Married To The Jeon

CHAPTER 50:-

"How do you know?"

"From his computer. It held personal details about me and the rest of my family. Especially Chris."

"Chris? Why him?"

"I don't know yet. Let's go to bed."

"Jungkook, tell me!"

"Tell you what?"

"You are so . . . exasperating."

"So are you." He glares at me.

"You didn't ramp up the security when you first found out there was information about your family on the computer. So what happened?

"Why now?"

Jungkook narrows his eyes at me.

"I didn't know he was going to attempt to burn down my building, or - " He stops. "We thought it was an unwelcome obsession, but you know" - he shrugs - "when you're in the public eye, people are interested. It was random stuff: news reports on me from when I was at Harvard - my rowing, my career. Reports on Chris - following his career, following my mom's career - and to some extent, Jimin and Somi.

How strange.

"You said or," I prompt.

"Or what?"

"You said, 'attempt to burn down my building, or . . .' like you were going to say something else."

"Are you hungry?"

What? I frown at him, and my stomach rumbles.

"Did you eat today?" His voice is sterner and his eyes frost. I'm betrayed by my flush.

"As I thought." His voice is clipped. "You know how I feel about you not eating. Come," he says. He stands and holds out his hand. "Let me feed you." And he shifts again . . . this time his voice full of sensual promise.

"Feed me?" I whisper as everything south of my navel liquefies. Hell. This is such a typically mercurial diversion from what we've been discussing. Is that it? Is that all I'm getting out of him for now?

Leading me over to the kitchen, Jungkook grabs a bar stool and hefts it around to the other side of the island.

"Sit," he says.

"Where's Mrs. Jones?" I ask, noticing her absence for the first time as I perch on the stool.

"I've given her and Taylor the night off."

Oh.

"Why?"

He gazes at me for a beat, and his arrogant amusement is back.

"Because I can."

"So you're going to cook?" I give him an incredulous smirk.

"Oh, ye of little faith, Mrs. Jeon. Close your eyes."

I blink at him, marveling. I thought we were going to have a full-on fight, and here we are, playing in the kitchen.

"Close them," he orders.

I roll them first, then oblige.

"Hmm. Not good enough," he mutters. I open one eye and see him take a plum-colored silk scarf out of the back pocket of his jeans. It matches my dress. Holy cow. I look quizzically at him. When did he get that?

"Close," he orders again. "No peeking."

"You're going to blindfold me?" I mutter, shocked. All of a sudden I'm breathless.