Dirty Sexy Secret (Green County Book 1) (16 page)

And then there are other secrets. The ones that wouldn’t just devastate—they would destroy.

The thing about secrets is no matter how you deal with them, someone will be hurt when they come to light. And they always do.

That’s the other thing I’ve learned.

I remember the first time someone broke my trust. I was in first grade and my best friend came to my house. I told her about the chocolate that my mother hid in our library and how sometimes when I was really upset with her, I would steal a piece. Later, she got mad at me, my friend, and she ran to my mother and told her that I was stealing chocolate.

Mama didn’t so much care as I was upset with my friend.

The nature of secrets is to be told. Spread. Broken. To be spilled over and shared.

To slice into and break apart.

Four years ago, I slept with my best friend. The boy who had kept my secrets and held my heart. And then I ran away. The truth was—the secret that I hid was—I was going to leave before that night ever happened.

It only happened because I was leaving.

Being in Green County with Archer without being
with
Archer hurt too much for me to stay.

Running away was the best and worst decision I’ve ever made.

But now I’m home again and secrets are spilling over and piling up and begging to be told, begging to be shared.

It is the nature of secrets to not remain. To find their way the truth. And that terrifies me.

Archer steps inside my house and I fall back a step to let him.

“I thought you’d be too busy to come bother me,” I say crisply, falling back on snark and sarcasm.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he says, glancing at where it’s sitting on the kitchen table. His eyes narrow. “Did you have company?”

I blink. His voice a little bit annoyed. I glanced over the table and realize that Michael’s coffee cup is still sitting across from mine.

It’s the nature of secrets to come to light.

“No, I woke up in the middle of the night, ended up with two cups. I forgot that I had made one. It doesn’t matter. What are you doing here?” I ask as I scoop both cups off the table and dump them in the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes.

Then focus on the way he’s frowning at me like he doesn’t quite believe me and doesn’t know if he should push.

“Do you remember Scarlett?” he asks.

I frown. “No. Who is she?”

He blows out of breath, frustrated, “A couple years ago, while you were gone, Eli got into some trouble. Scarlett had a lot to do with it.”

“What kind of trouble?” I demand.

Archer shifts, uneasy. “The kind that included rehab and a six month vacation from the force.”

“What the actual
fuck
? Why the hell would you keep this from me?” I shout, jerking away from the dirty dishes, my mind racing.

Eli was on drugs?

“You were happy in Boston.” Archer says, patiently. “I wasn’t going to fuck that up telling you your brother had a drug addiction and a bitch with her hooks in him. I took care of it. I took care of Eli. Took care of all of them.”

“Taking care of Eli includes me,” I protest. “It always included
me.
We take care of both of them together.”

“Yeah, well. You left. You left so I had to take care of them by myself and I did the best that I could.”

“Wow,” I say and I give him a fake smile, “Tell me how you really feel, then.”

“Why don’t you tell me,” he snaps, “why the hell you decided that you should sleep with me and then run away for four fucking years?”

I swallow hard. “I don’t want to have this conversation,” I say.

“And we can we only do things on your timetable,” he says, bitter. Frowning, he shakes his head, “Fine. I’ll play your game. But I need your help.”

“With what?” I ask, nerves in my belly. I’m used to seeing a lot of things, but Archer angry…I don’t know what to make of this.

Of him.

He’s never pushed me. Not when it comes to us. If there is an us.

“I need to know everything you know or can find out about Morningstar. You’re a journalist. You can dig deeper than I can, go places that legally, I can’t. He’s connected to this and I need to know how.”

Of course. Of course, he needs to know. Now that I have Michael and John breathing down my neck and Gabriel—. I shake my head. I shut the thought down before it can cross my face and clue Archer in.

“Okay. Give me everything you’ve got and I’ll see what I can find out. I can’t make any promises you know that.”

“Yeah. I get it. Just do your best—that’s all I need, okay?”

“Hey where’s Eli?” I ask, belated, my voice all fake happy.

“He’s at the station doing some research.” Archer goes quiet, and then, “Have you heard from Gabe today?”

I nod. “Yes, he was in meetings with clients all day. If you don’t hear from him, it’s nothing to worry about.”

Archer starts to turn away.
It’s the nature of secrets to be shared
.

“I left because it hurt too much to stay.”

He goes still, the kind of waiting, watchful stillness that makes me nervous. And makes
want
burn hot and heavy in my gut.

“What did?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head, helpless, because I can’t answer that question.

Archer curses sharply under his breath and then crowds me against the kitchen counter.

“Stop hiding from me Hazel,” he snarls.

So I take the leap. I say, “It hurt too much to be around you. I couldn’t just stay here and watch you work your way through all the women in the fucking County. While you came to me and told me your secrets. I was the girl who held you together but never the girl that you wanted. I couldn’t do it. I had to leave.”

He’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before.“ Hazel,” he says stunned, “What are you talking about? It was never like that. That’s not what we were.”

“That’s
always
what we were. We saw each other’s worst sides, Archer, and because we did we could show everyone else the best. I got to see both sides of you—the good and the bad. You know all those girls who fell into your bed love you because of every good thing about you. I hated it then. That’s my secret, my Brutally Honest. I fucking hate it there because they didn’t know
you.
They knew the best sides of you but they didn’t know
everything.
And I couldn’t stay here and watch you with them. So I left.”

“Why haven’t you said something? Why did you run away for four years instead of talking to me?” He sounds so hurt and betrayed, it twists my heart up a little.

“What did you want me to say?
Okay, I know we can’t be together cuz you know, all the reasons, but I’m in love with you—”
I freeze and he makes a noise like a wounded animal.

“Hazel,” he almost groans and then he’s on me, his lips on mine and I am lost, completely drowning.

The thing that’s always saved me. I’m drowning in it now.

His hands are in my hair, fingers digging in and holding me where he wants as he kisses me, soft and sweet and slow. Until I snarl against him because it’s been fucking four years and we’re finally alone, without Eli five feet away sleeping, and I’m tired of wanting when he’s so fucking close. I snarl and my hands, on his shoulders, curl into him, nails digging into his broad shoulders and he hisses, breaking away from my lips as he groans.

He likes that, the bite of pain.

“Don’t tease,” I murmur against his lips and he groans.

“No teasing, baby girl. Just us.” he kisses me again, these deep long licks that have me clinging to him and my body reeling. I want more. I want everything.

I don’t get to keep him. I don’t get to keep
this
but I want it anyway.

He kisses me, and I whimper as he does, and he takes my soft noises, swallowing down my little whimpers, his hands closing around my hips, holding me still and close. He holds me like I’m fragile and precious and like he can’t get me close enough, like he wants to press me into his body, until we’re not Archer and Hazel, and separate.

And with his hands on me like that, his lips eating up every noise I make and the sweet taste of him on my lips, I can almost let myself think this means as much to him as it does to me.

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling away a little. “I’m losing you, pretty girl. Stay with me, huh?”

Tears sting my eyes and I lean into him, pressing open mouth kisses to his throat while I shove my emotions down. I scrape my teeth over his skin and he shivers, just a little.

“Bedroom,” he mutters and I freeze.

The one time we had sex, it was in my bedroom, wrapped in darkness and moonlight and so damn intimate and real it almost broke me.

There is a very real fear that it will, if I take him there again.

So I whisper, “too far,” and jerk away from him. Strip out of my tank top and sprawl across the couch and it’s a dirty trick but it does the job.

Archer forgets completely about my bedroom, and sprawls across me on the couch. His lips suck sweet pressure against my throat, and I groan, my hand in his hair as he slips lower and jerks my bra aside, taking me in his mouth.

And I scream.

Archer groans, his tongue twisting around my nipple, and we’re loud. His mouth on me, his muffled noises, my pleas for
more, please, more, Archer!
Louder and louder, until it eats up the silence around us and it’s just him and his hungry wet mouth, and me, my body writhing under him, riding that delicious line of want and too much, and then he’s pulling away and I snarl.

He kisses me as he yanks my pants down, and I scream again, into his mouth, as his fingers fill me. Fuck into me, hard and perfect because they’re rough, but sweet. I arch as his thumb brushes my clit, swallowing the noise that wants to break free, the one that is more sob than scream, more his name than anything else.

“Hazel,” he murmurs, and I blink. Focus on him.

Fuck.
Bad idea. Shouldn’t focus on him. Not when he’s staring at me like that, like I’m the fucking sun and stars and every good thing. Like I’ve
always
wanted him to look at me.

“You’re so perfect, baby,” he says, hoarsely, and his fingers twist, deep inside me and I scream.

The orgasm startles both of us, arches my back off the couch and I’m shaking, my whole body wrapped up in the feel of his fingers on me,
in
me, and the pleasure that’s washing through me. Cresting. He doesn’t stop. His thumb keeps moving, that maddening little circular stroke that has my hips jerking up, into his touch, and my hand wrapped around his wrist, and I don’t know if it’s to drag him closer or push him away and I don’t think it matters anymore.

Nothing matters but this.

The second orgasm is slower. It builds, slow and sweet, while he fingerfucks me and whispers dirty promises in my ear and licks a path down to my nipples.

The third orgasm hits as soon as he covers me with his lips, tiny licks and the whisper of a pull on my clit, his fingers holding me open as he tongue fucks me.

And it’s not enough.

I want more.

I want
Archer

“Fuck me,” I whisper, when he slowly thrusts his fingers into me.

“Please, Archer, fuck me,” I moan, when he licks his fingers clean and goes down on me.

“Dammit, Archer,” I snarl, when he puffs soft against my skin, “
fuck me.”

I scream, when he does.

When he shoves his jeans down, and rips his shirt off, and he’s towering over me, all muscle and tattooed skin and I catch the tiny hoop hanging from his nipple and twist.

His hips punch up, and I laugh, low and pleased, because he
does
like pain.

My nails dig into his back, when he slides into me, and I sob. He breathes my name, like a promise. Like
home.

Like I am everything he’s ever wanted.

W
hen Hazel kisses me, it’s this quick, sweet press before she jerks back. Away. Eyes wide and worried. Like she’s afraid I’ll be…what? Mad? Does she think I’ll be pissed that she’s done what I’ve wanted her to do for years?

Since I came home from the Corps and she punched me in the nose, and I realized my little blue eyed ghost had grown up and grown some balls.

I fucked girls. They were in and out of my bed regularly, all sweet and willing and easy.

But I didn’t get attached, and they fucking knew better than to. Getting attached was stupid—I wasn’t looking for long term. I wasn’t even looking for the weekend. I’d had too many people in my life disappear for me to want to invite some hot piece of ass into my life long term.

There was one girl. In high school. Hazel fucking loathed her, which, looking back was kind of a tell. She was a sweet girl. Maddie May.

Honest to god, that was the girl’s fucking name.

Anyway. I thought I could have something with her. She was sweet. She liked Eli. Even Nora could tolerate her and Nora didn’t like
anyone
Eli or I brought home.