Stef Ann Holm by Lucy Back (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

peppers, she turned on one of the range burners and began to roast them. She liked to do that first for flavor, then she cut them up and added them to the large pot of Spanish onions with the golden-brown peels still on. She sautéed everything in oil—peppers, onions, shallots, several cloves of garlic. She even threw in one carrot for sweetness.

“What are you doing?” Drew asked, and this time his voice was a lot louder because he stood directly behind her.

Lucy could feel his body heat surrounding her, and smell him when she breathed. “I…uh, I’m making a sauce.”

“What kind?”

His eyes pierced hers, and she knew this was no accident. He was trying to shake her up, rattle her. Make her fall for him like all the other women in town.

He wanted her.

That became so utterly clear she almost laughed aloud.

My goodness—Drew wanted her? He could have any woman he wanted. Why her? Why now? Was this a game? What about Jacquie? Yes, they’d parted company—but when was that? It felt like only yesterday. He wasn’t ready to start something new with someone so soon.

And yet he was definitely trying to start something with her as he leaned closer.

“A…roasted pepper sauce.” Lucy fought her feelings, fought the magnetism that radiated from Drew. She wanted to curse him, to shove him away. A whole summer of this? She wouldn’t be able to take it. She’d break down and do something stupid.

She hadn’t had sex with anyone since Gary—and even then, it had been almost seven months prior to their divorce being finalized. One night, they’d done it, even after she’d found out about Diane. Lucy had thought that maybe if she’d tried harder in bed… But it had been a disaster, and her last memories of intimacy were filled with shame and insecurity. Now she wasn’t even sure if she knew how to make love.

There hadn’t been anyone she’d dated, been interested in since becoming single. In hindsight, perhaps she should have had a one-night stand. A fling. Something meaningless to get the bitter taste out of her mouth. Her neighbor had wanted to set her up with a good-looking man she worked with, but Lucy had turned her down. She just hadn’t been ready. Maybe she’d never be ready.

But with Drew standing so close, fantasy images of slipping his shirt off filled her head to distraction.

Smells of roasting peppers, a charred odor, caught her attention and she quickly took them from the stove, almost burning her hand over the blue flames.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping in closer to assess the peppers. His shoulder brushed her arm. It was all she could do to keep from screaming.

“You have too much time on your hands—don’t you ever go to work?”

“Sure. I coach Little League in the summer and I teach high school baseball in the fall when the school term restarts. Anything in between is leisure time.” He stared at her, the level of heat in his gaze almost making her tremble.

“Drew!” she finally snapped. “You can’t watch me cook. I’m having a hard time concentrating with you hovering.”

He stood back, smiled—slowly. “Well, sugar, all you had to do was ask me to get out of the way.”

But he didn’t go far. He went into the library off the kitchen and sat in one of the high-backed leather chairs. Propping his bare feet on an ottoman, he clicked on the television. The volume was a bit on the loud side, but she wasn’t about to ask him to turn it down. She’d simply have to tune him out.

He flipped through the channels until he found a baseball game. The commentators’ voices droned on and, with great effort, Lucy soon forgot he was there.

Within forty-minutes, she had everything done and was ready to clean up and get out of there. She plated the meal, which wasn’t typical of a cook job. But Drew didn’t want to be bothered doing anything himself, so he’d arranged for her to cook hot meals for him three times a week, and on special occasions if he requested her time in advance.

In exchange for her services, he had agreed to tell everyone he knew that she was working for him. But only if he liked her cooking. She didn’t want him to say he was enjoying her service if he wasn’t. Although that really was a moot point. She knew he’d love it.

The red pepper sauce, thickened with cream, went on the plate first. She arranged the grilled filet on top, put a twig of thyme over it for presentation. Then she shaped the roasted-garlic mashed potatoes, put them next to the beef. On a separate plate, she presented the salad. She had made this up—spring mix, thinly sliced Braeburn apples, candied walnuts, feta cheese and a simple grape seed oil and balsamic vinaigrette. It turned out perfect every time, and people were surprised to find apple in their green salad.

“Okay. It’s ready,” she said. “Where would you like to eat? In your dining room?”

“Not hardly.” He came toward her and she sucked in her breath, refusing to succumb to the erratic beats of her heart. “I never eat in there. Only if I have company or something. Which isn’t real often. I always eat here.”

He motioned to the breakfast bar, so that’s where she put the dinner. He didn’t sit down right away, rather, he made his way to her as she turned to wipe off the stovetop.

In the half breath she took as he reached out to her, she forgot herself. Whatever he was doing, she didn’t care. She leaned toward him, emotions colliding within and every sense on alert.

“You have something on your lip.” He ran his thumb across her lower lip, then brought it to his mouth. “I think it’s that pepper sauce.”

Mortified, erratic, unsteady, breathless—those thoughts and feelings crashed within her brain. “Y-yes…I tasted it to see if I needed more sea salt.”

“You don’t.”

That he could stand there, mere inches from her,