Love on the Rise: Book Two of The Against All Odds Series

by Gemini Jensen

  It’s strange to think about it now. It took me being forced out of my comfort zone and being required by my mother to reach out and attempt fostering a friendship with someone else, for me to realize I was suffering from loneliness. Had I never moved to Central Valley, or met Lyra and Gray, I’d likely still be walking around oblivious to the existence of that particular feeling, the exact same way I was once oblivious to the existence of love.

  Lonely and I, we were once a compatible team. We existed harmoniously.

  Getting close to the Knightley family completely screwed up lonely’s and my relationship. Now, that relationship is irreparable, never to be the same again. It’s almost like when a man cheats on a woman. Or vice versa. The woman might forgive the man, she might even try to work things out, but the fact of the matter is…everything has changed. The relationship has lost that certain purity, causing bitterness.

  That’s me, bitter about loneliness. No longer satisfied with the relationship that it provides me. Some days, when I’m at my very worst, I wish I never would have moved to Central Valley. Before that period of time, I never knew what I was missing in life. I was naïve. Ignorant, yet content with being so.

  But fast-forward to now, and now I know.

  Waking up every day, being aware of things I once wasn’t, fucking sucks. For a brief moment in time, I had a best friend. I had a secret lover—my best friend’s older brother. I had two companions. Now, I’m companionless.

  Companionship. There’s something else to think about. I wouldn’t mind a little company now and again. Just to talk with someone and maybe not even that. I’d be okay with just a nice companionable silence spent with another living and breathing human being. Someone other than my mom, preferably.

  Or, maybe, I should just go all out. Do I need to get laid? It’s been three years. I went from having sex any time Gray and I could find a few stolen moments, any time I could sneak from his sister’s room and into his—and trust me, we always found time—to being completely cut off from it. Trust me, going from one extreme to the other isn’t a painless adjustment.

  And it finally hits me. I just got a damn good idea.

  I think.

  Throwing back the covers, I flip on the lamp beside the bed and head to my closet. Frantically pushing hangers aside, I choose the sexiest outfit I can muster up, which doesn’t take long with my slim-pickins. Shimmying the ripped denim jeans up around my hips, I whisper up a silent prayer that they still fit despite the extra eight pounds I’ve gained in the last half year. Sheer luck.

  I drop the white scoop-neck tank top over my head, and slip on my black leather ankle booties, heading to the bathroom to throw on some makeup basics. Swirling my brush along the compact, I powder my face. Next, I create a barely noticeable wing at the corner of my eyes and apply a thick coating of mascara. Finally, I swipe on some dark red lipstick. My fingers catch on the tangled strands of my tresses as I run them through a few times, thankful that it still holds most of the curls from earlier in the day. I grab my clutch and slide on my black leather coat.

  I officially look like a biker chick and a badass one at that.

  As I lock up my apartment, I can’t help but hope this big “plan” I’ve suddenly hatched, isn’t served with a side of “morning-after regrets.”

  Chapter Two

  FLASHING MY FAKE I.D. at the entrance of the club and giving the bouncer my winning smile, he lets me past.

  “Good to see you back again, Miss Knightley,” he smiles as his eyes rake over my body appreciatively.

  Miss Knightley.

  A thrill still shoots down my spine every time someone calls me that. Choosing that name was my way of being closer to where my heart lies. It was definitely foolish to choose a name that was in some way linked to my past identity, but I argued with my mom and refused to back down on this one. Two identities later, I stand firm in my refusal to drop the last name.

  “Thanks, Brock,” I reply to the friendliest bouncer who works here.

  Tonight isn’t my first rodeo when it comes to clubbing. It is, however, the first time I’ve come here with a goal in mind. And the main objective for the night: Operation get laid.

  I’m ready to move on from the despondency and depression I’ve become consumed with. I’m in the prime of my life, and I shouldn’t have to mope around and give up sex altogether. Damn it, I have needs too! It might be hard for some simple-minded people to understand, but sexual needs and desires aren’t solely an issue for men.

  Ambling down the dark hallway on my fashionable stilts, I take in my surroundings. Couples line the walls on either side of me, frantically clawing at each other as they lock lips in a most intrusive manner. That could be me later tonight if everything goes the way I want. The music pulses around me, the volume increasing with each step I take.

  Lights flicker over the dance floor as I make my way smack dab into the center, pushing against other bodies to get there. The place is crowded, completely packed, but it doesn’t deter me. All the better to blend in.

  I bounce around in time to the animated thumping, loosening up, and instantly enjoying myself. As with many of the songs played by the DJ, I’m unsure of the title, but it’s a good choice. The music creates a vigorous and energetic atmosphere and the crowd here tonight seems full of life, evident in the way I’m being bumped from all sides by a different person every few seconds.

  It’s clear everyone here is so enraptured by the party-like mood, they hardly notice when they unintentionally nearly knock someone else over. Funny how a change of atmosphere also changes your mindset. If someone were to bump into me on the street or store and didn’t apologize, I’d probably be ticked off. Here, it’s to be expected.

  Just as I get used to the lively momentum, a sexy and slower tune begins to play. I recognize it as being one of my favorites. “Wicked Games,” by The Weekend has me dipping a little lower and rolling my hips in time with the beat. In this moment, I’m free from all the pain I’ve allowed myself to be overcome with. All of the bad in my life has dimmed and become background noise; still there, existing, just out of focus. The atmosphere, the music—it’s all I’m thinking about. My eyes drift closed. Releasing all the stress, I allow my mind to shut down, the primal instincts of my body taking over.

  As my hips swivel, a large set of hands come to rest on them. Stunned, I turn around slightly—never faltering in my movements— to find a very handsome man behind me.

  Clear blue eyes framed by long thick lashes inspect me, making me feel a zing of animation course through my limbs that I haven’t realized I’ve been missing. His gaze hints of curiosity and intrigue as his body begins to move with mine. The man has sandy brown hair that borders on being blonde due to the sun-kissed streaks naturally painted throughout. He’s like every girl’s fantasy; that much is evident even with the dimmed lighting the DJ has paired with this slower song.

  And he’s built. His crisp button-up shirt ripples over his muscular torso with each perfect move.

  I know I should walk away and act offended or I’ll give him the impression I’m an easy lay. But isn’t that kind of the point tonight, the idea of maybe engaging in a one night stand?

  I’m not going to deny it, a trill of excitement shoots down my spine.

  We continue to dance even when the song ends and a new one begins, and a few minutes later he leans down close to my ear, his lips nearly touching the outer shell. “You want to head to the bar, maybe get a drink and get to know each other?” The huskiness of his voice rolls over me, making me instantly compliant. And if that weren’t enough, the sweet smell of alcohol on his lips lingers to mix with something spicy and almost exotic.

  I acquiesce by nodding and he gently, yet firmly, takes my hand. His touch is both assertive and confident, yet respectful all at once as he leads me off the dance floor toward the bar. We take a seat on the brushed metal stools and he motions toward the bartender, garnering his attention to order a scotch. Then, he turns to me.

/>   “And the lady would like…” His voice trails off allowing me the opportunity to fill in the blank.

  “A Sex on the Beach,” I answer. In all honesty, I’ve never had that drink in my life—I’ve really only tried a handful of cocktails since I turned twenty-one—but the title seems befitting, especially considering my goals for tonight.

  “A Sex on the Beach,” he parrots back to the man behind the bar before turning back to me with a curious gaze.

  “I’m Pierce.” He holds his hand out for introduction as he says it.

  “Kate.” The lie falls easily off my lips.

  “Like the princess?” He grins, amused at his own comment.

  Tossing him a shrug, I reply with a shy smile. “Just like the name, but not like the princess.”

  “Are you sure? Us Brits know a thing or two about royalty, even if I have been living in the States for years. You seem like you could be one of them.” He grins.

  Ah. I thought I detected a bit of an accent. I quirk my eyebrow in response. “How so?”

  “Just that look of innocence you carry about you. You seem to be brimming with propriety,” he states.

  How annoying, I nearly say aloud but choose to huff out my frustration instead.

  Innocent. Ha. That’s not at all the look I was going for tonight. Sultry-vixen-waiting-to-strike would be much more along the lines of what I’m aiming for.

  “I think I’m well past shedding the title of innocent, and just so we’re clear, I can’t be untouchable if we were just grinding against each other back there on the dance floor,” I remind him.

  Pierce comes this close to charming the panties right off me when he increases the height of his smile on one side only, making it lopsided and nearly too much for a sexually frustrated gal like myself to handle.

  Glass clinks against the lacquered wooden countertop as the bartender places our drinks in front of us. Pierce slips the man a fifty-dollar bill in exchange.

  “Keep the change,” he states dismissively and turns back to face me. “So, Kate, what brings you here tonight? From the looks of it, you don’t appear to be with a group.” He glances around us, his eyes flitting back toward the dance floor.

  Observant.

  “I’m just here to have a good time.” My tone sounds more like a question than the nonchalant response I was intending. “The atmosphere here helps me relax,” I clarify.

  “The club atmosphere helps you relax?” He laughs, both his eyebrows shooting up as his strong fingers wrap around the glass like a reflex.

  “How is that funny?” I snap, already beginning to rise to my feet to retreat from a potential confrontation. There’s one thing I can’t stand and that’s judgmental people, especially when I’ve just met someone. Although, now that I think of it, I’ve shamefully had to stop myself from doing the same in similar situations.

  It’s just that Mom has said some things lately that seem like she judges every little thing I do. She’s never come straight out and said it, but the look she sometimes gives me, cues me in on what’s on her mind. You’re still moping around after that boy?

  Pierce’s razor sharp eyes catch my movements and seem to read my intention. In one swift move, he reaches out to lay his hand on my forearm and his eyes soften from their previous piercing glint to a knowing intelligence.

  “Stop.” His voice commands, and for some stupid reason, I halt all movement. “I’m not trying to be critical, I just want to understand you better. There’s something intriguing about you. You—” He pauses for a moment before he continues in a murmur of honesty, “you remind me of someone I used to know.”

  His tone is peppered in sadness and salted in regret. Two lost and lonely souls. The phrase runs through my head out of the blue, but it makes sense. Maybe that’s the draw we’re feeling for one another, this essence of shared loneliness. After all, like attracts like.

  I plant myself back into the seat, eyeing him apprehensively. I observe as the rigidness in his posture slackens.

  “How does the atmosphere here help you feel relaxed?” he asks more kindly this time.

  Suddenly feeling like I’m in the hot-seat, I sharpen my focus as I pick up the glass in front of me and take a sip, mindful that I don’t allow it to slip from my nerve-ridden fingers. My palms have begun to turn clammy, and my stomach is working itself into knots when the fruity flavors of the cold beverage slide down the back of my throat.

  Not bad.

  “I think it’s the idea of getting lost in a crowd. No one knows me here. No one is really judging because they’re all too preoccupied with the sensory overload. Most people think being somewhere alone, perhaps a spa, or just staying home all day and not being disturbed is the epitome of relaxing. It’s not like that for me. I get trapped in my head and can’t escape.” I take another sip of my drink just to have something—anything—else to focus on besides my brimming insecurities. Opening up and sharing a part of myself, being honest with someone, is scary. It doesn’t matter if it’s someone I love or a stranger in a club that I’ve just met.

  He cocks his head at me and his expression is thoughtful. The way his gaze strokes over my face causes me to blush. “Same.” It’s not one of those agreements people throw out just to be polite or because they don’t know what else to say. I actually believe him.

  “So, what do you do? I would ask if you're a student from the nearby university, but I don’t get that kind of vibe from you.” I angle the top half of my body more in his direction so that I can check him out, but disguise it as genuine interest in the conversation. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am genuinely interested, and much more invested than I was, to begin with, which is the reason I’m also aching to get more than just a mere glimpse of him.

  Isn’t that how the best type of attraction works? Mental connection and sexual chemistry?

  Now that I’m openly taking him in, it’s like receiving the full effects of a defibrillator when it was previously on the lowest setting. I felt that first tingle of attraction from the smallest glance, but in studying him more intently, I’ve been thoroughly zapped.

  In plain English: I like what I see. His broad shoulders and expansive chest ripple beneath his shirt. I’m picky about muscles; obviously, I’m attracted to guys who take care of themselves, but Pierce’s frame is lean and toned. He clearly works out but isn't beefed up to the point of looking like a bodybuilder. My eyes slide over his chest again, noting the way the top two buttons are undone and how the skin appears smooth and hairless beneath. The sudden urge to run my hands over him there, or maybe even my tongue, powers through me.

  Holy freakin’ wowzers.

  “Let’s not worry with labels and silly titles and just focus on the here and now.” He makes a motion with two fingers between the two of us, his smooth voice causing my stomach to clench.

  It’s like I was supposed to meet him tonight, like fate had a hand in setting this meeting up for a specific, though unknown, reason.

  “Touché.” I lift my cocktail glass as if to toast.

  “So…” he says leaning even closer to me.

  “So…” I repeat and we both laugh.

  “You wanna know what drew me to you a few minutes ago, out on the dance floor?” His voice lowers an octave so that I have to move closer to him in order to hear. He smirks when I do, which is how I know it was a well-played strategic move on his part.

  “What’s that?” I purr softly, uncrossing my legs only to cross them again. His eyes drop to the movement before he answers.

  “Your free spirit. The way you looked so at ease, like you were in your element. I’ve had a rough day, and that’s all I’ll say about it, but the way you looked out there, it was exactly what I was seeking for myself tonight. I envied you,” he says, and it’s not what I was expecting at all.

  I lift the corners of my lips in an inviting smile.

  “Not to mention, you looked sexy as hell.” His eyes smolder as he reveals that last detail.

  I tip up m
y glass in response, quickly drinking the last of it as I decide to move things along a bit faster. Leaning in closely for full effect, I whisper in his ear. “Let’s get out of here. Do you have a place nearby or something?”

  He raises his eyebrows as his grin widens. He doesn’t look it, but I have a feeling he’s surprised by my forwardness.

  I’m certainly surprised by it.

  This isn’t me. Valley doesn’t go off cavorting with unfamiliar men. Valley pines away after one man only. But, somehow, in the course of about an hour, Pierce isn’t exactly unfamiliar. He’s no longer someone I’d view as being a potential threat, and he’s not quite what I’d consider an acquaintance.

  There’s something inviting about him, something that feels effortless and easy. He may still be a technical stranger, but not in a frightening and makes-you-apprehensive type of way; he’s a delicious and fascinating mystery.

  There’s something that’s haunting him; something that flickers in his eyes for brief milliseconds before he locks it away again. ‘Let’s not worry with labels and silly titles’ he just said not even five minutes ago. He surely must have realized it would make me want to find out all of those labels and titles even more.

  Call me nosey, or just naturally curious; Valley would have shrugged her shoulders and walked away, waking up the next morning and not even remembering the name of the person she had met the evening before. Other than tonight, there have only been two times in my life I’ve been curious enough about another person, intrigued enough to badger them until I figured them out: With my one-time best friend Lyra and with her brother, Gray.

  Pierce must be something special to evoke such feelings because I’ve grown up learning to only worry about myself. Well, that’s the story of Valentina Malone, but tonight I don’t want to be Valley. I want to be someone else…someone more like Kate Knightley. Kate sounds like the kind of woman who takes everything with a grain of salt and a shot of tequila and spins it into an encore of pleasure.