Away from the tense exchange between mother and daughter, the air around the granddaughter, felt entirely different.
Warm, thick, almost private despite the carnage surrounding them.
Olivia was trapped in Christian's arms, her back pressed to his chest, his forearm locked low across her stomach.
When her body shifted; her soft curves sliding against him in what was meant to be an escape — his hold only tightened, and her ass? It nestled perfectly against his hips.
"Christian… everyone's right there," her words came out in a low voice, almost a whisper, as if she didn't want anyone else to hear, while her cheeks were already blooming into pink shade.
He dipped his head until his lips brushed her ear. "A father doting on his little girl. Very wholesome." The amusement in his tone was clear. "Isn't it?"
Olivia clearly irritated by the way he twisted things, hissed, "We are NOT blood-related."
Yet, the protest sounded thin even to her own ears.
