Tell Me You're Mine (The British Billionaires #1) - J. S. Scott Page 0,97

that outrage.

He shrugged. “I do own the airline you’re flying, so I could very easily keep you from boarding that flight.”

Had he really just said that? Had he actually threatened me to get me to listen to him? Bastard!

I glared at him. “Oh, my God. You’re such a…wanker.”

His lips turned up in a sad smile. “Well done, beautiful.”

Ugh! “Don’t ever call me that again. Not after you used that ridiculous pet name to invite me into a threesome.”

“Did I?” His expression looked troubled.

“Yes!” I snapped. “You’ve forgotten already?”

He shook his head. “Then I’ll never use it again, love. I promise.”

I let out an exasperated breath, not sure if the current pet name was better than the old one. He didn’t love me, so it was as artificial as his apparent concern. “I’ll give you five minutes, but only because I want to get on that plane, and then I’m done. If having your say will make you leave, then by all means, go on. But I’ll probably go find security when your five minutes are up.”

“And do what, gorgeous? I’m the owner of one of this airport’s busiest airlines.”

There was nothing I wanted more than to slap that smug look off his face right now. He was damn lucky that I didn’t have enough serious anger issues to make me resort to physical violence, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t tempted.

The thing that really pissed me off was that…he was right. It would be my word against the word of the CEO and owner of Transatlantic Airlines. Security was more likely to boot me out of Heathrow than Damian.

And God, just the fact that he carried that much weight and power had steam coming out of my ears.

“That doesn’t make it okay for you to harass me.” My tone held more fury and bitterness than I’d heard come out of my mouth in my entire life.

Dammit!

“I didn’t say it did,” he acknowledged.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “The clock is running. Four minutes.”

“Don’t rush me. I want to say this right. I have a feeling I’m only going to get one chance,” Damian said in a husky, unusually hesitant tone. “I feel like my entire life depends on whether or not you believe me right now, Nicole.”

“Why don’t you just try being honest?” I suggested wryly. There was something about his desperate expression that almost got to me, but I tamped that shit down in a hurry.

“Honesty it is then,” he said grimly. “I should have been completely honest with you from the moment we met. I don’t know much about that encounter in the east wing because the man you saw in that bed wasn’t me, Nicole. It was my identical twin brother, Dylan.”

As I tried to let his ludicrous explanation sink in, Damian reached for his wallet, took a few things out, and handed them to me. “These are a few photos that Barnaby took at Mum’s birthday party three years ago. I have more, but not with me. I’ll provide anything you want as proof. Our birth certificates, more pictures, even family videos of the two of us together.”

My hands began to shake as I looked at the small photos. As incredulous as his scenario seemed, I was looking at pictures of Bella, Damian, Leo, and the guy who must be Dylan right next to Damian.

Damian wore his hair cropped a little shorter than Dylan, but otherwise the two of them were like mirror images of each other.

“This can’t be possible,” I whispered as I traced the outline of Damian in the picture.

“You know which one is me?” he asked curiously.

“Yes, now that I know that someone exists who looks just like you.” I pointed at Damian in the photo.

I couldn’t put a finger on why I knew, but I was pretty sure it was the eyes that gave Damian away. He looked so serious next to his twin, who had a different, devil-may-care expression on his face.

Damian was smiling in the picture, but his eyes were thoughtful, like he had the responsibility of solving every world problem in existence.

Dylan looked just the opposite, like he didn’t have a single worry in the entire universe.

“My mother and Leo are the only ones who can usually tell us apart.” Damian pried the photos out of my hands and put them away. “I’m older than Dylan by a matter of minutes. We’ve always been very different, but he was my best mate, anyway. Until about two years ago.