Tell Me You're Mine (The British Billionaires #1) - J. S. Scott Page 0,105

two with Mum’s help.”

“That’s fast.” Not that I really minded.

He sent me a wicked smile. “I want to get it done before you change your mind about taking me on for the rest of your life.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s going to be a monumental task, but I think I can handle it, handsome.”

Like it wasn’t every woman’s dream to marry a man like Damian?

“Handle me, you mean?” he teased. “I think you’ve become very adept at doing that.”

“I love you,” I told him as I stroked a palm over his strong jawline. “I don’t need to handle you. I love you just the way you are, Your Grace.”

“I feel the same way, love. So marry me as soon as we can get the wedding set up? My jets and my airline will be at your disposal to bring anyone you want from the States to us. We can go pick out rings later today.” He caught an errant tear from my face and wiped it away.

“The rings can wait,” I informed him as I nipped at his ear. “Right now, I just want you. Take me to bed, Damian.”

“Scandalous!” he murmured in a sexy, highly aroused tone as he buried his face in my neck and picked my ass up off the counter. “It’s barely afternoon, woman.”

“I’d like you to fuck me until it’s dark, feed me, and then take me back to bed again. Do you have a problem with that plan, Your Grace?” I asked playfully.

“None at all, Your-Grace-in-waiting,” he shot back as he carried me toward his room.

What?

Wait!

Shit!

“Do I really have to become a duchess if I marry you?” I asked him, my voice panicked. “I’d rather leave all that stuff to your mother.”

Damian tossed me onto the bed with an uproarious, booming laugh. “You have to be the only female I’ve ever met who doesn’t want to be a duchess.”

He got busy taking off the rest of my clothes, and then he shrugged out of his open shirt. He kept going until he was gloriously nude, and then joined me on the bed.

“I’m American. I don’t give a damn about a title. I don’t. I really don’t. Seriously. I’m not kidding, Damian.” My protests got weaker as his hot, bare skin slid sensually against mine.

His lips and tongue caressed the side of my neck, and suddenly, every negative, nervous thought fled my brain. “Oh, Damian,” I whispered, my heart overflowing with love and tenderness for this incredible man I loved.

“I love you, Nicole,” he said huskily.

I sighed. Maybe being a duchess wasn’t such a big deal after all.

CHAPTER 36

Kylie

“WHO IN THE fuck are you, and why are you here? Never mind. Just go away and stop pounding on my door.”

I lowered the fist I’d been using to bang on the door now that Dylan Lancaster had finally opened the door of this outrageous home.

I’d rung the doorbell for two minutes straight, and then resorted to hammering on the door for several more minutes before Dylan had finally popped his head out.

I wasn’t about to…go away.

Not in the near future, anyway.

I plowed past him and into the foyer of the Beverly Hills mansion, a rolling suitcase in tow, and my miniature beagle, Jake, cuddled against my body.

I took a deep breath as I turned to face him. “I don’t really have to ask if you’re Dylan Lancaster. You do look a lot like Damian. Although I do have to say that your brother looks a lot…healthier.”

I stared at Dylan, assessing his bloodshot eyes, unkept attire, and his general malaise.

His eyes were the same color as Damian’s, but Dylan’s didn’t seem to have a single spark of life in those pretty irises. What a shame, because I’d always thought Damian’s eyes were one of his best features.

Dylan slammed the door. “I’ll ask you again. Who in the fuck are you? And what do you mean that Damian looks…healthier?”

I smirked because I knew I’d hit a nerve. Obviously, Dylan didn’t like being compared to his elder twin.

Jake squirmed in my arms, so I put the miniature beagle down on the floor. He was well potty trained, and he wasn’t a chewer. “I mean that you look like the anti-twin. Your eyes are bloodshot, you’re way too skinny, probably because you prefer to drink your meals instead of eating them, and your general sense of style with your clothing is horrible. Not to mention the fact that you need a haircut, and possibly a shower because I can smell