Avery: Sensual Desire: New Adult College Romance (Coral Gables Series Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Avery

  Imprint

  The Coral Gables Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Dear Readers

  Publisher's Adress:

  Avery

  Sensual Desire

  Drucie Anne Taylor

  Imprint

  Copyright © 2014 Drucie Anne Taylor

  Translation © Claudia Rapp

  Edited by Annie Cosby

  Layout: Annie Cosby / Drucie Anne Taylor

  Cover design by © Art for your book/Sabrina Dahlenburg using

  several motifs of: © Valua Vitaly & © AegLe Design (bigstockphoto.com)

  Manufacturing and Publishing: Createspace

  ISBN-13: 978-1508621430

  ISBN-10: 1508621438

  Contact: [email protected]

  http://drucieannetaylor.de

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual living or dead, businesses, organizations, events or locales is entirely

  coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without my written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  If you would like to know more about me, feel free to visit me on Facebook.

  https://www.facebook.com/coralgablesserie

  https://www.facebook.com/drucieannetaylorauthor

  First published in German in April 2014 as

  'Avery: Sinnliches Verlangen'

  The Coral Gables Series

  The Coral Gables series follows the scintillating love stories that blossom among a group of friends in Florida. Though characters reappear, each book acts as a stand-alone.

  And while there is a real town of that name south of Miami, the Coral Gables I describe exists only in my imagination—and those of my readers.

  Chapter 1

  “Mrs. Morrison?” I call as I enter the house of the old lady I’m supposed to take care of for the summer. I got the job to earn some money, so I can pay my way through college someday.

  My name is Dahlia Walker. I'm eighteen and poor as a the proverbial church mouse. Earning my own money is my only possibility of financing college, and if I don't, I'll end up like my mom, which would be awful. I’m an orphan. I was raised by my granddad, the only family I’ve got. There's no one else, apart from a few aunts and uncles, none of whom want anything to do with the little bastard my mother bore. They treat me like I'm invisible, which is why I’ve always remained in the background everywhere I go.“Mrs. Morrison?” I repeat. Maybe the old lady is hard of hearing … or unconscious. As soon as that idea hits me, I rush through the whole ground floor, which is unbelievably spacious.

  “Mrs. Morrison, where are you?” I call again, but I still receive no answer. Where in heaven’s name can she be?

  For a long while I search the house, until I find myself in the kitchen where the back door is thrown open before a smiling old lady who reminds me of Estelle Getty from The Golden Girls. “Well, hello! You must be Miss Walker, right?” she asks me.

  I nod, feeling confused. “Yes. Are you Mrs. Morrison?”

  She offers me a warm smile. “The real deal, that’s me.”

  I start to form a smile of my own, but then I wipe it off before it’s fully formed. “I’ve been looking for you. I was worried.”

  Mrs. Morrison clicks her tongue. “Oh, nonsense. I may be old, but I’m not fragile. Didn’t Doug tell you I spend most of my time in the garden in the summer?”

  I shake my head. I’d never even met the guy from the agency. “No, but now I know.”

  “Would you like a glass of iced tea, child? I’m in the mood for a sip, and you look mighty thirsty, too.”

  “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

  She saunters over to the refrigerator and takes out a pitcher. Then she climbs a small stool and fetches some glasses from the upper cabinet. I hadn’t expected to find such a spry old lady because I was told she was delicate, but maybe Doug’s impression is simply different from mine. “My children are rather adamant about a caretaker, because they think I’m on my own too much, when really my grandchildren visit quite often,” she tells me.

  “If it’s not okay with you, I’ll leave,” I offer shyly. She seems nice, but I have next to no experience with older women, and I’m simply not sure how to act.

  She shakes her head and clicks her tongue again. “I’m glad to have nice company. So tell me, Miss Walker, where are you from?”

  “I’m from around here. Well, I’m really from Orlando, but then I moved in with my grandpa, due to … circumstances,” I reply sheepishly.

  “A young thing like yourself can’t be all that happy living with an old fart, can you?”

  My jaw drops. Did she just call my grandpa an old fart? Sweet Jesus. “Um … Actually, I am. He’s the only family I have, so I’m rather happy to be able to live with him.”

  “But where are your parents, child?” she continues.

  “Passed away. Unfortunately.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “My mother was very sick. A long struggle, which she lost in the end. And my dad died in an accident.” I can’t help thinking that this lady is awfully sweet, but I’m still not completely comfortable. Mostly, I don’t like surrounding myself with other people because my experiences with them have often been disappointing. Back when I was still in high school, I used to prefer to sit alone, because I always worried someone would uncover the well-kept secret of my past. I have a hard time opening up, especially with strangers, and so I decide I have to think of something to keep Mrs. Morrison from asking me more questions. “That looks good,” I say, nodding toward the glasses she’s filling.

  Mrs. Morrison nods, filling them with the iced tea. It smells wonderfully of lemons and mint, and I take a deep breath to inhale the scent. Then she passes me one of the glasses. “Cheers, Miss Walker.”

  I offer her a shy smile and take a sip.

  “Come with me to the garden, child. You can sit and dangle your legs in the pool while I tend the roses. There has to be something for an old woman to do while her grandkids are out and about, and roses are my something.”

  “How old are your grandchildren?” I ask.

  “Avery is twenty-three, and Thierry is twenty-four. How old are you, Miss Walker?”

  “I’m eighteen, and please call me Dahlia; I’m much more comfortable with that.”

  “Only if you call me Trudy, Dahlia.” She grins at me.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Morrison … I mean, thanks, Trudy.” I follow her into the garden, and my eyes widen when I take in the oasis. Rose bushes are climbing the fences, there are some yucca trees, and the center of the yard is occupied by a fountain. “Wow,” I blurt out. This is like the grounds of a palace compared to Grandpa’s small backyard, let alone his house, in which I sleep on the couch because the mold has taken over my little bedr
oom.

  “Please sit down, Dahlia. By the poolside, or stay here on the porch if you prefer that,” Trudy suggests.

  “I’d rather give you a hand, if that’s okay. I was sent here to work, after all,” I answer with a smile.

  “Fine with me. Then go grab the gloves from the little table over there and help me pull some weeds.” She grins. “Normally that’s Avery’s job, but he hasn’t shown up in a few days. He’s always running after this girl Pearl, who’s a really, really horrible girl if you ask me. But I can’t blame the boy. I guess he’s still young and needs to sow his wild oats, as they say.”

  Is she seriously telling me about her grandson’s sex life? “Okay,” I stammer, grab the indicated gloves, and pull them on.

  Trudy shows me the flower bed, which has been mercilessly attacked by a variety of weeds. Hiring a gardener would be useful, considering the size of her garden, and I’m sure she could afford one, but living with my grandpa, I know how older people are. Rather particular, I’d say.

  We proceed to weed the flower bed or, to be more specific, I weed the flower bed while Trudy hums a song.

  ***

  By evening, I’m pooped. Trudy and I have dug up the entire flower bed. My hands are all blistery, and I’ve developed a rash on my lower arms. I must be allergic to some weed or other. Trudy gave me a cooling ointment, which I put on the reddened areas, but it still burns like fire. She told me I didn’t need to come over tomorrow, as her grandson Avery and his girlfriend had promised to drop by for a visit, but if I don’t work I won’t get paid, so I think I’ll go anyway. Maybe I could do some more work in her garden, so Trudy will have less to do. I’ll just ignore the rash, wear a long-sleeved shirt, and take care not to let the plants touch my bare skin.

  “Grandpa?” I call when I get home. I hope he hasn’t fallen asleep in the armchair, because I can’t sleep when he’s snoring in there.

  “In the kitchen, Dale,” he answers loudly.

  My mom used to call me “Dale” when I was little, and Grandpa appropriated the nickname as an endearment.

  I head to the kitchen and lean against the doorframe. “How was your day?”

  “Same as yesterday,” he says. “I sat out in the backyard reading. What was Mrs. Morrison like?”

  “Pretty nice,” I say. “We spent the whole day pulling weeds, and she tried to interrogate me, but I was mostly evasive. I didn’t feel like telling her everything, how mom died and stuff. And I also told her my dad’s dead.”

  “Aw, Dale, you know you shouldn’t lie,” he chides softly.

  I answer with a sigh. “I know, I’m just too embarrassed to admit to being their child,” I murmur. “I’m sorry, Grandpa.”

  He pauses in stirring something on the stove and turns around. “I know how hard it is for you to live with all the things your mother did, but that’s in the past. If anyone judges you for who your parents are, they don’t deserve you.”

  I sit down at the table and rest my head on my hands. “I’ve been judged that way too often already,” I say in a choked voice. “I don’t want to deal with that anymore. People ought to see me for the person I am, not just as the child of that woman.”

  “You have to learn to forgive, Dale. In her final days, your mother didn’t know what she was doing or what was happening anymore. Make your peace with her memory. Embarrassment won’t get you anywhere in life.”

  “But it’s just so unfair. All through school, everyone in my class—and I mean literally everyone—had a mother who took care of them, who saw to their every need. I was the only one who didn’t. I had stale bread in my lunchbox, no baloney, no peanut butter, just enough that I didn’t starve. I never had decent clothes, so I was ostracized because she spent every dollar on her next high.” I hate the way my childhood veered off a normal course; it ticks me off to no end. “She was never there for me; that’s the sad truth.”

  Grandpa comes over to the table and sits down next to me. “You know how badly I regret that you had to live like that, but I had no idea what was going on. And I also regret that I can’t offer you more than a place on the couch in this tiny old house, but believe me, some day you’ll be rewarded for all the hardships you had to endure.” He puts an arm around me and I lay my head against his shoulder for a moment. “You deserve so much more, Dale.”

  I take a deep and shaky breath, struggling to keep the tears at bay. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

  He pats me softly on the back, which causes me to look up at him, and then he offers me a warm smile. “Someday, it’ll all be fine.”

  I return the smile shyly and nod as I disengage myself from him and abruptly change the subject. “What’s for dinner?”

  “I’m afraid it’s spaghetti with tomato sauce again.”

  “As soon as I get my first paycheck, I’m going to take you out to dinner, Grandpa. It’s a promise.” I get up and walk over to the stove to take care of the food while he sets the table.

  As usual, we eat our dinner in silence, because he’s a taciturn person, and I’m busy wondering whether I ought to tell Trudy the truth about my family. Her eyes spoke volumes when I told her the lie about my parents. My mom really is dead, but she never fought some tragic, fatal illness. Instead, she overdosed on heroin. As for my dad, I have no idea where he is. He’s gone. Maybe not dead, but not a part of my life—more or less a stranger. I must’ve seen him a few times as a child, but I’ve repressed a lot of the things that belong to my past.

  Chapter 2

  This Avery guy didn’t show up when he said he would. Apparently, he had to cancel because of his girlfriend. I’ve been lending Trudy a hand for a week now, and he’s supposed to come today, but on his own, at least that’s what Trudy told me. Sounds strange to me. Don’t people just want to spend all their time together when they’re in love? I have to admit that assumption stems from Grandpa’s tales—I’ve never had a boyfriend of my own. So who am I to know? I lost my virginity when I was fifteen because I was yearning for affection, but it was not a nice experience, and I've refrained from sex since then. And I’ve never been in love. It makes me sad sometimes.

  After walking the quarter-mile from the bus stop to Trudy’s house, I ring the doorbell. I don’t feel comfortable using the key, even though she told me I could.

  The door opens, and I freeze when I see the young man standing there, because his eyes are breathtakingly beautiful.

  “What can I do for you?” he asks with a smile, but I can read curiosity and even slight distaste in his expression. I probably look too poor to fit in here in this neighborhood.

  “My name’s Dahlia Walker. I work for Trudy,” I explain.

  “Why don’t you use the key?” He looks me up and down.

  It’s making me uncomfortable, so I stare at his feet, which are huge. “Because I don’t like to barge in unannounced,” I say in a small voice. I can’t help sounding embarrassed.

  He nods and steps aside. “You can come in, Miss Walker.”

  “Thank you.” I step inside and stay close to the door, because I feel awkward walking around on my own with him watching me.

  “Granny is out back, sitting on the porch. She’s waiting for you.”

  I nod and quickly make my way to the back door. His gaze follows me, as I noticed a few seconds ago, and it doesn’t feel good at all. I feel like I’m being sized up—and probably found wanting.

  Finally, I step out onto the porch and see a young woman who is stunningly beautiful. Beside her is Trudy. “Hello, Trudy,” I say.

  “Child, I’m glad you’re finally here. I was expecting you earlier.” She smiles. “Pearl, this is Dahlia Walker.”

  The beautiful girl looks me up and down as well, cocks an eyebrow, and then grins at me in a way that tells me she feels superior to me. “Hello, Dahlia.”

  I nod to her. “Nice to meet you.”

  She looks away again and lifts her chin, making her look haughty. Rather arrogant, I think to myself. I already loathe her.

 
Then Avery joins us and sits down next to Pearl. He tries to take her hand, but she pulls it away and throws him an angry glare. How strange.

  “Come sit with us, Dahlia,” Trudy says. “Avery was just telling us about his time in Texas, and it’s a really nice story.”

  “I thought I could do some work,” I say, because I assume her grandson doesn’t want me to join them. At least he’s looking at me as if he’s ready to kill me, but that may just be due to his girlfriend’s behavior. If I were with her, I wouldn’t look happy either. “Maybe I could clean the house?” I suggest.

  “Oh, nonsense. Sit with us,” Trudy insists.

  I exhale tensely and then sit next to her. Trudy pats the back of my hand as if sensing that I don’t feel comfortable, but she doesn’t say anything, so I don’t either. Then she pours me a glass of iced tea. “Please go on, Ave,” Trudy says.

  “I’m afraid that was it, Granny. Nothing more to tell.” He blushes and looks at her apologetically.

  “Oh, okay. Then why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself, Pearl?”

  Pearl clicks her tongue, but it sounds nothing like the way Trudy does it. “I’d rather not,” she says in a very soft voice that seems falsely gentle.

  Trudy gives a sigh. “What about you, Dahlia? Won’t you chat with me?” She sounds a little sad, and I don’t like that.

  “I’m not sure what to say, but I guess we’ll find some kind of topic,” I say with a smile.

  She returns my smile happily, which causes Pearl to snort, but Avery seems to like the way I care about his grandmother.

  “Well, what did you do on your day off?” she inquires. “Did you go shopping, or do you have a hobby maybe?”

  “I … I went for walk along the beach, but I went home early, because I needed to help my grandpa work on his truck. Made a real mess.” I hold up my hands to show her. “I still haven’t been able to scrub off all the oil stains.”

  Trudy giggles. “At least you’re woman who knows how to work, I appreciate that. Unlike some people.”

  It’s truly unbelievable how often Pearl snorts while Trudy and I are chatting.