Rekindled: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance (Lost Love Book 3)

by Marcella Swann

  It was so different from their first road trip together that Faith could hardly believe it. She relaxed, singing along to the radio and enjoying his jokes and wry observations. Lucy sat on his lap, her huge head hanging out the window, sloppy tongue waving in the warm breeze. Tristan told her about his miserable final days with Ricky, which made Faith laugh. He’d become a better person, for sure.

  Just outside of Cleveland, Ohio, they stopped at a cute sandwich shop for lunch. Over BLTs and potato chips, Tristan gave her more details about the financials of the newly improved Booker Firm. Faith was all too glad to add her input, appreciating that he was thinking of her.

  “It sounds like you’re offering me a job there,” she said.

  “Maybe I am.” He sipped his soda. “Come on, Faith. You know you’d be the perfect candidate. You know how to help put people first, and that’s what this new firm is all about.”

  “Using that old Booker charm on me, huh?”

  He smiled. God, he couldn’t get more dazzling when he smiled like that. “I can see us working so well together. And besides, this new business model will require lots of traveling.”

  “Okay, okay,” she laughed.

  She could tell he was about to open his mouth and keep talking and talking in his usual Tristan way.

  So, she leaned over and shut him up with a kiss.

  Chapter 17

  The beautiful scent of the pines up in the Adirondacks drifted around them. Both Tristan and Faith really loved the crisp mountain air up here in northern New York. For two weeks, they’d spent time in the city. Every new place Faith went was amazing to her. Tristan had finished selling Ricky his part of the Booker Firm and downsized it quite a bit, only keeping himself, Faith, their personal assistants, and some accountants. Their first new venture together was helping a logging business, so they’d packed the truck with new camping gear and made their way up into nature.

  The campfire crackled, shooting up tiny sparks into the night sky. Faith sipped on her hot toddy while Tristan toasted s’mores and kept feeding graham cracker crumbs to Lucy. He sat back in the camp chair.

  “No reception out here.” He stretched his arms. “Just you, me, the doggy, and the trees.”

  “It’s nice. You miss Manhattan?”

  “We can always go back to visit,” he said, “but I don’t want to live there anymore. You know, you were so right about your cooking skills. I’d rather have your special dinners than anything on 5th Avenue.”

  She happily sighed. “Thanks.”

  He finished off his s’more, then stood up and reached out for her hand. She stood up next to him and he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close so she could nestle against his flannel shirt.

  “This new life with you has made me want to be better every day,” he said. “I love you.”

  Her breath caught. Then she leaned back slightly and looked up into his eyes.

  “I love you, too.”

  He kissed her passionately, his hands on either side of her face, teasing her lips with his lips, his teeth, his tongue. She melted into his embrace and kissed him back until she heard him groan.

  Suddenly, he broke the kiss.

  “What?” she asked, breathless.

  “Sssh. Come here.”

  He took her hand. Oh good, they were going to the tent for some hot loving…

  But no, he wasn’t leading her towards the tent. She tentatively followed him past the smoldering campfire and over to the truck.

  “Look,” he whispered.

  She peeked over the truck bed — and couldn’t believe what she saw. He’d pulled all the blankets and pillows to the truck bed and laid them out to make a soft nest.

  “It’s just like our first time.” His breath was in her ear as he whispered to her, his hands already unzipping her vest.

  “I thought that was on the sofa back at my house,” she teased.

  He slipped his fingers up her shirt. “No, not then. Although that was mind-blowing. No, this was like our first time as kids. With the fireworks.”

  “I remember.” She closed her eyes and moaned when he deftly unhooked her bra.

  “Come up,” he whispered.

  He helped her up into the truck bed. She took off her shirt and bra, exposing her breasts to the crisp night air and the moonlight. His eyes took in the sight of her. Then he was pulling off his pants while she unbuttoned his shirt, kissing his exposed chest. Her warm breath felt good on his skin. He got his pants off quickly and laid down on the blankets in the truck bed. She bent her knees and thrust her breasts towards his face. He brought his hands up and touched her and squeezed her over and over while she moaned. Then she reached back with one hand and found his cock. Her fingers wrapped around his smooth hot skin. She gave a quick twisting motion.

  He groaned and closed his eyes. She grinned and leaned down.

  Just one long, slow lick, starting right at the base of him, his scent around her. Then her tongue slowly rising up his length. He shuddered beneath her, his thighs tensing. She got to the tip and flicked her tongue.

  “Oh, fuck,” he groaned.

  His reaction made her smile. She quickly licked all the way down to the base. Then again. One long, slow lick, her tongue searing a hot trail up, up, up the whole length of him. Now he was so hard he was practically throbbing in her hand. She gave him a bit of a strip tease as she slowly unbuttoned her pants and brought them down past her soft ass. He slid his fingers up her calves. She slowly knelt down and straddled him. The stars were behind her and the trees rustled softly in the breeze. Her fingers once again touched his cock as she guided him inside her. For a few seconds she sat on him, slowly bucking her hips back and forth in a slight rocking motion that drove him crazy.

  Then she raised herself up and slid herself back down. He filled her completely, wet and slick from her tongue and their growing pleasure. She raised herself slowly up and brought herself back down. He groaned with the pleasure of her. And again. So exquisitely slowly, she raised herself right up until he was almost out, and then, just as slowly, brought herself back down.

  “You’re driving me crazy,” he gasped.

  “Am I?” she asked innocently.

  He suddenly vaulted his upper body towards her, his chest shaking from his breaths. He held on to her with his strong hands and thrust into her. She was soon lost in the pleasure of it. Her hand gripped the metal side of the truck bed and she matched his rhythm, her pleasure growing deep in her lower belly. Still holding her while he thrust, he slipped his other hand down to rub little circles around her clit. Her pleasure rocketed upwards and she gasped from its explosion.

  Seconds later, her orgasm came quick and strong. Her body shuddered and her muscles clenched around him. He couldn’t hold on any longer and he came then right after her, shaking them both with such power. He gripped her and let his body fall backwards. She landed on his chest and squeezed her eyes shut tight.

  The force of their pleasure made stars look like they were bursting.

  It took him a long while to be able to speak again. So long, that she thought he’d fallen asleep.

  “This,” he said softly. “This is what I’d been looking for. I ran from it once, but never again. Do you believe me, Faith? I’ll never leave you again.”

  “I should hope not,” she whispered. “This is my truck.”

  “Oh, you. . . ,” he muttered.

  She lifted her head and winked at him. He hooked one arm around her and, in one smooth motion, moved her off him and lay her warmth beside him in the truck bed. Then he grabbed a blanket and pulled it over their heads. Faith was ready for more.

  More with him. As much as she would ever want.

  The End

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  All of Marcella Swann’s books are available FREE on Kindle Unlimited.

  My Dream Job

  Redeemed (Lost Love Book 1)

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  Redeemed

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  Chapter One

  My morning coffee had long run out by the time I stepped through the doors of the building. I’d been grinding on the felony extortion case for six months straight, working all hours of the day and night. And, finally, it had—thankfully— paid off about an hour ago when the jury had turned in a not guilty verdict. It felt good, and the adrenaline had gotten me through the obligatory post-courtroom press conference, but as soon as I was in my car, heading back to the firm, I felt a slump.

  “Becky, could you do a Starbucks run for me? My usual—but with an extra shot,” I said, as I passed my receptionist on the way to my office.

  “Sure thing, Ms. Evers,” Becky said. “Should I get something for your client, too?” I stopped in my tracks.

  “I don’t have a client,” I told her.

  “You do,” Becky said, nodding. “I didn’t see it on your agenda, but Mr. Harrison said that the guy is definitely a client and had me show him into your office.” I stared at my receptionist for a moment, trying to make sense of what she’d just said. I had expected to come back to my office, have some coffee, do a little paperwork, and then, maybe, at the end of the day, look for my next client. I definitely had no prospects in mind already. But if Harrison--the senior partner at my firm--had insisted on someone being a client, it was probably a referral, and I couldn’t exactly afford to go against him.

  “I think whatever I have in my office will suffice for him,” I said, shaking my head to clear it. I smoothed my hands against the fabric of my blazer and squared my shoulders, telling myself that it would be fine; I’d jumped from case to case before. When I’d been working to get offered the partnership, I’d managed to keep tabs on five cases at a time—which, for private criminal defense, was a large load. I turned away from the receptionist desk and continued to my office putting on my best and most professional smile on my face to greet my new client.

  “Thank you so much for waiting for me,” I said, as I went through the door. “I was just wrapping up a case for another client and…” I stopped again, in the midst of closing the door behind me, to stare at the man waiting in the seat in front of my desk. I hadn’t seen him for ten years, or near enough--but I could recognize him like I’d spent every day of my life in his presence.

  “I figured it’d be better to try and catch you before you found another case,” Shawn Peterson said, rising to his feet. He extended his hand to me. “I do kind of wish I had a better reason for coming to see you though, Cyn.”

  I finished closing the door and tried to regain my composure. Of all the people in the world who could have been in my office, I would never have expected to see Shawn Peterson, my former high school sweetheart, waiting for me. “What the hell are you doing here, Shawn?” I stepped past him, ignoring his outstretched hand, and sat down at my desk. “I hadn’t heard you were in legal trouble.” I couldn’t resist smiling then; there was a wicked little part of me that was pleased at the prospect of the man, who’d broken my heart when we were teenagers, running afoul of the law.

  “I’m not, my father is,” Shawn said. I raised an eyebrow at that. Shawn Peterson Senior, who had thought that a scrappy, lower middle-class girl, daughter of a waitress who worked double shifts to keep the electricity on, wasn’t good enough for his son. He had probably thought that his own blood wasn’t just blue, but made of gold, and now he had landed himself in legal trouble. How very scandalous! What will the people at the country club think? I took a quick breath and exhaled slowly.

  “Give me one good reason why I should have anything to do with you, your father, or whatever his case is,” I told him. Shawn sat down and met my gaze levelly.

  “I would have gone with ‘help out a former friend,’ but I’m guessing that’s not really where your feelings are at right now,” Shawn said, smiling slightly. “So instead I’ll go with the fact that we can afford to pay you anything. Money is no object. I just want to get my father’s name cleared.”

  “I’m not that greedy,” I told him, shaking my head. “There are some things I just won’t do for money. I’m a lawyer, not a prostitute.”

  Shawn half-smiled. “Seriously? I mean, I know you’re not a prostitute or anything--not even the kind of lawyer that would take any case that comes her way. But I was hoping that I could at least offer you enough money to do it.”

  I shook my head again.

  “Shawn, the last person on earth that I would want to help is your father,” I told him bluntly. “You’re probably number two or three.” I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at him steadily. He didn’t deserve to look as good as he did; he should have gotten fat, or started going gray early--something like that, to vindicate me for the fact that he’d dumped me the way he had.

  Shawn rose to his feet. “I actually thought you might say something like that,” he told me. “I know you have good reasons to hate me and my father, but I hope you’d want to make sure that an innocent man doesn’t go to jail.” I stared at Shawn for a moment and burst out laughing.

  “An innocent man? Shawn, your father hasn’t been innocent for at least thirty years,” I said.

  “He’s innocent of the charges against him,” Shawn insisted, his expression losing the confident smile and taking on a firmer look. “There are plenty of things he and I have done that we probably deserve at least some comeuppance for, but the charges against him are all fake.” I didn’t want to believe him; of course, Shawn Peterson Senior had done something that had run him afoul of the law--I couldn’t imagine that any less than a quarter of his business dealings were suspicious. There had been rumors even back in high school, and what little I’d heard about Shawn since he’d graduated and gone on to work for his father told me that the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

  “If he’s really innocent like you’re saying, there shouldn’t be any problem at all with clearing his name,” I pointed out. “You could find a lawyer who actually wants the case.”

  “I don’t want just any lawyer,” Shawn said, holding my gaze steadily. “I want you.”

  “Why?” I uncrossed my arms and sat up in my desk chair. “Why on earth would you choose this moment to invade my life again?”

  “Because I’ve been following your career,” Shawn said. “I have to say, it’s almost like you decided to get this successful just to spite me.” He flashed that grin again and I felt a familiar--unwanted--flutter in my stomach. It was the same look he’d given me more than a few times when we’d been dating, just on a more mature set of features.

  “There are lots of successful criminal defense attorneys,” I pointed out.

  “They aren’t you,” Shawn said. I was almost flattered that he had, apparently, watched my career well enough to know how good I was; but I was also disgusted--a little bit--that he thought he could just show up in my office and demand my help. “Name your price,” he said. I considered refusing outright, because of all the cases I could work on, Shawn’s was the last one I wanted. But I paused. If I just refused, I would only be encouraging him to keep going. If I named a number--an absurd one--I might be able to get him out of my office, so I could enjoy a quick break before I looked for a new case.

  “Twelve hundred dollars an hour,” I said quickly. It was three times my usual hourly rate. “And I’d want a retaining fee of fifteen thousand dollars before I even look at the case. And that hourly rate will apply to each individual charge.” It was absolutely absurd, that amount of money. And depending on the type of crimes Shawn Sr. was accused of, it could amount to over $150,000 per charge.

  “Done,” Shawn said, without even batting an eyelash. I was stunned. Even billionaires—I thought—had a certain standard for spending money. He could have easily gotten a criminal defense lawyer for my usual rate, or maybe twice of that, with a much lower retainer.

  “I still don’t want to do i
t,” I said.

  “Think of what you could do with that kind of retaining fee,” Shawn said. “Besides which, can your firm really afford to turn down--what, maybe half a million dollars or more?”

  “What do you know about my firm?” I scowled at him.

  “I have done my research, Cyn,” Shawn said, smiling confidently. “Why don’t you confer with one of the senior associates? I’d recommend chatting with Paul Harrison.” I stared at Shawn for a long moment, even more shocked than I’d been when he’d accepted my proposed rate without even thinking—and that he’d done the math to know what I was demanding.

  Becky had mentioned that Mr. Harrison—Paul—had said that the man in my office was definitely a client. “What did you do?”

  Shawn smiled even more broadly, if that was possible. “Why don’t you go chat with him?”

  I wanted to refuse, but my curiosity had gotten the better of me.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, taking a quick breath to get my composure back before I went into Harrison’s office.

  I left Shawn seated across my desk and walked down the short hallway that led from my office to the senior partners’ domain. Paul had his door open, and I knocked on it briefly before stepping through it to get his attention.

  “Cynthia! Glad you’re back—I referred a client to your office,” he said. He looked pleased, and I felt like I had somehow managed to swallow a lead cannonball in the past ten minutes. I closed the door behind me.

  “How do you know Shawn Peterson? And why on earth did you send him to me?” Harrison had been in the trade for longer than I had been alive. He wasn’t quite at retirement age, but he clearly had fended off going gray with the help of a salon, and had held off wrinkles--at least the most obvious ones—with plastic surgery. It had been a big win for me to get my first job with the firm he co-owned, since he was a major name in criminal defense.