Sweet on You (The Wilde Sisters #1)

by Marianne Rice

  A part of his brain—a very small part—told him to back off. This was Rayne. A woman he deeply cared for and respected. A woman who was totally off limits. But the rest of him—lead primarily by his engorged anatomy—screamed, yes! They were two consenting adults who knew the repercussions of their actions.

  Screw it. Literally and figuratively. Trent was going for it. Nothing could stop this forward momentum except for—

  “I’m heading out—oh, sorry. Excuse me. I’ll leave and lock up.” Marie backed away before Trent could come up with something coherent to say. Pissed that the moment was ruined, Trent dropped his hands from Rayne’s backside—how did they get there?—and braced himself for the letdown that was sure to happen. And the cold shower he’d need.

  “Are we alone now?” Rayne asked while reaching for the button on his jeans.

  Trent looked down, fascinated at how quickly her long, slender fingers worked. Any words that would have formed got lost the second she pulled his boxer briefs away from his skin and slid her hand inside. He gasped and Rayne locked her lips on his once more.

  Instinct kicked in and he quickly shed her of her shorts and underwear. His eyes were busy rolling back so he didn’t get a peek, but he’d swear by the sensation under his hands she wore a lacy thong. Bracing his arms under her firm, round behind, he mumbled into her mouth, “Wrap your legs around me.”

  “I’m on the pill,” she said between gasps and kisses.

  Hell. So caught up in her taste he nearly forgot the one thing he swore he’d never do: have sex without a condom. There was no way in hell he’d allow a girl to show up at his doorstep making that dreaded announcement. His jeans were around his ankles and he couldn’t tear himself away from Rayne’s mouth, or her ass, to grab his wallet.

  “You sure?” With any other woman he’d stop and make sure they had double, hell, triple protection, but he trusted Rayne when she said she was on the pill even though he knew how much she wanted kids. Not this way. Not before marriage. She’d made it clear she wanted the happy family deal, not just a kid.

  “Sex. I want sex with you. Now,” she breathed into his mouth, and all coherent thoughts disappeared.

  Somehow he backed them to the wall of the walk-in freezer and lost himself deep inside her. He’d never had sex without the latex barrier and damn if he could last more than a few minutes. Rayne felt too. Damn. Good.

  It was over too soon and he couldn’t move. Thankfully the freezer helped support Rayne, because his legs were useless right now. Her heart beat in unison with his as their breathing slowed and the shaking started to subside.

  Rayne unwrapped her legs and slid down his still-rigid body. God, he wanted her again. Just five minutes and he’d be ready to go another round. She walked to the small pile of clothing on the floor, bent down, her glorious backside still red from his firm grip, and picked up her shorts and pink thong.

  Nope. Five minutes was not necessary. Trent was good for round two right now. She shimmied into her scrap of lace and shorts and strolled to his private bathroom without a backward glance. How she could walk, he had no idea. Trent could barely stand. Maybe she wasn’t affected by the amazing sex? He sure as hell was.

  He liked seeing her tousled hair, dotted with dough and flour from his hands, and the red marks his whiskers left on her neck. Somehow his t-shirt had ripped. It must have been when Rayne attempted to pull it over his head. Vaguely Trent remembered moving her hands from the hem of his shirt to his shoulders to hold on while he hoisted her onto his throbbing erection.

  They couldn’t manage to take his shirt off, but his jeans were shed. One leg was inside out—he didn’t remember pulling them completely off—and his boxers pooled at his feet. Stunned at the control that he obviously lost so quickly, he righted his jeans and pulled them up his legs.

  Rayne opened the bathroom door as he zipped up his fly.

  “Ball’s in your court,” she said as she walked out the door, not giving him a backward glance.

  Chapter Ten

  Rayne

  Her hands trembled as she started her car. Holy cow! She did it! And no regrets. Not a single one. Only that it took her this long to build up the courage to jump his bones. And what big, strong bones he had. Rayne bit her lip to suppress her smile.

  Not only had she never initiated sex before, she’d never done it standing up against a wall either. She’d always preferred the slow, romantic gestures. She needed her partner to coax her into lovemaking with gentle, sensual kisses and lots of foreplay before she could even think of doing the deed.

  Apparently not anymore. One kiss from Trent Kipson had her ready for hot monkey sex. And she wanted more. Lots more. She only prayed that he’d pursue her and not run away. Now it was time to sit and wait. But for how long?

  Apparently not long at all. Ten minutes after turning off the shower, she heard her doorbell ring. Wrapped in a silk robe, her hair still damp on her shoulders, Rayne opened the door to the surly man of her dreams.

  “The ball’s in my court?” Trent stormed through her front door and into the living room, obviously expecting her to follow. Which she did. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You waltz into my kitchen, shove my pants to my ankles, we have amazing sex, and then you take off without a single word other than that?”

  Biting her lip, she shrugged and hid her smug smile. He thought the sex was amazing.

  “That’s it?”

  “What am I supposed to say? I said everything I needed to weeks ago.”

  “Yeah, and I thought we agreed to keep things platonic.”

  “I guess I don’t want to do that anymore.” She peered up at him shyly now. The brave Rayne Wilde that seduced him in his bakery an hour ago was gone, replaced by the insecure girl she fought to change.

  “Damn,” he muttered and crossed the living room in two long strides. “Neither do I.” He scooped her up into his arms and carried her into her bedroom, making her forget that insecure girl ever existed.

  ***

  Rayne

  The space next to her was cold and empty when she woke the following morning, and she didn’t expect otherwise. They had made love three times during the night, and each time their passion grew stronger, yet sweeter. Before things turned in their friendship, he had confided in her about his love ‘em and leave ‘em attitude. Well, he may not have put it that way, but when he admitted he never spent the night in a woman’s bed, Rayne filled in the blanks.

  Their last bout was at three in the morning right before he left for work. In her book, that was a sleepover. Knowing he stayed in her bed, in her arms that long brought a smile to her face. Heck, nothing could wipe the glow from her face or the sated feeling from her body. Trent’s heat and scent would stay with her forever. Rayne rolled over and buried her face in the pillow he used while resting in between their hot and heavy workouts.

  Sexy man and sweet vanilla. Who knew she’d be attracted to a sweet smell. Oh, the irony. Her body ached in places she never knew could ache. Slowly she stretched and sat up, hugging her legs to her body. Now what? Was the ball back in her court? Should she call him? Text him? Or let him make the next move?

  Ick. These games didn’t interest her at all. It was so much easier to say “I love you” and spend their lives together forever. The cat and mouse game may interest people like her sisters, but it thoroughly stressed Rayne out.

  Her bedside clock must be wrong. Eight o’clock? Since when had she ever slept past six? Since your body was licked, kissed, and touched head to toe by the most gorgeous man in the universe. Thankfully today wasn’t an early day. She quickly dressed, downed a yogurt smoothie, and headed out the door to teach her nine o’clock Zumba class. She’d keep herself busy with her three Friday classes and drown herself in paperwork.

  Friday night, a.k.a. Date Night, would not find her desperate at Trent’s doorstep. She’d continue on like any other weekend. Either drinks with her sister or a soak in the tub and a good book.

  After thr
ee workouts and a few hours of paperwork, her body still hummed and she didn’t feel like being with anyone besides Trent. Rayne stopped by her favorite bookstore, picked out three fun, light-hearted romances, and drove home.

  Halfway through her book and a set of incredibly pruned toes later, she drained the tepid bathwater, dried off and curled up in bed. So much for her handsome hero calling her to profess his undying love. Apparently he had enough sex to last him another night.

  She may have had enough sex—no, not nearly enough—but she’d never have enough Trent. His scent, his arms wrapped tightly around her, the warmth of his body as he spooned hers, his laugh…no, she’d never have enough of him. And if she told him any of this he’d surely go running for the hills. Trent Kipson was as committed as a cage of rabbits.

  ***

  Trent

  He knew her schedule just as she knew his. Sunday afternoons were always open. Damn, nearly every afternoon and every damn night was open. Their schedules complemented each other. Both were early birds and got to work before the crack of dawn.

  Trent wondered all weekend if Rayne had plans Friday and Saturday night. Did she go out with a man? Her girlfriends? Did she tell them about him? Hell, since when did he care who a woman went out with and what the hell she said to her friends? Damn if he wasn’t turning more and more into a woman.

  During his high school years, he had worked in the bakery section of the local grocery store. When he first tried his hand at cake decorating Trent had worried his buddies would pick on him for being a sissy, but they stopped paying much attention to him when he had to quit playing sports so he could work longer hours to support his sister.

  The jokes didn’t come and Trent couldn’t have cared less if they did. His hands were talented and he was proud that they helped put Claire through college. So why now, a decade later, did he start worrying if people thought he was a girl? Maybe it was being surrounded by frosting and flowers.

  Hell, he needed man time. Some beer, a bar, a little Red Sox, and belching, farting, ball-scratching men.

  Four phone calls later he felt like a damned depressed woman again. Brian invited Trent over to be the proverbial third wheel, or rather, fifth wheel. Bri and Claire had plans with another couple and Trent was more than welcome. No, thank you.

  Tim and Dave were working, and he knew better than to call Jerry. Sunday was his sacred family time. Trent didn’t have many guys he called on a regular basis. He spent his early twenties juggling night classes and odd jobs during the day and then worked on building his business. His employees were mostly female—and he had a ‘no fraternizing with his employees’ philosophy—and a few teens who worked before school.

  Which left no time to build relationships. Not that he cared. He had Brian, and when he wasn’t hanging with his brother-in-law, he was going out with a woman.

  Except for the past two months. There had been no dating and very little man time with Brian. Rayne filled his down time, the role of friend and woman all in one tempting package. And damn if he didn’t want her—need her—now.

  He’d gone three months without sex and functioned nearly fine. But forty-eight hours without Rayne and he was climbing the walls. Was the ball still in his court? He had gone over to her place and screwed her brains out.

  No, that’s not what it felt like. It wasn’t cheap. It was amazingly wonderful…hell, might as well sign himself up for a pedicure at the spa to help sop up the PMS oozing out of him. Sex wasn’t wonderful. Sex was great or freaking awesome. He needed to get himself some right now.

  Deciding the caveman act would be the only way to build his gonads back up to par, he picked up his cell and dialed Rayne.

  And then hung up. No, calling still reeked of estrogen. A simple text listing his demands would be better.

  Trent: My bed’s getting cold. Come warm it up.

  He hit Send before he could analyze it. Damn, he should have waited. He intended for the text to sound demanding but it sounded too poetic to him. He should have said, Give me some sex.

  But that wasn’t the type of guy he was. He’d never demanded sex from a woman before. Hell, he never had to ask. Women just offered.

  Damn you, Rayne, for thinking I was gay. Just in case, he changed his sheets and took a shower. Settling into his recliner, he turned on ESPN and popped the top to his beer when his doorbell rang.

  Like Pavlov’s dog, he sprang out of his chair, and nearly his shorts, and pulled open his door. Like a mystical creature she stood on his front porch haloed in the streetlight, a light mist falling like shimmer on her hair.

  Forget the mani/pedi; he needed to get himself a box of tampons.

  It wasn’t until the couch, kitchen table, and recliner in his bedroom had been christened that they finally realized they’d need food to keep up their stamina. “I’ll order a pizza,” Trent muttered as he nuzzled her neck. Rayne was still straddling him on his leather recliner and trying to catch her breath after her fifth orgasm. He owed it to her after how quickly the first few times went.

  The woman made him feel like a teenager again, barely able to contain himself, and almost forgetting that sex was a give and take sport. Yeah, definitely a sport. The way they went at it they could enter as an Olympic event.

  “Do you know how much trans fat is in a slice of pizza?”

  “Don’t care. We burned our share of calories in the last hour, and I have some ideas on how to burn any extra fat grams we may consume with dinner.”

  “Mmm,” she purred. “Homemade pizza is a better alternative, preferably with cauliflower crust, but I don’t have time for that. I’ve gotta get going.” Rayne peeled her long, naked body off his and he instantly felt the cool air of separation.

  Stay with me almost slipped from his tongue. What the hell? Had he used up all his testosterone on Sex Olympics or had he passed it all on to Rayne? The complete role reversal had him more confused than sugar-free frosting.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll probably go into the Old Port.” Whoa, super cool man. Tell the woman you’re going to hang out at a bunch of bars on a Sunday night that are more than likely filled with college kids home for the summer. Way to impress her.

  He stood and reached for his shorts, dropping a few curses that would make a sailor proud.

  “You okay?”

  So maybe he should have waited to drop the f-bomb when doing something other than putting on his khakis. “Yeah, just stubbed my toe on the chair.” Impressive, man.

  Rayne didn’t seem affected by his drop in IQ or his naked body. Before he could zip his fly she had pulled her tank top over her breasts—sans a bra—and pulled on her skirt. No underwear? Why didn’t he notice that earlier? Or maybe it was still by the front door. They undressed and redressed three times during her short visit. The missing underwear had to be somewhere. Smiling to himself, he imagined finding it later and holding on to it as a trophy.

  “I have a super busy week at work, but I suppose I’ll see you next weekend?” she asked nonchalantly as she rummaged through her purse.

  “Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll be going up to Brian’s camp for the Labor Day weekend. Feel like joining me?”

  “Claire already invited me. I figured I’d see you there.” She leaned in and kissed him on the lips, slowly sucking his bottom lip into her mouth. “See ya,” she mumbled into his mouth as she released her hold.

  And once again she walked out on him. Leaving the ball in his court, blue and hard.

  ***

  Rayne

  By noon, after she had taught Zumba, kickboxing, and spinning classes, Rayne thought she was dying. Literally. The sweat on her brow had nothing to do with her workout and everything to do with the virus she’d tried to kick all weekend. She had barely held it together yesterday at Trent’s house. What if she got him sick as well? And then he spread the flu to all his customers at Sweet Spot? How selfish of her to think with her girly parts and not with her brain.

  “Damn, girlfriend, you look like hell.” Thyme tosse
d a clipboard on Rayne’s desk and held the back of her hand against Rayne’s forehead.

  “Thanks, sis.”

  “Seriously, Raynie, go home. I’ve got this covered.”

  Rayne snorted.

  “Seriously. I can do this. You’re not teaching classes this afternoon and I can cover your morning ones tomorrow. I owe you big time for giving me a job. Go home and sleep. Have some soup. I’ll have Sage bring some over.”

  Rayne groaned. “No, don’t tell her I’m sick. She’ll give me a lecture and read me all sorts of nasty statistics about germs and death and stuff.”

  “Who will take care of you?”

  Leave it to Thyme to worry about something like that. She couldn’t sneeze without calling Rayne and Sage and asking them to take care of her.

  “I can manage. All I need is some sleep.” She eyed her sister skeptically. “You sure you want my morning classes?” Thyme had been covering for her a lot lately, picking up the classes when her girls went on vacation.

  “Tuesday is Zumba and Kick, right? Totally got it.”

  Sighing, but really needing the break, she caved. “Okay. You remember how to lock up? Call me if you need anything.”

  “On it. Go.” Thyme opened the door and led Rayne out.

  The moment she opened the front door to her apartment, she ran for her bathroom and tossed up her breakfast. Gross. Next year she’d sign up for the flu shot.

  Rayne’s body felt stiff and not in the recently-been-used-by-Trent Kipson’s-incredible-magic way. Her head ached, her stomach felt empty, yet her body felt like one false move and she’d be hurling internal organs into the toilet. And her ears were ringing. So. Damn. Loud.

  Or maybe it was the phone. Falling asleep with her hand wrapped around her cell phone just in case the gym needed her had been a good idea a few hours ago. Or minutes or days. She had no idea how much time had passed since she last worshiped the porcelain god and got intimate with her guts. Nasty.