Tell Me You're Mine (The British Billionaires #1) - J. S. Scott Page 0,81
had taken me to the most exclusive restaurant in the city prior to our arrival at Her Majesty’s Theatre, so I wasn’t about to don a pair of jeans or a sundress for that.
Now, I was grateful that I’d gotten the opportunity to see Damian Lancaster in formal wear before his mother’s gala. I still couldn’t say that he didn’t take my breath away every time I looked at him, but at least I’d been able to gawk at him without a ballroom full of eyes watching the two of us.
There were very few men who could put on a tuxedo and wear it like they were entirely comfortable in the dressy attire.
Damian was one of those men.
The garments were obviously custom fitted, and Damian appeared to be at ease with what he was wearing. Not once had he fussed with his bow tie, or tried to adjust the cummerbund. The suit fit the man, not the other way around.
“Have I told you how gorgeous you look tonight?” he inquired as he leaned toward me.
I shot him an exasperated look that I didn’t mean. He had told me. At least a dozen times since we’d left his house. But my skin still heated because he flustered me every single time he said it.
I’d put a lot of work into my appearance tonight. Along with the just-above-the-knee black cocktail dress I was wearing, I’d done a complete makeup job, and pulled back the hair at the side of my face so that all of my curly locks elegantly fell down my back.
My skin wasn’t dark enough to go without a pair of stockings, so I’d picked a black pair, ones so sheer that I’d been worried about snagging them the entire night.
Best thing ever? I was wearing a pair of three-inch stiletto heels without worrying about being taller than my date.
Damian still towered a couple of inches above my height, even with me in an outrageous pair of high heels.
No slouching to try to look shorter necessary.
At all.
Somewhere along this UK journey, I’d lost all of my self-consciousness about my body type. Damian had done that for me. I’d learn to embrace myself and my body, because hey, not every person in the world found the same body type attractive.
“You told me,” I finally responded. “I think that compliment makes it a baker’s dozen now.”
He smirked. “Thirteen is one of our favorite numbers. And you do look…stunning.”
“You look pretty damn handsome yourself, Your Grace,” I said impishly.
He looked every inch the debonair billionaire duke he actually was, and more.
Now that we were in his territory, his wealth and power were much more in-your-face obvious, but it wasn’t the money or his title that really bowled me over sometimes.
It was Damian’s aura, the confidence he wore like an invisible cloak, that drew me to him.
Yet, I also knew that some of that was façade, which made him even more fascinating.
There was so much more to Damian Lancaster that most people would never see. He played the part of the billionaire duke so damn well that nobody looked for any vulnerability.
Most likely, they didn’t dare.
“Are you ready to get out of here and go home?” Damian asked.
Home? Am I ready to go home?
Strangely, I was almost comfortable staying in Damian’s gigantic wonder palace of a house in Mayfair.
Probably because we’ve had sex in nearly every room in the place.
No, that wasn’t the reason. Not exactly. I was starting to love his home because it was the location where I saw him smile the most, sensed his happiness. We’d laughed a lot during the last several days in that residence, so it felt warm every time we entered, instead of being the ultra-contemporary showplace I’d seen it as in the very beginning.
Sure, it was ostentatious and luxurious. Damian Lancaster was one of the richest guys in the world, so why wouldn’t it be? But what made it so inviting was the man who resided there, not the expensive materials that decorated it.
I nodded. “I’m ready.”
I tried not to think about how I was going to feel when it came time for me to go back to the United States.
We were going to Surrey tomorrow night for the gala that Bella was hosting, and then what?
The bad press had completely died down.
I supposedly took one of the most eligible bachelors in the world off the market, so people in England were more curious about me than Damian’s naked picture.