Page 241 of Money Reigns
Chapter fifty-three
Olivia
“Logan is going to see me,” I rasp-whisper to War as he ushers me down the steps.
“It’s Friday, it’snoon, and we’ve spent all night and all morning in bed.” His lips brush my neck, heat curling there with his teasing kiss. His hand stays firm on my waist, steering me. “I’m sure your entire family knows where you are.”
My face flames.
Ugh. Walk of shame,family edition.Exactly what I didn’t want today.
“We could always go back into the room.” His chuckle rumbles against my skin, wicked and warm.
I whirl on him, grasping at my coat and tugging at the hem of my dress. “No! That makes it worse. I don’t even have panties, War.” My whisper turns frantic. “You ripped them.”
His grin is sinful, bright enough to melt my mortification.
“I don’t know why you’re whispering, baby. I didn’t exactly renovate those walls to be soundproof. And you, my sweet girl, areveryloud.”
My stomach drops as he strides past me down the stairs, laughter trailing in his wake.
“Whether you come down now or later, they already know,” he sing-songs, leaving me to groan and follow him toward the lobby.
The lobby yawnsopen in front of me; mercilessly empty.
No Logan. No family. Not even a stranger lingering by the desk.
Relief punches out of me in a shaky laugh, knees almost buckling as I sag against the banister.
War glances over his shoulder, grin tugging at his mouth. “See? No firing squad.”
I narrow my eyes at him, still tugging the hem of my dress down. “You knew.”
He shrugs, maddeningly smug. “Maybe.”
I groan. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re adorable when you panic,” he fires back, sauntering toward the doors like the whole inn belongs to him.
I hurry after him, still hot-cheeked, still scandalized, but mostly justhis.
The relief of the empty lobby lasts all of three seconds.
Because the moment I step outside, the cold slaps me like a wake-up call—and the hammering of the construction crew splits the brittle winter air.
Of course. Still working. Still here. Still witnesses to my walk of shame.
I duck my head, hugging my arms tight as if that can somehow make me invisible.
“Morning, Beaumont,” one of the guys calls with a nod, breath fogging in the cold as he lowers his coffee cup.
War lifts a hand in greeting, then leans in to press a kiss to my temple. “Go on, sweet girl. I’ll be over in a minute.”
War doesn’t miss a beat. He slides right into conversation, easy and commanding all at once, his hand brushing my lower back before drifting away.
My heart skips.
So I gather what little dignity I have left, tug my coat tighter against the wind, and cross the icy street toward my family home, praying no one else notices I’m rumpled, panty-less, and wearing last night’s sins in the form of a dress.
