Page 77 of Seducing Hope (The Hope Legacy)

As I take his offered hand, he answers, “We are shopping for our meal.”

“You’re cooking? Isn’t it easier to go to a restaurant?”

“We are cooking, and easier, yes—but not as fun.”

In the supermarket, he picks up a basket and walks down the aisle. He looks so domesticated, such a contrast to his power image. I stop and stare at his back, taking the opportunity to admire his ass. Don’t judge—I’m a red-blooded woman. He turns to face me and arches an eyebrow. I hurry to catch up.

“What are you cooking?” I ask.

“Weare cooking sushi.”

I shake my head. “I burn water, and I’m a terrible cook. Noweatingsushi? I’m pretty much an expert.”

He drops Arborio rice into the basket and several other ingredients, ignoring my complaints. He’ll realize within five minutes of cooking that I’m better off out of the kitchen. He asks what kind of sushi I prefer and collects the ingredients, as well as some rocky road ice cream. Back inside the car, I make one last attempt at saving us both the embarrassment of my cooking.

“There’s a little sushi bar a few blocks away. We could save time and go there instead?” I suggest.

He shakes his head. “You can learn.”

Nope, still wasn’t getting the point. “You need to show me where the emergency exits and fire extinguishers are, then.”

He chuckles and squeezes my thigh. “Trust me.” I try to hold back my shiver, but fail.

We drive toward Elliott Bay, the opposite direction of his private penthouse suite at Reinheart and Hunter’s headquarters.

“Where are we going?”

He grins. “It’s a surprise.”

After a ten-minute drive, we arrive at a harbor, where several yachts are moored. I jump out of the car, not waiting for him. One of the yachts is lit with hundreds of fairy lights. I’m speechless—I love boats. The yacht is so large, it would need a crew.

I gasp. “Is this yours?”

“No, I stole it,” he deadpans. I whip my head around to him. His eyes sparkle with amusement.

“You joke?” I return his deadpan face before scaling the ladder to the deck, not caring about the view he’s getting of my ass. Inside the yacht is a kitchen, large living area, and three ensuite bedrooms, with an enormous bed in the master suite. I scurry back to the kitchen, not wanting to be caught alone with Archan in the bedroom. His lips twitch at my fast pace and flushed face. He’s unpacked the shopping, arranged the ingredients, and laid two cutting boards next to each other on the countertop.

“Come here,” he commands. I almost fight him but decide against it; otherwise, we’ll bicker the entire evening. I stand next to him and point to the saucepan containing rice and cold water.

“Shouldn’t that be hot water?”

“It needs to soak first. We are going to prepare the fillings. You seem adept with a blade.”

I arch an eyebrow. “You’re giving me a blade?”

He hands me a knife. “I trust you.”

I laugh, and he simply studies me. “Oh, you’re serious?”

He hands me an avocado. “On this occasion, I don’t believe you mean me any harm. But don’t worry—I’ll reassess on a regular basis. Cut this into thin strips.”

He prepares the shrimp. My stomach grumbles, and a few seconds later, an antipasto platter appears in front of the chopping boards. My mouth waters.

Archan picks up a prosciutto-wrapped asparagus. “Open your mouth, Natia.” I obey, and he places it in my mouth, allowing his fingers to brush my lips. I chew with obvious pleasure then reach to get another one. He bats my hand away, rips a piece of flat bread, scoops up some pesto, and brings it to my mouth. This time, I’m careful not to catch his fingers.

“I can feed myself,” I mutter.

He gives me a wicked smile. “But would it be as much fun?”

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