Page 18 of The Rented Bride

She flashed a pleased smile. “I missed you so much.” She cupped the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

Trent stiffened before he could command his muscles to relax. Their lips met and shock reverberated through him. Her willowy body, sexy and familiar, sent a wave of unwanted lust through him. He allowed her tongue to slip inside his mouth and spar with his.

Then the bitter taste of betrayal filled his mouth. It wasn’t the kiss of a woman in love, but a woman with an agenda. He should have recognized a kiss of deceit. He’d tasted kisses like hers before. All the years as a cold negotiator hadn’t prepared him for the clever and devious Lindsey Fremont. She deserved an academy award for best actress.

She sighed then broke the kiss and rested her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms loosely around her waist and tried to ignore the warmth of her arms when she slipped them beneath his coat and hugged him close. He counted the seconds, willing himself not to shove her away.

“From the limos and cars parked outside, you must have quite a crowd,” she said into his shirt.

She knew exactly how many people he’d invited. When he’d told her three hundred people were coming to his grandfather’s birthday party, she’d laughed and said she would feel like she’d never left Beverly Hills. She knew all right. She knew every damned thing.

Lindsey placed a kiss on his jaw then stepped out of his arms. “Does that window overlook the property?” She tossed a sultry glance over her shoulder, but didn’t wait for an answer. She crossed to the bay window behind the couch. She leaned one bent knee on the cushioned bench, a move that drove her dress higher up her thigh and revealed a sliver of pink lace panties.

Trent recalled their second date, and the first time he’d felt the press of her nipples through his shirt. He’d fought an erection that entire evening. She’d played coy and innocent. He’d been hot to get closer to her. She was beautiful, sexy and desired by every red-blooded heterosexual man on the planet. She’d played him from the beginning. He should have taken negotiating lessons from her.

“A pool.” Her laugh sounded too bright. “How much swimming can you actually do here? It’s freezing out there.”

“You’d be surprised,” he said. “It gets in the high nineties during the summer.”

“A tennis court. You’ve thought of everything,” she said, as if he’d built Brettonwood for her. She shifted and looked right, where the east wing of the castle met in an L with the house and added another four thousand square feet. “This place is huge,” she breathed. “How many rooms are there?”

There it was. He could practically hear the cash register in her head calculating how much their marriage would add to her financial portfolio.

“I couldn’t believe it when I first saw it,” she said. “Pictures don’t do it justice.”

Pictures? He hadn’t shown her any pictures.

She rose and faced him. In the instant before her expression brightened, he caught the hint of avarice in her eyes. Trent stared. Why hadn’t he seen it before? How had she so thoroughly and completely fooled him?

Her brow furrowed. “What’s wrong, baby?” Her eyes widened in concern and she hurried around the couch to him. “Is it your grandfather?” She stopped beside him and touched his arm. “I hate that you worry so much.”

The change from carefree to concern had been too quick…too complete. But then, she was an actress. She’d thrown herself into the role of a lifetime: loving woman, wife…mother-to-be.

Her brow drew down in a pretty frown. “You’ve been under so much pressure this last month, and we haven’t seen each other in over a week.”

Another week in which she’d been planning her next movie in New Zealand—and sitting on the board at Horizon Media.

She stared up at him, eyes filled with worry. “I wish we had time for a little privacy. I want you so badly it hurts.” She stepped closer. “Make love to me, Trent.”

Love? That was a joke. Nothing they shared was about love. Maybe not even for him. She’d wanted her bank account strengthened. He wanted a family. Maybe he’d been too blinded by goals to see he was forcing her into a mold he wanted.

But he’d never lied to her.

She slipped her arms beneath his jacket again and hugged him. “We could work a little more on that baby.”

Trent froze. Three weeks ago, when he’d asked her to marry him, she’d said yes and even suggested they have a baby right away. She’d made a production of tossing her birth control pills into the bathroom trash before pulling him into bed.

Bitterness soured his stomach. He didn’t have to worry about her being pregnant. She had a movie—three movies—to make. When he’d left that following morning, her first order of business would have been to dig the pills out of the trash, then to take her daily dosage.

“Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to be pregnant before we say the I do’s,” he said in an even voice.

Her arms tightened around him. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? We could make the announcement on our wedding day.”

Trent closed his eyes against the pain.

“Knowing there’s a great-grandchild on the way might give your grandfather enough hope to hang on for a while,” she said.

“You could know that quickly?” he asked.