Stranger at the beach house by L J Dee Read Free Book Online Page B

knew.
Christ, could I be any more obvious.
      “Steak,” I said quickly “as requested Sir,
with either chips and salad or baby new potatoes and vegetables. Your choice, I
got both,” I smiled.
    “I think we’ll go with this,” he
said, his voice like pure velvet and extremely suggestive as he ran his fingers
over the asparagus tips and I turned away, my cheeks blazing.
    “And what’s this?” he asked,
pushing a long finger under the ribbon of the bakery box.
    “Dessert,” I laughed, smacking
playfully at his hand.
    “I hope its chocolate,” he purred
licking his lips.
    “It’s a surprise,” I answered,
noticing the wry smile that was tickling his mouth. He was certainly in a
playful mood.
    “Where do you keep your pans?” I
asked, trying to keep my composure. He was standing so close it was getting me
seriously hot and bothered.
    He strolled over to a large unit
filled with an array of very expensive kitchen equipment. “What do you need?”
he smiled.
    “I’ll have those three,” I said,
pointing at three gleaming pans that had never seen the light of day, “and do
you have a griddle pan?” I asked, moving back towards the counter.
      “A what?” he frowned and I couldn’t suppress
my giggle.
    “Seriously?” I quizzed and it was his turn to look
sheepish as I moved past him to search the large cupboard. “You must know. You
will have bought it,” I laughed as he shook his head.
    “I paid someone to buy all this
stuff,” he said, gesturing around the room as I raised my eyebrows.
      “Well I love to shop, Sam, so in the future if
you need anyone to buy stuff for you, please feel free to employ me. I’m
between jobs at the moment so I have plenty of spare time,” I laughed, finally
spotting a griddle pan still in its packaging.
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” he
grinned.
    “Do you have olive oil?” I
realised suddenly that it was the one thing I had forgotten.
    “It’s probably in there,” he
shrugged, smiling and pointing to a huge cupboard at the far end of the
kitchen.
    “Jesus,” I gasped as I opened it,
encountering shelf after shelf of long life foods and milk, row upon row of
various tins and cans and eventually a jar of olive oil. Not a bottle like the
rest of the world owns, but a whacking great jar that looked like it was
designed specifically for caterers and busy ones at that.
      “Are you thinking you might be holed up here
for a while?” I quizzed. There was enough food to sustain the man for years.
    “Siege mentality,” he laughed
infectiously. “It never hurts to be prepared, Rose”. Prepared for what? I
wondered silently.
    As I moved about the kitchen organising
the dinner, I could feel Sam watching me intently. “What can I do?” he asked
gently.
    “Peel some carrots,” I said,
motioning for him to come over and showing him what to do. His concentration on
the task was endearing and I couldn’t help but wonder how he had managed to get
through life without knowing how to cook.
      An unwelcome thought entered my head. Had he
been married? Was he still? “What did you do for food in London Sam?” I asked,
hoping for any answer other than that.
      “I was usually at the office until late so I’d
eat out, or grab something at the gym,” he said casually.
    “An expensive way to live,” I
smiled, raising my eyebrows at him.
    “I suppose. I’ve always been too
busy, never really had the need or the urge to cook until now. Shit,” he
grimaced.
      I looked over to see the blood running across
his finger where he had nicked it with the peeler. “Here,” I said, gently
taking his hand and moving it under the cold running water, looking up to find
him gazing down at me, his blue eyes dark and brooding. “You pour the wine and
I’ll take it from here,” I smiled, walking away and taking a very, very deep
breath.
    The crisp white liquid tasted
delicious and I was really enjoying myself. The kitchen was a dream and so was
the man sharing it with