Page 43 of Thiago

She didn’t want to think, but the thought she’d brushed away while they made love came back. How different their lovemaking was this time. Deeper.

Had he ever been the same with his other lovers? Somehow he had managed to keep his relationships under lock and key, avoiding having his name linked with certainty to any specific woman.

With a start, she realizedshewas like those other women. Every single one. Hidden. In the shadows. No commitment. No… nothing.

She also recognized what was different.Shewas different. Her feelings were different. Her perception of their relationship had transformed from casual to meaningful.

India closed her eyes again, knowing she should sleep but unable to. Not with his heart steadily beating against her spine.

She wanted more, but wanting more from Thiago Santana was the most dangerous emotion she had ever allowed herself to feel.

Chapter Eighteen

In the darkness, Thiago had his arm thrown across India’s back, and his thigh sliced between her legs.

He shifted, and she moaned in her sleep, also shifting, her soft body moving sensually against his. Her bottom pushed into his pelvis, and a familiar hunger stirred in his blood. Slipping his hand beneath the sheet, he gently caressed the length of her thigh before sliding the same hand up her stomach and stopping to cup one of her breasts.

He knew he should get up, but he was extremely comfortable in this position. Leaving her bed was the last thing he wanted to do. Ten more minutes, and then he’d get up.

His body relaxed, and his breathing became even.

Ten more minutes,he thought.

Then darkness overtook him as he sank into the arms of sleep.

As Thiago woke up, he knew immediately he wasn’t in his own bed. Rolling onto his back, he squinted against the sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains at the window.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

His attention shifted to the doorway, where India was holding a steaming mug of coffee. She wore a long white robe, the silky material clinging to her body and highlighting the fullness of her breasts and nipples.

“What time is it?” Thiago asked.

“A little after eight.”

“After eight!” He lifted onto his elbows.

He never slept late. Ever. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept past six a.m., even on the weekends. He was simply wired to rise early. When he went to bed late, he still woke up by six.

What the hell was wrong with him? Was he sick?

“I made coffee. Would you like some?” India asked.

“How long have you been awake?” Thiago asked.

She leaned against the doorframe. “About an hour.”

He sat all the way up and ran a hand down his face. “I cannot believe I slept so late,” he muttered.

“You probably needed the rest.”

“Doubtful.”

He had functioned perfectly fine for years with the amount of sleep he normally received. He worked a lot but didn’t often stay up late. He believed in restorative rest for the brain and body, which was important for overall health and operating at peak performance.

“You should have woken me when you woke up,” Thiago said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to bother you.”