Honey and the Hitman

by Hannah Murray

  She frowned to herself as the unwelcome and uneasy confusion returned, along with the low-level tug of desire she couldn’t seem to help. From the first time she’d seen him, standing over her in Winnie’s dining room, sugar drifting down from his hair and those arctic blue eyes staring at her with such cold suspicion, that tug had been there. It was exasperating, as she wasn’t a woman used to having such an instant and physical reaction to a man. But he was tall and broad and so fucking built. And there was that fallen angel face that literally made her weak in the knees. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw—that it was usually covered in stubble was just one more thing that made her belly clutch.

  She had a terrible weakness for the scrape of a man’s beard against her skin.

  Her frown deepened as she began to slice the pepper into chunks. However attractive she found him—and she could admit to herself that she found him wildly, almost desperately attractive—she was getting the distinct impression that the feeling wasn’t mutual.

  She paused for a moment, her knife hovering, then continued to slice. No, that wasn’t precisely true. There had been brief flashes of interest. That first time, despite the suspicion, there had been something—warmth, interest, something along those lines. There and gone in a heartbeat, too fast to analyze, but she knew she hadn’t imagined it. The second time they’d met, when she’d dashed out into the street looking for Milo, she’d seen it again.

  Both times she’d put it down to simple male appreciation, a basic acknowledgment that she was pleasing to the eye. She knew she was reasonably pretty, so the reaction didn’t surprise her. But she figured it was knee jerk, with no real meaning beyond that basic acknowledgment.

  But just now, standing outside her back door, smiling over her dog, that basic flash of awareness had included something more. It wasn’t just the warmth of appreciation, but heat. It had burned bright in those blue eyes, blade sharp and strangely predatory. Her breath had caught, her heartbeat had thickened, and for one tense moment, all she’d been able to think was Yes. That.

  Since flinging herself at him on the back porch wasn’t really her style—and the dog standing between them would’ve made it awkward—she’d done the only thing she could think of and invited him in for a glass of lemonade. As soon as the words had left her mouth, he’d turned it off, all the fire buried in ice.

  He’d have walked away right then if she hadn’t asked him to wait for the sugar. And because she was watching, she’d noticed that he’d been very careful not to touch her as he’d taken it from her.

  Confused was a good word.

  She’d spent no more than five minutes in his company, spread over three very short meetings—two of which were in what could be termed high-stress circumstances—but she was starting to think he didn’t like her. Or perhaps more accurately, didn’t want to like her.

  She huffed out a breath, scooped the now sliced peppers aside, and started on the squash.

  It wasn’t as if her feelings were hurt, she mused as she worked. She didn’t know him well enough for that. But, well, rejection was rejection, and it never felt good. It left a little hole in her gut, a nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It annoyed her, that little hole, because who was he to be leaving holes in her?

  She shook her head as she scooped out the guts and seeds of the squash into a bowl for the compost pile. She was acting irrationally, she chided herself. He didn’t know her, and he certainly didn’t owe her anything. Just because she took one look at him and wanted to jump his bones didn’t mean he was obligated to feel the same.

  She shook her hands free of the goop and turned on the water in the sink to rinse off. It sure wasn’t his fault that it had been more than nine months—going on a year, if she was honest—since she’d been interested in a man, and even longer since she’d been interested enough to have sex. Sweetwater wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis, and the dating scene was practically nonexistent. Most of the residents were either a generation above her or a generation below, and the smattering of people who fell into her age group were mostly already coupled up and producing a new generation.

  There was the occasional tourist who seemed interesting, and she’d tried that a time or two. But she wasn’t interested in transitory romance—her friend Abby’s tongue-in-cheek term for a one-night stand—so after one or two unsatisfying encounters, she’d decided it just wasn’t worth it and turned to a strictly solo sex life to get through the lonely nights.

  She had no shame about that. She was young, vital, and with the internet, she could order what she wanted and have it delivered in discreet packaging so old Mr. Nekes, the mailman, had no idea it contained the Lady Pleaser Deluxe in hot pink, with its complimentary supply of batteries and included leopard print storage bag.

  A fact for which she was very grateful because while she had no shame about owning the Lady Pleaser Deluxe, she certainly didn’t need the neighbors to know about it. And since Mr. Nekes had spread the news about Thomas Abrams and his mail-order Viagra subscription all over town, it was clear the old codger valued gossip much more than he valued the privacy policy of the United States Postal Service.

  And the LPD, as she thought of it, certainly did the job. Orgasms galore, she thought as she cut the squash into chunks. But sometimes she wanted more. A man’s hands on her skin, his scent in her nostrils and his taste in her mouth, someone to cuddle with after the orgasm faded instead of a trip to the bathroom to clean the LPD and put it back in its storage bag before returning to her empty bed.

  Annoyed, she scooped the squash aside to wait with the peppers and grabbed the onion. “I’m just horny, that’s all,” she muttered to the dog who, recognizing the vegetables, had moved to his bed in the corner. “Horny and lonely, but that’s hardly his problem.”

  She hacked into the onion and almost immediately, her eyes started to water. Working quickly, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from rubbing at her eyes in a few moments, she continued to mutter to herself. “Just because he’s hot and single and just about the only guy around under fifty who doesn’t smell like dirty sweat socks and beer doesn’t mean he’s under any obligation to give me a toss.”

  She swiped the back of her hand under her running nose and kept chopping. “Don’t know why he’s being weird, though. I mean, it’s not like I’m repulsive. I’m fine on my own, you know. It’d just be nice to make love to something that doesn’t need batteries once in a while.”

  Eyes streaming now, she fought to blink her vision clear enough to keep from chopping her fingers off. “But hey, it’s no skin off my nose. He may be cute, Milo, and he may smell good and have a supremely biteable ass, but I don’t need him.”

  Milo, clearly having no opinion on the matter, simply yawned.

  “Thanks, buddy. Knew I could count on you.” Annoyed, irritated, and still horny, Honey chopped faster while tears streamed down her face.

  Chapter Six

  Ethan’s first day of work dawned sunny and clear. He’d been told to report to Caroline Havers’ house on the edge of town by seven to get started, and he’d set his alarm for five so he could get in a run on the beach first. He’d returned sweaty and sandy, and when he stopped at the back stairs to brush the sand off his legs, he smelled coffee and bacon through the screen door.

  He stepped into the kitchen with a smile. “You didn’t have to get up.”

  Winnie turned from the stove, dressed in smart green Capri pants and a fitted white t-shirt, and smiled at him. “I wanted you to have a good breakfast on your first day.”

  He arched a brow. “You feel guilty because it’s your fault I can’t sleep in.”

  “I certainly do not,” she replied pertly. “You needed direction.”

  “Hmmm.” He reached past her and nipped a slice of bacon from the platter, narrowly avoiding the spoon she tried to bring down on his knuckles. “My keen powers of observation tell me otherwise.”

  She sniffed at him. “Keen powers of observation. Really.”


  “Really.” He crunched his bacon and nodded to the counter. “You’ve got the waffle maker out.”

  “So? I make wonderful waffles.”

  “No question,” he agreed. “But you save them for special occasions because cleaning the waffle maker is a pain in the ass.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “And,” he continued, “there’s this pot of water on the stove.”

  She huffed out a breath. “That means I feel guilty?”

  “It does when you’re going to use it to poach these eggs,” he said, pointing to the open carton next to the stove. “Also something you view as a pain in the ass.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You want to eat cold cereal?”

  He grinned. “No, ma’am.”

  “Then shut up and go take a shower.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He snagged another slice of bacon on the way out and had her choking back a laugh.

  He made quick work of his shower and, considering the type of work he was going to be doing, didn’t bother to shave. He dressed in worn jeans and a simple white t-shirt, then pocketed his cell phone and the keys to the truck before heading back downstairs. He carried a pair of work boots he’d purchased the day before, as well as a pair of socks and a worn New York Yankees cap. Dropping his gear on the bottom stair, he headed for the dining room.

  Winnie placed the platter of food on the table, crisp bacon and golden waffles and the creamy eggs with the shimmer of golden yolk just under the milky surface. Coffee steamed from a mug by his plate next to a tall glass of orange juice. “Wow.”

  She shot him a look as she settled into her chair. “It’s not guilt.”

  “Okay,” he said agreeably as he reached for his orange juice.

  “It’s not,” she insisted. “Nothing to be guilty about. Since, if you didn’t want the job, you wouldn’t have taken it.”

  “Like I had a choice after you backed me so neatly into a corner.”

  “Oh, bullshit,” she said and made him grin into his juice. “The other night, with Jacob here in the house, okay. But you could’ve easily told him no thanks when you met him at his office. You didn’t.”

  He struggled to keep his face sober. “Maybe I was just being polite.”

  “You’ve got about as much polite as I do, which isn’t that much,” she countered and pointed a finger at him. “Admit it. You’re looking forward to this.”

  He reached for the platter and heaped food on his plate. “No.”

  “No?”

  He had to smother another grin at the outrage in her voice. “No. If I tell you that you were right, you’re just going to get cocky.”

  “Hah.” She shot him a triumphant grin. “I was right.”

  “I’m not saying that,” he repeated, and drowned his waffles in syrup.

  “Yes, you are.” She slid a waffle onto her plate and plucked the syrup from his hand. “You’re not saying it, but by not saying it, you are saying it, so you really are saying it.”

  He paused with a forkful of waffle halfway to his mouth, then shook his head. “I’m not even going to try to respond to that.”

  He slid the fork between his lips and let out a heartfelt moan. “God, that’s good.”

  She shot him a grin. “I love you, Ethan.”

  “I love you, too.” He grinned back and forked up more waffles. “But I’m still not saying you were right.”

  “That’s all right,” she told him and cut daintily into her breakfast. “I know that you know that I know, and that’s enough.”

  “Don’t get cocky,” he warned her, and she laughed.

  “I haven’t seen you much the last few days,” she said between bites. “What have you been up to?”

  “I had to drive to Traverse City to buy some work boots,” he said. “Other than that, I’ve been enjoying my last few days of unemployment. Spent some time on the beach, explored the town a bit.”

  “Meeting people?” she ventured hopefully.

  “A few,” he said vaguely.

  “Anyone interesting?”

  He chewed thoughtfully. “Well, I met Jacob’s receptionist.”

  Winnie hooted out a laugh. “I heard about that. Makes an impression, doesn’t she?”

  “That’s an understatement.” Ethan forked up another mouth full of waffles.

  “She drives Jacob crazy,” Winnie said as she reached for her coffee. “Every time she lights one of those Virginia Slims, he swears he’s going to boot her out and hire someone else, but I don’t think he ever will.”

  “He said he made a promise to his wife.”

  Winnie nodded. “The bottom line for him is she’s family, and I’d bet she feels the same. I can tell you Hazel was one of the only people around Sweetwater who didn’t put up a stink about him living here or marrying a white girl. Not that people these days are rolling out the welcome mat for him and me, but still.”

  It was on the tip of Ethan’s tongue to say I can imagine, then he realized no, he couldn’t. Then the rest of what she’d said registered. “He’s not from here?”

  Winnie shook her head. “No, he’s from Indianapolis, originally. He got a scholarship to Central Michigan University, over in Mount Pleasant, which is where he met Rose. He came home with her after they graduated, and set up his business here because she wanted to be near the water, near her family, and he would’ve given that woman the moon if she’d asked him for it.”

  He’d never known that kind of devotion, he realized, and probably never would. The thought brought a surprising pang of sadness. He shook it off and picked up his coffee. “Was it bad for them?”

  Winne’s mouth turned down in a frown. “It wasn’t good.”

  “What about now?” Ethan gestured with his cup. “You said you and Jacob have had trouble?”

  Winnie shrugged. “Here and there. We don’t let it stick to us.”

  Ethan opened his mouth, then closed it again without speaking.

  “What?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I was going to say if you have any more problems, let me know and I’ll take care of it. But you and Jacob can take care of yourselves.”

  She reached over and patted his hand. “We can, but thank you for the support.”

  “He seems like a good man.”

  “He’s a very good man,” Winnie said, and gave his hand a last pat before she picked up her coffee again. “And he’ll work you hard today, so eat your breakfast.”

  He grabbed another waffle. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He polished off his second helping and all but licked his plate clean, then checked the time on his phone. He had fifteen minutes to get to where he was going, so he passed on another cup of coffee and pushed back from the table.

  “Thanks for breakfast, Aunt Winnie.”

  “Hold up,” she told him as she stood. “I packed you a lunch.”

  He shook his head as she darted into the kitchen, then popped back out with an insulated lunch bag. “Guilt,” he said with a sigh, and she frowned at him.

  “You keep talking smack, you won’t get this fried chicken.”

  “Fried chicken?” He perked up and snagged the bag from her hand before she could evade. He dropped a smacking kiss on her cheek. “I take it back.”

  She chuckled as she followed him to the stairs, watched as he sat to pull on his socks and boots. “There’s sunscreen in the glove box of the truck,” she told him. “You end up with your shirt off today, you use it. And wear your hat.”

  He fitted the Yankees cap to his head as he stood. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She took one look at the cap and blanched. “Dear God, you can’t wear that.”

  He frowned as she dashed to the front closet to rummage around on the shelf. “I can’t?”

  “Hell, no.” The muffled reply was accompanied by thumping and scraping as she rearranged the contents of the closet. “That’s no way to make friends.”

  “It’s the only cap I’ve got, Aunt Winnie.”

&
nbsp; “What do you think I’m doing with my head in this closet? There it is!” She emerged, disheveled and triumphant, holding up a battered Detroit Tigers fielders cap. “Here.”

  Amused, he tugged off the one he wore and slapped on the old English D. “Better?”

  “Better.” She tucked the Yankees cap under her arm and tapped her cheek. “Give me a kiss, then go to work.”

  He obeyed with a grin, keys in one hand, and his lunch bag in the other. “Bye.”

  Ethan trotted down the steps and climbed into the truck, setting the lunch bag on the bench seat next to him before starting it up. It tickled him to see Aunt Winnie standing on the porch, in the open doorway, waving him off. He honked the horn, two short toots of acknowledgment, then backed out of the drive and headed down the road.

  The drive to the Havers house on the other end of town took less than ten minutes, owing both to the early hour and the fact that the other end of town was a mere six miles away. He pulled up to the address he’d been given a full five minutes early to find Jacob’s truck already there. Jacob stood at the open tailgate, sipping from a travel mug and studying the plans he had spread out over the lumber in the bed of the truck.

  Jacob’s hand came up in greeting as Ethan slammed out of the truck. “Morning.”

  “Morning.” Ethan strolled over to lean against the tailgate. “Problem?”

  “Hmmm? Oh. No.” He shook his head when Ethan indicated the plans in his hands. “I just like to go over things one more time before I get started. You’re early.”

  “Thought it would take me longer to get over here. Traffic, you know.”

  Jacob’s bark of a laugh had a trio of birds taking flight from a nearby tree. “Rush hour’s a bitch, all right. First things first. Got you a set of tools, here. Didn’t figure you’d have your own.”

  Ethan took the fully loaded tool belt. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. We’ve got power drills, saws, that kind of thing, but it helps to have the basics, especially during demo. Take a look at these plans and tell me what you think.”

  Ethan angled himself to read the plans Jacob held out. “I think it’s going to be a hell of a deck,” he said. “Am I looking at two levels?”