Sweet on You (The Wilde Sisters #1) (14 page)

He couldn’t take anymore. He flipped her over, somehow managed to slide on a condom, and plunged into her over and over until he saw stars, and fell over the edge.

Still, he didn’t dare read this sexual fantasy as a sign of love and devotion. Pure, raw sex. That’s all it was.

***

Rayne

Holy mother of all that is beautiful.
Rayne nearly wept as Trent held her in his arms, both their hearts still beating erratically. This was definitely not what she expected when he said he’d plan the menu. If this was what it felt like to lose a bet, she’d come in last over and over again.

Everything had changed. They were no longer great friends who enjoyed sex. They were great friends who knocked the house down with hungry, passionate lovemaking that could not be experienced by two people who didn’t love and respect one another.

Still, she didn’t plan on pressing her luck and scaring Trent away. She could feel him relax but knew he’d tense up if she suggested anything more emotional. Reluctantly she slipped from the warmth of his body.

“Hey, get back here.” He reached for her hand but she was too quick.

“I’m a little sticky. I’m going to shower off real quick and head out.”

“Need any help?”

“I’m good.”

Ignoring his plea to stay, she gathered up her clothes and rushed off to his bathroom. If he surprised her in the shower she didn’t think she’d be able to stay strong and leave. Thankfully—and regretfully—he left her alone.

Not wanting to linger, Rayne toweled off, quickly dressed, and pasted on a perky smile. Trent had already pulled on his shorts but his torso was still bare. Dark purple stains speckled his ripped abs where she missed some sauce. Tearing her eyes away from his sweet spot, she chimed, “Hate to eat and run, but I have back to back to back classes in the morning.” She planted a chaste kiss on his lips and pulled away. “Dinner was…amazing. You can cook for me anytime.” She winked and turned away before she lost her strength to leave.

Ball’s in your court once again, stud muffin.

Chapter Twelve

Trent

Trent Kipson didn’t crawl after any woman.

Ever.

Until now. He was willing to break the mother of all his rules and let Rayne spend the night in his bed. But she left him. She. Left.
Him.
The woman who fell hopelessly in love with dumbass after dumbass and agreed to marry any man who asked, turned down Maine’s Bachelor of the Year. Well, she didn’t exactly turn him down.

Stripping the stained sheets from his bed, Trent smiled at the memory of Rayne’s face when he coated her with his sauces. Yeah, he had a shitload of a mess to clean up—literally and figuratively—but it was sure the hell worth it.

What he couldn’t figure out was why she took off in such a hurry. Did he hurt her? Scare her? No, the pleasure on her face and the way her body shuddered and tensed before going limp could not be faked. Rayne enjoyed it every bit as much as he did. Her running off intrigued him. Maybe she
could
do no-strings sex.

***

Rayne

“No, no, no.” Rayne threw the stick across her tiny bathroom and stormed into her bedroom. She pulled on running shorts and a sports bra, laced up her sneakers, and went for a grueling ten-mile run. Her legs ached, punishing her body for not properly stretching before the strenuous workout, but she pushed on, unwilling to slow down.

Things were going so well. Trent had finally fallen in love with her. Not that he’d uttered those beautiful words, but she knew. With every touch, every kiss, every laugh, she could read his love for her. For them.

This would scare him, push him away.

A baby. Rayne slowed enough to rub her flat, hard stomach and pictured what it would look like in a few months, full and round with Trent’s child.

And then she pictured his reaction when she told him he was going to be a father. Remembering how mortified he was at forgetting to use a condom, and the possibility that it could result in a pregnancy—which it did—Rayne removed her hand from her belly and swiped her eyes. It had to have been her bout with the flu. Maybe she threw up too many times to make the pill effective? Or could it be the antibiotics? Too sick to care or to read the printout of warnings the pharmacist had handed out with each prescription, she’d taken the antibiotics right on schedule on an empty stomach, as indicated on the bottle. There was no blaring sign that said it would interfere with her birth control. Tears mixed with sweat as she finally rounded the final corner, her apartment building in sight.

Barely managing to pull her spent body up the stairs, she removed her key from the tiny pocket on her sports bra and let herself in her apartment. Stripping on her way to her bathroom, she took a long, cold shower. After turning off the water, she leaned down to towel off her legs and spotted the pregnancy stick.

Two pink lines. Double damn. It was too soon to mention anything to Trent, or her sisters. She’d wait a little longer, get confirmation from her doctor, then break the news.

***

The following weeks were a whirlwind of anticipation, laughter, and passionate lovemaking. Trent and Rayne spent nearly every day together taking advantage of the cool nights and slower business. Sweet Spot would conjure up another surge of business around Columbus Day to make up for the relatively slow and steady second half of September. With the college students gone and bathing suit season over,
In Motion
didn’t need to offer as many classes.

Thyme had actually worked rather consistently during the past month. It was the longest Rayne could recall her sister holding down a job. Maybe being close to home and working for family would help ground Thyme and help her find whatever it was she was looking for. And her need for a job gave Rayne the freedom to spend more afternoons going on adventures with Trent and evenings wrapped up in his arms.

They continued their adventures, their bedroom gymnastics, and their fondness for food, but things were different between them. Not wanting to push Trent but hoping he’d ask her to stay, Rayne continued to crawl out of bed and go home after they’d made love at his place. However, when they worked out in her bed, Trent stayed until he had to go to the bakery.

Her blood work came back positive, the doctor confirmed over the telephone this morning. Twelve weeks pregnant. There were brief moments when she felt nauseous, and her nails had grown longer and stronger, but for the most part, she felt the same.

It was time to come clean. The fairytale had gone on long enough.

Dressed in skinny jeans that would probably not fit her in a few more weeks and a thin red sweater, Rayne finished slicing the vegetables for the salad and checked on the eggplant Parmesan in the oven, one of the few recipes she could handle.

The quick knock on the door startled her and she nearly sliced her thumb. Trent let himself in and dropped a kiss on her lips. “Hey, gorgeous.” He stole a cucumber from the salad bowl and popped it in his mouth. “Smells great. What’s on the menu?”

“You?” she teased. The familiar smoldering shadows in his green eyes told her he wasn’t opposed to the idea. After three months they still hadn’t tamed their sexual desire for one another. He bent and took her mouth when his stomach growled. “Dinner first. You can be dessert. I much prefer you to…well, I much prefer you.”

He didn’t balk at her admission, which was encouraging.

“Mmm. I can settle for that.”

Their conversation flowed, much like it always did, and Trent helped wash the dishes before he picked her up and carried her off to the bedroom. She didn’t want hot and steamy sex tonight; she craved slow, passionate love. And that’s what he gave her.

***

Trent

Rayne’s hair tickled his nose. He brushed the strands to the side and trailed his hand down her naked spine. He rather enjoyed the feel of her warm body draped over his, her head resting comfortably on his chest. The sweat had finally dried from their slick bodies and the temperature cooled in the room. He drew the covers over them and cradled her closer, lost in the comfortable feeling of her breasts against his side.

She swirled her finger around his nipple and stopped. “Trent?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re a good guy.”

He laughed. “Glad you think so.”

“No, really.” She sat up, pulling her knees into her body as she toyed with the sheet. “I like you. A lot.”

They talked about everything under the sun but never about their feelings toward one another. He hoped she didn’t profess her undying love. He couldn’t return the statement. It wasn’t something Trent Kipson was capable of. The eggplant they had for dinner felt heavy in his gut.

“Rayne, you’re pretty awesome yourself.” He brushed his knuckles across her cheek and down toward her breasts. “And sexy.” Trying to lighten the moment, he wiggled his eyebrows. “Want me to show you how much?”

Only she didn’t let out the expected squeal. Instead her eyes turned sad and serious, a frown tugging at her lips. Was he wrong about her feelings? Maybe she wasn’t about to profess her love but was going to kick him out of her bed. And her life.

Neither of the options pleased him.

“I…uh. We need to talk.”

Those four words never preceded anything good. “Rayne, sweetheart. Things are good. I’m happy. You seem pretty happy. Well, you were ten minutes ago,” he teased once again.

“I’m pregnant.”

His hand paused mid-air before he could brush back the curl that stuck to her cheek. The air in the room closed in around him and stilled. Someone’s hand—his, hers, the devil’s?—clutched at his throat and squeezed. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t move.

Rayne tilted her head up and studied him. Those chocolate eyes expressionless and empty, looking just as his father’s had for so many years after Sonya Meadows left him. The years of misery flashed before his eyes—his father’s depression, the drinking, the mental abuse and physical neglect. Obsession tore Michael Kipson apart, killing him and ruining his kids.

Trent would not do the same. He wouldn’t fall in love and sure couldn’t be a father.

“Shit. No. Impossible.”

Trent jumped out of bed, jerked his jeans up his legs, and searched frantically for his shirt. To hell with his socks. “I knew this would happen,” he said as he tugged on his tee. “I never should have slept with you. You wanted this all along, didn’t you? A baby. A husband. The kid probably isn’t even mine. We used protection. Except for…you trapped me, didn’t you? You said you were on the pill. I told you I wouldn’t…shit. I can’t do this.”

Unable to form any more complete thoughts, he stormed out before he said anything else, grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter, and slammed the door behind him.

The knife twisting in his gut nearly brought tears to his eyes as he drove home. Or was it a knife in his back? His body hurt so bad he couldn’t tell. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Rayne was a good, honest person. He’d never expected her to deceive him for so long. Damn him for believing their friendship was genuine. Damn him for being a fool in believing you could be friends with a hot woman without her expecting something more. She knew, she
knew,
he didn’t want kids. For the first time in his life Trent opened up to a woman and she betrayed him.

Sonya Kipson taught him how to be loveless and carefree, while Michael showed him how loving someone too much would be the death of you. The hell with the Kipson curse. Trent needed to get away from everyone, even his sister, before he poisoned them as well.

And he needed to get away from Rayne and her manipulative chocolate eyes that had lured him into believing the impossible. Trent banged his head against the steering wheel when he stopped at the traffic light.

Lies. All lies. Not only Rayne’s but his as well. He knew she didn’t lure him into anything; it was Trent’s weakness for a beautiful woman that made him believe he could have his cake and eat it too.

Trent was a Kipson. Always would be. He had too much of both his parents’ blood in him, Sonya’s need for freedom and Michael’s vulnerability to a woman. For the past ten years Trent showed no sign of loving a woman. It wasn’t until Rayne came along that he felt himself weakening like his father.

And a baby? No, he couldn’t raise a kid. Kids were influenced by their parents and he had nothing to offer other than cynicism, bad blood, and a binder of cake recipes. What the hell did he know about being a father? Nothing.

Escape. He needed to rid himself of his parents and their curse before he ended up weak and helpless.

No. The baby wasn’t his. He refused to believe it. Rayne wasn’t pregnant. He couldn’t think about her or her infectious laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she won a bet or darkened when he touched her, or her belly rounded with his child or he’d turn into a weak, whipped, nothing of a man just like his father. Deny and escape.

On his frantic drive home he called Felicia and told her he’d be in LA the following day.

***

Rayne

Thankfully Thyme covered Rayne’s classes the following days. Rayne’s tear ducts had dried up but her eyes were still red and swollen and the slightest song or noise, even the movement of leaves outside her window, brought her to hyperventilating tears again. Dry sobs now, the dry heaving of weepiness.

Her heart was empty and heavy, her body unable to cooperate and move. There was no way she could stand in front of a group of women with a smile on her face and encourage them to sway their hips, kick their legs, and shake their ass to the music when all she wanted to do was curl up and die. It took her nearly a week to gain the energy to go back to work, and even longer to stop crying herself to sleep.

It shouldn’t have been such a shock to her. Trent made it clear from day one that he had no desire—completely abhorred the idea—of ever getting married or having kids. At the time she thought it was sad, then she grew to understand why he had such harsh feelings toward family, but her upbringing wasn’t much better. Her parents were too obsessed with each other, their own children an imposition in their lives.

Only Rayne could see the fault in her parents’ relationship and learn from their mistakes. That was why she was so anxious to be a mother, to love and care for a child in a way that she never experienced. Trent’s accusation that the baby wasn’t his hurt more than his rejection of her. If he didn’t want to confine himself to marriage, so be it. He was an amazing uncle to Faith and she knew he would be a devoted father. If only Trent would believe in himself.

After a month of silence Rayne accepted the fact that she’d be raising the child on her own. Slowly she gained the courage to get up in the morning—her baby needed nutrients—and exercise—she needed to stay healthy. She would not allow her child to feel the rejection that she felt for the last twenty-seven years. Better to never know your father than to feel his animosity toward you.