{BOOK TWO}...Daunted by the singular tastes and dark secrets of the beautiful, tormented young entrepreneur Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook has broken off their relationship to start a new career with a Seattle publishing house.
But desire for Taehyung...
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Jungkook P.O.V.
Climbing out of bed, Taehyung drags on his jeans and heads into the main room. A glance at my alarm clock shows it's five in the morning. I roll out of bed, putting his white shirt on, and follow him.
Holy shit, he's on the phone.
"Yes, outside SIP, yesterday... early evening," he says quietly. He turns to me as I move toward the kitchen and asks me directly, "What time exactly?"
"About ten to six?" I mumble. Who on earth is he calling at this hour? What's Leila done? He relays the information to whoever's on the line, not taking his eyes off me, his expression dark and earnest.
"Find out how... Yes... I wouldn't have said so, but then I wouldn't have thought she could do this." He closes his eyes as if he's in pain. "I don't know how that will go down... Yes, I'll talk to her... Yes... I know... Follow it up and let me know. Just find her, Welch - she's in trouble. Find her." He hangs up.
"Do you want some tea?" I ask.
Tea, is Minho's answer to every crisis and the only thing he does well in the kitchen. I fill the kettle with water.
"Actually, I'd like to go back to bed." His look tells me that it's not to sleep.
"Well, I need some tea. Would you like to join me for a cup?" I want to know what's going on. I will not be sidetracked by sex.
He runs his hand through his hair in exasperation. "Yes, please," he says, but I can tell he's irritated.
I put the kettle on the stove and busy myself with teacups and the teapot. My anxiety level has shot to defcon one. Is he going to tell me the problem? Or am I going to have to dig?
I sense his eyes on me - sense his uncertainty, and his anger is palpable. I glance up, and his eyes glitter with apprehension.
"What is it?" I ask softly.
He shakes his head.
"You're not going to tell me?"
He sighs and closes his eyes. "No."
"Why?"
"Because it shouldn't concern you. I don't want you tangled up in this."
"It shouldn't concern me, but it does. She found me and accosted me outside my office. How does she know about me? How does she know where I work? I think I have a right to know what's going on."
He runs a hand through his hair again, radiating frustration as if waging some internal battle.
"Please?" I ask softly.
His mouth sets into a hard line, and he rolls his eyes at me.
"Okay," he says, resigned. "I have no idea how she found you. Maybe the photograph of us in Portland, I don't know." He sighs again, and I sense his frustration is directed at himself.
