Irene stood gazing at her husband with all the tenderness that years of shared history had built between them. Evans always looked so commanding in his element—his shirt rolled up at the sleeves, veins running strong along his forearms.
Yet right now, for all his power and presence, she saw only the man she had fallen in love with—the one who, despite his sharp words and occasional arrogance, still looked at her like she was the only calm in his storm.
The moment the door clicked shut behind the PI, Evans crossed the space between them. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her in, lowering his head until his breath brushed her lips. "Hey, sexy," he murmured. "Missed me so much you couldn't wait for me to get home?"
Irene chuckled softly, placing her palms on his chest. "Yeah," she said, her eyes dancing. "That too."
He arched a brow, catching the deliberate vagueness. "That too?" he repeated, mock suspicion coloring his voice. "Should I be worried or excited?"
