Grayson: Twins (Members From Money Book 22)

by Katie Dowe

  “I'm glad I didn’t.” She wrapped her hands around him. “I really want this Grayson. I want this more than I have ever wanted anything in my entire life. I saw that vehicle barreling towards us and before I passed out I knew without a doubt how much I want to be your wife and those children's mother.”

  “I'm so happy.” His hands were shaking as he framed her face. “I want to be your husband and those children’s dad more than I want anything else. I mean that.”

  “I know.” She kissed his lips gently.

  “You have a ton of visitors and your mother has been calling a lot.”

  *****

  Avia eased her nipple out of her daughter’s mouth slowly and handed her to her father as she took her son for his feeding. It had been a very long day for them. The doctors had checked them out and made sure they were okay to leave before giving them the go ahead. There had been a steady stream of visitors and the people at the hospital had been given a treat again to see so many people they considered to be celebrities coming there. Amelia had video called her and had exclaimed over her grandchildren, declaring that she would be there in another two weeks. Grace had insisted on staying for a few days and had taken over her old suite. “Andrew Theodore Whitfield, such strong names,” She murmured as she looked down at her suckling son. She lifted a finger and stroked his soft cheek. They both favored her coloring but the nose and mouth were their dad's.

  “And Alexandra Grace Amelia Whitfield is a mouthful,” her husband said wryly as he looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms. “But both our mothers are thrilled.” They both looked up as the door was pushed open and Grace came into the room.

  “How about I take her and put her down?” she said softly as she reached for her granddaughter.

  Grayson handed the sleeping baby to her. They had audio and visual monitors set up all over the house and the playroom was state of the art with all the toys the children would need including desks and chairs and cushions strewn around the room.

  “I'll come back for Andrew when you're done darling,” Grace told her daughter-in-law.

  “Still think we should get nannies?” she whispered as she looked up at her husband. He came and sat on the side of the bed as he looked down at his son. He smiled gently as he touched the little boy’s clenched fist resting on top of his mother’s breast.

  “Yes,” he leaned forward and kissed her lips. “I don’t want you tiring yourself out caring for them. So in the future I'll be hiring two nannies.”

  “I'm going to be scrutinizing them very carefully.” She leaned back against him and looked down at her son. He had her dimples and she suspected he was going to look more like her than his sister did.

  “So will I.”

  “I think he's done,” she eased her nipple out just as Grace came back into the room.

  “Alex is out.”

  “So is this little man.”

  “Here let me take him,” she took him carefully and folded him into her arms. “You have made me so happy,” she whispered softly looking at her daughter-in-law. “Thank you.”

  Avia blew her a kiss and the woman left, closing the doors behind her.

  *****

  Grayson moved from behind her and faced her. She looked softly beautiful in a stunning lilac lace nightgown that opened at the front to give her access to feed the children. Her hair was caught up in a ponytail at the back of her neck and her face was scrubbed of makeup. And he adored her so much that he couldn't express it. He had taken two weeks off from the office because he wanted to spend time with them. “How are you?”

  “Feeling incredibly loved and very fortunate,” she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “You are incredibly loved, Avia Whitfield .” He rested his head against her forehead and closed his eyes. “Every time I think that I almost lost you and our children I shudder.”

  “So stop thinking about it and start thinking about the tree house you're going to be making with your own two hands. And of course your daughter’s doll house,” she whispered as she framed his face with her hands.

  “I have people for that.”

  “We're doing it together mister,” she warned him.

  “Yes ma’am,” he said in amusement. “Do you know how much I love you?”

  “I can guess but why don’t you show me?”

  “Good idea.” He pulled the strings of her nightgown and kissed the top of her breasts before going to the nipple. “I know we can't go all the way but we can improvise,” he told her huskily.

  “I would love that,” she whispered as she lay back against the pillows and they gave in to the fierce desire that existed between them.

  The end.

  Forgotten Love

  Her memory lost, a baby on the way...

  Brought to you by best selling author Cher Etan.

  The story of childhood sweethearts Allen and Frances, and a moment that changes their lives forever.

  After a brutal accident leaves Frances hospitalized, doctors soon discover she has amnesia.

  With no recollection of who she or Allen is, the doctors go to work on helping her recover.

  But as they do, a shocking truth is discovered; Frances is pregnant!

  A surprise to them both, now she must live in a house she has no memory of and a husband she can't remember.

  Can Frances regain her memory, rekindle forgotten love, and prepare to care for her unborn baby?

  Find out in this emotional yet sexy romance by best selling author Cher Etan.

  Suitable for over 18s only due to sex scenes so hot, you'll need a fireman on stand by.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 1

  “You want to leave me over some bullshit like this? Okay then, go! Leave!” Frances began pushing Allen until his legs were outside the door. Then she collapsed on the floor and cried until she had no more tears. She didn’t expect that he would try to come back. He was about as mad as she was. It wasn’t her fault; she was trying her best. She couldn’t help the fact that her book had suddenly blown up; that she was now as busy as he was. It wasn’t her fault they didn’t get to spend as much time as they used to together. The problem with Allen St. James is that he was spoiled; being the man with the money meant that he didn’t have to wait his turn for everything. He was always ushered to the front of the line, always the one who kept people waiting. She’d stood by his side these ten years, ever since they were two teenage kids who found themselves on the street with no one to rely on but each other. Allen’s parents had been killed in a plane crash coming back from the island of St. Maarten where they’d been celebrating their twenty year anniversary. Fourteen year old Allen had been left with an uncle for the duration. When the dust had settled and the lawyers had departed, Allen was left with a hundred and thirty million in assets and stock options and a battle on his hands from his father’s former partner on who owned what. As a result of the prolonged and ugly nature of the case he was left at the mercy of a man who cared nothing for him. He ran off at fifteen, opting to live on the streets rather than continue subjecting himself to his uncle’s abusive behavior. He would have been dead inside a week if he hadn’t encountered Frances on his second day.

  He was hunched over behind a dumpster, having been robbed of all his belongings but not yet hungry enough to sift through the garbage for food. Frances was just coming off her shift; she worked as a collector for a local bookie and had just finished her rounds. Sure she was a small girl but she was also fast and she knew how to use a baseball bat to lethal effect. She didn’t have to mostly; the customers she collected from knew her, knew who she represented; and knew what would happen to them if they tried anything weird. It was illegal sure, and she spent approximately half her time dodg
ing the cops but it beat turning tricks for a living.

  Normally, she didn’t try to get too involved with other street kids; they tended to want to suck you into their sorry existences – whether it was sex or drugs or both. It was a downhill destination and Frances wasn’t having any of it. She had a plan, and she was getting out, going straight and legit. She was going to be a writer. She already wrote; had pages and pages of short stories beneath her bed. She wanted to get a locker to store it all in; she knew that the bunker where she stayed wasn’t safe from vandals. Still it was as secure as she could make it and it would have to do for now. Something about this kid made her stop though. He wasn’t the usual type of street kid. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why though. Maybe it was that his face was just too clean; or his hands were free of tracks…anyway, whatever the reason; she stopped and stared at him.

  “Whassup witchu?” she asked him. He looked right miserable slumped as he was between the dumpster and the brick wall that housed the neighborhood soup kitchen. It wouldn’t be open for at least another four hours. He looked up at her with the most extraordinary gray eyes she’d ever seen.

  “Leave me alone,” he said dully, sounding defeated by life already.

  Frances hesitated; she really should do as he said and keep walking. Her bed was calling.

  “You need help man?” she asked instead.

  He stared at her speculatively and she wondered what he was seeing.

  *****

  What Allen was seeing was a petite dark haired light skinned black girl with green eyes and the most unkempt hair he’d ever seen on a female. It was long almost reaching halfway down her diminutive frame and looked like it had about zero acquaintance with a comb. She looked like a strong breeze could blow her over in spite of the baseball bat she was holding in her tiny hand. She couldn’t be more than ten years old and here she was asking him if she could help him?

  “I got a bunker if you need somewhere to sleep,” she said, he couldn’t tell if her complexion was naturally glowy or she was blushing. Surely she wasn’t suggesting…

  “You really shouldn’t invite strange men to follow you home you know,” he told her chidingly.

  She laughed. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief as she stood there laughing at him, a deep rich honeyed belly laugh that seemed to come right from the center of her being. He frowned at her, wondering what was so funny.

  “Are you coming or not?” she asked still smiling.

  Allen was tired of the cold hard ground. He would be glad of a softer surface to lie down on, maybe somewhere warmer. Maybe she had some food she’d be happy to share with him? He didn’t like to take advantage of a kid, but he was cold, hungry and tired.

  “Sure, I’ll come,” he said standing up.

  He followed her through convoluted alleyways until she disappeared into a doorway he wouldn’t have seen if he wasn’t specifically looking for it. He followed her tentatively, wondering for the first time if this was a trick of some sort. The inside of the building was dark and dank; with the far off whiff of sewage permeating the air.

  “Stay close,” her voice floated back to him from some point ahead. He hastened his footsteps to keep her white reflector jacket in sight. It was the only thing he could see in the black hallway. He heard a door open and then she switched on a light and he could see into the room. It was tiny, with a mattress on the floor, another baseball bat, a cardboard box with items on it that might be knick knacks or treasured family heirlooms for all Allen knew. There were also two pairs of shoes resting neatly side by side next to the bed; a pair of Nike sneakers and a pair of black boots. Allen’s eyes traveled to her feet; she was wearing another pair of sneakers, threadbare and old.

  “You can have the floor,” she said gesturing to an empty corner of the small room. He crossed to it as she flopped onto the mattress, fiddling with something Allen couldn’t see. The whir of a machine suddenly filled the room with sound and Frances placed a small box like gadget next to her mattress. The room warmed slowly.

  “Electric heater,” she said burrowing into her duvet and curling up. “Goodnight.”

  Frances seemed to drop off to sleep and Allen was surprised at her ability to just relax her guard in front of a total stranger like him. Surely she knew better than that! Sure she had her baseball bat next to her but still…he looked around searching for something to use as a pillow. There was a pile of clothes nearby and he pulled the whole thing closer and placed his head on it. It was soft and the room was warm. He folded his hands on his chest and went to sleep.

  *****

  He woke to the smell of food permeating the tiny space. His stomach growled in response to the stimuli and he sat up almost before he’d even thought about it. Frances was fiddling with two paper plates containing French fries and cheeseburgers.

  “Good morning,” she said without looking up.

  “Morning,”, he replied eyes on the food.

  “Bathroom is down the hall if you want to freshen up,” she said. Allen struggled to his feet.

  “Thank you,” he said padding across the room and opening the door. The hall wasn’t so dark, a sliver of light illuminated the way to the bathroom. Allen hoped it wasn’t too gross; he put his shoes back on and walked cautiously down the hall. He pushed open the door, instinctively holding his breath. The bathroom though, was surprisingly clean. Clearly someone took the trouble to keep it that way. Allen used the facilities and then washed his face and hands and went back to the room.

  “What is this place?” he asked. “Do you live here by yourself?”

  Frances just looked at him with an inscrutable glance. “You didn’t give your name,” she said.

  “Allen. Allen St. James. And you are…?”

  “Frances Hilton,” she said.

  “Oh. Any relation…?” he asked half joking.

  “Sure. I’m related to the hotel mogul; it's why I’m living in this palace.”

  “No need for sarcasm,” he mumbled sitting down next to her and taking the plate she handed him. He tucked into the food concentrating on eating. He needed to find a way to pay her back for the food and board. Maybe he could offer to be her bodyguard?

  “How can I repay your kindness?” he asked.

  Frances said nothing just continued to eat; only darting an eloquent glance in his direction as if to tell him to shut up. He continued to eat in silence, taking her lead.

  *****

  “So why did you run away from home?” she asked after they’d eaten. Allen jumped; somehow, he hadn’t expected that question.

  “How did you know?” he asked.

  “You’re no street kid,” she said, her eyes on the shoes she was lacing.

  “Wow, is it that obvious?” he asked wryly.

  “Kind of is, yeah,” she replied straightening up and looking at him. Allen shrugged.

  “Okay then, yeah I ran. I don’t feel like talking about it though, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind. You mind pullin your weight?” she asked.

  Allen was cautious about agreeing to things blind but she’d proved legit so far. “Sure, I’d like to. Just tell me how.”

  “Come with me,” she said heading for the door.

  *****

  Karl Valence, her employer and local bookie was only too happy to take on another collector. Business was good and kids were cheap. Besides, Allen looked like a capable individual if a bit soft. At fifteen years old, he was already six feet tall and well built. Karl decided to pair him with Frances; she was a tough cookie but small. If she had ‘enforcement’ with her he could expand her scope of collection. She was a remarkably effective collector; never left without getting her cash. Karl had his eye on her.

  Allen and Frances worked well together; they complemented each other quite well and Karl was happy with the work they did. Allen had been reported missing by his uncle though, because you couldn’t be the guardian for someone if they weren’t present and accounted for and his uncle had been
cut off until Allen was found. A reward had been put out for his recovery; and one of the clients they collected from recognized Allen. He wasn’t about to pass up a two hundred thousand dollar pay day so he called the number given on the poster. Two days later, police showed up at their bunker and tried to take Allen away. He refused to leave Frances behind despite her reassurances that she would be just fine. Allen’s uncle was not on board with having another mouth to feed but Allen went around him and spoke to the administrators himself. His three months on the street had taught him to stand up for himself and he felt like Frances was the only real friend he’d ever had. At least the only friend who wanted nothing from him. All she had done was look after him and helped him without asking for anything in return. Allen owed her.

  The administrators proposed a one off pay off to Frances but Allen felt that would be too tacky. Besides he was pretty sure Frances would refuse it. His counter proposal was that they could take her in. The administrators were reluctant to do that and insisted on doing a background check on her. Allen was fine with that, if only because she’d kept her history pretty close to her chest and Allen was curious. It was a typical story though; her mother was a crack addict who over dosed one day when Frances was ten years old. Frances was home at the time and waited for two days for her mother to come home. When she didn’t, and Frances got hungry, she ventured out to look for her and for food. For a few days, she surfed the dumpsters, and filched fruit at the market. She avoided soup kitchens because they might want to know where her guardian or parent was. Even at ten years old, she knew what could happen to her and she wanted no part of foster homes and she didn’t want to leave her mother. She went back to the apartment to sleep and check to see if her mother had returned; until the landlord threw her out for not paying rent. Then she was out on the street, alone and penniless. She was a survivor though and quickly found an abandoned building to live in. She joined up with Karl Valence not long after. The administrators were worried that Frances would bring her shady past into Allen’s life with her and tried to dissuade him from his plan to give her shelter. Frances was fine with just going back to her crib; she had lived on the street for four years; she was used to it.