand on either side. Breaths heaving, laughter in her throat, Audrey gazed upward.
“You’re going to torment me again, aren’t you?” she asked.
He didn’t respond, but his eyes became miles deep, the tip of his lips forming a hard line. She couldn’t find her thoughts when he looked at her like that, couldn’t believe she held any attraction at all. Yet, his mouth pressed between her breasts, his tongue massaging her tender flesh, she fell into the moment one more time.
He was an expert lover, knew exactly how to excite her, where to place his hands, his lips. He was tender and avid and zealous, and she was pliable beneath him.
“You are glorious,” he said, shifting left.
His breath heated, his body firm, he thrust against her, and she wished for completion, yet knew he wouldn’t. His girlfriend in name, his ardor meaningful, but always held back by that one level of restraint.
She understood it, that something he’d dedicated to his wife he couldn’t quite let go of. Yet, she craved the fulfilment for herself, to belong to Bennett Adams, mind, body, and soul.
CHAPTER 9
“Bennett Adams.”
“Robert Harris.”
Bennett and the boy, Bobby’s, father shook hands, leaving Audrey to face his wife. Thin, sporting a boyish hairdo, Mrs. Harris dressed as if she’d just returned from a jog: elastic-waist shorts, a stretchy tank top, and expensive running sneakers. She appeared friendly however, if way too tanned from time outdoors.
“Audrey Ferguson,” Audrey offered. She adjusted her hold on June, turning her small face outward. “This is June.” She nodded toward her son. “That’s August.”
The names raised the woman’s brows. “You have your hands full. They look close in age.”
Which couldn’t comfortably be explained. Audrey tried not to act like it, however, smiling until she thought her face might crack. “We’re a combined family,” she replied.
Her comment drew Robert Harris’s gaze. He was the sporting type as well: baseball jersey and a ball cap, his arms thick from exercise. Between the pair of them, she felt “momish” and out-of-place.
“You have a lovely home,” Mrs. Harris said. “I have a friend who lives a block over.”
There really was nothing to say to that, so awkward silence followed, the swish of their breaths loud in the room.
“You’re a CPA,” Robert Harris practically shouted. “Never was into numbers myself … unless it involves sports.”
“Him and his sports.” His wife rolled her eyes.
They shared a laugh, which ended abruptly with the stinging scent of August’s dirty diaper. Her face flaming, Audrey glanced at Bennett. “Could you take June?”
He obeyed, shifting his daughter into his arms, and she grasped August, slinging him onto one hip. “My apologies. I’ve got to … go.” Her head ducked, she dashed up the stairs.
When she descended, the Harrises were at the door.
“We’ll pick him up at four,” Robert Harris said.
“Perfect. Thanks
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