Hide and Seek - Lara Adrian Page 0,7
John standing at the stove in dark denim and a worn lumberjack flannel shirt, stirring the pot of venison stew with one hand, his other wrapped loosely around a long-neck bottle of beer.
His big, six-foot-three frame swallowed up the space in the small cabin, and when he turned to look at her as she approached, his penetrating brown gaze seemed to suck all the air from the room, too.
“Better now?” His deep voice, with its smooth Southern drawl, drew her forward like a beacon of warmth. At her nod, he stretched for the handle on the fridge on the other side of him and took out a bottle of Coors for her. “Sit down and have a drink while I serve up the grub.”
Grub? Hardly. The venison stew smelled amazing. The spicy aroma invaded her senses and made her stomach growl in anticipation. She had no idea he knew how to cook. Then again, aside from John being her brother’s best friend and her most incredible one-night stand, there was a lot she probably didn’t know about him.
Even then, her knowledge was five years old and then some. This John Duarte seemed different in many ways. More emotionally isolated than before. Even more of a lone wolf, if that was possible.
Lisa took a sip from her bottle, but found the prospect of being waited on by him too much to bear. Instead of taking a seat at the table, she walked her beer over and set it down, then went back to help him serve the stew. “Let me take those,” she said as he pulled two earthenware bowls from a cabinet. “Silverware?”
“In that drawer on the left.” He gestured with his dark-bearded chin while he took the pot off the flame then grabbed a ladle from a utensil jar next to the range.
Lisa collected a couple of spoons and followed him. She watched as he scooped two generous servings into the bowls she’d placed on the table. His big hands were strong, steady. His long fingers were nicked here and there, callused from physical work. And yet, she couldn’t keep from remembering how tender they could be. How delicately he’d touched her bare skin that other night that she’d been in this cabin.
“Sit,” he said, glancing up at her and finding her staring. “Eat.”
At his grunted command, she dropped into the chair across from him and together they fell into a strange, oddly comfortable silence as they ate their stew and nursed their beers. Lisa took the opportunity to glance around the cabin, taking in the basic, masculine furnishings and decided lack of personal effects. No feminine touches anywhere either, something she’d also taken note of while she was in his shower.
John still lived alone on his mountain. For how long and why, she could only guess.
“Sorry I don’t have anything better to offer you to eat,” he murmured as she spooned up the last drop from her bowl. “I don’t make it down to town very often, and I live pretty rustic up here.”
“Are you kidding? This was delicious. Thank you.” And she’d been so hungry, there was no chance to feign a dainty appetite now. She tipped her longneck up to her mouth, then smirked as she swallowed the bland sip. “Your cooking is impressive, but your taste in beer has definitely degraded.”
There had been a time when she’d called her brother and his Marine buddies beer snobs. Nothing but small batch ales and browns, and obscure microbrews for the three musketeers when they were home on leave. Lisa had been the one who’d enjoyed her watery ultra-lights with their gleaming foil labels, and she’d caught plenty of flak from the guys because of it.
The corner of John’s mouth kicked up at her jab. “Not a lot of selection out here in the sticks. Besides, I like to keep things simple now. I keep my life uncomplicated.”
“Is that why there’s no Mrs. up here on the mountain with you?” His expression stilled at her blurt. “I’m sorry. That was rude, and it’s none of my business. You don’t have to answer—”
“There’s no Mrs.,” he said evenly. “And yeah, that’s by choice. Relationships are nothing but complicated. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He was right about that. Lisa nodded, all her past mistakes playing through her thoughts. And at the head of that parade was the mistake she made five years ago in this very cabin. It had been a mistake, but not one she’d ever been able to regret.
John’s gaze