We’ll call 9-1-1, Eisenhower.
And then feel like a complete fool when the police arrested the homeowner for rustling around in his own house.
Gathering her common sense and a little courage, she made her way, noiselessly, down the stairs. From there she scurried across the foyer and through the dining room to peek into the den.
What she saw inside made her take a hasty step back.
Then she peeked in again, confirming her first glimpse.
Her cottage. Her cottage had changed. Half believing she’d find those little mice-turned-dressmakers from Cinderella had turned into construction workers to transform her playhouse, she walked into the den. But instead of mice, the architect was Trent. He stood with his back to her, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, shoeless.
Trent, messing with her house!
She marched forward. “What are you doing?”
He whirled. One of his front shirttails had come loose from his pants. “I, uh, I…”
Propping her hands on her hips, she tilted back her head to take in all he’d done. Her quaint, cute little cottage had a whole new demeanor. It had two stories. A turret. She pointed. “Is that a drawbridge?”
He glanced over, and a grin quirked the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. What do you think?”
“What do I think?” She stared at him, feeling shabby and rumpled in her old flannel nightshirt while he looked designer-disheveled and downright tickled by his renovations of her project.
It was too much. He was too much. He’d taken her humble playhouse and made it into something fantastical.
“How could you?” she said, glaring at him. “How could you do this to—to—” Me.
Trent frowned, glanced at the playhouse again. “You don’t like it?”
“No, I don’t like it. And I don’t like—” What you’ve done to me. I don’t like it that you overturned my modest expectations for our relationship and made me want you to love me like I love you.
Looking at his gorgeous, puzzled, beloved face, she burst into tears.
Eleven
Trent rushed toward the sobbing Rebecca. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” He moved to put his arms around her, but she shook her head and backed away from him. Tears were running from her big, Disney-character eyes, and they drenched him with guilt and confusion.
“Is it the playhouse? If you don’t like it, I’ll put it back the way it was.”
She shook her head again.
“Then I’ll flatten the whole thing.”
“N-no.” She covered her face with her hands. “Never mind.”
Never mind? Yeah, right. “Rebecca—”
Her hands fell from her face. “Go to bed,” she said, her voice thick. “Or go to work or go out to another business dinner. Just go away and leave me alone!”
Go to work? Go to another business dinner? Maybe what he’d done wrong was to leave her alone. “Rebecca, talk to me. What’s the matter? If it isn’t the playhouse—”
“It is the playhouse!” She glowered at him, then wiped her face on her sleeve. “It was simple, it was unassuming, and now it’s something else altogether and it’s all your fault.”
“Then we’ll put it back the way it was.”
“You can’t,” she said, her voice resigned. “You can never put it back the way it was.”
He nodded in understanding. “This is another one of those times when using logic would be a bad idea, right?”
That startled a laugh out of her. “Oh, I hate when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me laugh.” She swiped her sleeve over her face. “Especially because I really, really want to be mad at you right now. And don’t ask me why.”
“Why?”
“Uuuuhh!” Her arms lifted from her sides, fell back. “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. You’re not the way you’re supposed to be.” She crossed to the nearby couch and flopped onto it.
Trent followed her, then sat down himself.
“Why did you do it?” she asked, nodding to the play castle.
“I came home, I couldn’t sleep.” Not with the leftovers of uneasiness and uncertainty he’d brought home from his dinner with his mother.
Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. “Things always have to be bigger and better for you, don’t they?”
Frowning, he focused back on her. “It wasn’t like that. I had an idea—”
“Don’t you see how wrong we are together? This just proves it. You’re castles, I’m cottages!”
The non sequitur sounded like the perfect segue into her calling their marriage a mistake again. The thought made a fire leap to life in his belly. But sucking in a quick breath, Trent clamped down on his sudden spike of temper. He thought he knew what was happening here, and she needed his patience.
Take it easy, Crosby. Don’t let her get to you. “Rebecca—”
“Castles!” She, on the other hand, was working herself up into another mad. “Cottages!”
“But both cardboard,” he pointed out, trying to derail her.
Her head whipped toward him. “What?”
“Castle or cottage, both are cardboard.”
“I don’t understand a thing you’re saying.” Tears wet her eyes again. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me,” she whispered.
That got to him. Plunged straight into his chest. “Honey.” Even though she tried to push him away, he pulled her into his arms. “It’s hormones, sweetheart. Don’t you think?”
She stilled. Sniffed. “Hormones?”
Her next sniff prompted Trent to pull his handkerchief from his back pocket and hand it over to her. “I took a look at that pregnancy book you’ve left lying around. It says you’re likely to get emotional at unlikely moments over unlikely things.”
“Emotional? At unlikely moments?” She looked up at him, hope in her damp eyes. “Do you suppose that’s what it is?”
“Of course.” God, if only all his problems could be solved so easily.
“Overemotional at unlikely moments over unlikely things.” Rebecca appeared to mull that over, then her face broke into a beatific smile. “I feel so much better.”
And so did he. As a matter of fact, her smile made him feel brilliant.
“I feel so relieved.” Dropping his handkerchief, she knelt on the couch to take his face between her hands. “Hormones! For a few terrible moments I thought it was love.” And then she kissed him.
A noisy, friendly kiss. But enough to distract him. Enough to take his mind off the word she’d said. It only came back to him when she leaned away again. Love? He grabbed her arm. “What did you say?”
“Love.” Her face flushed, but she managed to meet his gaze. “Silly, huh? I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” As she looked away, it appeared she regretted it.
“Love?”
“I know, I know.” She drew an intricate pattern on the fuzzy pink fabric of her nightwear. “It couldn’t be, of course, because cardboard in common or not, you’re a castle, I’m a cottage, and never the twain shall meet.”
“That’s a mixed metaphor, honey. And we not only met, but we married.” But…love. Hell. Love. Why did it keep coming up?
Without stopping to consider what he was doing, though, he pulled Rebecca onto his lap. Without stopping to wonder why that one little word wouldn’t stop echoing in his life and sounding in his head, he lowered his mouth to hers.
Love.
She was soft and warm and this kiss wasn’t friendly. Yet he took her lips with tenderness, all the gentleness that he could come up with, because that word, that word love, sounded so pretty and so delicate when she said it.
When he came up for air, he looked down into her eyes and brushed the hair from her forehead. “And we’re not castles or cottages, either. We’re a man and a woman. So come on, Rebecca, let’s make—”
Her fingers pressed against his mouth. “Hormones.”
Let’s make hormones?
“Ple
ase, Trent,” she whispered.
Please let’s make hormones, or please let’s pretend with that word instead of the other? He took her hand away and kissed each fingertip. “I want you, Rebecca.”
She swallowed. “I’ve slept alone all week, Trent. Why?”
He shook his head. “I’ve told myself a dozen reasons, none of which make the least bit of sense now that I have you in my arms.”
“Then maybe we’ve both been wrong.”
She meant she thought she’d been wrong about loving him. He closed his eyes. “Let’s think about who has made what mistake later. Now let’s—”
“Make hormones.”
Whatever way she wanted to play it, it didn’t matter. Once again, that other word was in his head and he couldn’t seem to let it go. She’d said love. Love.
He opened his eyes. “How do you feel about this couch?” he asked. It was black leather and looked like something that should be in a psychiatrist’s office.
She twisted her head to get a look at it, making him fascinated by the soft spot on her cheek beside her ear. He leaned forward to kiss it and felt her shiver.
“It’s an ugly couch, Trent,” she said. “Sorry.”
“I think it’s the color,” he said, then kissed the corner of her mouth to distract her as he began sliding up the hem of her nightgown to draw it over her head. “It needs one that’s softer.”
He laid the empty pink garment on the leather expanse behind Rebecca. “It needs you.” With his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her against the couch and followed her down.
Her thighs parted to make a place for him, and a hot tremor rolled over his skin. He rocked against her silky panties and, leaning on his elbows, filled his palms with her breasts.
Love.
The word was in his mind, in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue as he explored her body. He painted each letter on her naked chest. He breathed it against her belly button. When he pulled off her panties, it was in his palms as he ran them back up her bare inner thighs.
When he touched her between her legs, her little gasp sounded like something more than passion. More than hormones. She rocked into his fingers, giving herself to him, letting him learn more about her.
He leaned back down, spreading her thighs wider with his shoulders. She seemed to sense his intention and tried to scissor him away.
“Trent, I’m not sure…”
She wasn’t sure she could open herself to him. Let him be so intimate with her. But that word was in the air and in her voice—love—and it pushed him to push her.
“Please, Rebecca,” he said. He licked a path between her hipbones and cupped her breasts so that he could thumb her nipples. “Please, Rebecca.”
Her breath was ragged. “You…”
“Yes, all for me.” Love. He leaned down and nuzzled between her folds. “You, all for me.” Her taste was sweet and womanly, and she cried out as he opened her for his kiss.
He explored her with his mouth, his heart pounding, his shaft aching with excitement. One of Rebecca’s hands was in his hair and he reveled in the desperate bite of her nails against his scalp. “That’s right,” he whispered. “Give it to me.” Love.
And as he felt her start to shake in climax, he kept tonguing her wet woman-flesh. Rebecca’s flesh. As she moaned the sound of her release, he breathed out against her. Love. She climaxed again.
He undressed with one hand, keeping the other busy caressing her body. She watched him with languid eyes, her body sprawled against the ugly couch that would, from now on, forever be beautiful to him. “You make me feel selfish,” she whispered.
“Selfish? You?” He laughed. “That’s the last thing you are, sweetheart.”
He crawled up her body to his favorite place between her legs. She played with his hair, then traced her fingers over his mouth. “You’ve got quite the technique, Mr. Crosby.”
“I was inspired, Mrs. Crosby.” Love.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, but he didn’t enter her yet. This moment was too good to lose in the heat of sex. “Am I squishing you?”
Her hair swished against the leather as she shook her head. “Eisenhower isn’t big enough yet.”
“Eisenhower?” His eyes widened. “I thought you were leaning toward Matthew or Giselle.”
“Inside joke.” She stilled, laughed. “Really an inside joke.” Her hand wandered to the back of his neck so she could pull him down for a kiss. “I like Trent,” she said against his mouth.
“Trent Junior?”
There was a glint in her eye. “Trent Senior. You, I like.”
Love. He didn’t care what she had just said instead. Lifting his hips, he matched up their bodies. Later he’d think about why the word didn’t scare the hell out of him. Later, he’d think about how one pretty little valentine had swept away all vestiges of his cynicism with one sweep of her eyelashes. How she’d washed his heart clean with her tears.
“This is for you, Rebecca,” he said, entering her in a long, tender stroke. Love.
Her eyes drifted shut and her pelvis tipped into his to perfect the fit. “Aaah,” they said together.
Her eyes opened and she gave him a smile with such power that he thought it could make a cottage into a castle, that it could cause a bitter skeptic like himself to be reborn. In a slow movement, he pulled himself out of her.
This is how it is when we’re alone.
Then he sank in again, causing them both to shudder.
This is how it is when we’re together.
Love.
A faster rhythm was impossible to deny himself. His body moved on its own, reaching for the pinnacle, while Trent’s mind cataloged the details of the journey. Rebecca’s flushed skin. Her swollen mouth. Her dark, dark eyes that blurred when he reached between them to touch her where they were joined.
“Trent?”
He felt a bead of sweat roll down his spine, the gathering of lust between his thighs. Pleasure was just out of reach, but Rebecca was right here. Rebecca…and love.
His body vaulted that last distance and his stroking fingers took Rebecca with him. They both cried out.
I love you.
It swirled around them. He could swear one of them had said it aloud.
And as beautiful as the moment was, as the feeling was, he hoped to God it wasn’t him.
“I have something for you.”
Rebecca turned at the sound of Trent’s voice. Her eyes widened. Trent Crosby in black tie. The shorthand for that was…wow. Just wow.
As he approached, she plucked at the strapless slip she was wearing. Over it would go the new dress she had bought for the Summer Solstice dance at the country club. The slip was not revealing, at least not anymore than the dress itself, but with Trent moving toward her with that look in his eyes she felt naked.
Ever since that night on the couch in the den, every time he looked at her she felt equal parts excited and exposed. Her stomach jittered as he reached out to wrap his finger in one of her curls. “You’re so pretty,” he said.
She clamped down on the shiver that wanted to roll down her back. He was her husband, her lover, the father of her child. There was no reason for him to make her nervous.
Except that she’d said the L-word to him when she’d been complaining about the changes he’d made to the playhouse. It had popped out of her mouth, sprung by tears, sprung by Trent who’d been trying to help by reading her pregnancy books. He read her pregnancy books.
She felt herself tearing up at the thought.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He ran his knuckle along her cheek.
“Mascara.” She blinked in rapid succession to take care of the overflow moisture. To distract him, she touched her finger to his snowy shirtfront. “You said you had something for me.”
He caught her hand and then drew it into the pocket of his jacket. A velvet box. A velvet jewelry box.
Her emotions did another dip and roll. “For me?” No one had ever given her a gift
in a velvet jewelry box.
Men like Trent gave out jewelry.
“Aren’t you going to take it out?” There was a smile in his eyes.
“Sure. Yes.” So then she stood there like an idiot, holding the pale blue box in her palm.
“It won’t bite, Rebecca.” He leaned close, resting his forehead against hers. “Though I just might.”
There was no way to control the next shiver. It skittered across her skin, raising goose bumps from her neck to her ankles. He had to be used to sophisticated women. Sophisticated women who had piles of jewelry from their lovers. Women who didn’t shiver at the word bite. Women who didn’t imagine the man in their bed whispered “I love you” every time they had sex.
Loving Trent made her feel inadequate and elated by turns. She’d tried to cover for her slip about love by latching on to the whole hormones thing, but while she hoped she’d fooled Trent, she’d never once fooled herself.
She loved him. She was in love with him.
Since that night, though, he’d never mentioned the word again.
“Open it now, honey. I’ll help you get it on, then I have to leave.” He tipped up her chin with his finger. “Don’t be too far behind.”
They were taking separate cars because he had an errand and some extra duties as the club’s membership chair. She’d opted for getting ready at a more leisurely pace and driving herself. Taking a deep breath, Rebecca flipped open the box. She looked at the necklace inside and then looked up at Trent, puzzled.
“This doesn’t look like something you’d choose.” She’d didn’t know quite what she’d expected, but this wasn’t big or flashy.
He shrugged. “It looks like something you’d wear.”
Rebecca bent her head for a closer inspection. It was a delicate chain, platinum she assumed, and hanging from it was a little—
“Angel,” she said, lifting it with her finger. A tiny angel, its round head, triangle body, and wings created with frames of more platinum, like stained glass. But between the platinum lines, instead of glass, were jewels. Clear jewels.
Right by Her Side Page 14
