Secret Delights (Lingerie Series)

by Hines, Yvette

  He stared at me, perplexed, but didn’t say anything as he stood leaning back against the counter while his meat absorbed the seasonings.

  I added butter and olive oil to the heating pan. Trying to break the tension, I asked, “Can you please get me an onion and an apple out of the crispers.”

  “You got it.” He didn’t move immediately, but finally he turned and got the things I requested.

  With his back to me, I placed a hand on my quivering belly. This man was too intense to be around without feeling like my body was going out of control.

  “You want me to cut them up as well?”

  “That would be great.” The cubed potatoes went into the melted butter combination and I stirred it before placing the lid on top. “Thinly slice them if you will, please. The sweet potatoes will take a little while to soften and brown, but everything should be ready when the steaks are done.”

  “Perfect.” He glanced over his shoulder and smiled.

  I returned it. “How about some wine? Or do you want to wait until dinner is done?”

  He continued to slice the onions. “A glass now would work. Maybe even help you relax some.”

  Busted. “Sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve had a dat—Mixed company, that I feel a little out of sorts.”

  Setting the knife down, he turned and faced me. “Well, whatever this is. I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”

  Oh, great. I pouted internally. I didn’t want to be mauled, but I didn’t want to be ignored either. Hell, I didn’t really know what I wanted. “Thanks.” I forced more cheer to my voice than I felt was needed.

  I pulled the glasses out of the top shelf of my dishes cabinet, grabbed the electric opener and took the bottle out of the freezer. Once the cork was removed, I filled the glasses and set one before Sloane on the counter then returned the wine to the freezer until the meal was ready.

  “What should we toast to?” The onion and apples were sliced and he was holding his glass before him looking at me when I turned around.

  “Um, I’m not sure. I’m always terrible at thinking of something short and witty.” I picked up my glass then leaned against the counter beside him.

  “How about this…” He raised his glass slightly. “To a phenomenal, beautiful woman that I have been blessed to have come back into my life. May this be a first night of many.”

  His sweet and thoughtful words made my insides quiver and caused my hands to tremble. I could easily imagine more nights with this man and all the things we could find to do beyond cooking. To keep those thoughts at bay, I lifted my wine and said, “To friendship.”

  He nodded and clinked my glass with the rim of his.

  Bringing the goblet to my mouth, I groaned. My words sounded so empty and blasé compared to his. I didn’t want him to think I took this time with him lightly, even if we were only going to be friends. Lowering it, I said, “Thanks for joining me for dinner. I don’t get a lot of opportunity to have an adult evening.”

  “I’m glad to be here.” He took another drink from his wine then set it down. “I should get these steaks on the racks.”

  He went out the door with the plate filled with the meat.

  Seeing the water was boiling with the broccoli, I heavily salted the water and vegetable then placed a lid on it and moved it off the burner. Next, I removed the top to the potatoes, added the onions and apples and turned the heat up to get it all crisp and brown together.

  Fifteen minutes later, Sloane and I had both our plates prepared.

  “Everything looks good.”

  “I agree. My mouth is watering just looking at it.” Taking the wine out of the freezer, I topped off our wine goblets. “If you could take the food to the table, I’ll bring the glasses.”

  “You got it.” He grabbed the plates and headed out of the kitchen.

  With two glasses and the bottle in hand, I followed behind him.

  “Oh, my goodness,” I moaned after taking the first bite of steak. It was tender and succulent. The flavor married together perfectly, but it was the citrus punch of the lime that took it over the top for me.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Opening my eyes, I smiled at him. “Cocky much?”

  Arching a brow, he gave me a pointed look. “Only about the things I do well.”

  Can I get a list? “Well, I’m no slouch when it comes to my own cooking so try my home fries.”

  Digging his fork in, he brought up a healthy scoop to his mouth. Chewing, he pretended to ponder then gave me a broad smile. “I was wondering where you were going with the ingredients. Especially since I’d never seen anyone make sweet potatoes that way, but it is excellent. Sweet and savory with a perfect tartness from the apples.”

  “You’re welcome,” I teased back.

  We ate for a few moments, before I asked, “Tell me, Sloane. How does a six foot…”

  “Three.”

  Yes. “…man end up behind a four foot high desk teaching kindergarteners instead of on someone’s field as a safety.”

  He leaned back in his chair and picked up his wine. “Ah, a woman that knows football, I’m impressed.”

  “When you lived with my father and brother you learned to love all sports. I got tired of being in the kitchen with my mother making all the snacks while they woofed it down. So, I learned about sports.” I speared and ate some broccoli.

  “You get off snack prep detail?” He sipped his wine then set it back beside his plate.

  “Oh, no. Not in my mother’s house. She believed every woman needed to know how to cook well. Old fashion views but smart and sweet.” The thought of my parents made me a little melancholy.

  “You miss them a lot I’m sure.” His hand covered mine, stilling it from fiddling with the stem of my glass.

  Glancing at him, I was thankful for his compassion. With Michael getting sick and Aaren having to return to Charlotte, I had never felt like anyone was there for me. “I do. They adopted me, of course. But, loved me like I’d come from them.”

  “I recall seeing them sitting beside you at some of the games. I’m sorry I never had a chance to meet them.”

  Taking a deep breath, I let go of some of the sadness, not wanting to ruin the night. “You always find a way to get around my questions.”

  “But I don’t forget them.” Giving my hand a quick squeeze, he moved his away. “I believe one was about me being a teacher and the other had something to do with me being hot.”

  I laughed. “Men. You would recall that small faux pas about your looks.”

  “It wasn’t the truth?” He leaned on his elbow toward me.

  Leaning back, I shook my head. “It was. But, let’s first get back to you and the classroom.”

  One of those arresting smiles appeared on his lips and robbed me of breath.

  “Fine. There’s not some grand story. I continued to play football in high school and got pretty good after arriving in North Carolina. Especially with my growth spurt. I ended up with a scholarship in college and working toward some liberal arts degree. My sophomore year as a safety, I snagged an interception but came down hard on my shoulder. I busted it up pretty good and could not play the rest of the year and into the summer.”

  “That must have been devastating.” I never played any sports, but being around my father and my brother I understood how important that career was to a lot of people. I wanted to return the compassionate touch he had given me but held back.

  He finished eating the vegetable in his mouth. “It was. I had built this dream around my sport and not really anything else. But, while recuperating, I started volunteering at this boys' group home. You know for those boys no one else wanted to deal with. I discovered that a lot of them were smart, just that society had tagged and given up on them. Listening to their stories, I learned it started in school and how they were perceived. It scared me a little when I realized I had a heart for these kids. All kids.”

  He shrugged, but I didn’t think there was anything non
chalant about his feelings or what he did.

  Not wanting to interrupt him, I waited and ate. I started to really admire this man at my table. He smiled a lot, was friendly and charismatic, but I felt as if I truly began to see him now. This man would be a blessing to my son. In the classroom, I reminded myself.

  “I changed my major in my junior year to Early Childhood Education. I had to still play football to keep up my scholarship, but I knew that after school was over, I’d much rather work with giving kids a solid foundation over busting up my body on the turf.”

  “A noble choice. I’m sure you took a lot of flack.”

  “Boy did I. My coach and scouts attempted several times to convince me to enter the draft. I chose not to. However, every day I walk into a school house and see that first smiling face, I don’t regret it for a moment.”

  “Good for you.” Lifting a bite of my sweet potatoes, I stared at him as he polished off his own home fries. “Um, I believe you had another story to tell.”

  He chewed slowly, a half-smile on his mouth as he held my gaze. Picking up his glass, he drank and kept his eyes on me. Not a neutral gaze either. He was scanning my face and upper body with his captivating sea green eyes.

  I began to get nervous and heated. Swallowing down the food that had now become a tasteless lump on my tongue, I picked up my napkin to wipe my mouth and distract myself.

  “So, you want to know about my relationship status?”

  “Purely as an observation of an old friend.”

  “I might be a year older than you. You make me sound like I’m putting down payments on a walker.”

  We both got a laugh at that. It broke the sexual tension I was feeling.

  “Never that, I’m not trying to age myself.”

  He sighed, clearing away some of the laughter.

  “I’ve had my share of dates. Nothing that stuck for long.”

  When I raised an eyebrow at his words, he swiftly added, “I’m not a player or anything. In college there was someone I thought was serious. I cared a lot about her, but I guess she and her parents figured I’d change my view about being in the NFL. When it became apparent I wasn’t, she ended it.”

  I couldn’t hold back my shock. “That was callous.”

  He finished off his second glass of wine before saying, “I only have myself to blame. I should have ended the relationship well before then.”

  Swirling the wine slowly in my goblet, I stared at the moving liquid. “When people are in love, they try to make things work.”

  “Maybe. We met through friends and it became a double couple’s situation that seemed perfect at the time since the four of us hung out often. I’m not sure if it was love or the comfort of routine.”

  Extremely familiar with that kind of commitment, I released my wine and gave him my attention instead of getting trapped in my thoughts. A road I didn’t want to travel on.

  “I had a few dates with women over the last five years, but nothing ever came of it.”

  “Are you a hard catch?”

  “Oh, no.” He shook his head. “Guess I just made a pact with myself that I wasn’t going to go beyond a first date if it wasn’t there.”

  “It?”

  “It. You know that spark or the instant attraction that just seems to take your breath away.” His intense gaze met mine. “That feeling when you see someone and just want to smile for no reason at all.”

  I had to bite the inside of my bottom lip to keep from smiling at his words. Never one to believe in that ‘love at first sight’, I still could not deny that Sloane awakened something in me. Something I’d never felt with another man, not even Michael. It didn’t make any sense to me.

  Taking a breath, I rose. “Are you finished?”

  He nodded, but stood up with me and grabbed his plate, glass and the bottle. “I’ll help you clean.”

  “Thanks.” Picking up my glass, I led us into the kitchen. He scraped the plates while I started packing up the leftovers. Again I noticed how efficiently we worked together.

  “Now, you know all my secrets, tell me yours.”

  I turned from putting the broccoli and home fries containers in the refrigerator along with the remainder of the wine. “I think my book is pretty open. I was married, had a son. You know about my parents and Michael passing away.” Moving to where he was at the sink rinsing the dishes, I pulled open the dishwasher and started loading. It was already half full with Jason's and my morning dishes.

  “Tell me how you and your husband met. Did he go to our school?” He handed me a plate.

  I smiled. Liking that Sloane wanted to connect us to a school he only attended for a year and a half. “No. We met like you and your ex, in college. Michael was a sweet and kind Georgia boy. Smart as a whip.”

  Silent, Sloane handed me the glasses.

  “I was rushing to freshman orientation and not watching where I was going and tripped.” I straightened, resting my hands on my hips while my mind returned back to that day. “I recall thinking how glad I was that all the other students were in the auditorium already or I’d have been so embarrassed. Then there was this voice behind me asking if I was okay. I looked up and there was Michael.”

  Sloane turned with a pot in his hand and glanced at me. “Was it one of those magic moments?”

  Shaking my head, I took the pot. “Oh, no. I was too grateful that he wasn’t laughing at me. We didn’t date until two years later.”

  Frowning, Sloane asked, “Why so long?”

  I sighed and walked over to him and pulled the silverware from the sink. “I was terrible at math. Practically failing my second semester of geometry, Michael was a tutor for the math department and we started spending a lot of time together.”

  “Is this when you all fell in love and started dating?” Sloane put the pan into the dishwasher while I grabbed a detergent tab and placed it into the tray before closing and setting it to run in a few hours.

  He was already wiping the stove and counters so I stood there feeling like I didn’t know what to do in my own kitchen. I leaned back against the cleared counter by the stove. I heard Sloane’s question, but I hated that question from people because I never really knew how to answer it.

  Placing the dish cloth on the hook where it rested behind the sink he moved to stand before me. “Is it too painful for you to talk about him?”

  It should be. “No.”

  Sloane was standing too close to me. His cologne, something clean with a spice blend, filled my nose. It was too easy for me to compare this man before me to my late husband. Like Michael never wore cologne, he was too practical for that—shower, deodorant and done. Even when he and I were going on a special date.

  I always loved cologne, that extra bonus scent of a man.

  Unlike Sloane who stood tall with broad shoulders and big hands, Michael was only an inch or two taller than me and never made me feel secure physically. Or emotionally. That all consuming passion had never been there between Michael and me. Not like what I was feeling for Sloane and that scared me to the marrow of my bones.

  Placing a finger below my chin, he angled my head up until he could stare into my eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong, Gabrielle.”

  Everything. “Nothing.” I lied.

  “The truth,” he demanded softly.

  I could feel my core tightening and the hum of heat through my body at his commanding words. Not that I had some desire to be ordered around, but Michael would have just let it go. Said okay and been happy it wasn’t something heavy to talk about and walked away. Too many times in our three year marriage I wanted him to push me, feel invested in what was going on in my head, not just his own.

  “I married a bookworm.”

  Sloane chuckled, but continued to stare at me. “I’m not seeing why that should be a bad thing, making you all pensive.” His hand slid from my chin to my neck and massaged the back of it gently.

  The small, concentrated touch made my body sing as if he were caressing me in other
places. “I never felt like a woman around Michael.”

  Tilting his head, he asked, “You mean like he made you wear the pants in the house.”

  “Not in the usual ways.” I shook my head. “He took care of the household, or at least contracted maintenance things out and we both sat down at the beginning of the month and took care of the bills. We frequently had literary or political conversations together…”

  “And?”

  For the first time since Michael’s death, I felt my throat tighten and overwhelmed with emotion. Words began to tumble out. “When he died, I went straight into mommy mode, became my son needed everything. Jason struggled with his own understanding of death of his grandparents and now his dad. We both watched Michael get sicker, rapidly. Then he was just gone.”

  “You miss him.” Sloane didn’t pull away as I talked about Michael, instead his hand moved down my arm and he took my hand in his, squeezing. As if to reassure me or give me comfort.

  Tears welled up in my eyes from his compassion. “I miss my friend. When it all comes down to it that’s what Michael was to me.” The stream rolled from my eyes. “I always knew I was settling for him. Just settling. I don’t know if it was because I didn’t feel I had many other options or because he was comfortable and dependable.”

  “Does it matter? You all were happy, right? And you had a beautiful, talented little boy.”

  “Yes. Yes.” All that was true. I swiped at my cheeks but the tears kept coming. “But there was never, never…” My thoughts seem to get hung up on that word and I couldn’t get past it to say what my body and guts were daring me to say. “Never any—”

  “This.” His only word before he pulled me to him and lowered his head until his lips met mine.

  Rockets and explosions went off in my head. I felt dizzy like I was hanging upside down for too long, but I didn’t care. I clutched at his clothing with both hands, holding him to me.

  Sloane’s kiss was bold and electrifying.

  I could feel my toes curling against the cool tile. The sweep of his tongue along mine took my breath away and I moaned. To my own ears it sounded deep and throaty like one of those women in a 1940’s movie. The ones in the passionate embrace by some man that was too devastatingly attractive and brazen for his or the woman’s own good. And I ate up every moment of it.