Page 33 of Beauty and the Daddy

He leaves it wide open.

That's Declan for you. Always stirring up some fucking shit just to get under my skin.

Drinks and dinnerare a quiet affair. Just a handful of my most trusted men.

Declan's around, keeping the whiskey flowing.

I keep it small on purpose because when there are too many people at the table, the secrets start bleeding.

My men fill the dining room with their usual bullshit—war stories getting bigger with each telling.

Sal's describing how he handled the Russians, his hands painting violence in the air like other men describe their golf swings.

I'm not listening. I'm waiting for her.

Every footstep in the hall has me looking up like some lovesick teenager.

When the fuck did I become this man? The kind who checks his watch every thirty seconds, who sent a dress to her room just to see her wear something I chose?

Tonight's a strategic move to introduce Belle to the guys.

To make it clear she's under my protection, whatever she may decide.

After what happened with Elena, I'm not risking another innocent woman's life. I'll wage a goddamn war, if I have to.

Sal raises his glass. "To the boss, finally giving us his good scotch."

The others laugh, and I raise my glass.

Declan smirks behind his glass like he knows a secret the rest of us don't. I ignore him, checking my watch.

Where is she?

Then, like she heard my thoughts, Belle appears in the doorway.

God damn.

She walks in with her chin tilted high, hands nervously clasped together in front of her.

She's in a simple black dress I had sent up to her room earlier when I figured it would look good against her pale skin.

I figured right.

Her hair falls in waves down her back, and her lips are stained the color of sin.

But what catches my eye, what makes my breath stutter in my chest, is the ring.

She's wearing it. The massive diamond catches the light, throwing it back at us like she's landed a star on her finger.

She chose to wear it. She chose me.

It takes guts to stroll into a room full of sharks and roar she's mine, and damn if Belle Donovan didn't do just that.

Something possessive and primal roars to life in my chest.

Our eyes lock across the room, and for a moment, it's just a man and a woman who can't look away from each other.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the mysterious Belle Donovan," my asshole of a brother breaks the moment, casually letting his gaze linger on Belle.