Tell Me You're Mine (The British Billionaires #1) - J. S. Scott Page 0,82

garner a whole lot of sympathy because a flighty American woman had jilted him. He’d be the victim. I’d be the wicked witch.

Job well done.

Really, my work here was finished.

So why did it seem like it was going to be so damn hard to say goodbye?

But it wasn’t like I hadn’t known the sad ending to this fairy tale.

Damian held out his hand, and I offered mine immediately, instinctively, because it felt so natural to do it.

The crowd had thinned considerably as we walked through the lobby, but the cries from the other side of the hall were impossible to ignore.

“Your Grace! Wait!” a male voice bellowed as it got closer us. “Your Grace!”

The older man stopped in front of us. Behind him, there was a guy with a large video camera on his shoulder.

“Trenton Brown with The Sun Times, Your Grace. I’m a reporter. Would you mind a few questions?” the man asked eagerly.

Until now, we hadn’t been approached by reporters. Probably because we’d mostly sought out tourist attractions, and Damian had managed private tours for several of my sightseeing adventures.

Damian sent the man a glare that probably would have had most people backing off. “Since I assume that camera is already rolling, yes, but make it quick. Ms. Ashworth and I are knackered. It’s been a long day.”

And…it was on. The forward reporter rattled off question after question. Damian answered when it suited him, or when the questions weren’t all that personal.

I kept a smile plastered on my face, and my attention on Damian’s expression.

Even though he looked more bored than rattled, I knew that he didn’t like this type of intrusive publicity. Damian had managed to stay out of the limelight most of his life.

Now, his handsome face was becoming familiar to more than just reporters because he’d been forced to act out this whole charade. Eventually, it might become impossible for him to leave his own home without some kind of security detail.

And he’d hate that.

All of his efforts, and his mother’s earlier endeavors to keep her children out of the news, could end up being completely wasted by one single incident that had catapulted Damian into front-page news.

Now, after one scandalous picture, it was like the media had just realized how much people wanted to hear about Damian Lancaster.

Of course, we’d given them a fairy-tale romance to follow.

And Damian had started it with the whole setup orgy thing.

But if I’d ever doubted how much Damian hated being in the public eye, all I had to do was look at his face right now.

He hated it.

“Should we be hearing wedding bells at this point?” the reporter asked craftily. “Will every single woman in London need to cross you off their lists of very eligible bachelors?”

“I doubt very much whether I was ever on those lists,” Damian said charmingly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, I’d like to take Ms. Ashworth home. It’s getting late.”

He didn’t wait for those men to accept their dismissal. Damian strode forward with me in tow, and exited the theater.

I stumbled on a large crack in the sidewalk before we could reach the curb. “Ouch! Damn it!”

Damian halted instantly and turned. “Nicole. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “The damn cement jumped out in front of my big toe.”

Not to mention the fact that I’m a major klutz because I never wear a pair of three-inch heels with an open toe!

He didn’t acknowledge my joke. Instead, he swept me up into his arms, and carried me to the curb where his limo was waiting. “I’m sorry,” he said huskily as he looked down at my face.

I’d wrapped my arms around his neck when he’d picked me up, and I stared back at him, my heart melting. “Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry that you’re being plagued by reporters now.”

He leaned down and kissed me, a sweet embrace that I barely had time to respond to before Damian’s driver opened the back door of the vehicle.

My ass hit the soft, creamy leather, and I clambered across the seat so Damian could come in after me.

“Now, let me see that foot,” Damian demanded gruffly, as he pulled both of my clumsy feet into his lap.

CHAPTER 29

Nicole

“IT’S THE RIGHT toe, and it’s fine,” I told Damian, feeling awkward with both of my sandaled feet plopped in the middle of his lap.

He gently removed both of my shoes, and dropped them onto the floorboard. After he surveyed the injury closely through