Page 38 of Queen of Blades

Completely unfazed by her attempts, he held her tighter. “You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit,” he scoffed. “I saw you with those wings. You can eat. Now get back in that kitchen and stuff your gorgeous face with salad, soup, and grilled cheese.”

She blinked up at him, her mouth falling slightly ajar. She was no stranger to people talking shit to her, even yelling in her face, but to compliment her mid-rant was a new one for her.

“If you don’t, I will shove it down your throat.”

Barely fighting him, Harper allowed Paul to drag her back into the kitchen and thrust her into her chair. Grabbing his own, he slammed it beside her, sat down, and took her fork in his hand. After stabbing it into the salad, he lifted it to her face.

“Open.”

20

Paul

Thewaythiswomancould be magnificently stunning, drive his cock wild, and annoy the living shit out of Paul was astounding. Yes, he’d jumped on the contract to kill her, but he hadn’t done it yet. Playing these stupid games was pointless. She needed to eat.

Her gaze held his as she slowly opened her mouth.

Not as hard as he would like, he offered her food. Leaning forward slightly, she accepted the bite.

Sighing heavily, he put the fork down and scrubbed at his forehead while she chewed. This migraine would never go away in her presence if he wasn’t honest with her—and himself.

“I’m not going to do it,” he admitted.

Swallowing, she stared at him. “Do what?”

He glared. Now she wanted to play coy? “Kill you.”

They sat quietly for a while, neither of them moving or looking at each other. His gaze was locked on the floor as he racked his brain for more words to explain his situation—the conflicting emotions warring in his gut. But nothing came to mind.

So he would just enjoy the quiet for however long it lasted.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to her throat. The chunky gold chainstilladorned her neck. After everything, she still hadn’t taken it off. These emotions weren’t one-sided.

“Why did you keep it?” he asked, reaching up to finger the toggle. He’d wondered the same about his lighter and truly had no definitive answer. At least not one he would allow himself to admit.

Her cheeks tinged a shade of pink, and she turned to focus on her salad, shoving romaine lettuce and chicken around with her fork. “It’s pretty.”

“That’s all?” Clearly, she lied. He may not have been around Harper for over a decade, but he could tell when she wasn’t being truthful.

Fishing around in his pocket, he curled his fingers around the lighter. Pulling it out, he slapped it on the table and studied her reaction.

She paused stirring her salad and stared at the square piece of metal she’d given him.

“I don’t have a good reason for keeping that, but I did,” he said.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes and found his. The storm behind those brown irises was clear. She was just as confused about her feelings for him as he was about his. The only way to make any of this better was to lay the cards out on the table. Paul had to confess, to the best of his ability, his reason.

“It meant something to me because it came from you,” he admitted softly. “I don’t know why you live rent free in my brain, but you do. And now this.” He gestured around them. “I couldn’t let someone else take you out. I thought I could do it respectfully, but I can’t.”

Saying it out loud took the weight off his shoulders. Maybe if he kept going, he could clear his mind and finally come up with a reasonable way out of this mess—a way for both of them to survive.

Her mouth turned down into a frown, and her gaze softened.

He reached out and cupped her red, swollen, scratched cheek. “You’ve got me so out of sorts, I can’t breathe. I started a goddamn war because of you.”

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