“What’s different now?” she asked. “I’m not looking for a savior. If you think you’re doing a good deed—”
“For God’s sake, Belle, you’re not a charity case. I’m spilling my guts here. Obviously, I’m doing a shitty job, but I’m trying to say that I’m crazy about you. I’m ready to go the distance until you feel the same about me.”
The waitress came with water, and Drago pulled his hands away and sat straighter. “Give us a few minutes, eh?”
“You’re more experienced than me,” she blurted once they were alone again.
“And?”
She shrugged, then exhaled. “I’m making excuses,” she said. “It’s because I’m scared.”
“Of what, baby?”
“Of how you make me feel.” She adjusted the strap of her dress, and he couldn’t help notice her cleavage. “What happens if I tell you I want the same thing as you?”
“Then we take things slow. I show you just how good things could be.”
She tilted her head a bit. “My father was controlling…”
“I don’t want to control you, Belle.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” she said. “You’re nothing like him. When I’m with you I feel safe. I remember your strength, how you took command in the ring. Is it wrong that I want that? That I crave that control? Is something wrong with me?”
“You’re perfect, baby girl. I want to be everything you need.” He leaned over the table and ran the backs of his fingers along the smooth plane of her neck. “In every way.”
Her eyes fluttered closed briefly.
At thirty-nine years old, he was losing his heart.
Chapter Seven
Even when Mikey was at the height of his flirtation, he never made her feel this way. Belle stared at Drago, feeling that answering pulse between her thighs. He was good at this. The way he looked at her, she thought of sin and all those tempting dirty books that she snuck into her room to read. She’d never wanted to be a fighter. She had lost count of the number of hours she thought about being a different girl. How she’d have loved to be like one of the girls who she saw playing with dolls in the park, or running around after each other.
They never looked like they had to take a beating in their life.
“You’re blushing,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I’m just new to all of this.” She took a deep breath.
“That fucker that used you should have given you something to remember.”
She snorted. “He did. He reminded me that all men are after the same thing.”
“All men?”
“Sorry, most men.” She shook her head, pushing some hair out of her face. She wasn’t used to it cascading all around her. Her usual style was up in a ponytail. She didn’t have time to look sexy or beautiful.
It felt weird and yet kind of nice at the same time to be this woman. To be someone new, someone different.
He took her hand; his was so much larger. “Relax.”
“I’m relaxed.”
“You’re tensed up. You’re fidgeting. I have no other agenda right now than enjoying this meal with you.”
“Drago, you could be with anyone. There are so many different people you could have. Why me? I’m just me.”
“And I told you, I care about you, Belle. This is not about getting into your pants or trying to manipulate you. You’ve got nothing I want other than the pleasure of your company. That’s what I want. Nothing else.”
She felt tears sting her eyes, hating that she was once again this insecure idiot who couldn’t seem to get her emotions under control.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I already figured that I had a lot to do to make you realize I’m not going to use you for something. It sucks that even when you thought you found love he turned out to be a giant asshole.”
“That’s not your fault. You’re not an asshole.”
“That I know, but it’s what you’ve been through.”
“You went through it, too.” Even as she tried to ignore the flash of memories, she couldn’t. Fight after fight. The pain. The screams and shouts for her to do better. Her father forcing her to train harder. Taking away any kind of food he felt would put her on the wrong path.
When she was thirteen years old, she was waiting for her father to be done in some kind of meeting. He’d thrown some money at her and told her to get something to eat. She remembered going to a burger bar, ordering the biggest one they had on the menu that totaled three beef patties that was smothered in cheese, pickles, and even bacon, and eating the entire thing to herself.
She’d felt like a fucking queen, and she’d lied when he asked her what she had to eat that night. She told him a simple salad with no dressing.
He wasn’t going to take that memory away from her.