Page 184 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife

56

Summer

My husband plants his body in front of me.

"What the—?" I shove at his immovable bulk.

"Sin." I make a noise deep in my throat.

He wraps his arm around my waist, holding me in place.

"Sinclair."

He twists his neck and shoots me a glare.

I glower back. "What are you doing?"

"I am possessive."

"You don't say?" I tip up my chin.

"I can't change this part of me."

"I don't want you to change that part of you." I dig my fingers into his biceps. His muscles flex and the power thrums through the material of his shirt and jacket. His gaze drops to the ring on my finger.

"I really do love the ring."

"I'm glad." His lips kick up at the sides, "I'm sorry I couldn't get you another bouquet of wildflowers."

I stiffen, peer up at him, "So it was you who gathered the flowers for me at our wedding?"

"Ah." He shuffles his feet.

I blink. Sinclair Sterling, with an uncomfortable look on his features. Wow.

"I didn't mean for it to come out that way." He squeezes the bridge of his nose.

"Are you apologizing?" I widen my gaze, "Why do I find that hard to believe?"

"When it comes to you, Bird, I've learned never to underestimate your responses." The skin around his eyes creases, "Or mine toward you, for that matter."

"Oh."

"Oh!" He chuckles. "Love it when I drive you speechless, you know that."

"I love you... Full stop."

He straightens, pulls me forward and into his side. I melt into him, twine my arms about his lean waist, rub my cheek against that hard chest.

"Like I said." Saint retreats into the office and drops into an armchair. "You look different."

"The fuck I care about your opinion?"

"It's not the fresh-faced look, which takes years off, by the way."

I glower at him.

"It's that disgustingly self-satisfied glow all you hitched-up couples in love have where you can't wait to shackle all of your friends into the same institution."