“You must eat!” she said, wiggling to get free of his weight.
But he pushed forward one of his legs, trapping her more firmly beneath him. “Fred will bring breakfast any minute.”
“You must be starving,” India said, her breath catching at his expression. “You must regain your strength.”
“Peace, my little whirlwind,” he said, lowering his head enough to brush her lips with his again. “There’s something I want far more than an egg.”
She stilled, her heart melting.
Their kiss made up for days of fear. It was a heart-piercing kiss that seared promises into the bone.
“You are mine,” Thorn said fiercely, raising his head.
Another kiss, but India pulled back when it turned slow and erotic. “You must eat,” she repeated.
He pushed her hair back from her forehead. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
Her lips trembled. “What if you only love me because I rushed to your side, like the mother you never knew? Or because Vander claimed to marry me?”
Thorn’s hand cupped her cheek. “Oh ye of little faith,” he said, giving her lips a tiny bite. “I loved you before Vander arrived at the house; I simply didn’t realize it. I think I probably fell in love with you the moment you told me I had a shortfall.” His eyes gleamed with amusement.
India did not laugh. “But you want to marry a woman like Lala. I can understand. I truly can. I know I’m not sweet.”
Thorn’s hands gripped her shoulders. “Don’t ever say that again, India. You are sweet—but you’re much more. You’re the other half of my heart, and there’s nothing docile and childlike inside me. It’s not what I want in my wife, my partner.”
India managed a wobbly smile.
“I almost came back within five minutes of leaving you, but I wanted to bring you a gift when I next returned,” Thorn said. “It was idiotic, and you can tell me that every day of my life. I had talked myself into believing that I could not come to you again without this.” He reached over and took a purple velvet pouch from the bedside table that hadn’t been there when India had lain down to sleep beside him the night before.
Velvet pouches rarely, if ever, contained anything other than jewelry, but like the diamond ring, she didn’t care. She wanted more than gems. She wanted him, his heart . . . his promise. She didn’t take her eyes from his. “Are you saying that you—you planned to come back to me, even after . . . even after I told you that I deserved better?”
“Always,” he said, his voice deep and true.
“You,” she said, her voice cracking, “you deserve better than me, Thorn.”
“There is no one better than you. You were made for me,” he said. The pouch fell to the side as he drew India into his arms, devouring her, convincing her without words that he had no interest in another woman.
Minutes—or hours—later India heard a noise in the corridor and flew off the bed, pulling on her wrapper to welcome Fred, who was carrying a laden tray. Then she climbed back on the bed and sank back in front of Thorn, uncovering the dishes.
“Start with this,” she said, holding out a piece of fruit. “You must start slowly. You had no nourishment for two whole days.” Thorn ate it, mock-nipping at her fingers. But she ignored him until he had put away two eggs and three toast fingers dripping with butter, and drunk a nourishing cup of broth.
Only when she was satisfied that he had eaten enough for the moment did she send the plates away and curl up beside him again.
“What shall we do now?” Thorn asked. Contrary to every expectation, he looked bright-eyed and energetic.
“You are not leaving this bed,” she said severely. “You must rest.”