Page 84 of The Billionaire's Baby
"Not the same thing."
"Stupid semantics."
"You need to be precise in what you say and do, else it leaves room for error," he retorts.
"You need to decide whether you like me or hate me because this seesaw mood of yours is giving me whiplash."
He leans around to prop up the pillows at my back, then touches the side of my neck. "You don’t have whiplash, do you?"
I shiver, then cringe away from his touch. "I am fine, as long as you don’t touch me," I choke out the words, and he stiffens. He pulls away and I instantly miss his proximity. Damn it, this is crazy. This push, pull between us... It is doing my head in.
He walks over to the table, picks up the tray, then returns to place it across my thighs.
He pulls up a chair, sinks into it, then picks up the spoon and dips it in the soup. He holds it up to my mouth and I purse my lips.
He blows out a breath. "Eat," he growls.
I feel about ten. Hell, I want to throw a tantrum like I am ten and refuse to touch my food. I fold my arms across my chest and stare at him.
He meets my gaze, and his own softens. "Please," he murmurs. "Eat; the food will warm you up."
And there he goes again, revealing his caring side which, to be fair, disarms me more than his dominance.
I open my mouth and he slides the spoon in between my lips. The taste of tomatoes and peppers explodes on my tongue. "It’s good," I say.
"Of course, it is," He smirks.
"Modesty, thy name is not Arpad f’ing Beauchamp," I grumble under my breath.
He chuckles and scoops up more of the broth and holds it up for me. I eat my way through the rest of the soup and soon the bowl is empty.
He sets the spoon back on the tray, then uses his sleeve to dab at my mouth.
I blink up at him. "You seem to feed me an awful lot."
"Need you strong so I can feed you something other than food."
Heat flushes my face. I glower at him and he laughs. "Couldn’t resist that."
"Right." I yawn so hugely that my jaw cracks.
"You should get some more rest." He picks up the tray and rises to his feet. He turns to leave and, somehow, I can’t let him go. Not yet.
"Will you be back?"
He turns to glance at me. "Do you want me to return?"
I nod.
"Then I will."
He heads out of the room. I switch off the lamp next to me, snuggle in. I must have passed out again. When I wake up its dawn and the bed next to me is cold.
I push the covers aside, slide out of bed, and stretch. I walk out into the living room and come to a stand-still. "What are you up to?"
31
Arpad
