Page 24 of By His Vow

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.