Worth The Wait

Three

CHAPTER 3

Lara’s tears fell before she could stop them. Her heart clenched painfully as she looked at him, terrified of the answer.

Reagan’s entire expression softened. His playful smirk falling into something more tender, almost reverent. He cupped her face in both hands, thumbs gently wiping away the tears trailing down her cheeks.

“I will never get tired of you, Lara,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “I’m not marrying anyone else. You really think I could do that? After everything?”

He leaned in slightly, his forehead nearly touching hers.

“Lara… I’m in too deep. I’ve fallen so hard for you, it’s ridiculous. Why do you think I waited this long? You think I would throw all of that away for someone else? No.” He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “I told you before… if it’s not you, then I’d rather not love at all.”

Lara hiccupped, her heart fluttering. “Then why didn’t you deny the article? Why didn’t you have it taken down?”

Reagan paused for a moment. His eyes flicked away, and he bit down on his lower lip. His eyes glinting with mischief that didn’t quite match the situation—and it made her frown in confusion.

“Why aren’t you answering me?” she asked, eyebrows knitting.

He let out a quiet laugh, low and unapologetic. “Well… let’s just say I figured I could use it to my advantage.”

She blinked, confused. “What?”

He smirked but didn’t explain. “We’ll talk about it once you’re sober. Right now, you need to rest.”

“But—” Lara tried to press again, but before she could finish, Reagan suddenly scooped her up into his arms like she weighed nothing.

“Reagan!” she squealed, flailing a little before instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. “Oh my God, this is embarrassing…”

He chuckled softly and nuzzled her temple. “Where’s your key card?”

“In… my bag,” she mumbled, cheeks burning red as she buried her face against his neck. His familiar scent—clean and masculine—made her dizzy in a different way.

He fished the key card out of her purse and unlocked the door. He shifted her slightly in his arms and carried her inside, his steps quiet against the polished floors of the suite.

The hallway lights dimmed behind them as Reagan made his way into the bedroom, where he finally lowered her onto the bed like she was something precious.

“Do you wanna take a bath?” he asked softly, crouching beside her.

Lara shook her head, eyes half-lidded. “I’m too dizzy…”

“Then at least change your clothes,” Reagan said, rising to his feet. “Hold on. I’ll get you something comfortable.”

She watched through heavy lashes as he walked to the closet. He opened it, scanning the shelves before pulling out a soft pair of pajamas. He returned to her side, setting the clothes down beside her.

“Here. Change into these, okay? I’ll step outside and give you a minute.”

But before he could turn away, Lara’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “No... don’t go,” she whispered.

Reagan paused, looking down at her, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Lara… you have to change,” he said gently. “I’ll just be outside the door. I’ll come right back once you’re done.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “No. Stay. Just… turn around. I’ll be quick.”

Their eyes met, hers pleading, his hesitant. She gave him a soft pout, her eyes big and glassy from the alcohol.

He sighed in defeat. “Alright. You win.”

He took a few steps away from the bed and turned his back to her.

Behind him, Lara grunted softly as she struggled out of her clothes. Even changing into pajamas felt like a battle because of her dizziness. She finally managed to slip into the fresh clothes, folded her used ones with what little coordination she had, and placed them on the side table.

“Okay… I’m done,” she called out.

Reagan turned around and approached the bed. She was now lying under the covers, her hair slightly messy, her cheeks still flushed. Before he could say anything, she reached out and gently grabbed his wrist again.

“Are you staying over?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost shy. “Can you… sleep beside me?”

He blinked, momentarily taken aback. “I can stay, sure... but I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Her lips pulled into a small pout. “But the couch is too small for you,” she murmured. “The bed’s big enough for both of us. Just sleep beside me. Just for tonight. Please?”

Reagan ran a hand through his hair, clearly conflicted. “Lara… you’re drunk. You don’t really know what you’re asking.”

“I’m not that drunk,” she insisted. “I know what I’m doing. I just… I want to sleep beside you tonight.”

He hesitated. “Lara…”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy but sharp. “Unless... you don’t want to lie beside me. Do I smell bad or something? Is it because I drank and didn’t shower? Is that it?”

Reagan’s face instantly softened. “God, no. That’s not it at all,” he said, almost too fast. His voice was low, slightly hoarse. He exhaled deeply, dragging a frustrated hand down his face before muttering under his breath, “Jesus… you’re really making it hard for me tonight, sweetheart.”

Lara tilted her head and looked up at him with hopeful eyes. “So... are you sleeping beside me or not?”

Reagan stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to convince himself this was okay. Then his lips curled into the faintest, helpless smile.

“Alright,” he said softly. “You win.”

Lara’s face lit up with a smile. She watched as he slipped off his blazer and draped it over the bedside table. Then he loosened his tie, slowly pulling it from his collar, and placed it gently over the blazer. His fingers worked on the cuffs of his sleeves next, rolling them up his forearms, and finally—after one last glance at her—he climbed into bed beside her.

The moment his body sank into the mattress, she scooted closer without hesitation. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her face on his chest, burying herself in his scent—the perfect blend of cedar, musk, and something uniquely Reagan. It was the same scent she had missed so bad.

“I love your smell,” she murmured against him, closing her eyes.

Reagan chuckled softly, his hand coming up to gently stroke her hair, fingers threading through the strands with slow, soothing motions.

“Sleep now, Lara,” he whispered.

Lara hummed in response, nestling herself even closer against him, like she was trying to melt into his warmth. Her fingers fisted lightly at the fabric of his shirt, grounding herself in the reality that he was here—that this wasn’t another dream.