Page 30 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
“Everything,” he said, putting down the floss, “but especially meat. Bacon, lots of bacon and sausage. Eggs. Orange juice. Chocolate milk.”
He did that for Bris’s benefit. She glanced at him over the sink with a toss of her shoulders. “You just brushed your teeth.”
“And I like a clean palate.” Didn’t everybody?
She tossed her shoulders and reached around him again. The tickle of her fingertips against his back made him stiffen, every nerve ending firing as she balanced herself against him, her small hands pressing into his shoulder blades before she placed her toothbrush back in its holder and slid past him to return to the sink. “You’re such a man!”
And she was such a woman.He was openly gawking now, watching her every graceful movement as she washed her face and began applying lotion. He could still feel the ghost of her fingers sizzling across his skin. This morning routine of hers was fascinating, and he found himself loitering there, moving the floss around the counter and pretending to comb his hair, just to see how far this process went.
She rolled open her bag of face brushes, powders, lipsticks, and other assorted gear, each of them in their own specified pocket. She was an artist… her face the masterpiece—too bad his spoiled little dove knew it.
“Seriously, why aren’t we done yet?” she cried. “We have to meet the Marquess as soon as he flies in—”
“Oh no! Are you kidding me?” He tried to tease away that worried wrinkle against her forehead. She was far too stressed. “That’s at four. We only have eight hours to put you together!”
“Phoenix is going to be livid! We should’ve been out the door five minutes ago.”
“Too bad it takes you forever to get ready…” And he knew he was playing with fire with that one, probably why he couldn’t stop the grin tugging at his lips.
But the joke landed—she laughed under her breath. “You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with makeup, buddy. I’d like to see you do it faster.”
“Bring it on,” he said. “It can’t be that hard—give me your face.” He scooted the makeup bag closer so he could peer inside the mysterious collection of tubes and compacts. “Where do we start?”
“No, no.” She shook her head, quickly pulling the bag protectively toward herself. “I’m terrified of what I’d look like after you were through with me. We are trying to keep from scaring off the Marquess today.”
“That’s easy! Three curtseys and don’t bring up banking.”
“Very funny. We’re already on thin ice. If we fail the High Consortium’s inspection, my father will have our heads.”
“I’d better take over then. This is an emergency.” He pulled out the mascara, examining the tiny wand like it was a surgical instrument. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”
Her chin lowered as she hid another smile. “If you do that…” She tugged out a device that looked like a tiny guillotine on a stick, “then you’d better learn how to use the eyelash curler.”
He snatched it from her hands, closing it and opening it with a soft clicking sound. “Okay, get over here.”
“Achilles! I take it back…” She inched forward anyway. His heart was melting at her mixture of terror and trust, and something in him broke—or was it a release? Looking at her—really looking at her—he found the reason behind all his sleepless nights.
And she was also too short for him to see her face clearly. He grabbed her by the waist and set her on the marble counter. She let out a surprised yelp, almost echoed by his own sharp intake of breath at feeling her smooth skin. After all those reps yesterday, she was lighter than he expected, her body warm and soft beneath his hands.
Time to try out all these mysterious brushes and colors on her. He pressed closer, feeling her bare legs against him. She pushed her palm into his chest when he leaned closer, her touch burninginto his bare skin. “Okay, Picasso,” she said, “maybe we should start with the easy stuff first.”
“What’s that?”
She bit her lip, the gesture making his pulse spike. “ChapStick?”
He made a face. “It better be bright red or I’m not doing it.”
“The lip gloss.” She picked up her bag, searching through the colors, her fingers dancing between tiny containers like a pianist selecting notes. She pulled out a glittery pink one in a tiny round container. “There you go!”
He supposed that would do. And it was so small—his fingers could barely get in there. Dipping in his pinky instead, he caught some of the gelled color and moved toward her lips.
The soft warmth beneath his fingertip made his breath catch when he touched the gloss to her mouth. Maybe he’d better start questioning his life choices.
She watched him closely while he did it, her eyes wide and trusting. What perfume was she wearing? She smelled like vanilla and strawberries, sweet enough to make his mouth water. He noticed the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders with each breath, the way her pulse fluttered in the delicate hollow of her throat.
“Are you done?” she asked him. There was a challenge in her voice.
“No.” Not without trying this crazy wand first. He tried to pull himself together.
