Every Sweet Regret (Orchid Valley 2)

“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 EighteenStellaWhen 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.”