Secrets

by L. A. Fiore

  Hank had a hand on the door handle when he looked back at Arissa. She hadn’t moved. He had an effect on her. He liked knowing that. He liked it a fuck of a lot. He grinned at her comment before he threw back. “So am I.” He wasn’t talking about the cats, either.

  He climbed into his car and started down the drive. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she was still standing there. Watching her, he had to adjust himself. He pulled out his cell, tapped the screen and typed.

  Burgers, beer, and darts at my house, 6 tonight, you in?

  He hit send and stopped at the end of Ed’s long driveway. Watching her from his rearview mirror, she reached into her pocket.

  She looked down a long time at her phone before his phone vibrated with an incoming message.

  I’ll bring dessert.

  He read the message twice, glanced in his mirror and saw she was looking in his direction. He tapped at the screen and hit send. He watched her read the message.

  That means you’ll just be bringing yourself. See you then. Later.

  He chuckled when he glanced back and saw she almost dropped her carton of eggs.

  3

  Arissa locked up her house and walked to her car holding the dessert she’d made, cherry pie. Who didn’t like pie? Her stomach hadn’t settled since getting the sheriff’s text from earlier. Burgers, beer, darts and him…it was going to be a perfect evening.

  She was just putting the pie in the car when the scent of jasmine drifted her way. She glanced over to see her neighbor heading in her direction.

  “Hey, Sugar. You going somewhere?” Maureen asked, dressed in a flowing red sundress and beige wedge sandals. She looked effortlessly beautiful, natural, but Arissa would bet money she’d spent time getting that look.

  She remembered the sheriff’s warning about small towns and gossip, and not really wishing to be a subject for the rumor mill, though she suspected it would start regardless of what she said, she was vague when she replied, “Just going out.”

  “With pie?” Maureen asked before she leaned up against the car, ran her tongue along her teeth and added, “He likes pie.”

  Arissa wasn’t surprised; Maureen all but had her binoculars out that first day when Hank had come to the house to stop the flooding. “He saved me from Hilda.” Arissa heard herself saying. Maureen’s expression didn’t change. She stared for a minute before her head tipped back, her blonde locks falling down her back. Her laugh was melodic, like a siren luring sailors to the rocks. Her eyes were sparkling when she said, “He has a way about him.” She stepped back from the car, turned to leave but glanced over her shoulder. “You’re good for him,” she said cryptically before she sauntered back across the street.

  Arissa watched her, her words rolling around in her head. There was more to that comment, but regardless…she liked it. Climbing into her car, and starting it up, she punched Hank’s address into the GPS that he’d texted her. “House of the Rising Sun” blared from her speakers as she pulled down her drive and started up the street.

  When his house came into view, she couldn’t help the smile because it was the arts and craft style home she’d seen earlier on the way to Ed’s farm. The perfect house, on the perfect patch of land with a view that was unparalleled was Hank Weather’s house. Somehow that seemed fitting. She drove up his long drive, parked behind his SUV and saw the man himself shooting hoops. She didn’t climb out of the car immediately, giving herself a minute to enjoy the sight. And he was a sight in jeans and a tee, his muscles flexing under the cotton as he effortlessly tossed the ball in the hoop. It took effort to pull her gaze from him, before she shut off the engine, reached for the pie and climbed from her car. Walking around it, she took a minute to look around his yard. The front of his house was picture perfect. The kind of home she’d feature on the cover of Southern Charm, but the backyard was even better. Warm, welcoming with a massive deck and teak furniture adorn with dark blue cushions that just begged for a person to take a seat. Large porcelain pots in cobalt blue and hunter green were scattered around the deck, adding a softness to the hard lines with the lush green foliage. A pergola rested over part of the deck, lights strung along it. She could see wisteria climbing through it; the delicate purple flower with its sweet scent, attracting bees and butterflies while offering shade. Maybe she’d suggest that to him.

  Hank’s arms were lifted, ready to take a shot, when he glanced behind him. She was here. But what he found alarming was that he never even heard her pull up. Jesus. Was he thinking that hard about her that he lost all sense around him? Her head was turned, taking in his place. He’d give her the time to do that because it gave him the time to take in her. Those sexy as fuck legs were on display again. Jesus. The white lace of her blouse contrasting against the slight tan she had on her skin. He was thankful for the flips flops this time instead of rubber boots.

  Arissa’s focus shifted back to Hank; her breath caught because he was no longer shooting hoops, but standing there, ball on his hip, looking back. “This place is amazing,” she said as she started across the drive to him.

  Hank glanced to his place before looking back at her. “Thanks.” He smiled because he thought his place was pretty fucking amazing too. He started toward her. “I see you brought more than one dessert?” He caught the quick flush of red that crawled up her neck and onto her cheeks. He didn’t give her time to answer. When he grew closer, he tossed the ball to her. Her soft brown eyes went wide, confusion on what to do came next. When he saw she was going to let the pie plate go, he swiftly took it from her hands. She caught the ball, then took a deep breath.

  “Glad one of us has good reflexes,” Arissa said, then teased, “It would be a crime to drop a perfectly good cherry pie.”

  Hank winked at her. “There’s other pie to eat.” His gaze drifted down her body, lingering at the juncture between her legs before he said, “Come on, I’ll show you around.” He started toward the patio.

  Arissa’s legs went weak. The man was not shy, and, damn, it felt nice being on the receiving end of his particular brand of charm.

  Hank gestured to the hoop. “You can just toss it over there.”

  Arissa tossed the ball in the direction of the barn then followed Hank inside. If the outside was picture perfect, the inside was lived in, homey and somehow even more appealing. Heavy oak furniture, a stone fireplace, hardwood floors that were aged and marked but the signs of living only added to their charm. A large woven basket sat near the hearth filled with blankets. The walls were painted a sage green, white wood blinds covered the windows. The kitchen was massive and the window over the sink brought natural light into the space. Herbs in concrete pots lined the window. Arissa smiled to herself because she would guess they hadn’t been planted by Hank. His mom, or a girlfriend, but the touch of feminine in the masculine space worked. She’d wondered about him, and seeing that little bit of proof that there was a woman in his life, she heard herself asking out loud what she’d been pondering privately. “I like the herbs.” She leaned against the counter, more for balance when he turned those dark eyes on her. “I don’t imagine you planted those.”

  Hank’s lips tipped up on one side and he caught the chuckle building in his chest. She wasn’t subtle with her questioning, but she was cute as fuck. “I like to cook, you know experiment with foods, so my mom insisted I needed fresh herbs.” Hank looked at the plants. “She was right, but I wouldn’t fucking admit that to her.” He chuckled and asked, “Beer? Wine? Water? Anything?”

  Arissa bit her lip because what she wanted was standing across from her. “I’ll take a beer, thanks.” While Hank got her beer, she looked around his kitchen.

  The charcoal gray granite against the dark wood cabinets and stainless appliances–Subzero refrigerator and Viking stove–was eye catching. A pot rack hanging over the island had stainless steel pots alongside cast iron. She’d been in countless homes, visited them for features
in the magazine, kitchens that were exquisite but not used. Even if he hadn’t shared with her he liked to cook, she could tell from his kitchen that he did.

  He popped the top off a beer and handed it to her. She watched as he uncapped his beer before she tipped hers to him then took a long drink. The cold liquid felt good going down, her eyes on him as she drank. She felt a little lightheaded and though she wanted to blame it on the beer, it wasn’t the beer. No, the reason for her feeling a little off balance was currently resting casually back against his counter, watching her. She’d never in her life felt what he made her feel…edgy, almost intoxicated with anticipation. And he did it with nothing more than a look. Like the one he was giving her now. She felt that stare in several very nice places on her body. She took another drink before she asked, “You mentioned burgers. Do you make your own patties?”

  He again, held back the chuckle that formed. She was nervous, on edge, he could read that not only in the way her eyes darted around, but the quick sips of beer she took. The way she fidgeted with the bottle. Not to mention, the fixed flush of pink on her cheeks. It wasn’t just cute, it was fucking adorable. And that had Hank’s mind wandering to all the things he wanted to do to her. He glanced at the island, thinking how easy it would be to place her on it, spread her legs and taste her. He swiftly blinked his eyes and adjusted his stance to relieve the pressure building in the crotch of his jeans. He fucking forgot what she asked. Jesus. What did she ask? Fuck. He found himself saying in a raspy mutter, “Come again?”

  Arissa didn’t know exactly what went through his mind at that moment, but the look on his face, holy shit. She took another long drink of beer. Her mind was so far from where this conversation started that it took her a bit to remember what she’d asked. “Burgers,” she said kind of deflated because she suspected what was going through his head was a far better topic.

  “Oh,” Hank expressed and moved to the fridge, pulling out a plate that held four homemade patties, he told her, “I make them myself. Throw a shit ton of seasoning in them.” He placed the plate on the counter and pulled out a container of potato salad. “Sorry for the store bought shit.” He gestured to the container. “But like I said, this town is held up by gossip. And if I bought shit to make the salad myself, that would get around.” Hank held her gaze when he told her, “What’s happening here, I’d like to keep between us.” He didn’t say it to offend her, but there were things he liked to keep private. This was one of them.

  Arissa studied him for a moment before she lifted her bottle of beer. “Under normal circumstances, I think I’d be offended, but I’ve gotten a little taste of the gossip so I understand. Particularly being the sheriff, you are probably the most talked about person in town. Finding privacy, a little part of your world that can just be yours, I understand the need for that. So I won’t share your secret…” She took a long drink and teased, “You know, the shit ton of seasoning in your burgers.”

  Hank chuckled, looked to his feet and said, “Thanks.” He lifted his head and leveled his gaze on her. “Let’s take this outside, get these burgers going so I can feed you. Then we will head to the barn, see how your dart throwing skills are.” He retrieved the plate from the counter and started toward the door, but halted his steps, and told her. “If you want, you can go look around while I get these started.”

  She walked past him and held open the door. “I think I’ll just hang with you, if that’s cool.”

  And, again, that chuckle came back, but he held it in. If that’s cool, yeah, she was nervous because he hadn’t heard anyone their age say that in a long time. “Yep,” he said as he walked past her holding the door for him. He uttered, “Thanks.”

  Arissa followed after him, and resisted the urge to roll her eyes… if that’s cool? He made her nervous, but in fairness to her, the man was unnerving in the best possible way. Her thoughts detoured when she saw his view. For as far as the eye could see, it was nature in the purest sense. “How is it you don’t have any neighbors?”

  Hank opened the grill hood, placed the plate on the side granite counter and looked around. He was lucky to get this place. When the Hansons put the place up for sale, it was an all out war in town on who was going to get it. Hank pointed to the back and the sides flanking the house. “All that is a nature preserve, can’t be touched. Cost me a mint in a bidding war.” He gazed along his property and said, “But worth every fucking penny.”

  Arissa placed her bottle of beer next to the plate of burgers and moved across the deck to one of the pots. “If I lived here then, I would have been in that bidding war.” She glanced back at him. “This would make an incredible feature for the magazine.” Taking in his view, she added, “I’d sell my soul to feature this place in the magazine, but a part of me hates the idea because what makes this so beautiful is the quiet and serenity.”

  Hank was listening as he fired up the grill. “Really? You’d put my house in a magazine?” The thought had Hank smiling. Not for the fact that he was honored to hear it, but for the fact it was just home to him, not a piece to showcase.

  Arissa touched the shiny green leaves in the pot on the deck. Hank placed the meat on the hot grates, the sizzling began before he shut the lid. Turning, he watched Arissa as she spoke.

  “I’ve traveled all through the south looking for the best of the best, pie and étouffée, fairs and little towns and yes, homes. Some look beautiful, but are cold. Designed solely for the purpose of being noticed. This place has a quality to it, that beauty that draws your eye, and gets your imagination thinking about barbecues and softball games and families gathered around the table. It feels like a home. The fact that it does and it’s a bachelor pad…” She glanced over at him and grinned. “Maybe featuring it is not such a good idea because it would have the women flocking into town.” Then she laughed at the thought of Sal and Elmer. “Though for some, that would be very appealing.”

  Hank grinned and didn’t give it much thought. What, a few pictures of his house in a magazine, harmless. So he told her, “Go ahead. You wanna take a few pics and put it in your magazine, be my guest.”

  She crossed the patio to him, leaned up against the counter, the scent of the grilling meat wafting up toward her. “That smells delicious,” she said but continued, “Be careful, Hank, because I really want to feature your house but it’s more than taking a few pictures. You give me the go ahead, I’m totally going to take you up on it.”

  He could say the same for the scent lingering off her. Between her close proximity, her plump lips moving, he had no idea what was spilling from his mouth, all he heard was getting the chance to spend more time with her. So, he found himself saying, “Then, do it.” He kept his eyes to hers, and was glad he did, because if he hadn’t he would have missed seeing that sparkle come to life.

  Arissa felt the familiar buzz when she was onto a great story. The fact that this story centered around a man she was fascinated by and could admit wanted to spend time with, only made that feeling all the better. She reached for her beer, brought the bottle to her lips. “We’ll have to sit down, you’ll need to sign a few things. I’ll want to tour your house, but…” She took a sip of beer, let the cold liquor do its thing before she added, “Based on what I’ve seen, I won’t be hiring a staging crew. The angle is you.” She watched his expression when she said that. “Are you okay with that?”

  Hank turned to the grill, lifted the hood, and reached for the spatula. “Sweetheart, have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, the angle is me.” He chuckled, flipped the burgers, and pointed the kitchen utensil toward the meat. “You want me to kill yours?”

  “No, not kill…pink inside,” she replied.

  Hank nodded and muttered, “Good.”

  “Jo told me about the rash of misdemeanors all so the local ladies could get a frisk down. That’s the angle I’m talking about.”

  Hank shook his head and looked at Arissa’s almost em
pty bottle. “If you wanna talk about that shit, you gotta get me a beer, and you can use another too.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  Hank watched her flip flop covered feet walk across his deck, her full ass swaying when she did. Watched her hand on the knob, opening the French door. He also saw when she closed the door behind her. It was a sight. A sight he’d like to watch every night when he came home from work. A sight he would never tire of. And she did it all like she had been to his house a million times over. His eyes stayed fixed to the door, so he also got to appreciate her walking toward him with a beer in each hand. Yeah, he could get used to this. She handed him the bottle, he held her eyes. She didn’t move hers; unspoken words were exchanged through a simple look. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low and deep.

  “You’re welcome.” She took a sip too, and then said, “So, about those friskings.” She chuckled. “You have to realize your appeal,” she said, looking him over from the cotton that hugged his chest and arms to the faded jeans that hung from narrow hips. “You got all of that going on.” Then she looked out at his backyard. “Then you see your home…it’s an alluring combination, the man behind the badge.”

  Hank heard the words, even felt them. But it was the look she had in her eyes when they roamed down his body that had him making his next move. With his free hand, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He watched as her breathing picked up, and the way the soft cotton material of her blouse moved with the rise and fall. Hank’s cock twitched. He didn’t move his hand, he snaked it behind her neck. Arissa’s head tilted back, their gazes locked. She licked her lips. Hank watched the movement, before he lowered his head and softly touched his lips to hers. Her empty hand came up and gripped his forearm, putting pressure. He lifted his head, saw that her eyes had glazed over just from that brief touch. He did it again, this time with a brush of his tongue across her lips. When his head lifted this time, he saw her eyes were closed. He went back in, just letting his lips touch hers, a brief swipe of his tongue across hers before repeating it.