Recompense For Love: Book Three of the Against All Odds Series

by Gemini Jensen

  Her mouth opens to say something again, but she stops suddenly, a scowl crossing her face when her eyes settle on something—or someone—sitting near one of the window seats across from her. It’s as if she’s seen a ghost, her face turned white as a geisha.

  I glance in the direction with purpose, scanning the area for trouble, but am puzzled to find I don’t see anyone I know. Well, I actually see a fuckton of people I know, but none that would warrant such a reaction from her. Studying them a little more closely, I notice a man and woman I’ve never seen before sliding out a booth.

  The man is dressed expensively, showcasing a suit that’s way too high-end for the likes of Gia’s, let alone anywhere in Central Valley, even my own family’s prim and proper get-togethers. Offering his hand to her, he helps her from the seat, and I take in the way her chestnut hair is swirled back into some fancy twist.

  The couple definitely isn’t one of our own, but I can only assume one, or both of them, are someone she knows and that something about them upsets her. But Why?

  “Who are they?” I question, but she doesn’t seem to hear me, her body stiff and frozen in her seat, and seconds later the man’s eyes land on Lyra. It’s impossible to miss the way his face lights up with acknowledgment, or that his strides slow instantly.

  The woman he’s with also seems to notice someone has garnered his attention, and when she looks from me to Lyra, her lips settle into a thin, wide line going straight across her face. Resting Bitch Face at its finest. I narrow my eyes at him when he stops at our table.

  “Lyra,” he greets with a cocky smile. “Fancy meeting you here.” He nods his head toward the woman at his side in acknowledgment. “You remember my wife, Chandler, don’t you?”

  Lyra stiffens at his words, clearly not pleased. “As if I could forget,” she states sweetly, but the way her smile lasts for a mere half-second before it vanishes, clues me into the fact her sweet charade is anything but. “Lovely to see you again, Chandler. Oh, Nash,” she turns to me, causing me to arch an inquisitive brow. “This is the wonderful couple I was telling you about. Marcus, and his lovely bride, Chandler. You know,”—she softly nudges my elbow—“my ex.” Chandler seems to straighten her spine at that designation, and I might find it amusing if I weren’t overcome with another emotion.

  Jealousy slithers into my bloodstream like an acute poison and I’m even more on edge than I was a when I first realized Lyra’s distress. I’ve only had her once, but here I am, picturing him kissing my girl—fucking my girl, because the truth of the matter is, she’s mine whether or not she wants to believe it.

  Label Marcus an oblivious buffoon, or just shit stupid, but the idiot offers his hand out for me to shake. Me. Does he have no sense of self-preservation? He holds the perfectly manicured paw like it’ll be an honor to formally make his acquaintance, and that’s when I notice the smug look on his face, the one that says I fucked your girl and erroneously believe I made a lasting impression.

  It’s the only reason I take his hand. And squeeze as hard as I can. I grin at him when his knuckles pop under the pressure, then my mask falls back into that of an adversary when I give one swift, solitary shake.

  “Get the fuck out of my face,” I growl out menacingly. I sling his hand down and release it, and unsurprisingly, he’s gone in a flash.

  “That was interesting,” Lyra muses, although her tone is dull and void of hilarity, her eyes even shimmer as if she might cry, and god damn it, Lyra isn’t a crier. I’m still too busy burning a hole in his retreating back to agree or disagree with that statement.

  She clears her throat. “Where were we before we were interrupted?” I pull my attention back to her, watching her closely for any hints of desire or lingering feelings toward that piece of shit. When I realize she’s wholly focused on me, I’m able to breathe a little easier.

  “Kids,” I grind out the one word answer somehow, despite wanting to follow her ex out into the parking lot and beat his ass for what he did to her.

  “That’s right, kids. I don’t want them. Mind if we talk about something else?”

  “But why?”

  “Because I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “No. At least tell me why you don’t want them. You had names picked out from the time you were eight years old, dreaming about being a mom one day even back then…”

  “I used to, okay,” she raises her voice defensively. “Until every relationship I was in proved to be a fraud, and what kind of person would I be if I was okay in bringing a kid into a world like that?” She takes a sip of her water after she lashes out at me, her hands noticeably shaky.

  “Just because one guy screwed you over…”

  “Two,” she corrects.

  I nod. “Just because two guys screwed you over, doesn’t mean you just give up on finding someone, or of your dreams of having your own family.”

  She laughs humorlessly. “Oh, Nash. There’s so much you don’t know.” She shakes her head like I’m some naïve kid who doesn’t understand. “I’ve lived my whole life with my head in the world of romance novels, where the heroes are flawed but they meet the right girl and their whole world shifts, all their faults erased by love.” She snaps her fingers. “Just like magic. I used to think that would happen to me, but around the same time I had my big epiphany about living for myself, and being who I wanted to be, I also realized my idealistic dreams of love weren’t realistic. Nothing is going to rival the romance novels, so I’m always going to be disappointed. And I’m okay with that now. I can be the crazy cat lady who lives by herself and always has her nose in a smutty book with a guaranteed HEA. I can control it that way.”

  Her long, slim fingers clasp her glass as she takes a steady sip. “HEA?” I question.

  She sits the glass back on the coaster. “Happily Ever After.”

  “So, you’d rather read about someone else’s than making your own?”

  Her shoulder lifts in a half-shrug. “Making your own is an impossibility. Everything ends at some point. The people you love are destined to disappoint you, or you them.”

  I squint at her, assessing her for the millionth time and still being as taken by her as that first time I realized how beautiful she truly is. It still feels like a sucker-punch to the chest. “How does a girl so damn beautiful become so morose?”

  “Like you even have to ask.”

  I don’t. But still, there’s something else at work for her set-in-stone attitude.

  The waiter drops the check in front of us, and I glare at the piece of paper as if it’s to blame for calling the end to our dissatisfactory date before I even have a chance to fix it. This was supposed to be the deciding factor, the be-all, end all.

  And that’s when I get an idea. One that I hope is better than the other ones I’ve been having lately.

  “I’ll be right back. Finish up your food. I’m gonna hit the restroom.”

  Instead, I set out in search of our waiter.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lyra

  “Let’s go. The bill’s already taken care of.”

  His confidence is palpable, his ego larger than life. I battle with the relief and disappointment at the thought of our date coming to an end. As far as dates go, it wasn’t a great one, but there were times when I found myself really enjoying his company. Not that it’s hard to do, because Nash is charming as fuck. It’s a huge part of his appeal.

  Like a gentleman, he helps me up, he holds the door for me, and he helps me climb into his truck before circling around to his side. It’s only once he climbs in himself, that I realize he has a doggy-bag tucked under his arm.

  “What’s that?” I ask curiously.

  “Just a little something I picked up for Ari, assuming he’s still awake. Knowing how Aunt Marlowe spoils him on the nights she comes over to babysit, he’ll be up several hours past his bedtime. No wonder he doesn’t call me Dad yet. I’m the only one who shows him any discipline.” He rolls his eyes, and a huge grin finds i
ts way to my face. Can you say swoon? When I’m around Nash, it’s all I’m doing, and I hate him for it sometimes.

  “What exactly did you tell your Aunt Marlowe as being your reason for needing a sitter?” Worry and shame, something I know I have no business feeling, settles into my gut like a sack full of rocks. I know his family wouldn’t approve. Doesn’t mean I don’t want them to, which is strange considering I’m still on the fence with my own feelings.

  “The truth. I was going on a date with someone I’ve known for a long time, without going into specifics. She was more than thrilled to come over. She’s always been one for the move on with someone else mentality.”

  “Well, at least there’s that. But what are you going to do when she realizes who you went out with?”

  “Haven’t given it too much thought.” He gives a relaxed shrug of his shoulders. “I try not to worry about all the possibilities anymore, and just resolve to cross those bridges when I get there. You should try it sometime.” He cuts his eyes over to me at the suggestion, turning down my driveway and then taking another right toward my house when the road splits again. But instead of parking in front of my house, he drives straight through the field toward the river.

  “Where are you going?” I turn to him in confusion, asking the question right about the time he’s throwing it in park. He unbuckles himself, then reaches across to unbuckle me. Next, he lifts his back seat up and retrieves a soft plush blanket, before hopping out and marching over to my door.

  “What are we doing?” I try again as he lifts me down gently, grabbing the doggy-bag and sitting a to-go container on his dashboard before rolling the bag up again and tucking it under his arm.

  “I thought we’d end things with a bang given that dinner sucked ass, maybe have a little dessert…”

  “I don’t know,” I attempt to disagree, but he’s lifting me and hoisting my body over his shoulder caveman style before I’m even aware of his intentions. My scream fills the night around us, and I attempt to wiggle free but fail miserably. He plops me down on his open truck bed.

  “Come on, Stars. We both know there’s three things you can’t resist, and I’m betting if I throw them all together, it’s a triple treat.” He waggles his brows at the same time he wraps the blanket over my shoulders.

  “Alright, I’ll bite. What would those things be?”

  He shoots me a wolfish grin that sends my stomach spiraling out of control. I swallow. “Well, for starters,” he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and I lean into his touch without giving it a second thought. “For starters, you love the night sky, and you can’t resist a good dessert. Especially when it’s Italian and free.”

  “Excellent observation,” I agree with a laugh. “And the third thing I can’t resist?”

  He pops open the tops of our cartons, and I’m pleased to find he’s brought several types of dessert along for us to share. “Oh, the third thing is probably the most important of all…”

  Stabbing a forkful of Tiramisu and taking a bite, I look to him expectantly as I await his answer. Another huge grin is aimed my way, but this one is lopsided and full of the boyish charm he exuded once upon a time, back before the universe set out to tear us apart.

  “Me, baby. You’re crazy about me.” There’s a confident twinkle in his eye that has me leaning forward, not even correcting him or denying the accusation, and for once, it’s me pressing my lips to his urgently. It’s me practically tossing the containers of dessert to the side, and it’s me climbing into his lap and straddling him.

  I only pause to wrap the blanket around his shoulders too, creating a blissful cocoon around us, a drawing our bodies as close as possible. I whimper when his hands wrap around my ribcage, his thumb coming up to brush the underside of my breast as he slides off the truck bed. I hoist my legs around his waist when he takes a step forward, linking my ankles so I’m locked in place. This isn’t frantic and rushed this time. The way he handles me, kisses me with such languid care—its slow and cherishing.

  He struggles to open the truck’s backdoor, but somehow manages even while holding me, sitting me on the edge of the seat and pulling back to look in my eyes with a glance so desperate, so needy, I’m unbuttoning my jeans and tugging them off at the same time I slide back to make room for him.

  He groans, holding up a finger. “Just, one second,” he struggles with the words as if distracted, seeming to grit his teeth as he says them. Opening his driver-side door, he rolls down the back window all the way so that the night stars are still visible, at the same time, turning the heat on full blast before joining me in the back seat. It’s like we’re in nature, the vivid stars shining bright and clear like a ceiling overhead. I can’t help but appreciate the romantic gesture, but its not what I care about in this moment.

  I pop open the button on his pants, and he moves to take over.

  “No. Let me,” I stop him by gripping his wrist and pulling it away, slowly tugging at his zipper as if I’m untying the pretty red bow on a gift I’ve been anticipating for ages. I work the jeans down his legs, and he lifts up to help, but otherwise permits me full control.

  My mind is made up, but I don’t think he realizes my intentions just yet. The thing is, we’re not promised tomorrow, and things are always changing—always ending. There’s no way I’m letting this opportunity, this chance at a dirty fantasy I’ve had far longer than I should be able to admit, pass me by. My shirt is discarded and thrown somewhere in the front seat, leaving only my plum-hued, lace bra.

  My hand slides into his Calvin Klein boxers, gripping his thick, long cock and freeing it. He’s already so hard for me. Never in a million years have I ever thought I’d think a dick could be beautiful, I’ve always thought they were kind of ugly, but his is beautiful. Cheesy, yet true. He’s not too big, and definitely far from small—still the biggest, and best I’ve ever seen in real time.

  I glance at his face, but he’s looking down with his lip tucked between his teeth with pure need, curious to see what I’ll do—what it is exactly that I want. And what I want is his cock in my mouth, years ago.

  So that’s what I do. I dip my head, wrapping my lips around him and testing the waters by swirling my tongue along his sensitive head. The resulting sound pouring from his lips is something like a groan of pleasure and a growl blended into one. My clit begins to throb even more from the sexiness of it, making me moan in return.

  “Babe. Stars. You don’t have to do this…” his strained voice attempts to reassure me, but he sure as fuck doesn’t sound like he wants me to stop. His fingers threading through my hair as I continue to bob up and down tells me he wants me to continue, as does the fact he’s flexing his hips forward involuntarily. After my mouth has created some lubrication, I add my hand into the mix, eliciting more than few expletives on his part.

  At some point, his hand finds its way into my bra, cupping my breast and molding, before rolling my nipple between two knuckles only to start the process all over again.

  When he begins to become more vocal, his breathing growing heavier as his fingers tug my hair more tightly in his fist, I know he’s close.

  “I’ve thought about this since high-school. Even when I thought I hated you. Even when it was another girl, I’d close my eyes and picture you. Every. Single. Time,” he grits out the last words in a measured staccato. “But fuck if you aren’t better than every one of those fantasies combined.”

  I cock my neck to the side, gazing up to see his eyes blazing into mine with desire, and some other intense emotion I can’t place. A bead of precum seeps into my mouth, and once more I’m moaning, savoring the taste.

  “Your mouth is heaven.”

  He taps me lightly on the upper arm, probably to issue a wordless warning, which I choose not to heed. When he tries to pull me away from him so that he doesn’t come, I lock my neck in place, sucking even harder so that he can’t. “Stars, I’m about to…fuck…you have to stop,” he growls out. I ignore him, keeping with
the exact same combination that seems to have gotten him right where I want him.

  “Fuck.” He tenses suddenly, the hand on my breast squeezing, the hand in my hair tugging yet still guiding me along to the same rhythm as I bob up and down. Warm, salty yet sweet liquid hits my tongue, and I swallow every bit, relishing in the taste, instantly gratified like I’ve accomplished something major.

  My tongue darts out greedily, licking my lips to erase any lingering remnants of his essence. Gah, what is he doing to me? He’s making me do things I’ve never done in my life, and I’m doing them voluntarily, because I want to. He’s making me feel things I’ve never felt in my life, and its involuntary, and completely uncontrollable.

  “C’mere,” he drawls out lazily, his voice still thick and husky. Eagerly, he pulls me up so that we’re face to face, slowly leaning closer as he whispers, “You’re so perfect.” The tenderest of kisses presses to my lips, and for some reason, my eyes burn in turn. What is this feeling? Treasured. That’s it. I’ve never felt so treasured, or cherished, in my life. He pulls back. “But I wanted to be inside of you, you sly minx.” Another kiss lands at the tip of my nose briefly, before he peppers me with them everywhere—my forehead, my temple, behind my ear. “So I’m thinking…there should be some payback.”

  “Payback?” I arch a brow. “Oh, I’m all about reciprocation.” Especially seeing as how, in my past relationships, it was nonexistent.

  “Maybe…but you’re paying me back for taking away the option to fuck you.”

  “You’re kidding,” I scoff, sliding away a few inches to glare at him without going cross-eyed in the process. “After what I just did? Puh-lease.”

  His palm meets the center of my chest, just over my pulsing heart that’s currently working double-time just because he’s touching me, and he pushes me to lie back in the seat. One leg is bent, tucked up in the seat beside him. The other stretches out in the floorboard. His thumb brushes over my panties, grazing my clit, eliciting a breathless gasp from me as he hooks both thumbs in the elastic, tugging the fabric down to my knees. I arch toward him, desperate for more of his touch, which he doesn’t award.