Page 3 of Dirty Secret

Maybe I was shallow. I shouldn't judge a man based on his looks. Just because he had thick, curved, perfectly defined arms, glistening dark hair that reminded me of midnight in mid-summer, and his lips were thick and delicious, and I imagined, just waiting to be licked, doesn't mean I should want to jump his bones.

"Are you from Bake & Take?" I yelled into the door, stubbornly refusing to find the nerve to open it again and speak to him directly. Screw nerve, it was fear's turn to rule my life.

"No. I'm not sure I have the right house. Does Heidi White live here?"

Oh no. He knew my name.

That's why he was here. To serve me papers. To make sure I went to jail and my perfect daughter title was ripped from my imaginary sash.

He'd seen me. Somehow, this guy knew my dirty secret.

I shouldn't have done what I did, but it's not like I had a fascinating life. Everything about me, from birth until now, had been under a microscope. No wonder I turned out to be such a pervert.

There's another knock, and my eyes flew up toward the peephole. Time to face him. My parents won't be happy if he has a restraining order against me.

Gathering my damp, blond hair and twisting it to fall over my shoulder, I found a tiny shred of courage and used it to open the door.

My breath caught. It was the heat; it had to be, and it rolled over me in a wave. He's so hot. I couldn't help but drop my gaze to his chest, but not before I noticed his eyes. They're blue. Not some unusual color, but they sparkled like I cracked open a geode with bright azure crystals shining back at me.

Why hadn't I noticed his eyes before? Maybe because it's hard to see someone's eyes when I hid every time they came near.

"Hi, I'm Max Brighton. I'm with Brighton Plumbing. I was contacted from someone that knew my client, Felipe Aragon. Mr. Aragon referred you, and I was told that you had an emergency here. Something about a leaking pipe?" He reached out his hand to me.

While I knew I should shake his hand and my fingers itched to touch him, my brain reminded me that this was all a trick to have me arrested. Or, at least, humiliate me in some way.

Instead of lifting my arm, I focused on his hair—dark, wavy with a light breeze pushing it around. But that caused my hand to make a fist because I wanted to reach over and curl my fingers through it. To see if his locks were soft, maybe shove my nose into his head. Did he smell as good as I wanted him too?

Max cleared his throat with his arm still extended toward me. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad if I touched him.

How could that end badly? Then I remembered there was a reason I kept away, hiding in my house when he walked by. Staring at him only through a peephole like some pervert.

My issues with men were the excuse my parents used to send me to Europe after college. Not because it was a fantastic graduation gift, but to hide me from the worst thing I did to our family. My parents hoped word of my depravity and recklessness didn't spread.

So far, no one knew what happened the night of my twenty-first birthday.

I was meant for a certain life. My parents were reminding me every chance they got—and due to the privilege I had relied on, it was expected of me to give back to the family. To be with people, they approved of, for fear my secret would be revealed. And, for me never to forget, I was to marry well.

Now, instead of interacting with men, I ran and hid, only to stare at them through peepholes and cracks in the curtains.

I lifted my hand to him, my arm quivering.

"Yes, I'm all wet downstairs . . .. Uh, I mean, my basement is wet. From the leaking pipe. I'm soaked." I held up my hair as proof of my wetness.

When he grasped my hand tightly, squeezing my palm with enough power to cause me to whimper, I took note of his arm, corded with muscle not over-worked like a bodybuilder, but just enough muscle to be mouth-watering.

So much muscle. I couldn't stop thinking about it or staring at it. His biceps, moving to his shoulder, and then to his chest.

I bet he had juicy muscles everywhere on his body.

Get a grip, Heidi. He's here to fix your basement, not lube your girly bits.

Releasing my hand from his, I waved him inside. "It's hot out there. Come in."

I could only hope he believed the flush that I knew was taking over my cheeks was from the weather and not his touch.

Stepping aside, he brushed past me, and I caught his scent—a mixture of honeysuckle, sweat, and something singularly Max.

After closing the door, I watched as Max's eyes searched my home, looking for work but only finding wood floors, furniture, and some decorations.

After a moment, his gaze fell on me. My skin heated as he took in my body the way he did my living room.

"It’s a good thing I came over. If you're all wet, then I'm here to help."

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