Page 54 of The Billionaire's Baby
Karina
With that pronouncement, he’d turned back to the table and whatever it was he’d been doing earlier. I’d flounced back into the bathroom, shut the door behind me, and stood under the hot shower for a long time. What the hell is he up to? Why do I get the feeling I am in over my head?
Have I been played? Surely, not. I’ve known Arpad since LA. We have friends in common—Jace, for one, who is a friend of the Seven. It was Jace who’d first suggested that I take on the security for the Seven, and Arpad had backed him up. So why do I get the feeling that it had been Arpad’s idea all along? It would be just like him to manipulate the events so it felt like the suggestion hadn’t been his. And then, the messages to my phone, and getting me on the boat… There is no way he could have envisaged my falling asleep on his boat… And yet, here I am… Marooned with him, on a bloody island.
It seems like something out of a movie, except this is my life. My future he is playing with. And for what? Because he had an itch he needed to scratch? Men like him always think they can get what they want. Well, too bad. He has gone up against the wrong woman this time. I am going to keep up my side of the bargain and ensure that he delivers on his. But more than that... No way, am I giving him anything more. Definitely not my trust… Absolutely not my heart. No way, am I going to allow myself to fall for him.
I switch off the shower, step out and dry myself. I stare at the clothes I’d been wearing in disgust. No way, am I going to wear those again. I step out to find a bathrobe laid out for me. Huh? I glance at the bedroom door, then turn my back on it and manage to slip on the bathrobe before I pull off the towel.
I gather my soiled clothes and walk out to find him in the kitchen. He’s changed into another pair of jeans and a T-shirt. His hair is mussed up like he’s been running his hands through it. Of course, he has an extra set of clothes here. How often does he come here anyway?
The scent of something cooking fills the air. My stomach grumbles, loudly. He looks around at me, then points to a door on the other side of the kitchen. "Washing machine’s through there."
I walk through, add my clothes to the ones already in there, and run the machine. By the time I step back into the kitchen, he’s laid the table for two. He places a bowl of stew in front of each of the two seats. He pulls out a chair for me to sit, then walks around to the other chair where he sits facing me. He gestures to the food, "Eat."
I dig into it and the hearty taste of potatoes and onions laced with rosemary explodes on my tongue. "It’s good." I lick my lips. "Did you put this together from scratch?"
He chuckles. "Not even my talents stretch that far." He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, "I had my favorite chef cook it then freeze it and send it over."
I chew, swallow, then stare up at him, "You don’t compromise when it comes to food."
"Why would I?" He shoves the stew into his mouth, chews as he holds my gaze.
"Just because you have money doesn’t mean you have taste, and when it comes to food, you’d be surprised how many people compromise on ingredients. Not because they can’t afford it… Or okay, sometimes it’s also that, but more often, because they don’t care enough about what they put in their bodies. I mean, we are what we eat, right?"
"And that's why I don't want you taking the fertility drugs." He arches an eyebrow at me, and I flush.
"Fine, fine," I grumble, "but we're not talking about the same thing here."
"Aren't we?" He stares at me.
I blow out a breath. "Deciding what food you put in your mouth is a choice."
"So is deciding what drugs you subject your body to."
I throw up my hands, "I had no other option. I wanted a kid, and I had no time to find a man. All of my waking moments were spent building up the company."
"That's something you care about a lot?"
I nod. "My father started the firm, and when I took over from him, I was determined to make it a success."
"You're close to your family?"
I purse my lips. "As much as my father would tolerate it."
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
"He was in the military when I was a kid. He left when I was ten but the ways of the army stuck with him. He was very strict, very firm… And brought me up the same way as my brothers."
"How many siblings do you have?"
I hold up my hand.
"Five?" he asks.
I nod.
"Five brothers?"
