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

by Gemini Jensen

I can’t help but take note of the way certain people are gawking over the two of us together. Pierce wasn’t exaggerating when he told me that he’d never taken a date to one of these events. Now, here I am, not just as a date, but he’s making it seem like he knows everything about me. Almost like we’ve been together for a while, but we wanted to keep things under wraps.

  Dinner is a lavish feast comprised of delicious foods I’ve only eaten a handful of times in my entire life. The halibut is served in some tasty sauce and nearly melts on my tongue it’s so tender. Who knew that was possible with fish? Mom would love it.

  A slight tinge of guilt appears when I think of her. Culpability over lying to her, and worse, turning my phone off…even if it was for the best. When Althia Malone is on the save-and-protect path, she makes it seem like I'm being hunted by Genghis Khan. I snort at the thought, making the noise smack-dab in the middle of someone’s speech up on stage. The couple sitting to my right throw me a horrified look laced with disdain.

  Hey, don’t blame me…Pierce is the one who insisted upon bringing a social pariah in her own right, out into the midst of upper society. Blame him.

  The silver-haired lady across from me can’t seem to stop glaring down her nose at me every few moments, irritating me to no end. I surprise myself by ignoring her for an entire five-minute period. However, when she leans close to say something to the person beside her—a young lady my age, perhaps her daughter—and they both begin to glance over as they continue whispering, then the younger one even giggles… all that impressing patience is shot to shit.

  My chair squeals against the lacquered floor as I stand, causing Pierce to look up at me in alarm. “Everything okay?” he asks.

  “Of course,” I school the agitation from my voice and lean down and whisper in his ear, “I’m just going to head to the ladies room and freshen up. I also need to call and check on my mother while I’m in there.”

  “Want me to walk you there?” His face appears concerned, as he glances at the women across from us, eyes narrowing.

  I shake my head. “No. I’ll be fine. Be back in a few minutes.”

  He leans over to place a soft, dismissive kiss on my cheek inspiring me to glance over at my Anti-Fan-Club and zap them a satisfied smirk before leaving the table.

  I’m the lone wolf, the only person who is up out of their seat aside from those working the floor. But then again, I’m the lone wolf no matter where I’m at in this crowd. I don’t know how my mom did this whole thing back in the day; how she lived this lifestyle, and even more incomprehensible—how she enjoyed it.

  Unfortunately, as I attempt to meander through the maze of dining tables unnoticed, the man giving the speech concludes his oratory and walks off-stage. Conversation stirs between the guests while they wait out the short break between speakers. As I pass by one table, I skid to a halt, hearing a voice that sounds eerily similar to someone I used to know. Voices are overlapping and mixing together, Valley. You’re confused. Convinced my imagination is beginning to seep over into reality, I carry on my way.

  But then, I hear a hearty laugh that echoes through the expansive room, ricocheting through my entire body.

  I glance up and gulp down a lungful of air.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I’M LITERALLY TWO feet away from the table of people and must look like a freak show just standing here gawking.

  How the hell is this happening to me? Again?!

  Donning a deep blue suit topped off with a bow-tie and looking nothing like the country boy I met three years ago, he’s a sight. His inky hair is shorter on the sides with the longer part on top slicked back like a faux-hawk, beard trimmed but still more grown in than it ever was before. The suit and beard combination is breathtaking—which is probably the reason all the air left my lungs on sight—and gives him a regal yet rugged appeal.

  And I’m not the only one enchanted by him. All of his table-mates are captivated by his enthusiasm and charm while he partakes in an animated discussion—one I have no clue the topic despite my being within hearing distance.

  All I see is him. Every sound in the room has blended into background noise.

  He’s so at ease, so attuned with his surroundings and the people. For some reason, I think about a certain discussion in one of my debate classes when I was younger, involving genetic cloning and how scientists had successfully cloned an animal.

  Perhaps they moved on to human tests? Because this man who’s currently sitting in this one room taking up an entire floor of the Grand Heights Hotel—the same room I’m in right now—isn’t anything like Grayson Charles Knightley from Central Valley, North Carolina.

  They might share the same face, but that’s where the similarities end. It’s eerie how much one person can change—can evolve— into someone and something so far away from where they started; it makes me question nature.

  It takes a moment before I realize there’s a woman beside him, her hand placed just below his elbow like some show of ownership. A silent, he’s mine, back off, to the other women around them. Every now and again he awards her a polite smile before turning back to the others.

  His date is stunning in every way. Her hair is like a decadent dessert, the perfect blend of caramels and chocolate hues, expertly accomplished, no doubt. It’s eye-catching the way her glittery white gown contrasts with her bronzed skin, the type of natural olive shade other girls covet, even risk getting cancer for.

  I glance down at my fair skin, silently cursing the auburn hair that practically guaranteed I’d never be able to tan. Bright red skin that begins to peel is the only thing I receive from laying out in the sun.

  From what I can make out from her seated position, she’s statuesque like a runway model but with more curves. Jealousy flares at the way her angelic face is awash with an eagerness to drink in his every word. And when her melodic giggle fills the air, causing her to curl into Gray’s side in a way only a lover would, the jealousy evolves into a different sentiment altogether.

  My stomach drops. I’ve just been shoved off the top of Mt. Everest, and my heart has been impaled by the sharpest rock once I finally hit the ground below. It’s that very hurt that pushes me to finally snap out of it. I take a step back and collide with one of the beverage servers as I do. The huge tray he carries teeters back and forth, but I grab one end to steady it just before the drinks all slide off one side—the same side that would have had all of them landing on my beautiful dress.

  “I am so sorry,” I say, my cheeks blazing.

  “No worries, miss. Everything turned out fine.” The beverage server smiles kindly at me.

  I glance back toward his table, hopeful no one heard the commotion.

  And I’m like a deer caught in headlights—big, semi, eighteen-wheeler headlights.

  Warm, whiskey colored eyes regard me. They might belong to a stranger but my heart doesn’t know the difference. It still chooses to upshift to the highest gear.

  As the server begins to walk away with his tray of drinks, I snatch the glass closest to me, tossing it back as I hightail it in the opposite direction. The taste of—ironically, whiskey—burns all the way down my throat and into my belly, but from the way my head is spinning, I hardly notice.

  I rush in the direction of the restroom. The click, clack, click of my heels echo down the empty hallway following my retreat. Instead of going into the bathroom, I’m relieved to find a powder room with cushioned benches and mirrors.

  Shoving the door open, I slip by two women who don’t even seem to notice my alarmed state and ignore me, continuing their gossipy conversation. I survey my surroundings with sweet relief. I’m now completely alone.

  Thank God.

  A ribbon of emotions begin to spiral out of control. I can’t even hone in on one out of the many. And this type of predicament—the mental breakdown type—is not something I want to attempt to recover from in company.

  Gurgling comes from my stomach and I fight the urge to hurl. The tight grip of anger
clutches me at the same time, and for a moment I have the notion to march back out there and give him a piece of my mind. I don’t even care who hears it. I don’t even care if Pierce hears.

  Hypocritical as it may be, I have this desire to lash out at Gray. But I also want to ask, why her? What does she have that I don’t? Besides a few years on me, and a stunning body that showcases significantly larger breasts. Stupid, I know, because here I am carrying on a slightly classier rendition of a fuck-buddy relationship with Pierce.

  And after all those notions, I want to walk up to Gray and fuse our lips together. To show him that, yes, I still love him despite everything he said to me and everything that’s happened. For him to call me his Buttercup one more time. Then, I want to curl up in the fetal position and either cry or die. I haven’t decided between the two just yet. Maybe I’ll drown to death from my own tears and really play up the dramatics.

  I’m a walking, talking mess of a person. I have been for months, but seeing him out there…It stirred all that back up again. I thought I was moving forward, but am I really? Could it even be considered that when he still affects me so immensely?

  Taking a seat on one of the benches, I turn my palms face up and close my eyes, willing myself to think of something else—anything to calm my mind. I tell myself to choose some of the happiest times of my life, to focus on what I was feeling then so I can bring some sunshine back to help combat this darkness.

  Everything I think of involves my months in Central Valley; almost every good memory called to the forefront of my mind has to do with Lyra and Gray. The tire-swing. Christmas. Prom dress shopping. My birthday and Princess Frou Frou—and countless other times with the boy with the caramel eyes. While the memories still make my heart twinge, they also help combat my erratic mood, instantly calming me.

  The door opens. Music and voices drift inside like a cold draft before shutting again. Great, an unwelcome person seeking shelter from the party. Maybe if I keep my eyes closed they’ll go away, kind of like the whole peek-a-boo concept of a toddler. My eyes are shut, so…If I can’t see you, you can’t see me.

  Any ideas of feigning sleep are effectively shot down when the lock clicks into place, alarming me. I now have an obligation of self-preservation to check my surroundings, to ensure I’m meant no harm. But even in those seconds before I peel my eyes open, my skin pricks with awareness, with that uneasy feeling of being watched.

  Or maybe it’s just that feeling I’ve always gotten when he’s watching me.

  “Meditating?” His tone is black velvet, rich yet masculine, shaking my still waters.

  “No, trying to get rid of you,” I snipe, peering up at him after finally opening my eyes.

  The corners of his lips turn down, but he doesn’t comment on my bitchy response.

  I’m glaring at him now, and he’s staring straight back.

  Even as my mind and body war between hate and love and a million other things, I still feel like climbing on top of him and screwing his brains out until I’m completely spent.

  And I hate it.

  His eyes drag over my silhouette, lingering on certain areas, and he makes no show of hiding the action. It seems that even if he stopped wanting me, his dick didn’t.

  I know him.

  Correction, I know the old him.

  I recognize the desire swimming in his eyes and written in his stature.

  I recognize him trying to fight it by the tick of his jaw and the white of his knuckles due to his fists squeezed tightly at his sides. It’s the exact reaction he elicited back before we had sex for the first time, back when he erroneously thought he would be robbing the cradle.

  “Why are you here?” he finally asks. “Don’t you know it’s insane for you to be parading around at such a public event? You’re living closer to Jersey than you’ve ever been before.”

  Like I needed you to point that out.

  I roll my eyes, folding my arms over my chest. “I’m not stupid, even if what I chose to do tonight may be. Obviously, I’m here as someone’s date.” His nostrils flare and his eyes narrow at my statement. “Did you not just have a date out there? The pretty brunette that looked like a fashion model?” I taunt.

  His brow furrows. “Joss? She’s the coordinator for the event tonight. I mean, yeah, we came here together as each other’s date, but we aren’t together in that way. It just looks better if you don’t show up alone to these kinds of things. Neither one of us had a date yet, and it was last minute, so we ended up helping each other out.” He takes a step toward me as he speaks so I hold my hand up between us.

  “Stop. You don’t need to explain yourself. You don’t owe me anything anymore. I really just…don’t care.” I emphasize the words more sharply than I intend to, slowly shaking my head as I try to wrap up this little impromptu meeting. “Look, my date is probably looking for me, and he’s probably worried,” I add, wetting my lips before I continue. “And I have been seeing him—ever since you walked out and told me to move on because you didn’t want me anymore.” Tossing my head back, I let out a laugh, and it sounds equal parts hysterical and terrifying. I’m a damn nutcase. “Am I going crazy, or did I just imagine that fucked up conversation in your fancy car those months ago?” I know I didn’t, but in a way, I kind of wish I did. I’d almost rather be a lunatic than deal with the pain from that day.

  His Adam’s Apple bobs up and down. “No,” his short response comes out raw, and so low I can barely hear him.

  It breaks my heart, but I have to stay strong. “That’s what I thought. I don’t know you anymore, Gray.” I poke my finger center-chest, right in between his defined pecs, which I try hard not to notice. “And I don’t talk to strangers. The old Gray would know that.” I pin him in place with a look of hate, a warning not to broach the subject any further. I couldn’t stand to hear his excuses, or worse, for him to explain himself all over again, reiterating the same reasons just in a longer and more drawn out way. “Okay then,” I say, making a show of wiping my hands of him, “I think we’re done here.”

  He stares at the wall behind me in shock as I move to step around him. I jerk the handle to the door and pull. Just as it starts to give, he spins around, throwing his forearm and foot out at the same time to slam it back in place. His chest grazes me. He’s so close, I can smell him. And it isn’t Dolce and Gabbana or some other expensive eau de cologne nonsense despite his expensive attire. It’s the same deliciously enticing natural fragrance he’s always had. Stunned and confused by his proximity, I pause, giving him time to grasp my hand and move it away from the handle. Throwing a stern glance my way, he relocks it.

  My breaths come quick and shaky as I turn around to face him, backing up until my spine hits the door. I need distance, but I can’t get away from him. He’s still so close that my breasts brush against his pecs with each rise and fall of my heaving chest. With one arm already resting on the surface beside my head, he slides the other up, effectively caging me in.

  Resting his forehead against mine, his eyelids flit shut, brows pinching together when he takes a deep breath. “We. Will. Never. Be. Done,” he grates out. Then his lips claim mine. Ferociously. Passionately. Almost viciously.

  He leans his weight against me like he’s afraid I’ll run away, cupping my face and stroking my cheek. His tongue darts out, swiping at the seam of my lips and seeking entrance.

  And I open for him. I open for him because it’s all I can do. I have no other choice when this right here, is what I’ve been dying without. What else can I do but relinquish all control, to allow him complete domination over my senses?

  There’s a part of me that almost feels ashamed knowing a good man waits for me down the hall and he’s likely worried about me. Almost. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do care about Pierce. It’s hard not to when someone is kind and attentive to your needs. But in reality, it’s like Pierce is just renting my heart. He’s leasing a piece of property until he’s required to vacate the premises because the owner is re
ady to move back in.

  Gray has always owned my heart. From the very beginning. Still now. And even when I die—my body succumbing to the elements, withering away; my bones turning to dust and scattering amongst the four winds; my heart ceasing to exist in the process—it will always and only, forever belong to him. Because, fuck, he also owns my soul.

  Thinking back to the first moment I met him, my heart was his long before I ever realized it.

  I whimper, wrapping my arms around him and pull him impossibly closer as I give myself over to the instinct that can only come with pure, raw passion. It’s a kiss like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. The kind of kiss that plants fear in my heart because I'm afraid to live life knowing I’ll never experience anything of this magnitude again.

  He breaks away to graze his lips along my neck, lightly sucking as he does.

  “Don’t leave a hickey this time,” I mumble, sliding my fingers up the back of his head and entwining them in his hair.

  He chuckles as he moves his way up my neck to my earlobe, sucking it into his mouth for a second before whispering in my ear, “You know I did that on purpose.”

  His breath, hot on my skin, causes me to shudder.

  Suddenly, the handle behind me begins jiggling and a male voice comes from the other side.

  “Kate, are you in there?” Pierce’s muffled voice carries through the door. Gray stiffens, growling in my ear.

  I have to clear my throat, thick with arousal, before answering. “Yes, I’m not feeling well. Just trying to freshen up. Can you give me a few minutes? I’ll return to the table shortly.” I glance at Gray as I say it, and the irritation and simmering anger marring his features is unmistakable.

  “Do you need anything? Do you want me to sit with you?” Pierce asks with concern.

  “No…Please,” I say a little panicked. “Just give me a little longer to compose myself. I, uh, don’t want you to see me such a wreck like this.” My stammering voice is a dead giveaway to the anxiety weighing on me, a bold exclamation point at the end of my lie.