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“Look,” he began, licking his lips and letting his tough, broad posture soften a little, “I didn’t want you to see that. But even more, I didn’t want you to maybe run across him some time when I wasn’t around and have him try somethin’. I didn’t mean for you to see that side of me, Britney.”
He looked so bothered by her having seen a taste of the tough guy as he was in the city. Like she’d caught him in some compromising position. Like they were kids again and she’d walked in on him doing something he really shouldn’t be.
Her shoulders slumped as she took in a deep breath. It was strange, the war goin’ on within her. The feeling of security and fear, gratitude and worry, all swirlin’ within her bust.
And she knew, if she’d run into that guy without Damien, she’d have been way more scared of him than she was of Damien. He’d never hurt her, not like that.
“You used to have to do that a lot?”
“No,” he said firmly. “Not that rough. Most men aren’t as stubborn as that piece of shit,” he said with a sigh. “But then you saw how many scars he had.”
Damien reached out to grasp her shoulder and squeeze it gently.
“I only did what I had to, to make sure that animal didn’t ever pose a threat to you. I know you live out in the country, but these guys… they do runs all over the place. And the thought that someday he might end up in your diner…” She could see him grinding his teeth in anger at the thought.
She took in a deep breath. It was a lot to take in; him spoiling her to a new outfit followed by him beating up another man. And then they had that dance to go to...
Should we still even go, she thought to herself before resting her head on his chest. He was comforting, even with his anger and his cuts and bruises from the few jabs the other man had gotten in.
“We should head back.”
Damien took his time, giving her a slow, firm embrace, his thick arm sliding up her back before he let her go.
“Sure thing, Brit,” he said with a forced smile, obviously troubled by the turn of events. And how she’d gotten to see him at his worst.
* * *
Damien did up his shirt with his battered hands as he caught sight of her in the mirror coming out of her room. His eyes instantly moved to her, soaking her in with an entranced gaze.
“What?” she asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious and tugging at the fringes of the dress. “Is it no good?” She bit down upon her lower lip, feeling so anxious about it all on top of the earlier doubts.
Damien turned and abandoned the last few buttons, leaving him half-dressed up, half exposing his sculpted, tattooed torso.
“No, you look amazing,” he said, stepping in closer to her, his gaze unable to leave her as if his eyes were glued upon her form. “I’ve not seen a real— a beautiful lady like you in so long… maybe never,” he said, the angry, tough guy of earlier melting away a little as he stared at her, transfixed. Smitten.
Heat sullied her cheeks and she had to look away. She wasn’t sure how to take him, but that sweet comment was enough to soften her heart towards him. Remember the good he had within him.
And when her eyes moved up once more, taking in his masculine form, she had to force her eyes away once again to hide her embarrassment.
She thought he was the one that really looked amazing.
“You should, ah, finish getting dressed.”
He looked down at his shirt, still dangling open, even if it was mostly tucked in.
“Oh yeah,” he said, and he reached up to do the buttons up, but he was painfully slow at it, and she soon saw why. His knuckles upon one hand were in rough shape, with more than a few nicks and cuts from the fight. The sort of thing that called for a nice cleaning, just as ma would do for her scrapes, long, long ago when she was so young.
She stared longer than she oughta, but once she decided, she was quick to move into the bathroom. She found the antiseptic and the bandages, bringing them back to his room and grabbing for his hand.
“You’d figure if you’re used to these sorta tussles, that you’d know well enough how to care for yourself.”
Damien paused his work, his shirt still not entirely done up, but near enough. Almost.
He watched her, his broad shoulders slowly relaxing as she took hold of his much larger hand in her daintier ones.
“Ain’t the way things are done among men folk,” he explained, looking at her with such fascination. And warmth. “You don’t need to be fussin’ over me though. It’s my own damn fault, not yours,” he explained gently, though it was clear he seemed to like her attentions.
Besides, she wasn’t havin’ any of that. He was tryin’ to protect her in his own way, and so it was the least she could do to look out for him too. She rubbed the cotton ball over his wounds, clearing away the dirt and leaving it fresh and raw.
