Read Online Stay With Me by Sharla Lovelace - Free Book Online Page B

however, and Duncan was in front of me looking deliciously adorable in jeans and a snug red T-shirt, with just socks on his feet and a large white dog at his side, my nerves settled back down a bit.

    “Hey,” he said, a broad smile on his face. “Come on in, I’m still cooking.” He grabbed the bags. “Freezer?”

    “Um—that one, yes,” I said, taking back the one in his left hand. “This one is boots.”

    He chuckled. “You brought boots?”

    “You said dress down, and in case—”

    “Ah, gotcha,” he said. “Good plan, by the way. You’ll probably need them. This is Ella, by the way.”

    I looked down at the dog standing perfectly next to his side, in a heeling position my dog would never get in a million years.

    “Hey, Ella!” I said, crouching to pet her. She didn’t move.

    “Go ahead,” he said, and she came to me.

    I glanced up as I sank my fingers in her silky coat. “Wow. Good manners.”

    “She’s amazing,” he said. “Come on in the kitchen.”

    I raised an eyebrow and followed him. And tried not to look blown away.

    Duncan’s house was amazing. He donned what appeared to be a black leather apron, picked up a knife, and started dicing something in a kitchen the size of my living room, kitchen, and utility room put together. Warm, creamy granite adorned the countertops and backsplashes and was inlaid into the tile floor. Who the hell was this guy? Even Ella appeared to realize how nice her home was, walking very carefully around her bowls of food and water so as not to spill any on the tile.

    Gracie would have attacked hers with all the grace of a Tasmanian devil. My place wouldn’t stay this clean if I had paid professionals around the clock. Granted, it would probably only take them a half hour to hit my whole house.

    The most beautiful fruit I’d ever seen sat shiny in a large wooden bowl. Glass bottles of all different shapes and sizes lined the backsplash area, holding all those colored pastas and olives and what I could only assume were pickled something-or-others. I wouldn’t know. My specialty was cheeseburger lasagna. I could put any kind of meat on a pit. And I could whip up a killer spinach dip.

    “Wow, this is—wow,” I said, taking in everything and failing in my attempt to be cool about it. “What a beautiful home.”

    Duncan looked up and smiled, something very genuine in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said. “I do try to make it a home, not just some bachelor pad.”

    “Oh, this—is no bachelor pad,” I said on a quiet chuckle. I looked around at the dark woodwork, the stone inlaid into the walls, the custom built-in shelving that lined the wall of his living room, all visible from the very open plan of the kitchen. It was an entertaining kind of house, but warm and inviting at the same time.

    And the security was very subtle and clever. Motion detectors were built into the ceiling beams, nearly undetectable. Tiny cameras peeked from discreet nooks and crannies you’d never see. Unless you were me.

    Even more intriguing was that he knew how to live there. Over there cooking like a chef on a TV show, all cozy in his own skin, with possibly the sexiest apron I’d ever seen on a man. They needed to mass produce those things. They needed those at the butcher shop instead of those crappy white ones, although I guess they were more practical for everyday abuse—and shit, I was picturing Ian in one.

    “So, how long have you lived here?” I asked, forcing my brain to move on. I sat on a bar stool across from him as he worked, chopping something red into tiny pieces. I knew the answer of course. I’d seen him his first day on the job, five months ago.

    “Almost a year,” he said, however, surprising me. “I worked in Katyville for a while,” he added, as if sensing my next question.

    “Oh, okay.”

    “My brother and I came into some inheritance after our dad passed away,” he said, scooping up the red things and tossing them into a pot.