Sweet on You (The Wilde Sisters #1) (9 page)

She took only two steps before a tree root totally jumped in front of her, causing her to trip and drop one of the ridiculously heavy bags.

Umph.

“Whoa. Quite the digger. You okay?” Trent knelt down and picked up the bottle of maple syrup and pancake mix that fell from the bag.

“Uh, yeah. Sure fine. Just sort of…you know, tripped. Didn’t see that one coming.”
Damn fourth glass of wine!
He didn’t offer her a hand or help her to her feet, not that she would have allowed him to anyway. Attempting to keep—or regain—her dignity, Rayne brushed off the pine needles on her knees, snatched the bag Trent reloaded, and marched into the cabin.

Walking in on Brian and Claire playing tonsil hockey in the kitchen was not what she needed to see, but she didn’t dislike the couple for their obvious signs of affection. It actually made her soften inside and whimsical for the HEA—The Happily Ever After that would probably never come.

Rayne cleared her throat but they seemed not to have heard her.

“God! Get a room!” Trent hollered from behind her.

That seemed to goad Brian even more. He pulled his wife in closer and dipped her back. Claire shrieked, which startled Faith, who then started crying.

“Trent!” Claire scolded her brother.

“Hey, don’t blame me. You’re the one who scared the poor kid. She’s probably scarred for life. I know I am after seeing those pathetic moves,” he teased Brian.

“Dude. I’ve got the magic down—”

“Brian Robert Smart! You shut your mouth right now!”

Trent barked out a laugh that was quickly interrupted.

“Trent Owen Kipson, if you know what’s good for you you’ll bite your tongue as well. You boys are stupid and immature,” Claire said, rolling her eyes and fighting a grin. “Now, who’s ready to go tubing?”

Claire insisted on driving while Trent put his life jacket on and jumped out to the oversized tube. Rayne was comfortable holding Faith, who was cocooned in a life jacket as well, and sat up front. Brian let out the line as Claire gunned the engine.

“Geesh, Claire. Go easy.”

“Easy, my butt,” she grumbled, barely loud enough for Rayne to hear her. Rayne shielded the baby’s eyes from the wind and turned to watch the man of her dreams hold on for dear life. Claire didn’t slow the boat down as she weaved in and around, making waves in their wake. Trent’s body was taking a beating every time the tube jolted over another crest, but his muscular shoulders and forearms held on.

It became too obvious to Rayne that Claire was being rough on Trent for her benefit, and she gave her new friend a knowing smile. She finally slowed the boat when Trent fell off.

“You’re crazy, Claire. Payback’s a bitch. Your turn.” Trent smiled as he climbed up the ladder and dried off with the towel Brian handed him.

“As if. Rayne and I are going together. One of you will need to hold the baby.” She stood and held out her hand to Rayne. “You said you wanted a turn, right?”

“Yeah, but you can go first.”

Brian put a hand on her shoulder and whispered loudly in her ear. “My wife thinks if you’re on the tube with her, Kipson won’t retaliate. You gotta go with her or risk my poor daughter losing her mother at such a young age.”

“Oh, well, for Faith then.” She patted Brian’s hand and winked at Claire. Rayne didn’t look at Trent but could feel his gaze on her as she pulled off her cover-up and stood in her turquoise bikini.
See what you’re missing?
She heard his breath hitch and her lady parts started quivering.

Their tubing adventure was fun and nowhere near as death-defying as Trent’s. Rayne accepted Trent’s hand as she climbed up the ladder and delayed wrapping herself in the large towel. She wiped down her face, hair, arms and lastly, her legs, knowing she was putting on a show and enjoying watching Trent squirm. He’d shifted his body a dozen times in less than a minute before pulling a towel over his lap.

“Damn, woman. Put this on already.” Trent shoved her cover-up at her and looked away. Brian started to laugh but stopped when Claire jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

Rayne refused to acknowledge Trent and sat up front, pulling her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around them, facing the lake instead of the sexy man with beautiful green eyes she continued to get lost in. The lake was so calming, so peaceful, even with the occasional jet ski or water-skier passing by them.

“Some hot-shot football player has a place in the cove over there.” Claire pointed to the opposite side of the lake. “Maybe tomorrow we’ll sneak up and try to get a peek at him.”

The men talked football while Rayne’s mind worked like a hamster on its wheel, churning and churning but never going anywhere. Her relationship with Trent had obviously changed, whether she or he wanted it to. And it was all her fault. No more walking on eggshells. They needed to talk.

Chapter Eight

Trent

“Seriously. I don’t think I’ll ever eat again.” Trent pushed his chair back and stretched out his legs, cautious not to rub them against Rayne’s. “That was awesome, sis.”

“Thank you. You boys are on dish patrol, since we cooked.”

“I barely did anything, Claire. I don’t mind helping.” Rayne shot up from the table and began clearing the dishes. She’d been on edge the entire day, not that Trent expected anything else. He had an unfamiliar urge to draw her in his arms and comfort her, to tell her it was okay, that she shouldn’t be embarrassed about her proposition. Seriously? No-strings sex? With Rayne? It was like he died and went to heaven.

Any other woman. Any other day.             

No. No other woman would do. Not today, not tomorrow, not…well, Trent would be in California soon. The network had asked for one more session with him before finalizing the contract. With so many execs off for the summer, he’d have to wait until the fall before making anything official, but he could see the six figures on his checks. The glamorous life. Living out of posh hotels, having interns do all the prep and cleaning so he could focus on the baking and decorating and sampling. He’d be able to pay off Claire’s medical school bills by Christmas and start a trust fund for his niece.

“I don’t mind doing the dishes. You girls can go outside by the fire pit if you want. You suck at washing dishes.” He tossed Brian a towel and filled up the tiny sink with water. “You can dry.”

The women chose to stay inside, sitting on the floor and sipping wine while making baby noises to Faith. Having a family was never high on his list. Hell, it never made the list. He tried his best to shield Claire from the destruction their mother and father caused. Thankfully she was young and had a serious case of hero-worship when it came to Trent, so she seemed to be unaware of the abuse and neglect from both their parents. Too young to remember Sonya, Claire never realized a mother figure was even missing from their family.

Sonya Meadows—she refused to take her husband’s name, saying it made her feel trapped—was never present anyway, so when she took off when Trent was eight and Claire six it wasn’t like she left a big, empty hole to fill. Sonya liked to socialize, hang out with her friends sans husband and kids, and have a good time.

Children tended to interfere with her life and so, after eight years of being a “mom,” she decided to get as far away as possible from the people who gave her that title. Over twenty years later and they had never heard from their mother again. No rumors, no whispers of her whereabouts. She had told Michael she was done with this life and never looked back once.

It wasn’t like Sonya introduced her friends to her husband or children. She had a separate life, one that was much more enjoyable than being a wife or a mother.

And Michael Kipson was just as bad. He was obsessed with his wife to the point where he neglected his children and himself. Her blatant rejection turned him into a bitter drunk of a man. Since his father was too depressed to clean or maintain the house, Trent was forced into a leadership position in the household at the age of eight. If he and Claire wanted to eat, they had to fend for themselves.

Their father worked in a plant and brought home a paycheck each week. He paid the bills and usually remembered to go to the grocery store. By the time Trent was sixteen and had his license, all responsibilities fell on his shoulders—paying the bills, grocery shopping, making all the meals, chauffeuring Claire and keeping on top of their homework.

When his father’s alarm didn’t stop going off one morning, Trent figured his father took off during the night leaving Trent and Claire orphaned. Again. But it was worse. Michael Kipson lay in his bed, eyes closed, not a muscle moving.

His heart had stopped beating in his sleep. At eighteen, Trent met with the funeral home and made all the arrangements. He didn’t go to Johnson and Wales in Rhode Island that fall. Instead he went to community college and studied business so he could stay home and be his sister’s guardian.

When she graduated from high school and went off to Tufts in Boston on a decent scholarship, Trent continued his education at the community college and took culinary classes. Not the same as the culinary school in Rhode Island or the one in New York he had hoped to transfer to after his sophomore year, but he was grateful his sister got to pursue her dreams.

When they were finished with the dishes, Brian tossed the wet towel on the counter and picked up a deck of cards. “How…how about a game of strip poker?” Claire snorted and Rayne looked like a deer in the headlights. Trent almost laughed.

“Let’s stick with crazy eights, Magic Mike.” Claire got up and kissed her husband. “Thanks for doing the dishes.”

“You can repay me later.” He kissed her loudly, earning another groan from Trent.

“Seriously, get a room.”

“You got it, dude. Watch my kid. Be back…” He picked up Claire and flipped her over his shoulder, “in an hour.”

“Put me down, Brian!” Claire pounded on his back and he slapped her behind.

“I will, once we make it to the bed. We have a babysitter. I’m not wasting it hanging out with your brother.” He carried her down the short hallway and closed the bedroom door behind him.

Awkward. His sister and her husband were having sex fifteen feet away. And even more awkward was the silence between Rayne and him. Silence he didn’t want filled with moans from down the hall.

“How about we take Faith for a walk?”

“Great idea.” Rayne jumped up and scooped the baby in her arms. “The stroller is in the back of the van.”

They walked in silence, enjoying the sunset, the only sound coming from the stroller wheels on the dirt road. This was his chance to finally talk to Rayne about the proverbial elephant that had been warping their relationship for the past week.

“So, about…last week.”
Great opening, Kipson!
He threw the bone, hoping Rayne would chew on it, retract what she said, and laugh at her foolishness, but also praying she wouldn’t. Trent noticed her knuckles tighten on the stroller, her lips quirk as she chewed the inside of her cheek, but she didn’t say anything. “So, you were serious?” The quick glare she gave him answered that question.

Exasperated, Trent ran his hands up and down his face. “You’ve really got me confused, Rayne. I don’t know what to do.”

“What are your options?”

“What?”

“You don’t know what to do? What are you weighing out in your mind? Pros and cons. Lay them on the table for me.”

“That’s easy. Pro—I get to have sex with you. Con—I have sex with you.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Do you?”

Rayne sighed. “No, actually I don’t. I suppose sex as a pro is a compliment, but why is it also a con?”

“It just is.”

He hoped she’d argue more, push him. She didn’t. She continued pushing the stroller down the camp roads and turned left, heading back to the cabin. The night sky was bright, thanks to a nearly full moon, and he expected they had been gone long enough for Brian to get his rocks off, but he and Rayne still hadn’t solved anything.

“Sex with you would be complicated, and I don’t do complicated. You know that.”

She stopped the stroller and turned to face him. The reflection of the moon over the water created dancing little moonbeams across her face, making her eyes shine. “I’m really sorry, Trent. I know I messed up our…friendship. Please just ignore what I said. It was a whim. A stupid one. I was upset with my parents and went a little crazy. I totally get why it wouldn’t work and I’m okay with it too. I hope my brief bout of stupidity won’t ruin our friendship.” She gave him a friendly hug, patted him on the back, and released him before he had time to evaluate the platonic touch.

He had to jog a few paces to catch up with her and the stroller. What was that about? Did she just reject him? It was all too…easy. She gave up without a fight. Apparently she thought sex with him wasn’t worth fighting for.

But did he feel the same?

***

Rayne

The following morning Rayne tried extra hard to be pleasant with Trent—but not so hard that he would pick up on her forced smiles. No more eggshells. Back to walking normally around him. Or possibly swimming.

“Hey, feel like a race?”

Trent eyed her suspiciously over his coffee. “What kind?”

“Swimming. Out to the little island and back.” She nodded toward the island about five hundred feet from shore.

“Really? Have you ever swum that far before?”

“Please. Swimming is more about endurance than strength. That’s where I’ve got you. You up for the challenge?” Before he could accept or deny her challenge, she ran out of the cabin, stripping her cover-up off at the same time. She didn’t need to peek over her shoulder to know he’d followed her out. His testosterone filled the air, circling around her, and stirring the forgotten land between her legs. “That’s what I thought. Need time to stretch, old man?” Rayne stopped when she got to the water’s edge and turned to face him.

“Oh.” Trent laughed. “Taunting me now? I’ve seen your competitive side but never so nasty.” The grin on his face told her he didn’t mind the insult.

“I was doing nothing of the sort,” she teased and crisscrossed her arms back and forth, warming up her shoulders. “Stretching is crucial before any workout. Didn’t you learn anything during the time you took my Zumba class?”

“I didn’t learn what a smartass you were until later.”

Rayne did twenty jumping jacks and a few lunges and watched with a secret smile as Trent worked to keep his gaze on her face and off her bouncing chest. She meant to taunt him, but he was doing an excellent job of teasing her by flexing his muscles. When he ripped his shirt off, exposing fine pectoral muscles and tanned, taut skin, she nearly hyperventilated. Yesterday his practically hairless chest was hidden under a life jacket, but today it was exposed and just begging to be touched.

Rubbing her hands together to keep them busy, she called over her shoulder, “Last one back’s a rotten egg!” while running down the dock and diving into the cool water. She was underwater, kicking rapidly, when she heard the splash close behind. Game face on, Rayne worked her best Michael Phelps and freestyled it toward the island. It didn’t seem too far away when standing on the edge of the dock, but from the fish-eye view in the water, it felt like three football fields stood between her and dry land. No sooner was she mentally kicking herself in the shins than she saw—or rather felt—Trent swim by her.

Never one to give up a fight, Rayne used all her Zen to focus on her breathing and her strokes. If he wanted to sprint early on and tire out before he made it to the island, good for him. She had enough sense to keep a steady pace, monitoring her heartbeat and taking big gulps of air.

Trent started to slow as he neared the island, and Rayne swam up behind him, then crawled up the sandy shoreline next to him.

“We can take a breather before heading back,” Trent said between gulps of air. Water dripped rapidly from his short hair and made sexy little streams down his cheek, neck, and chest. She forced her gaze to stop following the path once it hit his abs. What was a girl to do? His chest continued to contract rapidly, his breath still short and shallow.

“If you need the handicap, I’ll give it to you. I’m heading back.” She turned to dive in again, but Trent’s hand wrapped around her bicep.

“Easy, babe. You’re going to cramp up and I’m in no condition to save you. We both could use a rest. Besides, we never determined the prize.”

“Huh. I was just doing this for bragging rights but if you feel like a wager, I’m in. Now let’s see…what did you lose last time? Oh, yes, ten bucks and Zumba class. Care to try ballet next? I think you’d look really hot in a tutu.”

“Har, har, har. I’ll go easy on you. Loser cooks the winner a dinner of their choice.”

“Sure. That’s a win-win situation for me. I win, I get a great meal. You win, I get to poison you with my crappy cooking skills.”

“I doubt you’re that bad. Deal?” He held out his hand and she shook it, ignoring the jolts of electricity that shot up her arm and caused goosebumps to break out over her body.

“Deal.” She took off running through the shin-high water until it was deep enough for her to dive. Trent passed her once again, but not before shoving her shoulder and laughing as she fell face first into the water. “Jackass!” she yelled when she came up for air.

The swim back seemed to take forever. When they eventually made it to the dock, Brian and Claire were cheering them on from the shore.

“Come on, Rayne! Push it! You’re nearly neck and neck!”

“Dude! You’re gonna get your ass kicked by a girl.” Brian laughed but stopped when Claire slapped him on the arm.

Trent turned back to see his competition, and she seized the opportunity to pounce on his back, shoving him under the water and swimming by, beating him by two strokes.