Blame It On The Cowboy. Delores Fossen
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were more offices here on the second floor, each door indicating the name of another person who worked for Logan and his brothers. She doubted he’d put a watch in any of these offices so she went up the final flight of stairs to the third floor.
There were double doors, wide-open, so she stepped inside.
Whoa.
Unlike her place at the Bluebonnet Inn, this loft was huge. It sprawled over the entire third floor. There were no overhead lights on, but thankfully there was enough illumination coming from the appliances in the kitchen area that she could see well enough.
And what she could see was a mess.
There were gouges in the walls as if someone had punched it multiple times. No, correction. Someone had thrown stuff at it because some of that stuff was still on the polished hardwood floors. Broken sculptures—including what appeared to be a porcelain breast of a woman. Books. Glass. Feathers. Even the remnants of a coffee table.
Had someone vandalized the place? Robbed it?
That caused her to mumble a couple of “Oh, Gods.” Because that might mean this was some kind of setup. Maybe Elrond had willingly given her the keys so she could take the blame for this.
Reese turned to run out, but she caught the movement from the corner of her eye. In case the burglar was still there, she picked up the first thing she could grab off the floor. The porcelain breast. Hardly a serious weapon, but she could hurl it at the person if he attacked, and the nipple might put out an eye.
But he didn’t attack.
He stepped from the shadows. Slowly. As if he had all the time in the world.
It was Logan.
And he was naked.
No, not naked. He was wearing boxers, but she had focused on the naked parts because they were more noticeable. He was sipping a drink, also slowly.
“Reese,” he said, his voice low and slightly dangerous.
Or maybe that was confusion in his tone because of the porcelain nippled boob she had aimed at him.
“You didn’t take this to the grave very long, did you?” Logan asked, and had another sip of his drink, clearly waiting for her answer.
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