Marissa didn't want to go inside that guest room. Her heart was sinking with each passing minute because she thought he was here to claim his kids.
The moment she stepped inside, she found him standing there, his back facing her. He was busy observing a painting hanging on the wall.
She drank in his appearance. Those broad shoulders she held when he used to make love to her. Those black locks… she had combed her fingers through those locks when she used to scream his name during their intimate moments.
He was still wearing his office shirt with sleeves rolled up, a telltale sign that he came straight from his office.
She closed her eyes and gulped hard.
He must have felt her presence behind him because he slowly turned, and she decided to open her eyes.
"Hello, Ms. Aaron," he said softly.
She tried to manage a shaky smile, "Hello, Mr. Sinclair. Hope you are good."
He chuckled at that and looked into her eyes, "No. I'm not good."
