"Camilla—"
The dressing room maintained its understated luxury, the moment he stepped inside, an elegant and subtle fragrance greeted him.
His footsteps halted abruptly as his gaze landed on the vision before him.
Those already dark eyes deepened into unfathomable whirlpools.
Camilla stood before the mirror, frowning slightly as she struggled with the white lace halter-neck one-piece swimsuit she wore.
It hadn't seemed obvious on the hanger, but now that it clung to her body, the problem was glaring.
Her luminous, porcelain skin nearly blended into the white lace.
Slender, toned legs, a waist so narrow it could be circled with one hand—
The kind of flawless figure usually seen only in America comics was now on full display, breathtakingly alluring.
Sinclair's long, narrow eyes darkened, his gaze sharpening.
Four words surfaced in his mind: —A living, breathing temptation.
"Sweetheart," Camilla looked up, only then noticing the man behind her.
