Page 38 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

“Why did you send Pascal’s guy out?”

His frown deepens.

“I’m sure you have food in your fridge,” I say. “I could have made myself something. Or I can go back to my apartment?—”

“No.”

I pause. Blink again. “No to the food in my fridge or no to me making myself something?”

“Both of those,” he says, unfolding the napkin and settling it over my lap. “And also no to going back to your apartment.”

“Um…”

“Your apartment isn’t safe.” He scowls. “Even with the added security measures I had Pascal put in place.”

“You put security measures in place?—?”

“And you’re tired and hurting,” he goes on. “You need to eat and rest and heal. So, you won’t be cooking.” It’s an order, but it’s somehow both gentle and sweet and only slightly pisses me off, especially when he adds, “At least not today.”

“Thorn,” I begin.

“Eat,” he orders, and this one sends me right by slightly and straight to pissed-off.

“Thorn.”

“Eat.”

“Thorn!”

He gives an exasperated sigh. “What, River?”

“You should eat too.”

He stills, an emotion I can’t read drifting through his expression. “I’ll go eat something, little hen,” he murmurs.

“I can share,” I say, pushing the tray slightly in his direction. “There’s plenty here.” And it’s not a lie. There’s coffee and tea, a breakfast sandwich and at least four pastries. Even on my best day, I couldn’t finish a quarter of it.

Thorn’s eyes lock on mine, the deep green depths delving into mine.

Then he slowly shifts, sitting on the edge of the bed.

I take a careful sip of coffee, find it’s exactly how I take it.

And there my heart goes again. This man, this man who thinks he’s a monster has brought me breakfast in bed and knows how I take my coffee and is pulling a bag of gourmet treats out of his pocket, feeding Violet a generous handful.

But he doesn’t eat.

Not yet.

Not until I finish the breakfast sandwich and half of the chocolate croissant then lean back against the pillows, my belly content (well, okay, it’s more than content, it’s full). Only then does he pick up the apple cinnamon muffin and carefully peel the wrapper off.

“How do you take your tea?” I ask because I know things about Thorn too.

He doesn’t drink coffee. Only tea. He really likes my mac n cheese.

He talks quietly and moves slowly and treats me gently and orders me to eat.

And…he doesn’t like chocolate.