Page 137 of By His Vow
KINGSTON
It’s fourteen minutes later when the door to the bedroom finally opens and Tatum steps out with a smirk playing on her lips.
Little brat was in there waiting, just to piss me off.
My eyes hold hers for a beat, silently letting her know that I’m aware of her devious plan, before they drop to her bare legs.
Fuck. Those shorts are sinful. The thick fluffy socks should probably be off-putting, but if anything, on her, they only add to the whole look.
“What the hell are those?” she balks, her eyes widening on the pair of shoes in my hand.
“Hiking boots. What do they look like?”
Her eyes narrow in irritation.
“I’m not going hiking, Kingston. You can forget it.”
“Why’s that? Are you too much of a princess to get a little sweaty in nature?”
Her nostrils flare as she glares at me.
“I thought we were meant to be relaxing. Hiking is not relaxing,” she states fiercely.
“Getting out into the wilderness is very relaxing. Cutting off the rest of the world. Breathing in fresh air?—”
“My god, you’re a tree-hugger hiding in a fancy suit, aren’t you?” She laughs.
“There is nothing wrong with enjoying the outdoors. There’s more to life than what I can see from my office and penthouse.”
“Said like the spoiled billionaire you are.” She taunts.
“There is more to me than that,” I argue, irritated by her assessment of me. Sure, my life mostly revolves around work. But there are other things in my life I enjoy. Prior to finding myself in this situation with her, I was quite fond of spending as much time as possible entertaining women. That seems to have gone out the window; I may as well find pleasure elsewhere.
Fucking hell, what is this woman doing to me?
I actively chose to go hiking instead of throwing her over my shoulder and taking her back to bed.
It’s what she wants. Her body is screaming for it.
So is mine, and it’s getting harder and harder—pun intended—to do the right thing.
She’s been forced into this. I’m more than aware of that. I’m pretty sure that in a few years, hell, even in a few months, that she’s going to regret it, and I don’t fucking want that.
I don’t want her to look back at our time together and feel regret and loathing. I want it to be different.
I want us, this arrangement, to be different.
Is holding off taking what I want going to help? In the grand scheme of things, probably not.
She might have agreed in Jonathan’s office last week. She might have signed on the dotted line and handed herself over to me. But I’d be fooling myself to think she’d had even a second to consider what she was doing.
She was pressured into it. Blackmailed because of her love for that little cottage.
There was a part of me that didn’t think she cared enough to go through with it. It’s just a house. Bricks and mortar. It’s replaceable. Replicable.
I truly thought she’d tell us to shove it and walk out of that office with her head held high. We all know the money wouldn’t be enough to sway her. She’s better than that. Unlike most of the women I spend time with, she doesn’t care about wealth or her place on the social ladder. She doesn’t want all the money in the world or the lifestyle that goes with it. She wants to work at a job she deserves because of her determination and talent, not because of her surname. I do not doubt that if she were allowed, she’d be working for any other company than Warner Group right now. But there are some arguments that are just too big to win, and working for a competitor would have been that.
Time has passed now. She’s had time to think, to consider her options.