“We’re not fucking under the stars, Konflict.”
“Middle of the day works for me too,” he shot back, then carried on with the tour like he hadn’t just said something outrageous.
He showed me the outdoor jacuzzi, the massage area, and another spot to chill. Inside, there was a huge living room, a kitchen with a bar, and three bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. The master bedroom, beautifully set up and perfect for couples, was in the middle, while the other two were atopposite ends of the yacht. There were more rooms on the lower deck, but I wasn’t in the mood to explore. All I wanted to know was where I’d be sleeping, because there was no way in hell I was sharing a room with him.
Just as I was about to ask, Konflict beat me to it.
“I set this room up for you,” he said, opening the door to one of the end rooms and letting me step inside. “I brought everything you might need. If I missed anything, just let me know. I’ll have Krash bring it over.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “And where are you sleeping?”
He flashed that killer smile again, the one that made my hormones riot. “Other end of the boat. Unless you want to have my arms around you and feel my hard dick on your ass. Then let’s take the master bedroom.”
“No,” I shot back, not even trying to hide my disgust.
“Figured as much. I’m not in a rush to share your bed, Serenity. I said I’d earn my place. You can freshen up; I’ll get dinner ready,” he said, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek.
“Don’t take too long,” he said, walking off.
I stood there frozen for a second, then forced myself to pull it together.
I stepped into the room and saw he really had prepared everything. None of the clothes were familiar, but the style was so me I knew he must have done his homework. And I had to admit, his taste was impeccable. He’d thought of everything, even lingerie, body creams, my makeup kit, and perfumes.
I showered and changed into a light strapless dress that fell right to my knees. It looked amazing on me, especially with my afro tied up in a bun.
The smell of food hit me in the hallway as I left my room. Curious, I headed for the dining area, fully expecting to find a chef at work—because only a real chef could make lobsterin beurre persil smell that good, right eh? Imagine my shock when I saw Konflict with a dish towel slung over his shoulder, squeezing a lemon into the pan, working the lobster himself.
“You cook?” I asked, skeptically.
He turned around, flashing a devastating smile. “Sometimes.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me. That’s why we’re here. I want you to know therealme. Maybe you’ll fall in love again, even harder than before,” he said, winking at me.
“Keep dreaming.”
“Doesn’t hurt to try,” he replied, still wearing that damn smile. “And I want to know you too. I mean, I’ve learned a lot just watching you all these years, but I want it all—the stuff you’ve never told anyone, not even Knox.”
I rolled my eyes. The nerve of this man to even bring up his fake identity.
“Don’t make me hate you more than I already do.”
He just smiled again and went back to cooking. “Sit down. Food’s almost ready.”
Normally, I’d have offered to help. But I remembered how much I hated him and that he was the reason I was stuck here. So I wasn’t going to offer anything. He’s lucky I wasn’t being a bitch and refusing to eat his food.
Even though I wanted to keep my distance, my stomach wasn’t having it. I was starting to think the baby liked the idea of its dad cooking for us, because my stomach started growling like I hadn’t eaten in days. And Konflict turned to me with that cocky smile that said,‘I got you, Mama. I’m gonna feed you.’
“I haven’t eaten since lunch,” I muttered.
I sat in silence, watching Konflict serve up a lobster, split perfectly in half, the meat shiny and drenched in hot parsley butter. He set the plate in front of me, and I had to fight not to just tear into it like some starving animal.
He poured me a glass of juice, and I noticed there wasn’t a drop of alcohol on the table, which was a relief, since I didn’t have to explain why I had to avoid wine.
“Bon appétit,” he said, in French.
I just glanced up and stabbed my fork into the lobster. The second I tasted it I had to look away to keep him from seeing my face light up.
