Page 12 of Adrian

I shake my head. “No, but I figured I’d become one since I’m moving here.”

“Why?” He sets the bowl in front of me. It looks and smells delicious. He sits next to me, turning his chair so he’s facing me very closely.

I don’t lean away because, for some odd reason, I like him being in my space. If he were any other man—or perhaps even a woman—I would growl and move away. But this is Adrian. I’m drawn to him. He’s seen me naked.

I shrug. “I don’t think I’ll be capable of killing what I eat,” I admit. “I’ve read about traps and bunnies and shooting Bambi, and it’s just not for me.” I shudder.

He tips his head back and laughs. I should probably be insulted, but I’m not. He’s not laughing at me. He’s just humored. When he rights himself, he grins and leans in closer to whisper as if he’s sharing a secret and doesn’t want any of the other dozens of people around to overhear. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve never killed an animal, either, princess. I might lose my mountain man card, but hunting is not my thing. I get my beef, chicken, and pork from the supermarket in the city.”

I slowly smile, feeling a bit foolish. “Right. Of course.” Somehow, I hadn’t envisioned heading to the city that often, or even the nearby town.

“We do have electricity in the mountains, princess. We have a giant deep freezer in the main house. And we have generators for when a storm knocks out our electricity.”

I look past him toward the window. “Speaking of storms…” It’s still raining hard. It’s beating against the roof. The wind is howling, and even though this cabin is obviously well-built, it creaks every now and then from a giant gust of wind.

Adrian sets his hand over mine. “We’ll be fine in here. I promise. We built these cabins to be tiny fortresses. There’s also a safe room if we need it for any reason. And the main house has what amounts to a bunker.”

I gasp. “Seriously?” I bend my head and point to the logo on my sweatshirt. “So, I’m right about the company logo. JNG Enterprises is your family business. Technological developments.”

He winks. “Nothing gets by you.”

I smirk and roll my eyes.

“In the interest of disclosure, I looked you up today after I met you. You’re not from poverty either, princess.”

I sigh. “Great. I’m here for one day, and already someone recognizes me.”

He shakes his head. “Didn’t recognize you, Blair. Just your name. Not sure most of the folks in town know anything about pharmaceuticals. You’ll probably fly under the radar. What I want to know is why?” He points at my cooling stew. “But first, let’s eat.”

I grab my fork and take a bite, moaning around the flavor. “Oh, man… That’s delicious. Did you make this?”

He leans back and crosses his arms as if he’s offended. Or feigning offense. “No, but only because it wasn’t my night to cook. We have a system around here. Each household takes its turn making dinner for the group. A huge meal that we all divvy up. Tonight was a bit different because of the incoming storm. My brothers’ wives decided to cook ahead in the main house today. They made three large meals in case the storm keeps us trapped for a few days. Even if it clears out by morning, as it should, we’re sometimes left with washed-out roads and debris covering them.”

Adrian cuts off a thick slice of bread and butters it generously before handing it to me. “Try their bread. I’m telling you, those gals have baking down to a science.”

I moan again as I chew and swallow. It really is the best bread I’ve ever eaten.

He lifts a brow. “Yeah?”

“Delicious.” I continue eating, well aware that Adrian is watching me. He doesn’t interrupt me again until I’m finished.

“More?”

“No. Thank you. That was the best meal I’ve had in days.”

He beams. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I think tomorrow is lasagna day.”

As yummy as that sounds, I wave a hand between us. “I’m sure I’ll be able to go back to my property in the morning and get out of your hair. I really appreciate you rescuing me tonight, though.”

Adrian rises and takes my plate and utensils to the sink.

I jump up to carry the bread and knife, following him. “I can do that. You don’t have to clean up after me.”

He shrugs and leans down to load the dishwasher. “I don’t mind. It’s no big deal.”

I don’t come from a world where men serve women or clean up after them. Hell, I don’t live in a world where the owners of the house lift a finger at all—man or woman. I don’t think my mother has ever cooked or cleaned a day in her life. My father certainly hasn’t.

“Do you enjoy cooking?” I ask him, curious.