Something Borrowed (New Castle Book 3)

by Lydia Michaels

  “Trenton, what a surprise,” Adam greeted unconvincingly and let him in.

  Trenton settled into the chair next to hers, his familiar scent crawling into her as his arm brushed her sleeve. She didn’t look at him or say hello.

  Breathe. She had to breathe.

  “How ya doin’, doll?” His husky whisper sent her ovaries into spasm.

  He chuckled in her ear and sat back as Adam handed him a glass of wine. The peanut gallery watched in silence, the weight of their stares making her face hotter than it already was.

  “So what are we playing?”

  “Game time’s over. We’ve moved on to stimulating conversation,” Tommy said.

  “Where were you tonight?” Georgia asked.

  Trenton’s large hand rested on Chloe’s thigh, stilling her foot from its incessant tapping. He squeezed her leg affectionately and her thighs clenched together, then unclenched the instant she realized she’d trapped his fingers.

  “Around. I had to check on a new set-up we did downtown. Nothing too exciting.”

  “What kind of set up?” Tommy asked.

  “Security.”

  “Oh, is that what you do? Exciting!”

  “Trent does all kinds of stuff,” his sister added. “Tell them about that girl you found a couple weeks ago.”

  “You found a girl? Do tell.” The men seemed very impressed by this, but Chloe was only half listening.

  “It was just a runaway. Her parents contacted our agency to help locate her. She was a minor shacked up with an overage boyfriend.”

  “He also catches criminals who break bail,” Georgia stated proudly.

  “You’re like Starsky!” Tommy cooed.

  Trenton’s chest rumbled with laughter. “I’d prefer to think of myself as Hutch.”

  Georgia snorted. “There’s no way you're Hutch! Jeremy’s the Hutch and you’re the Starsky.”

  “Then who’s Pete?” he asked.

  Georgia thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe he could be the Striped Tomato.”

  Everyone burst out laughing. Chloe smiled but didn’t get the joke, too distracted as Trent’s hand continued to weigh heavily on her thigh.

  Leaning back in his chair, he draped his arm over her shoulder and she tensed, unsure which was worse, this or the leg touching. His fingers kneaded her shoulder making it impossible to pretend he wasn’t caressing her.

  The conversation rolled from work and current events, but to her intoxicated brain, it all blended into nonsensical syllables and words. But damn, his hands felt good. He was slowly unknotting every twinge of tension in her neck, despite the upheaval in her mind. The next thing she knew someone was touching her cheek. She opened her eyes and the room was quiet.

  Georgia and Amanda were gone. The stereo was off and the game they were playing was put away. Tommy was washing dishes at the sink and Adam was nowhere to be found.

  “Did I fall asleep?”

  Blue eyes creased with amusement. “Afraid so, doll.”

  She cleared her throat. “Where’s Adam?”

  “He’s moving the boys to the guest room. What do you say I walk you home?”

  Chloe looked over her shoulder at Tommy who was strangely mute. “I have to check on the boys.”

  The boys were fine, tucked in and out cold. As she returned to the kitchen Tommy and Trenton were whispering. She couldn’t hear what Adam was saying, but she did hear Trenton say, “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t.”

  “I feel like I’m forgetting something,” she said, letting them know she was back in the room.

  “Just your children, sweet. Don’t worry, we’ll return them tomorrow.” Tommy kissed her goodnight.

  They walked to the door and Adam called, “Make sure she locks her doors.”

  Her breath hitched as Trenton placed his hand on her back. “I will.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Trent waited as Chloe struggled to unlock her door. When she stepped over the threshold she stumbled. He steadied her, pulling her close to him. “You all right?”

  “Sorry. I’m not usually this clumsy.” She walked on wobbly legs to the sofa.

  How much had she had to drink? Her fingers fiddled with her shirt as she sat. She was doing the not looking at him thing again.

  Lowering himself beside her, he sighed. “Chloe, why won’t you look at me?”

  Her head lowered.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  She still wouldn’t look at him or answer. He gently touched her cheek and her shoulders seemed to collapse in defeat. “You confuse me, Trenton.”

  “How’s that?”

  Her brow creased and she took a deep breath. “You said things to me... Things I’m not used to hearing. You kissed me and touched me and were so sweet, but then you didn’t call. My head and my heart haven’t been on speaking terms since we last saw each other.”

  “What does your head say?”

  “My head says you’re a nice man who’s way out of my league.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that. “And what does your heart say?”

  “My heart says it would sure be easy to believe you’re genuine.”

  “I am.”

  She shook her head. “But your words aren’t. They’re nice and you may think you mean everything you say, but you don’t. If you did, this wouldn’t be the first I’ve heard from you in since St. Patrick’s Day.”

  So that’s what this was about. He should have called. “I’m an idiot.”

  She looked at him. “I read too much into a few kisses—kisses you’ve probably forgotten by now.”

  “You think I’ve forgotten our kisses?” He thought about kissing her every hour of every day.

  “Didn’t you? You never called. You said you wanted to take me out again but never asked. You told me you thought I was cute and sexy and I stupidly believed you actually saw me that way.”

  “I do see you that way. I didn’t call because I didn’t want to come on too strong. I wanted to ask you out but wasted most of the week trying to think of the perfect place to take you. When I couldn’t think of anywhere good enough, I started second-guessing myself. I figured, having your Ph.D. and all, you’re used to dating more sophisticated men. I’m not that type, Chloe. If anyone’s out of their league here, it’s me.”

  Her mouth opened and she stared at him. God, how he wanted to kiss that mouth.

  “But you never called.”

  “Only because I was nervous.”

  She actually had the balls to laugh at him. “Oh, please.”

  “I don’t know why you think I’m without insecurities. I got as many as the next guy. And I don’t know who convinced you you’re not enough to make a man doubt he’s good enough, but that’s bullshit. You’re intimidatingly beautiful.” He had a pretty good idea who was responsible for her low self-esteem, but that was a conversation for another time.

  Her lips pursed as she wrung her hands. “So, you weren’t put off that I practically threw myself at you in the truck?”

  “Hell, no! Honey, you can kiss me like that anytime.”

  She laughed, her head lifting a bit. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. As a matter of fact, now might be a perfect time.”

  She flushed a pretty shade of pink. Her gaze shifted to his lips. “We have the house to ourselves.”

  He hesitated. “Doll, you’re a little drunk.”

  He hated the dejected look that flashed in her eyes as she lowered her gaze again. It took everything he had not to carry her through the dark house to her bed and spend the rest of the night memorizing her every naked curve.

  He supposed there was no harm in staying for a little while, so long as they stayed out of her bedroom and kept their clothes on. Tipping her chin so her gaze returned to his, he gave her a reassuring smile. Soft brown pools looked up at him, so unsure.

  “Let’s get one thing straight right now, Chloe. I like you. I like you very much. I like you as more than a friend. I like you
in ways that require both of us in fewer clothes than we’re wearing now, but that can wait until you’re sober.”

  “I haven’t had a drink in … what time is it?”

  “A little after one and it doesn’t matter. Sober, Chloe. I want you to remember me in the morning.”

  She laughed timidly and tried to lower her gaze, but he held onto her chin.

  “Up here, Chloe. I’m up here.”

  He leaned in and her breath sucked in as she watched him carefully, lashes fluttering shut as his lips brushed hers. She was so expectant and so cautious at the same time. He loved that she allowed him to take the lead. Her mouth tasted like wine and he wanted to kiss her until he was drunk on all things Chloe.

  * * * *

  Trenton’s lips touched hers and she was done. She couldn’t fight her desire any longer. Surrendering to his touch, her heart thrilled. God, he was a good kisser.

  His hand gently cradled her face and she moaned, her body awakening under his gentle touch. Her arms circled his neck as he eased her back on the couch, his weight pressing her firmly into the cushions.

  The stubble of his beard brushed across her cheek with the most delicious rasp.

  Resting his hand on her waist, he moved over her, never breaking their kiss, as they found a more comfortable position. Her fingers ran through his dark hair, pulling it free from the tie, and he groaned.

  He firmly pressed his hips into the cradle of her thighs and the evidence of his arousal was unmistakable. She matched his slow grinding rhythm, kicking off her shoes to get more comfortable. His mouth moved to her throat, nibbling a trail to her ear, sending shockwaves to the tips of her breasts. In the dark, there was only the soft whisper of clothing and their breathing. The position of their lower bodies created delicious friction as heat built between them.

  His large hand cradled her breast over her shirt. She arched, pressing her chest into his gentle hold. His palm brushed over the fabric, catching exquisitely on the tip of her nipple.

  He broke the kiss and kneeled between her thighs. Peeking at him from under her lashes, she grinned. His hair was tousled from her fingers, his skin flushed.

  He cupped her heavy breasts in both hands. “These, I love.”

  “They’re too big.”

  “No, they’re perfect.”

  His thumbs feathered over her nipples, pressing against the fabric of her shirt and he groaned, pulling back his touch. “Chloe, you have no idea how badly I don’t want to leave, but we need to slow down.”

  “I don’t want you to go yet.”

  Without overthinking, she ran her hand over the bulge between his legs. He shut his eyes and caught her hand, pressing himself more firmly into her palm.

  “Jesus.” He groaned. “I can’t take anymore.”

  He tilted his head back and quietly counted to ten. His white t-shirt pulled tightly over his chest and shoulders. A flash of tanned, toned belly peeked out below the hem as his palms scrubbed over his face.

  His rugged jeans and worn leather belt accentuated his masculinity. He was so incredibly male. Everything about him was hard and strong. It should have scared her. In a way, it did, but not enough to blind her appreciation.

  “You’re so beautiful.” The thought whispered past her lips.

  He laughed, the sound hard like thunder rumbling softly in the distance. His gaze returned to her face. “Chloe, men aren’t beautiful.”

  “You are. Your skin’s so tan and your hair’s so thick, even your eyelashes are full. The contrast against your blue eyes takes my breath away. You have so many muscles, muscles in places I didn’t even realize there were any.”

  She ran her fingertips over his shirt from his abs to the small peek-a-boo of flesh showing above his belt.

  “Even your body hair’s sexy. I love that, no matter how often you shave, you always have a five o’clock shadow.” Her fingers tiptoed back to his midriff. “I want to see more of you.”

  He hissed out a curse—something about regretting this—and grasped the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head.

  Dear God.

  His nipples were dark, the grooves and dips on his body exquisitely defined. The scar from his neck, while slightly silver by his beard, faded past his shoulder where it crested his collarbone and ended over his heart. She traced the mark with her finger. She wanted to know how he got it but didn’t want to ask too much. She had scars she didn’t like to discuss.

  There wasn’t a hint of flab on him. Dark hair followed the indent of his belly button and disappeared beneath his jeans. His hips were cut and his shoulders were broad, yet proportioned to the rest of his body.

  On his left arm, he had a black tribal tattoo that wrapped his bicep. She laced her fingers with his and lifted his arm. A downy tuft of black hair peeked out, the boyish softness of it making her smile.

  On his right shoulder was another tattoo. “What’s that one?”

  He twisted to show her. It was a beautiful inked image of Jesus Christ wearing a crown of thorns.

  “You’re Christian?”

  “Catholic, born and raised. Thirteen years of Catholic schooling, despite several threats of expulsion.”

  She laughed. “I can’t imagine the nuns having much control over you.”

  “Oh, they had their work cut out.” He pulled her into a seated position and let out a sigh. “Will you let me take you out, Chloe? I’m not sure if I know of any place real fancy, but I’d like to buy you dinner.”

  Her nerves shivered as she searched for her courage. Would it be that terrible to go out with him? So far, he’d been the one trying to slow things down. “I’d like that, too.” It had been far too long since she’d actually gone on a date.

  His fingers laced with hers as they stared at their entwined hands. “I want to know you.”

  It was hard not to laugh. “I’m not that interesting.”

  “Oh, I bet you’re more interesting than you think. Where were you born?”

  “St. Mary’s.”

  His eyes lit. “Here in Pennsie?”

  “Yup. I lived here until after my mother and father passed away. Then I met my husband and we got married and moved to Virginia.”

  His voice turned pensive. “You didn’t like Virginia?”

  She sighed. “Sometimes I did. We lived in a quaint town with antique shops and a charming town hall. There was a lot of historic appeal. But then… Then my marriage fell apart and I began to hate it there.”

  “But you had your sons.”

  “Yes, but the more my marriage suffered, the more they saw. I left for them.”

  “Did you—”

  “I’d rather not talk about that time. Where were you born?”

  He accepted the change of topic. “I was born in Hamilton, New Jersey. My mom’s from Trenton.”

  “I guess that’s where your name came from.”

  “Yeah. My parents lived there for a while after they married, because that’s where all her relatives were, typical big, loud, Italian family. My dad’s from Bristol, that’s how my sister got her name.”

  “And Phoenix and Georgia and…” She blushed. “What’s your other sister’s name?”

  “Ireland. My mom always wanted to visit Ireland, but she’s terrified of flying.” He laughed. “We aren’t sure where they got Georgia, but we think it has to do with the Ray Charles song. Phoenix was born a year after my dad returned from a business trip in Arizona. We think she was conceived on one of his visits home. How did you come up with Dayton and Mattie’s names?”

  “Dayton’s name I heard on a soap opera and Mattie was named by Marcus, Matthew for his grandfather.”

  “How come you went back to your maiden name?”

  Touchy topic. One, it wasn’t her maiden name. It was Regina’s. Two, she was technically still married. Although her name was legally Wolfe, her boys were still Hunts. They just went by Wolfe—something the schools hadn’t questioned after seeing her proof of ID.

  Mattie never recal
led having another name. She told Dayton Wolfe was her maiden name, because he still recalled being Dayton Hunt. Opting for the simplest explanation, she said, “I no longer felt like a Hunt.” She yawned.

  “Tired?”

  She was so comfortable resting against his side she could probably fall asleep, but she wasn’t ready to say goodnight. “Tell me something about you. What’s an ordinary day for Trenton Cole look like?”

  He feathered his fingers through her hair. “When I’m not working, I’m usually doing something to keep myself busy. Sometimes I build things. Sometimes I pass the days bugging my sisters, sometimes I read.”

  Her eyelids turned heavy. “And when you are working?”

  He took a moment to answer, either that or she was drifting in and out. “Every job’s different… Some are more challenging than others… Some are more dangerous… Some you know will change you forever…”

  She had questions but she was too tired to ask anything else.

  His voice lowered and he pulled her close. “I’m gonna just hold you for a little longer…”

  Chapter Twelve

  A knock pounded on the door and Chloe groaned, mind still asleep, but her body uncomfortable enough to wake. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Trenton was gone and sunlight flooded her living room.

  “Mom, open up.”

  Easing off the couch, she rubbed her back and shuffled to the door. The kids barreled in and Adam followed, appraising her appearance. “Those clothes look familiar.”

  “Shut up. Do you want some coffee?”

  “Can’t. We’re heading down to the farmer’s market. Just wanted to see how last night went.”

  She smiled. “I guess I should thank Tommy and Georgia for interfering.”

  “That good?”

  She smirked, tiny butterflies skittering about her stomach. “That good.”

  “What’s this?”

  Chloe turned at the sound of her son’s voice. He was holding a piece of paper. “‘Sorry to run, Sleeping Beauty. Call you tomorrow. Trent.’ Ew! Is this a love letter?”