Tangled Games (Dating Games #5) - T.K. Leigh Page 0,70
away.
“Only time will tell,” I answer, taking one last look at the café, Nora still in a state of shock. “But if I were a betting man, I’d be all in.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nora
“Why am I so nervous about this?” I glance at Esme as she expertly applies some liner around my lips.
As I stare at the drawers upon drawers filled with more makeup than most people think necessary to own in a lifetime, I can’t help but be impressed. I always considered myself fairly experienced with hair and makeup, but my skills are no match for hers. After all the people who worked on me for the official engagement announcement, not to mention a stylist who helps me pick out my wardrobe and get ready every day, I assumed she also had someone to do it for her.
Instead, she told me she learned how so she could have time to herself before being put on display. To most, it would seem a crazy notion, since so many women look forward to being pampered at the salon, myself included.
But that was before I had a taste of this life. Of always having people do everything for me, right down to helping me dress…and undress. As if I’m a child, not an adult capable of taking care of myself.
Now, her expertise has allowed me to escape the estate to get ready for my date with Anderson. Or, more appropriately, Prince Gabriel.
“I think it’s cute. He’s nervous, too.” She winks, stepping back and spinning me so I face the mirror.
I felt completely out of my element when choosing what to wear, unsure where he planned to take me. He didn’t give me much direction, aside from not wearing any panties. I debated whether to go with something casual, but considering he’s taking me out as Prince Gabriel, I opted for something a bit more formal. It’s not at the level of the dress I wore for the official announcement, but it’s still sophisticated, yet something not in my “approved” wardrobe. Something I brought with me from New York.
I’m fairly certain the sleek, curve-hugging black dress would break all protocol rules. From the off-the-shoulders neckline that makes my cleavage appear even more pronounced, to the slit running up my thigh, to the leopard print strappy heels that show off my bright red toenails, it is most definitely not royal family approved.
But like Anderson…Prince Gabriel said last night… Fuck the rules.
When a chiming cuts through, my pulse skyrockets, butterflies flittering in my stomach.
“Sounds like your date’s here,” Esme teases in a sing-song voice, spinning from me. I follow her out of the dressing room, down the hallway, and toward the stairs leading to the foyer.
Hand on the railing, I do my best to keep myself from tripping over my own feet, something that’s been known to happen. With every step I take, more and more of Anderson’s tall frame appears, starting with his dark shoes, up to his perfectly tailored tan pants, then his matching suit jacket. I expect the look to be finished with a crisp, white button-down shirt and coordinating tie, similar to what he typically wears. Instead, he’s sporting a V-neck, black t-shirt, his chest muscles prominent against the material.
Like he wore during our time together on Route 66.
It’s a reminder that, despite his public persona as Prince Gabriel, underneath all the glitz and glamor is the man I fell in love with.
When our eyes meet, I can’t look away. Just like I couldn’t when I heard a deep, accented voice tell me to rub Lincoln’s nose for good luck as I stared at the bronze bust outside the final resting place of the sixteenth president.
Lips parted, he barely blinks as he drinks me in. He starts at my feet, my toes grateful to finally see the light of day after being covered up these past several weeks. His gaze only grows more heated as it travels up my legs, jaw tightening. When his eyes return to mine, they’re no longer a mixture of every shade of blue, but a dark midnight, raw hunger swirling within.
“Goddamn, am I a lucky bastard,” he hisses under his breath.
“And don’t you forget it,” I respond with a nervous laugh.
“Never.”
His stare lingers on me in a way that makes me think he’s about to pin me up against the wall and kiss me, much like he did the first night we slept together. But he doesn’t. There’s time for that later, though.