A/N: Thank you everyone for all the reviews and messages! I know I don't get around to replying to them all but I truly appreciate the support.

Chapter Seventeen

The restaurant's swankiness wasn't overt. Dean appreciated that. He already felt uncomfortable in the monkey suit he'd gotten. He had never been one to like dressing up. Jeans and a tee were his usual fare. He didn't like being trussed up like a Christmas turkey. The dress shirt's collar was too stiff against his neck. The shoes were a little snug on his toes. The jacket and slacks were alright, he supposed. Worst of all, though, was the tie.

It was strangling him. And every time he loosened it just a little bit, there Elizabeth was, pushing it back into place and smoothing it down. As much as he loved her touch, it was little consolation when the strap of bright blue cloth was choking the life from him.

She took his arm as they followed the maître d' through the restaurant. He noticed that the floor was carpeted. Fleetingly he wondered why a restaurant would have carpet instead of wood or tile. All he could picture was a bowl of soup getting knocked over and a crew of waiters having to scrub the carpet clean. Though, getting a glimpse of the clientele, he doubted they ever spilled or knocked anything over.

They were led to a little room off the main dining area. It figured that McMahon's daughter scored a private dining room. Or maybe it was Paul that scored it. At any rate, he doubted that he would be able to get preferential treatment if he showed up for a meal.

"Dean."

Her whisper broke him out of his thoughts and he realized she was waiting for him to let go of her hand. He hadn't realized he'd taken hold of it. Giving her a sheepish grin, he gently squeezed before letting go. He looked on as she greeted Stephanie and Paul, giving himself a mental pep talk.

The maître d' was taking her wrap so Dean stayed put for the moment, not wanting to get in the way. It wasn't until the crisply dressed man stepped away that Dean got his first full view of Elizabeth's dress. As he'd noticed at the hotel, it covered her in the front. He liked that. Even though it was modest, it was sexy. It ended a couple inches above her knees, and he liked that it was black.

Then she turned.

His eyes widened and he had to press his lips together to keep from making a surprised noise. He hadn't been expecting to see her entire back. Well, most of her back. The expanse of skin was surprising, because she was always mostly covered.

He wanted to walk her through the restaurant again. Show her off to the snobs. But at the same time he wanted to wrap her back up and take her back to the hotel. Taking a deep breath, he allowed himself one more good look.

She wasn't wearing a bra. He didn't know why that knowledge pleased him so much, but it did.

Almost spellbound by her skin, he stepped forward and unconsciously placed his left hand at the small of her back while she spoke to Stephanie. She glanced to him, a smile pulling at her lips.

"Dean, glad you could make it."

His hand was seized by Paul, then he was being pulled into a quick, manly, back-slapping hug by the older man. Pleasantries were exchanged, and he made sure to pay homage to Stephanie.

The maître d' was back to seat the women. He held his nose so high that Dean almost asked how he kept from drowning when it rained. He also came very close to asking why he and Paul couldn't hold out the chairs, but decided to keep quiet, slipping into the seat next to Elizabeth. There was a few moments of shuffling and rustling as they all got situated, then silence as they began perusing the menus.

Once he'd ordered, he reached for the glass of ice water in front of him, hoping it was meant for him. No one seemed to mind so he relaxed a little bit, taking a sip before following Paul's cue and placing his napkin in his lap. Elizabeth's hand lightly brushed his arm, obviously proud of him for remembering her brief etiquette lesson in the cab. He'd asked for it. Partially because he honestly couldn't remember the little niceties that were expected, but mostly to keep his mind off what she had purchased at the store.

Paul and Stephanie were talking softly to each other so Dean felt no qualms about placing his hand on Elizabeth's thigh for a quick squeeze. Realizing that his palm wasn't meeting bare skin, he looked down, lips curving into a smirk when he noted that she wore stockings.

She hadn't been wearing stockings when they left the hotel. And, aside from her purse, she had carried nothing out of the store. Stroking the silk-clad thigh, he steeled his expression when he heard her soft gasp. Stephanie turned her attention back to them and, a smile on her face, asked Elizabeth a question.

He had to hand it to her. She remained outwardly calm as he groped her beneath the napkin. His fingers explored while he and Paul began discussing sports and workout regimes, and he was only distracted when his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her skirt and felt the lace edging of her stockings. She pressed her thighs together, trapping his fingers, so he did the only thing he could think to do.

"Whoops," he blurted as one of his spoons fell to the floor. With the assistance of his foot it bounced beneath the table, and he gave Paul and Stephanie a chagrined expression. "I better get that."

Elizabeth's hand grasped his wrist and squeezed. "I'm sure the waiter will bring you a clean one."

He was already sliding his ass out of his chair. "Well, yeah, but I don't want someone to have to crawl on the floor because I'm a klutz." Ducking down, he saw the spoon lying right next to Paul's foot. Elizabeth released his wrist and her thighs parted just enough for him to move his fingers. He leaned, groping for the spoon, his gaze locked on the hint of creamy skin barely visible when he nudged the napkin aside. One finger found a silk-covered elastic strap and he bit down on his bottom lip, wondering what other delectable things she had concealed under her dress. He grabbed the spoon and, unable to resist, gave the strap a hard pluck, enjoying her startled cry.

"Sorry, sorry." Returning to his chair, he set the spoon aside and gave Elizabeth his most apologetic expression. He made a show of dusting off his knees and the sleeves of his new jacket. Then, straightening the tie she'd chosen for him – the one she'd put on him and practically purred over in the cab because it matched his eyes – he once again reached for his water. "Didn't mean to head-butt your knee."

He enjoyed dinner. Stephanie and Paul were relaxed when away from work. They chatted easily, slipping occasional teasing barbs to one another. It was obvious they adored each other, more so when discussion turned to their daughters. Dean felt a funny little twist in his gut when the couple shared a warm look at the mention of their children.

Thankfully, Stephanie excused herself to go to the restroom before he could explore that funny feeling. Elizabeth rose to join the other woman. Dean unabashedly watched as they walked away, unconsciously tugging at his tie.

"How's it feel?" he blurted once they were out of sight. Turning to look to Paul, he jerked his head in the direction the women had taken. "I mean, knowing you've got one of the most gorgeous women in the world by your side. What's it like?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Paul replied, slicing the last bit of his steak. "Elizabeth's no ugly duckling."

"Of course she's not. That's why I referred to your wife as one of the most gorgeous, not the most gorgeous." Dean speared the last of his roasted potatoes with his fork.

Paul laughed and reached for his wine. "Then you know how it feels. Pretty damn great, am I right?" The levity slipped away quickly, though, and he placed his napkin next to his plate. "Thanks, by the way."

"Huh?" The syllable was loud and slightly obnoxious, resembling a wounded goose, but Dean didn't elaborate on his surprise.

"For being with Elizabeth. You are with her, right?"

"Obviously…"

"Good. She needs someone."

It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest that Elizabeth had the whole damn company, but he shrugged. Whatever. Maybe Paul wasn't so in tune with what was going on backstage. Mouth full of potato, he furrowed his brow when the older man across the table leaned in confidentially. Like they weren't already in a private dining room.

"Are you going to stick by her for the ride?"

Dean swallowed abruptly, nearly gagging at the amount of food he was trying to force down, then reached for his water to push it the rest of the way. Coughing, then clearing his throat, he stared at Paul. "I…"

"Cena isn't going to be happy if you do."

"Cena can suck my dick," Dean snorted with a roll of his eyes. "I know he'd rather her be some little idiot that doesn't notice he's fucking anyone with a skirt that'll bend over for him, but that's just too damn bad. After everything he's put Lizzie through, he's not fit to scrape dog shit off the bottom of her shoes. Who gives a damn if he's not happy about me being with her? He made his bed with that ditzy chick. Shit… Do you know he fucked her on the bus with Lizzie in the back trying to sleep? Isn't going to be happy… Fuck him."

Paul's eyes widened slightly at the outburst, then his lips began to twitch with laughter. "I'm half tempted to put you in a match with him next week, but you'd probably kill him. And then Vince would kill me."

"I don't want to kill him," Dean promised, loosening his tie so he could cool off just a little. "I just want him to hurt as much as he's hurt Lizzie."

"Can I offer a little advice?"

"Sure."

"Hold on to that anger you've got towards him. Don't let it out, at least not yet. But I know Cena. If he thinks that any grudge you have against him is fading he slips in and twists it around so you feel sorry for him. Keep your distance, ignore anything he says, or he'll corner you and tell you all about how Elizabeth was a terrible—"

"She's not—"

"I know. I'm just telling you, that's how he operates. Stay alert around him, okay?"

"Did Stephanie tell you…" He glanced to the door to make sure the women weren't coming back yet. Then he remembered they were women and would take their sweet time in the restroom. "Did she tell you…"

"About the divorce?" Paul nodded, shoulders squaring a bit. "She has our lawyer contacting a few friends in Boston. We're hoping to keep it discreet so he doesn't scoop up the best attorney."

Dean wondered if Elizabeth had any idea that Stephanie and Paul had her back. The man was practically putting off protective father vibes. "Good."

"You just stick with her, alright? Keep doing whatever it is you've been doing lately, because I haven't seen her so… I don't know if 'happy' is the word, really, but it fits. And it only happened once you started sniffing around her."

He laughed at the statement, for he had all but panted over her for months. "Well…" he trailed, leaning back in his seat, "I am a Hound…"

It was practically killing her to do so, but Elizabeth kept her legs firmly crossed. She'd had the foresight of tucking the skirt of her dress between her thighs. Dean's palm was nearly scorching her through the material, though, as he tried in vain to push it up. His breath was a blaze against her ear, and he'd somehow worked his other hand beneath her wrap.

"Just let me feel," he whispered, cupping her thigh and giving a squeeze. Fingers danced over her breasts and she heard his breath hitch. "C'mon, Lizzie…"

"No," she said firmly, though she didn't even attempt to push his hand away. It felt too nice, especially when it slid over the fabric and gripped her backside. "We're almost at the hotel. Five minutes, tops."

He groaned, dragging it out and raising the pitch so it ended with a bit of a whine. It almost broke her reserve, for it was the same little sound he made when their bodies joined. But she managed to stay firm. And despite how much she loved his touch, she pulled his hand from her breast.

"Behave. You're worse than a little boy on Christmas Eve."

"I'm more like Santa," he grunted, squeezing her backside then letting his hand trail to her knee. "Don't you want to sit on my lap, Lizzie Belle?"

She had regretted telling him her middle name as soon as the words had left her mouth. Being called Lizzie had started to grow on her, but she doubted that she would grow accustomed 'Lizzie Belle' anytime soon. "Stop," she laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"You sure? I've heard you were a good girl this year." He nuzzled her neck. "And I've got a package just for you…"

"I plan on opening it very soon. In fact—" she ended her statement when the taxi stopped in front of their hotel. He muttered several curses and pulled away from her, leaning forward to pay the driver. She waited two seconds, just to make sure, then slid over to open the door.

The blast of icy air left her longing for his amorous touches. Tightening her wrap, she stepped out, gasping at the feel of his warm hand on the small of her back. She glanced to him, smiled, then hurried inside.

Unluckily for him, they had to share the elevator with a staid businessman who insisted on discussing the weather, record low temperatures, and snowfall levels. She was certain she heard Dean curse the man to hell under his breath. Tucking herself closer to his side as the elevator continued its slow ascent, she used the quiet moments to mentally solidify her plans.

Except for guiding her out into the hallway with his hand on her back, Dean kept his hands to himself as they walked to her room. He gallantly took the card, unlocked the door, opened it, reached in to turn on the light, and stepped back so she could enter first.

She waited just inside the room, nerves starting to jangle as he closed the door. There was a measured slowness in his movements, much like a predator in the jungle stalking its prey. How easy it would be to just let go. Give in. Let him take care of her, like he always did. Slowly drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes briefly then opened them as she exhaled.

She had to do this. For him. For herself. And even if she made a complete fool of herself, she was certain that he wouldn't laugh. She knew he would never laugh at her for trying new things.

Turning to face him, she began unwinding the wrap. She caught the gleam in his eyes. Encouraged when he merely stood there, watching her, she let the wrap fall and reached for his tie. He grunted as she gave a gentle tug, but didn't resist, letting her guide him to the foot of the unmade bed. "Sit," she whispered, pulse pounding in her ears. Nerves were giving way to excitement. Though she teased him about having no patience, she was damned tempted to just push him back and lose herself in him.

Instead, she guided him down until he sat on the corner of the mattress. Standing between his outstretched legs, she smoothed his tie and reached to unbutton his jacket.

"I thought I was gonna get to unwrap my present," he said, leaning back slightly once she'd removed the jacket and tossed it aside.

She looked into his eyes, waiting for him to mutter 'fuck it' and yank her into bed with him. To his credit, though, he didn't, and her excitement went up several notches. He trusted her. He was intrigued. He wanted to see what she was going to do.

Slowly tracing her lips with the tip of her tongue, she braced her hands on his shoulders. "Your present has decided it wants to unwrap itself for you," she announced softly.

His eyebrows rose. His gaze dropped then slowly roved upwards, igniting a flame deep within her. "Fuck yes," he whispered.

"Turn on the TV," she murmured, pushing her lips against his earlobe. Giving it a tender nibble, she pulled back when she heard his sharp intake of breath. "Find something with music. When I get back from the bathroom I want you in the desk chair. Keep your clothes on."

"Can I at least take off my tie—"

"No."

She heard him gulp, felt the heat of his palms just before she stepped away.

"Lizzie—"

"TV. Chair. Tie." Blowing him a kiss, she turned and headed for the bathroom.

"Goddamn tease," he called after her.

In the doorway, she glanced back at him. Emboldened when she saw that he was reaching for the TV remote, she smirked. "I learned from the best."