By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance
By His Vow: Chapter 6

I wake with a groan when my alarm begins blaring.

Why didn’t I turn that off?

Reaching out aimlessly, I smack the top of it as the irritating sound makes my head pound.

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up,” I complain, hitting it harder and finally finding the sleep button. “Fuuuuck,” I groan as I pull my covers up over my head to hide.

I thought screaming orgasms were meant to be good for you…

I’m just drifting off to sleep when the buzzer starts going off in the hallway.

“Go away,” I cry, burying my head under the pillow and hoping for relief from all the noise.

But it doesn’t stop it.

Whoever is standing on the other side of the door isn’t giving up.

It’s only concern for Lori that finally forces me into action.

As I roll out of bed, cool air rushes over me, and I glance down to find I’m wearing a thin tank and a pair of period pants.

At least I look as bad as I feel.

Grabbing an oversized cardigan from my chair, I throw it around my shoulders and attempt to smooth down my wild hair as I make my way to the front door.

The buzzer continues. Its incessant noise ripping through the apartment, making my ears and head hurt.

“I’m fucking coming,” I bellow as I stumble down the hallway.

My mouth is like the bottom of a freaking bird’s cage. I can only imagine how bad my breath smells.

Whoever is on the other side of this door is about to get the shock of their life.

Please be Lori.

Please be Lori.

Her bedroom door is open, and as I pass, I find her bed made and unslept in.

Hope blooms in my chest that her date went so well.

If I were a good friend, I would have stayed sober last night in case she needed a rescue. But as it is, I don’t remember getting home, let alone where my cell is.

Finally, I reach the door and fumble with the lock.

I close my eyes and pray one last time that my best friend is going to be smiling at me from the other side.

“Oh, for the love of God,” I complain the second my visitor is revealed. “Why are you here?” I ask, keeping a tight grip on the door and standing firm.

There is no reason for him to be at my front door this early in the morning. Ever.

Wrapping my arm around myself to cover up, I try and muster as much confidence as I can.

“I brought you breakfast, baby.” He smirks before holding up what I can only describe as a bottle of Grinch vomit.

“That…is not breakfast. If you don’t have any carbs or coffee, I’m not interested.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I swing my arm forward to slam the door in his face, but he sees it coming and his free palm presses against the wood long before it closes, forcing it wider.

He steps closer, his freshly showered, manly scent filling my nose, and damn it if it doesn’t make my mouth water. My vision is filled with his dark navy suit as he closes the space between us.

“You don’t need carbs this morning. You need something to help detox last night from your system.”

I narrow my eyes at him, still refusing to allow him entry.

“How do you know what I did last night?” I snap as I’m forced to crane my neck back to keep eye contact with him.

A shocked gasp rips from my lips as he brushes against my braless chest a beat before his warm breath tickles down my neck and his lips brush my ear.

“Who do you think tucked you into bed last night, baby?”

I’m so stunned by his words that I stumble back, inadvertently giving him space to invade my apartment.

“You didn’t,” I seethe, watching in horror as he marches down the hallway like he owns the place.

He looks inside Lori’s bedroom before continuing forward to the open-plan living area.

He comes to a stop in the middle of the large room and his shoulders tense.

If it were anyone else, I’d say they were appreciating the view of the city before them. But this is Kingston. He isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met in my life.

Wrapping my cardigan around myself tighter, I race behind him and look around my space, instantly discovering what his issue is.

“This is…chaotic, Tatum,” he chastises as I pluck one of my bras from the back of the couch and stuff it behind a cushion before he sees it.

“Maybe if you’d told me you were planning on a visit, I might have tidied up,” I snap. It’s a lie, and we both know it. I would never go to any special effort for him.

So our apartment is lived in, so what? We love it here. It’s our safe place, our haven, our home.

How dare he show up unannounced and turn his nose up in disgust.

“It looks like a college girl’s dorm room,” he mutters, kicking one of Lori’s discarded high heels.

“We don’t all live in cold, sterile, show homes, you know,” I snap, turning to look at him as he assesses the disaster that is the kitchen.

In reality, I’ve never been to his place; I wouldn’t have a clue what it looks like. But something tells me it’s far from homely or comforting, just like the man himself.

“And we don’t all have takeout every night of the week,” he accuses, eyeing the containers.

“We had Thai. Fucking sue me.”

I stand there fuming as he clears a small space on the counter and places the bottle of vomit on the side before pulling something else from his pocket.

“Oh good, you brought rabbit food, too. Lucky me.”

His shoulders tense before he looks up at me.

“Do you have any idea what kind of shit you’re filling your body with?”

Jesus, who the fuck called the fun police on me this morning?

“Fun shit, Kingston. Not that you’d have any idea what it feels like to actually enjoy yourself.”

“I have fun,” he argues, the hard expression on his face telling a very different story.

“Bending some dumb blonde over and fucking her six ways from Sunday a few times a week doesn’t cut it.”

A smile pulls at his lips before he chuckles.

Fucking chuckles.

“What’s so funny?” I snap. I’m trying to offend him here, not fucking amuse him.

His eyes continue to hold mine for a few more seconds, the air turning electric between us before he finally mutters, “Nothing. Where are your glasses?”

“In the cupboard where they belong,” I hiss.

“Looking at the state of this place, I highly doubt that,” he says under his breath.

“Why are you here?” I seethe, my hands going to my hips as I wait, very impatiently, for a response.

He searches through three cupboards before he pulls out mismatched glasses—something that I’m sure makes him twitch in irritation.

Fuck. I bet his entire kitchen matches perfectly.

He turns back to me, places the glasses on the side, and picks up the bottle as if he’s about to pour me a serving of the disgusting-looking goop.

His lips move, about to say something, but the second he looks up, he seems to lose all train of thought.

My brows pinch but then my skin begins to burn, and the second his momentary lapse in judgment makes itself known, so do my damn nipples as they pebble against the thin fabric of my tank.

He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes drop down to my feet before making their way back up.

There’s a part of me that wants to wrap back up and hide, but my defiant streak is stronger and I cock a hip, waiting for his eyes to come back to mine.

“Have you finished?” I sass when we finally collide again.

His emerald-green eyes are dark and full of hunger. And damn him, because the knowledge that I just did that to him hits me right between the thighs.

Day one of my new life of celibacy is going very well.

Finally, he finishes the task at hand before pushing a glass in my direction.

“I’m not drinking that.”

“You are. And then you’re going to shower and dress, and I’m taking you to work.”

“Why?”

“Because our new lives start today, baby.” He smirks, and it does little to cool the fire raging down below.

When was the last time I had sex, I wonder.

If I knew this was coming my way, I certainly would have made better use of my final days and hours.

“Nowhere in that will did it say you were to drag me out of bed, feed me vomit, and start barking orders in my direction.”

His nostrils flare. “Then maybe you should have read the small print. Drink.”

He pushes the glass closer, but I hold firm.

Refusing to be baited, he lifts his own glass to his lips and swallows the “drink” down.

I get lost watching the way his throat ripples and my imagination begins to get away with me as I wonder just what he might look like if he were to lose the jacket, shirt, and tie.

I shake my head.

“If you think I agreed to this so that I could spend the next year of my life being your little bitch, then you seriously need to reconsider. I don’t follow anyone’s orders. Especially not yours.”

Spinning on my heels, I take off toward my bedroom.

Fuck him and his pretty eyes and jawline that would cut glass. I don’t need either in my life. And certainly not at this time of the morning while suffering the hangover from hell.

Asshole. I storm through my bedroom and into my bathroom. The door bangs loudly as I swing it closed behind me.

Shrugging off my cardigan, I let it fall to the floor in a heap before turning the shower on and reaching for my toothbrush.

My mouth is fucking disgusting.

I’ve barely started brushing when the door suddenly flies open, revealing a pissed-off Kingston. He’s lost his jacket and his white shirt sleeves have been rolled to his elbows, exposing strong forearms that are corded with muscle and thick veins.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I shriek around my toothbrush.

His jaw ticks as he steps forward, his eyes holding mine.

“Drink. It,” he demands, holding the glass out.

“Fuck. You.”

Anger darkens his eyes before his nostrils flare with irritation.

“What’s wrong? Not used to people saying no to you?” I ask, my brows shooting up so high they almost hit my hairline. “Let’s get something straight right here and now. I might have agreed to those moronic terms of my father’s will, but it is not because I want this. If I had my way, I would already be on a flight to England to start over.”

“I didn’t want his money or power, and I certainly don’t want any of yours.”

“I’ll do what’s required of me for the next year. When we’re out in public, I’ll put on a good show, make people believe it’s real. But behind closed doors, you’re nothing to me. Just like you’ve always been.”

I cringe, hearing the words come out of my mouth.

They’re cruel, fed by anger over not only his behavior but this whole bullshit situation.

He moves closer, his wide frame closing me in. My bathroom is pretty big, but with him in here, it might as well be the size of a closet.

The closer he gets, the more air he seems to steal.

“It’s admirable that you think that’s how the next year is going to play out, Tatum.”

My breath catches as he growls my name. All the hairs on the back of my neck and down my arms stand on end as I beg the rest of my body to behave.

“A year is a long time to spend hating me.”

“I’ve managed pretty well this far. How old are you, again? Almost thirty?”

His lips twitch.

“Nice try. You know exactly how old I am.”

His free hand lands on the wall beside my head and he leans closer, surrounding me with his warmth and addictive scent.

His eyes bounce between mine, but at no point does he allow them to drop again.

Either he had a complete lapse in judgment out in the living area when he checked me out, or he’s using every ounce of self-control he possesses right now.

“You need to leave.” It’s meant to be a demand, but it comes out like more of a plea.

His full lips pull into a panty-melting grin.

“I think it’s probably for the best that you start getting used to having me around, don’t you?”

“You seem way too happy with all of this.”

“Just taking it in my stride, baby,” he teases. “Now, drink this and get ready. We have work to do.”

“You are aware that I’m on compassionate leave, right?”

“Your team needs you back at work. A lot of change is coming in the next few weeks and months. Your absence won’t help.”

“And who exactly made you my boss?” I snap, instantly realizing my mistake.

“The same man who’s making me your husband.”

Before I know what’s happening, he’s wrapped my fingers around the glass and taken a step back.

“It’ll make you feel better,” he promises.

Lifting it to my nose, I sniff the toxic-looking concoction and wince.

It smells exactly like it looks. “Day one of our new lives together,” I muse, looking down at the glass as if I’m considering it. But right before it touches my lips, I move my arm, holding it over the sink and pouring it down the drain. “And it already seems you need a reminder that while I might be about to become Mrs. Callahan, I will never, ever be yours.”

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