He saluted her with the spoon, but ate only one mouthful.
Perhaps he’d be more interested in the apple on the tray. She sat sideways on the bed beside Sinclair and sliced the apple into sections, pausing every so often in the task to urge Sinclair to eat more soup. She picked up an apple wedge, intending to offer it to him, until she caught a whiff of its sweet scent, juice glistening at one edge. Her mouth watered. She licked her lips and took a bite. Sinclair’s avid gaze darted from the fruit to her mouth. The last time she’d eaten an apple had been the first time they kissed. Heat spread through her at the memory. She bit into the apple again, slowly, and watched as Sinclair’s mouth fell open. The hunger in his eyes had nothing to do with food.
A tiny thrill coursed through her.
She
