"Lie down?"
Sinclair arched an eyebrow, his thin lips curling into a lazy smirk.
"Are you sure about that, sweetheart?"
His voice was low and husky, dripping with implication.
Camilla instantly caught his meaning, her already flushed face burning even hotter.
"Absolutely," she feigned annoyance, pressing her palms against his sculpted chest while her glistening eyes shot him a glare.
"Are you in or not?"
"I'm in," Sinclair replied, his voice rough with resignation, dark eyes flickering with sudden understanding.
"Of course I'm in."
Even if Camilla had laid a trap, he'd leap in without hesitation.
"Promise me one thing," Camilla added seriously, as if remembering something crucial.
"You don't move without my permission."
Sinclair's dark, intense gaze bore into Camilla as his long, elegant fingers traced slow circles around her slender waist.
"I promise."
"Good."
