Page 20 of Cabin Fever

SEVEN

Olivia

"WHAT IS THAT SMELL?" Carter's voice, like a startled goose, surprised me.

I turned, glancing up to the loft above. His hair tousled, his eyes sleepy, and his chest bare. It should be illegal to look that sexy first thing in the morning.

"I'm making breakfast," I said with a proud smile.

"Oh, no . . ."

He whipped around so fast I was afraid he'd fall. I studied his ass any chance I got, and now was the perfect moment as he climbed down the ladder from the loft.

"I think I did a good job this time."

My mouth dried at the sight of him. Carter made his way over to me wearing only flannel pajama bottoms. The man's entire wardrobe consisted of flannel and jeans—he even had a pair of jeans lined with flannel. I made a note to myself that if I were to ever get him a gift to make sure it was made of flannel, denim, or wood. His three loves.

It wasn't that Carter looked sexy in flannel. Okay, I'm lying. He was super fine in flannel, but without a shirt and completely barefoot, it made it difficult to hold the man's gaze. Was I ogling him in what might be an inappropriate way? Probably.

He leaned over my shoulder and if the situation couldn't get worse, he smelled amazing. All manly and seductive in ahe doesn't realize he's being manly and seductivesort of way.

"It's not burnt."

"You sound surprised." I side-eyed him as he stepped back.

He folded his arms over his chest. "It's just . . . the last time you tried to cook more than just the food burned."

You would think covering himself like that would make Carter less appealing, but it only served to beef up his arms. Which caused me to stare at them like Kitty stares at bacon or if we're being honest, how I stare at bacon.

"I apologized for that. When I finally get my purse, I'll give you money for that blanket."

He shook his head, a grin tickling the corner of his mouth. "It's not that big of a deal. I got lots of blankets."

Carter turned to head toward the bathroom.

"Really, Mr. Grumpington? Because the way you went on, I could have sworn it was some precious family heirloom that Mother Teresa must have handmade you," I mumbled under my breath.

"What? What did you say?" He turned before stepping into the bathroom.

"Nothing. Just talking myself through the cooking process."

I cringed.Way to think on the spot, Olivia. His expression was both perplexed and amused as he finally shut the door behind him.

I made an effort to get up early today, discovering that the clock by the bed was an alarm clock. I had never used an alarm clock before, relying on servants to wake me in the past. It took a while to figure it out, but I set it for five thirty in the morning and to my surprise, it worked.

As good as I felt for figuring something out on my own and not burning the food, I realized how dependent I had been on others to take care of me. I was no better than a five-year-old expecting everyone to cook for me, clean up after me, drive me places, make sure I had what I needed—the list went on and on.

These past eleven days had been a wake-up call. No wonder Derrick had easily taken advantage of me, of my family. We were too trusting, gullible even. I was so willing to take the candy from the bad man.

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