Page 69 of Back in Black

Before meeting him, in theory alone, she would have found that base concept appalling and unappealing.

But now, in actuality, well, being the recipient of all that heated male attention . . . she loved it.

Gillian closed the refrigerator and sauntered over to the table to sit. Propping her feet on another chair, she smiled at Drew. The shirt barely kept her modesty intact. “I’m a full-figured woman, Drew, but then, you already knew that.”

His heated attention took in the length of her legs. “Yeah.”

So much appreciation in one small word. Drew Black could be ruthless, as demonstrated by his altercation with Brett. A history of sexual conquests also proved his sweet-talking abilities; women fell all over him.

But in most things, and most situations, Gillian could never doubt his sincerity.

He made her feel sexier than she’d ever thought possible. “Down, boy.”

“Not likely.” He met her teasing gaze. “You’re too stacked for me to stay down long.”

She couldn’t help but smile. Drew was generally blatant about his feelings. What got him in trouble most of the time was the fact that his mouth worked in time with his thoughts, giving voice to anything that entered his mind.

In her case, most of what he said filled her with pleasure. But in other circumstances . . . he really needed to learn to censor things a bit.

One thought led to another. “Do you think you’ll be able to work things out with Brett?”

“Definitely.”

No hesitation at all. Drew didn’t know the meaning of uncertainty.

“It looked like he and Audrey Porter were involved. Isn’t that awkward?”

“I have no idea.” He stretched, a man without a care. “Their relationship was news to me.”

How odd; a fighter and a woman heading up a group against fighting. “Aren’t you worried about it?”

His rude snort let her know what he thought of that idea. “No.”

“Oh, come on, Drew.” That had to be a conflict of interest for Brett. Actually, for Ms. Porter, too. “You’re not even a little worried?”

“Hellno.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Why should I be?”

“What if he tells her something that she can use against the SBC?”

“Like what? There isn’t anything. Hell, we’re golden right now.”

Right, except for Drew’s volatile temperament and foul mouth, the arguments against the sport were diminishing.

He shook his head at her. “You act like we’re some underground blood sport, with fights to the death or something. For years now we’ve been a legitimate mixed martial arts sports association. We have the best athletes in the world.”

Warming to his topic, he pushed away from the counter and paced in front of her. “These guys all have extensive combat sport training. Hell, they train for up to six hours a day. We have State Athletic Commission approval for all fights,andwe’ve never had a serious injury.”

Her mouth twitched. She remembered him telling the kids at the boys’ home the same thing. “Our ideas of serious must vary, because Drew, I’ve seen some pretty nasty boo-boos.”

He rolled his eyes. “A broken bone or dislocated joint. No big deal. Hell, these guys play hard enough to get that hurt on a weekend.”

“One fight that I saw, a young man had a gaping cut on his forehead. Blood was everywhere.”

“Head wounds bleed like a son of a bitch.” He waved off her concerns. “Believe me, a few stitches is not considered a severe injury. Now, if he was blinded or suffered brain trauma or something like that—yeah, that’d fuck up our good record for sure.”

He was so passionate about the sport that an idea occurred to Gillian. “I’m going to set up a talk between you and the local members of WAVS. If you told them everything you just told me, maybe they’d be less inclined to—”

“Fuck that.”

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