Page 79 of Executing Malice

“We’ve had this argument. You’re still inaccurate.”

I plant my hands along the edges of the counter and give a little kick off my legs. “It’s fine. You’re still pretty to look at, even if you’re color blind.”

He rolls his eyes. “You love sushi, but you take the rolls apart before eating them which is serial killer behavior.”

I consider that and think back to the last time I had sushi with Reed. Definitely didn’t take anything apart.

“I don’t do that anymore,” I tell him, legs swinging slightly.

“There are a few things you don’t do the same anymore,” he remarks, plucking a plate out of the cupboard and scooping my egg pancake into. “You used to like to dance.”

“Really?” I pull my leg to the side when he reaches for the cutlery drawer beneath me. “I can’t remember the last time I danced.”

He locates a fork, shuts the drawer and faces me. “You haven’t.”

The fork cuts through the soft cloud of yellow. “How did I meet you? Do I have parents? Siblings? Are they looking for me?”

With all the confidence in the world, he wedges himself between my knees, forcing them wide to accommodate his hips.

“No,” he murmurs softly as he brings the first forkful to my lips. “No parents. You were in foster care.”

“Oh.” I open and let him in, but I chew without even tasting the food. “I guess that explains why no one came looking for me.”

His eyes lift to mine. “Wrong. I came. I never stopped looking for you and I never would. I was going to find you even if it took me my entire life.” The hand with the fork brushes my cheek lightly with the knuckles. “You will never get rid of me, Leila.”

It’s a threat and a promise, and I’m melting all over.

“Were you in foster care, too?”

He shakes his head and feeds me another triangle of egg. “You came to my house.”

“And we got together? Is that allowed?”

He snorts. “No, but neither of us gave a shit.”

I study the hard, sharp lines of his face, take in the faint scar over the bridge of his nose. The one over his eyebrow. A thinner one across the right corner of his upper lip.

My gaze wanders to his chest shielded by tattoos and I wonder how many more are hidden where no one can see them.

“You loved me.”

It’s not a question. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that he did.

He breaks off abruptly and drops his gaze. “More than anything.” He peers up at me. “Still fucking do.”

My heart skips in my chest. A clumsy stumble that startles my lungs. I can’t seem to catch my breath the longer he watches me. My skin burns in every place we’re touching and rises up through the rest of me.

“Did I love you?” Simple enough question, but the way his features harden, I regret it immediately.

“Only you can answer that.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

LEILA

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I don’t remember him being this close, but I can almost count every lash, every faint freckle beneath the warm tan of his skin. Up close, this close, it’s impossible to imagine not falling head over heels for him.