Dominated (The Enforcers 2)

“I’ll walk her back,” he said easily.

She refrained from rolling her eyes again. Barely. But to be fair, Drake had warned her of the way things would be from now on. It wasn’t his fault she’d momentarily forgotten. The day seemed so . . . normal. As if none of them had a care in the world. Just a group of friends out for lunch and shopping. Only, if Drake and, well, Maddox and Silas too were to be believed, there was significant danger to her anytime she was by herself.

That thought was enough to quell any protest she might have made that she could go to the bathroom by herself. Drake didn’t ask her for much, and he’d been so generous with her that no way would she throw a fit and act like a recalcitrant child.

“Thank you, Hatcher,” she said, smiling at him.

Hatcher walked her toward the dark foyer and gestured toward the end. “The ladies’ room is at the very back. I’ll stand here and make sure no one gets by me who I remotely think could be a threat.”

She shivered at the gravity in his tone but didn’t respond, nor did she ask him the question she was dying to ask—if he really thought danger lurked around every corner or if this was just Drake being overprotective of her.

Instead, she hurried into the bathroom, not wanting to take any longer than necessary. Her last trip to a public restroom had been nothing short of disastrous when that tall brunette had ripped her to shreds with those ridiculously long claws of her. Figuratively speaking, of course. She’d certainly scored a few direct hits, but then so had Evangeline.

Given time and distance from the event, Evangeline could actually be proud of herself for not allowing the woman to see how upset she had been. She’d made cutting remarks of her own that had definitely found their target, judging by the way the woman’s face had paled and then the flash of feminine rage had sparked in her eyes.

But she’d had no comeback to Evangeline’s remarks about Drake not sharing anything he considered his or that Evangeline was on his arm when it was a well-known fact, according to Drake’s men, that he never had a “bitch” on his arm in public.

She cringed, flinching from his men’s use of the word to describe women. It wasn’t flattering in the least, and if she didn’t know for sure that they didn’t put all women into the bitch category she’d tear each of them a new asshole for referring to the female species in such a derogatory manner.

She finished her business and then washed her hands and did a quick once-over of her makeup. She blinked as she saw the woman staring back at her from the mirror. She stopped in her tracks, staring even harder when she realized the woman she was studying so hard was herself.

How much she’d changed in the short time she’d known Drake and been drawn into his world. Gone were the grubby, secondhand clothes, her hair perpetually pulled up into a messy bun or worse, a ponytail holder, and the plain, unsophisticated features of her face.

She looked . . . Her eyes widened and she gasped as she realized where her thoughts were headed. She looked like she . . . belonged. Here. In Drake’s world. She looked like someone Drake would be likely to be seen with. When had it happened, this transformation from small-town, hopelessly gauche and naïve girl to someone more worldly and sophisticated? She looked almost . . . pretty.

She touched her mouth and then ran her finger over the expensive eye shadow. She wasn’t made up heavily. Her makeup was subtle and elegant looking. It made her look naturally beautiful instead of like someone who had to wear several layers of cosmetics to achieve that fresh, effervescent look.

Her lip gloss was sheer with a shine and sparkle she was still enough of a girl to appreciate. What woman didn’t love sparkly things? Even if she wouldn’t admit it. She had no problem admitting her feminine predilections because Drake enjoyed each and every one of them. He’d confided in her several times that he loved how much of a “girl” she was and that it took a strong, self-assured woman to allow herself to be utterly feminine and not concern herself with being taken seriously by the rest of the world.

She smiled. Drake might love that about her, but it was himself he needed to thank for that metamorphosis. Because it was he who’d given her that confidence in herself.

Realizing if she didn’t hurry, her food would arrive and begin to grow cold, she finished drying her hands and then walked out the door into the darkened hallway. Almost immediately, she bumped into another person, and she murmured her pardon. But when the person didn’t move and she realized that it was a man, when the men’s bathroom was all the way at the front of the hall with the women’s in the very back, she became alarmed and started to step around the figure so she could call for Hatcher if needed.