"Camilla—"
Camilla's raised leg was caught by the man's other large, well-defined hand.
With a firm tug, he pinned her against the doorway.
"That's practically spousal homicide," he murmured, his deep laughter rumbling low in his chest.
The distinctive scent of ebony sandalwood enveloped her, filling her senses.
Sweetheart?!
Her furious glare melted into delight the moment she recognized the handsome, chiseled face before her.
"You're here?"
"What's wrong?"
Sinclair caged her entirely in his arms, his dark eyes glinting with amusement as they crinkled at the corners.
"Didn't Camilla want me to come?"
"Of course not!"
Camilla looped her arms around his neck, her face alight with joy.
"I missed you so much."
The moment she saw Sinclair, all her earlier bad mood simply vanished into thin air.
That one simple sentence—utterly unremarkable on the surface—somehow filled him with an inexplicable satisfaction, smoothing away the turmoil in his heart.
