AllFreeNovel
Share Us
His expression was the definition of sardonic rebuke. “Unwanted?” And pointedly, his eyes drifted lower, to the nipples that were still straining against the soft fabric of her sweatshirt.
“Unwanted,” she snapped, crossing her arms.
He chose not to push the point. They both knew that there was no lack of wanting between them. “Sit.” He gestured to the chair opposite him.
“No.”
“Sit and eat,” he said again, moving towards her now, so that her breath hitched in her throat. She scampered around the sofa, keeping distance between them, even though that meant sitting at the table when she wanted to be far, far away from him.
“I’m not hungry,” she lied.
He stared at her, the look cold. “Eat.” He moved to the table and stood over her, his arms crossed, his expression resonating with barely contained fury.
She stared back at him, unflinchingly.
“Are you going to fois gras me?”
It took a moment for the strange turn of phras
e to make sense. He shook his head impatiently. “I do not intend to force feed you.” He moved to the chair opposite her and sat, watching her with displeasure. “But you are too thin.”
Her head reeled as she jerked her attention to his face. “Excuse me?”
“You are too thin,” he repeated, as if she hadn’t heard him. “Are you not eating enough?”
“I eat fine,” she said stiffly. And she did. When she remembered to; when she had time to; when she had enough groceries to. She didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m busy.”
“Too busy to eat?” He drawled archly.
“None of this is your business.”
He nodded, rubbing a hand over his chin. “I think it is just that.”
“What?”
“My business.”
On the brink of reaching for the serving spoon, she froze. “I am not going to pretend this is normal. Five years ago we slept together. That might as well have been a lifetime ago.”
“Yes,” he drawled. “You have been… busy.”
That muscle jerked in his cheek again. The one that told her he was unhappy, or deep in thought. And childishly, she liked that.
“Busy raising Lexi,” she murmured, dropping her eyes, unable to see the effect the simple truth had on him.
If she’d watched, she might have noticed the darkening of already night-black eyes. The clenching of his jaw, as though visibly strengthening a waning resolve, a commitment to a plan that even he, Syed Al’Eba, thought might be unforgivably unkind.
“Who was he?”
The question was a tightrope of impossibility.
She wouldn’t speak about Marshall.
Not in this house. Not with Lexi sleeping just upstairs.
“That’s also none of your business,” she pointed out softly.
“She is four, you said.”
