Every Sweet Regret (Orchid Valley Book 2)

by Lexi Ryan

  “I’m sorry.” I press my palm to his heart, feeling the steady beat there, the strength of it. “It wasn’t you, Kace.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. That doesn’t change the way it fucks with your head. I had a business meeting in Atlanta a couple of months after Amy moved out. A woman picked me up in the bar, and we went back to her room. I wanted to have sex with her, but as soon as we were naked and in bed, my brain latched on to those last couple of times with Amy and . . .” He winces. “It was a no-go.”

  “Ouch.” I press a kiss to his shoulder. “I’m sure that happens a lot.”

  He snorts. “Yeah, maybe, but . . .” He grabs my hand, brings it to his mouth, and presses a hard kiss against my knuckles. “None of that’s in my head when I touch you. You make me so crazy, make me feel so damn good. There’s no room for it.” He cups the back of my neck in one big hand, then rolls us over so he’s on top of me. I draw up my knees, letting him settle between my legs. He’s hard again, but there’s nothing sexual about this position right now. He frames my face with his palms and looks into my eyes. “I don’t ever want to get out of this bed.”

  I hook my feet behind his back, wrap my arms around him, and pull him closer. “Then don’t.”

  He smiles against my mouth and kisses me. Kace’s kisses are the stuff of legend—the sweep of his mouth, followed by parted lips and low groans as he touches his tongue to mine. I’ve never had a single kiss with him feel like he was going through the motions and trying to get something better. Kace kisses like a god because he loves kissing. I could get used to this.

  He buries his hands in my hair and slants his mouth over mine. “I wish I didn’t have to wait until Wednesday to have you under me again,” he murmurs against my lips. “But I don’t want to make a habit of sneaking you in and out of my house while Hope’s here.”

  I’m not sure what to think about that, so I try not to think too much about it at all.

  He kisses his way to my neck, and his beard tickles my neck as he suddenly chuckles.

  “What?” I ask. He laughs harder, and I poke his side. “What are you laughing about?”

  He lifts up, bracing a hand on either side of my head, and smiles down at me. “Amy accused me of moving you into my backyard because driving across town to fuck you was too inconvenient.”

  I flinch. “Wow.”

  He hangs his head and laughs again. “I was thinking about how I can’t wait until you’re that close all the time, and I realized just now that maybe she’s a little right.”

  I pinch his arm. “Excuse me?”

  “Should I apologize about this? Do you hate that I can’t wait to get you moved in so I can touch you?” He sweeps his lips over mine. “Kiss you?” He dips his head and flicks his tongue over my peaked nipple. “Taste you?”

  “I’m not your fuck toy, Kace.” I mean the words to come out teasing, but they reveal way too much of what I’m feeling, and he frowns at me. I swallow. “I mean, even flings should have some . . . substance.” I practically choke on the word, remembering what he said about the other woman he’s seeing—physical attraction, no substance. It might destroy me if he ever said that about me.

  “I don’t think of you as a toy.” He presses a kiss to my solar plexus and then shifts down the bed to press another on my stomach. “I think of you as the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.” He kisses just below my navel. “If you were a toy, I wouldn’t be so obsessed with making you come.”

  He licks my clit gently, as if he knows I’m a little tender from the pool and the sex. “If you were just a toy,” he says, looking up at me from between my legs, “I wouldn’t be so tempted to keep you here all night.”

  I’m not sure that’s true, but his mouth is toying with me again, and I can’t puzzle out anything more complicated than biting back my moans of pleasure.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Stella

  When I leave The Orchid after the evening shift on Wednesday, I’m so excited to get to Kace’s house that I practically race to my car.

  He’s texted me a few times this week, but we seem to have abandoned Random, which is for the best, since the long heart-to-hearts with Kace are impossible to resist.

  I really needed to put some extra time in with my chem study group. I scored a sixty-five percent on the first test, and the only way I can get a B or better in this class is if I get a ninety or higher on everything from here on out. In truth, the nursing program is so competitive that I’m not even guaranteed a spot with a B.

  I’ve earned this night with Kace, though, and I can’t wait to see his face when he strips me out of this dress and sees the black lace underwear I bought for the sole purpose of making him drool.

  But all thoughts of seduction flee from my mind when I see my brother waiting for me at my car. My first sign that something’s wrong is that he’s here at all. The second is that he looks upset. He’s a happy-go-lucky guy who doesn’t get rattled easily, and who rarely shares his troubles the rare times he has them.

  “Is Mom okay?” I ask, practically running to his side.

  He blinks at me. “What? Yeah. Why?”

  I wave a hand in front of him. “I don’t think you’ve ever surprised me after work. Or school. Or . . . anything. What’s going on?”

  He swallows. “I need to talk.”

  My stomach knots. Does he know about my thing with Kace? Did Kace decide to tell him? I can’t imagine he’d do that without warning me first. Maybe Dean figured it out on his own. “Okay. Wanna go to Smithy’s?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah. I don’t want to talk about this in public.”

  The knots tighten. “Okay. You’re making me nervous,” I whisper.

  He grunts. “You think you’re nervous? Fuck, I can hardly sleep.”

  Okay, that’s . . . dramatic. “Why?”

  He shakes his head. “Not here.” Turning, he opens the driver’s-side door for me, then jogs around to the passenger side.

  “You’re not driving?” I ask, climbing in. Because there’s red flag number three. Dean hates riding with me. Since I was sixteen, anytime we’ve gone somewhere together in the same car, he’s insisted on being the one behind the wheel. The only exceptions are when— “Are you drunk?”

  Dean leans his head back and closes his eyes. “Li’l bit.”

  I look at the clock, just to make sure I’m not confused. “You’re drunk. At eight on a Wednesday?”

  “Yup.” He doesn’t open his eyes. “Drive, please?”

  Sighing, I start the car and drive to his newly remodeled craftsman home. I’ve barely stopped the car when Dean throws open his door and vomits in the grass. Nice.

  Drawing in a deep breath for patience, I turn off the engine and walk around to his side to pat his back. “Tell me what’s going on, Deanie.”

  Red flag four: he doesn’t object to my childhood nickname for him. “I fucked up,” he says. “I fucked up so bad.”

  I help him out of the car and put my arm around him. We walk into his house, side by side. I lead him to the kitchen, where he immediately collapses onto a chair while I get him a glass of water and pop bread in the toaster.

  When I clunk the glass down in front of him, he hangs his head like a chastened child. What did you do, Dean? “I’m listening,” I say softly.

  “She broke up with me.”

  Am I the worst, most self-involved sister in the history of the world? He told me at the bar that he’s been seeing someone, but I haven’t thought about it since. “Who?”

  He swallows. “I’ve always had feelings for her.” He holds up a hand, as if I’m going to object when I don’t even know who he’s talking about. “I never wanted to. It was just there. And I didn’t want this thing to be a secret, either. I understood why she didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t like it, but I understood.”

  “Who?” I have a sinking feeling I already know. Damn it, Dean. You know better.

  “Then last week, Kace fucking walked in o
n us.”

  “You were the one Amy was with when Kace walked in on her?”

  “Yes, and we were almost caught, so I was pushing for her to let me just tell him already, and I don’t know, maybe I should’ve backed down, but he’s gonna find out eventually.” He groans and tugs at his dark hair. “Then she broke up with me.”

  “She dumped you today.” It’s not a question. This explains why my brother’s trashed on a Wednesday evening.

  He squeezes his eyes shut. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with her. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. But we were drunk and it just sort of happened, and then—” His words are slurred and he looks so fragile, like he’ll break if I say the wrong thing. “Before you judge me, you’ve gotta understand that when she and Kace were a couple, she became this extension of my best friend. You should judge me if I didn’t care about her.”

  Jesus. I knew about Clint, but I never knew Dean was involved with her too. That cheating bitch—and I thought Dean was better than that. “You had an affair with Amy? You slept with her while she was married to your best friend?”

  He jerks back as if I smacked him. “What? No. Never. I didn’t touch her when she and Kace were married. It started at Smithy’s five weeks ago. We closed down the bar and . . .”

  “And you decided you were going to fuck your best friend’s ex-wife? The same ex your best friend wants back? And then, what? You kept fucking her?”

  “I know it sounds awful, but dammit, Stell, we’re good together. I’ve never felt like this with another woman. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and she makes me laugh, and she’s such a good mom.”

  I’ve tried to keep my feelings about Amy neutral, but in this moment, I hate her. Not only did she betray Kace and hurt him, now she’s hurting Dean . . . and she’s likely to destroy a lifelong friendship. “What the hell was she thinking?”

  He scowls at me. “Thanks, sis, but I’m not that bad.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Taking a deep breath, I sink into the chair beside him. “I’m sorry. I just . . .” I swallow and grapple for empathy. I want to shake him until he comes to his senses and realizes this will only end badly. “I had no idea.”

  “No one knows. We’ve been keeping it quiet. I knew Kace would freak out, and I didn’t want to upset him.”

  My phone buzzes.

  Kace: I’m making you dinner. Pasta or steak?

  I study Dean’s face. Has my brother ever fallen in love before this? He’s had a couple of long-term girlfriends—if you’d call less than a year long-term—and I’d bet he’s said those three words, but I never saw him with someone I believed he’d be willing to make sacrifices for. “Does she feel the same about you?”

  He hangs his head and shrugs.

  There’s so much heartache in that gesture that I want to track Amy down and make her listen as I enumerate all the ways she isn’t worthy of the men in her life. “Don’t let her play you.”

  “She cares about me. The thing with Kace just spooked her, and today, I said I wish he’d seen us so we could quit sneaking around, and she . . .” He swallows and turns away, looking out the window. “I know this would change everything. I know it could screw with my friendship with Kace and possibly fuck over our business, but it’d be worth it. She’s worth it.”

  “Oh, Dean.” I place my hand on top of his. I want to argue, to tell him she’s not, and explain what I know from her past. I want to rant and rave about how he deserves better than what this woman’s offering, but is there any point? It’s over now. And anyway, do we really have control over who we love? Do our hearts listen to reason? Unfortunately, I know they don’t, so I whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

  I text Kace back, letting him know something came up and I have to cancel. Then I give Dean a hug, and my big, badass, tough-guy brother presses his face into my shoulder and cries. It’s good that I’m here, that he can lean on me, but part of me knows why it was so easy for me to cancel on Kace.

  It’s Dean’s turn for heartache today, but mine is coming.

  Kace

  Stella: Something came up and I won’t be able to make it tonight. Rain check?

  After walking on clouds all day, Stella’s text brings me crashing down. We’ve both been busy this week, but this is my only kid-free day until Saturday, when we’re supposed to be moving Stella into the pool house.

  The rational part of my mind tells me I should be patient, that there will be hundreds of opportunities to make love to her and just . . . be near her. Hell, she’s literally moving into my backyard. I shouldn’t be worried about this. I am, though. We’ve barely talked since the weekend, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s slipping away. This is supposed to be casual, and she’s probably seeing other people—especially since I was the one who insisted we not be exclusive—but the idea of her with someone else makes me want to lose my mind. What if that’s where she is now? What if one of the guys she’s seeing showed up at her door, and she decided she’d rather spend time with him?

  Maybe it’s unevolved of me, but every primal instinct says she belongs to me, and I’m not willing to share. Which is bullshit, because that’s not what we agreed on.

  Dammit. I couldn’t even blame her if she was with someone else right now. Why would she choose the divorced single dad who can’t offer her more than sex and sneaking around?

  I glare at the bags of groceries sitting on my counter waiting for tonight. I wasn’t sure what she’d want, so I grabbed all the makings for two dinners: pasta carbonara, like my grandma made it, and filet mignon with gorgonzola potatoes. Doesn’t look like I’ll be preparing either.

  I need to text her back and acknowledge her message without letting on how much it’s fucking with me.

  Me: I understand. I guess I won’t see you until Saturday, then, but I’m looking forward to it.

  I read it three times. Short, not overly clingy, but still honest enough. It’ll have to do.

  Stella

  Friday night, I’m nothing but a ball of nerves about tomorrow’s move. It’s not the move itself that’s making me miserable, but the idea that I’ll be tied to Kace, geographically, at least, and when this ends, I’ll have to see him all the time.

  I’m sick of carrying around this fear—no, this certainty—that when Kace discovers the skeletons in my closet, he’ll end things. Perhaps honesty would be less terrifying than omission. At least then I wouldn’t have to wonder. But I’m so nervous he’ll never look me in the eye again that my hands are shaking when I pull out my laptop, and they’re shaking even harder when I start typing.

  ItsyBitsy123: Are you around?

  GoodHands69: Hey! Been a while. Yep. Just put my daughter to bed. How are you?

  I stare at the screen, hands shaking. I need to do this, but I don’t know if I’ve ever been so scared.

  ItsyBitsy123: I want to tell you something, and I want to say it now while I’m feeling courageous.

  GoodHands69: Okay . . . I’m listening.

  It takes me a long time to type out the message—deleting and rewriting details, adding more and then backing up to go with less. I wouldn’t be surprised if Kace has fallen asleep or moved on with his night, but when I’m done typing, I still reread it three times and try to talk myself out of pressing send. I decide not to mention my college boyfriend by name, since Kace probably remembers him and I don’t know that he wouldn’t go after him.

  I don’t know why I want to share this story with Kace when I’ve been too chicken to share it with anyone else, but I do. For some reason, I need him to know this secret, need to remind him I’m still the mess who’s never been good enough. So I send it.

  ItsyBitsy123: You know my last boyfriend took me on vacation. I thought we were good together for the most part, but the truth is, I struggle with getting guys to take me seriously, and I was trying extra hard with Bobby. Guys want sex and then get bored with me and move on, and maybe that’s my fault, but . . . Anyway, I wanted it to be different
this time, so I decided no sex until things were really serious. I thought our vacation would be the perfect time, but right after we got to the resort, his buddy sent him a link and Bobby decided he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.

  You see, when I was in college, I was dating this guy who was really into filming us in bed together. In retrospect, I never should’ve let him, but he said it turned him on, and I wanted him to like me . . . anyway, long story short, there were a lot of films, and I didn’t find out until he’d broken up with me that he’d uploaded them to all kinds of amateur porn sites. I don’t even know how many. I’ll probably never know.

  Bobby’s buddy knew my ex somehow and was told about the videos. So he tracked them down and felt it was his duty to let his friend know he was dating a—and I quote—“cheap porno slut.”

  Bobby was mortified. He was angry I hadn’t told him. But you know what made him even angrier? I’d done these videos but hadn’t once given it up to him in the months we’d been together. As if one had anything to do with the other. As if my mistake meant he should’ve been entitled to unlimited pussy from the beginning.

  Anyway . . . it was ugly, with lots of tears and accusations, and Bobby called a cab to take me to the airport. Told me to have my stuff out of his apartment before he got home. Said he was looking for a life with a nice girl, and I was just a deceitful bitch. He told me he’d rather live alone the rest of his life than let a whore like me raise his children.