Not gently.
Not asking.
Taking.
The way I'd been taking everything else.
She made a sound against my mouth—fury or surrender, I couldn't tell.
Didn't care.
Her hands came up between us.
Fisted in my shirt.
Tried to push me away, but couldn't.
She ripped away from me.
Hand swinging up fast—pure instinct, pure rage.
I caught her wrist mid-arc. Held firm. Not hard enough to bruise. Hard enough that she understood.
Belle stared at me, chest heaving, eyes wide with something between shock and fury. Stunned that I'd stopped her. Stunned that she'd tried.
I stepped closer. Crowding her against the wall she hadn't realized was behind her. "I don't want you working in a place that could fall apart."
My voice stayed level.
Calm.
Unyielding.
"So I'm making it better."
Her throat worked visibly. Swallowing whatever response died before reaching her tongue.
She was furious. Still trembling with it. But she was listening. Really listening.
Her wrist went slack in my grip. Not surrender. Acceptance.
The difference mattered.
I released her slowly. Watched her eyes track the movement. Watched her decide whether to fight or flee.
She did neither.
Just stood there, pinned by my gaze and her own confusion.
I touched her chin lightly—thumb and forefinger guiding her gaze up to mine. Forcing her to meet my eyes instead of hiding in that fury she wore like armor.
"I have a game in two days."
She swallowed hard. The movement visible beneath the delicate skin of her throat.
I watched it. Catalogued it. Filed it away with every other tell she didn't know she gave me.
"You'll be there."
