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She’d already set up the small wooden coffee table beside the fireplace with plates, a second wine glass and a bottle of red in between. “You have time for a shower,” she added, still avoiding looking in my direction. Granted, my shirt clung to me and a curious interest peaked. Was she finding it difficult to look at me, because of that?
“Okay,” I agreed, kicking off my boots and walking into the bathroom. As I peeled off my long shirt, I deliberated over the second toothbrush and hairbrush that sat on the opposite side to mine on the basin. I stared at her toothbrush as if it were some ill omen. How strange it was to have someone else here. It felt like it changed everything in the cabin. When I’d reached the shower, the pink loofah hanging off the shower rack grabbed my attention, along with a shower gel and various facial cleansers stacked.
My eyebrows furrowed. How many products did she need? I picked up the shower gel, curious. I opened it and took a whiff. A light florally and sweet tone flared my nostrils. It was very much Cassidy. Against my usual dark and wooden cologne, she was all spring, sunshine, lollipops, and unicorns.
That thought again, startled me. Why was I even comparing how opposite we were? I placed the bottle down as if it scorched me. The last time I had a woman’s belongings in my home, she’d taken me for everything I was worth and I couldn’t help but have the sensation I was being honey trapped again.
I scrubbed my body, trying to shake the thought. Cassidy was a random woman who needed somewhere to lodge until she could pass through town. She wouldn’t be my problem within the next few days. A blip in my usual quiet getaway. So why did I have the strong urge to stroke my cock with filthy thoughts about her. I internally debated with myself, furious over the temptation.
I towel dried my hair and wrapped the towel around my hips, cursing under my breath. I was so in the habit of living by myself that I hadn’t considered modesty on her behalf. Wouldn’t she be uncomfortable when I waltzed out in a towel? I grunted to myself. Now who was being conceited?
Steam followed me out the door as I walked out, patting Shadow’s head as he greeted me. Cassidy sat at the end of the coffee table, her drink suspended with mouth agape as she watched me walk to my chest drawers to grab a change of clothes. When my gaze met hers, she quickly diverted, staring at the fireplace instead.
The woman had no poker face. Sure, I knew I had a body most women were interested in, but I certainly didn’t act on it all the time and nor was I stranded in a cabin with them. My jaw ticked. This was probably why Lori forced her to stay with me in the first place.
“I won’t be too long,” I grumbled to Cassidy as I made my way back into the bathroom, curious about the casserole that sat in the center of the coffee table. Surely, with instructions, it couldn’t be that bad.
I sat down, pouring a glass of red, and that charged sensation came back to a jittering buzz. For the first time in a long time, I was starting to not feel so in control. And I didn’t like it.
Chapter 11
Cassidy
Silence. The moment he sat down, cross-legged at the coffee table, Eric poured himself a big glass of red wine and downed a quarter of it before lifting his gaze to meet mine. I’d since turned off the music and now the crackle of the fireplace was almost deafening.
My first glass of red wine had already gone to my head and effectively bruised my ass when I’d lost my footing outside. I was still trying to navigate around Eric’s intensity so countering it with my best charm, I gave him a bright smile and offered him the giant spoon first.
The vegetable casserole sat between us. “I hope you like it. I haven’t made it before, but Lori’s instructions helped.”
“Thank you for making this,” he said politely as he scooped a heap onto his plate. By the time he was done with it, half the casserole dish sat on his plate. Well, for a man of his size, I supposed he would eat a lot. Especially after all the exercise he’d just done. My mind drifted to the image of him chopping the wood and how tightly the shirt clung to his perfectly molded body—which was incidentally confirmed moments ago when he walked out of the bathroom in only a towel. I gulped and felt heat rise to my cheeks.
I was no innocent but the way Eric looked was sinful. I’m sure women fawned over him all the time. I imagined he had ample of options back in Chicago. It was surprising he didn’t have a wife or a girlfriend, but he’d made it very clear he wasn’t interested. I wondered if he’d recently had a bad breakup. Maybe that’s why he looked sour most of the time.
“What’s it like living in Chicago?” I asked, trying to create polite conversation as I served myself. He was already shoveling down his meal. Quietly, I added, “Is it good?” Maybe he was eating it out of obligation.
He waited until he’d finished with his mouthful, then said. “Good and good.”
Right. He studied me as I picked at a small piece and ate it slowly. I turned it over in my mouth, surprised by how good it tasted. I raised my hand in front of my mouth. “Oh wow.”
A warmth spread through his features as I laughed. “Wow it actually tastes good,” I said surprised. Was I turning into the new hot chef on the block?
“Why don’t you cook much, you seem to enjoy it?” Eric asked.
I shrugged, running a hand through Shadow’s fur as he lay between me and the fireplace. It created a certain ambiance in the air—nice and comfortable— and charged with an energy I tried not to acknowledge.
I picked at my next bite. “It’s kind of busy in Manhattan. I always have events and parties on. Everything just seems on the go, you know? It’s much easier to grab a juice that has everything I need than to cook anything. I just don’t have time, I suppose.”
“You know juices aren’t actual food, right?” he said matter-of-factly.
I raised an eyebrow. “That could be a very controversial opinion, Eric,” I teased him.
“Maybe. Well, it remains the same, you should cook more often for yourself. You seem to enjoy it.”
I smiled shyly into my food. What was happening? I was never coy or shy. But I didn’t get to show this side of myself to anyone either. Around Eric, I had no inhibitions and that was worrisome. In Manhattan I was expected to be and act a certain way and unapologetically. And that was me—authentically. But I hadn’t been able to explore this side of myself either. I’d been too focused on finding Mr. Right the entire time as I ran away from Mr. Wrong that I kind of lost myself in the process. The realization left a sour taste in my mouth, and I pushed the meal away.
“What’s wrong?” Eric grimaced and frowned at my plate.
“Nothing, I’m full.”
