A Bad Boy is Good to Find - By Jennifer Lewis Page 0,48
where he came from? What was the big deal?
As she unhooked her bra, she felt his hard stare soften.
Men. They’ll drool over anything. Don’t take it personally.
She ignored the way her skin tingled under his appraisal. She fastened her new strapless bra and slid into the dark blue silk. Arranged the shoulder straps over her newly rediscovered collarbone.
“You look pretty.”
He wasn’t smiling. Still tense, on edge, no doubt dreading tomorrow’s little homecoming. That should give her a thrill of victory, but somehow it didn’t.
“I’m going to Raoul to get my face painted on. I’ll see you later.”
Raoul applied eyeliner to her lower lid, then surveyed her through narrowed almond-shaped eyes. He had razor edge bone structure like Miles Davis, black hair shaved almost to the dark skin of his skull. An aura of masculine menace offset by feminine grace that boldly announced his sexuality.
“Girl, your man is fine.” He spoke with slow deliberation.
“Thanks, I guess.” She blushed.
Raoul chuckled. A low, rather threatening sound. He set her nerves on edge. Too cool. She’d never met anyone like him and he knew it.
“So you’re a Hathaway, huh?”
Lizzie flushed darker under the thick layer of foundation and powder he’d applied. “Yes.”
“No need to blush. I’m honored to be in the presence of a member of high society.” He penciled an arch into her brow. Surveyed his handiwork, then looked into her eyes. “But your lover isn’t high society, is he?”
“Um, not really, no.”
Ugh, why was she getting so flustered? Partly because it was so damn hot that sweat was slithering down her spine, but mostly because she had a feeling those sharp eyes could see right through her.
He caught her eye in the mirror again. Spoke slowly. “I think that’s just beautiful.”
She swallowed.
He fluffed more blush on her cheek with a huge brush. “Romantic, you know? Two people who love each other, not getting hung up on the rules of society.” He brushed a knuckle against her now flaming cheek. “You are burning up. Let me get you some water.”
She gasped with relief as he turned away to pour some out of a jug. Did he know she was a fraud?
He handed her a glass of iced water and she gulped some down. “Thanks.”
“Most people spend their lives conforming to what everyone else wants of them, and they don’t follow their heart, you know?” He drew a line around her lips, and she had to wait until he was done before she could croak a yes.
“Hold your lips still there, no pouting. Not until I’m done anyway. Then you can pout and kiss all you like. Mess it all up.” He winked at her and her stomach tightened.
He’d know if she’d kissed Con or not. She’d have to smear it on the back of her hand or something.
Raoul brushed lipstick on with a tiny brush. She couldn’t even glance at herself in the mirror, afraid her nose was growing longer by the second. The discomfort of his close scrutiny made her skin crawl.
And the thought of kissing Con for the cameras made her chest burn in the most uncomfortable way.
“Love,” he said, as he dotted some shimmering stuff in the middle of her upper lip, “is a powerful force in the world. Don’t fight it, don’t ever fight it.”
She nodded, trying to look like she believed this was sage advice. Something about Raoul told her not to get on his bad side.
“You’re done, and if I may say so, you look ravishing.”
She risked a look in the mirror. Gasped.
“Oh, my gosh, is that me?” He’d gone for a completely different look than the cheery young makeup artist at Las Gordas. Total va-va-voom, complete with heavily lined eyes, high arched brows and full pouty lips. Like she’d escaped from a fifties B-movie.
“Wow. Lizzie, is that you?” Gia rushed up behind her. “You look unbelievable. Raoul, you are truly a magician.” Lizzie flushed darker than ever. Had she been such a toad before?
“The hairdresser hasn’t made it yet. I can’t get him on his cell.”
“That boy is…” Raoul rolled his eyes.
“He’s very talented.”
“I’ll give you that. But I’d make other plans if I were you.”
“It looks kind of funky the way it is.” Gia picked up a curly piece of Lizzie’s giant frizzed-out bush of hair.
“No! Please, it must be straightened. I have a flatiron in my room. I can do it myself.”
Raoul picked up a hair-dryer and blew the end of it, like a six-gun he’d just fired. “Have no fear. Raoul is here.