Page 256 of By His Vow

“You mean a doily?” Tatum asks through peals of laughter as I explain my thoughts about some of the hideous gifts we’ve received.

Honestly, I thought the people who attended our wedding actually liked us. Clearly, I was very wrong and I shall be reconsidering any future gifts I may send their way.

“Yes. No. What a fucking stupid name is that?” I ask, falling to my knees in front of what I’m sure is going to be another ugly gift.

Sure, I can be an asshole. I’m more than aware of that. But is this everyone’s way of letting me know that they really don’t like me? By filling my apartment with shit I don’t want?

Tatum shrugs. “Aunt Lena used to crochet them. She tried teaching me once.”

I drag my hand down my face. “Of course she did,” I mutter, totally unsurprised.

“What?” Tatum laughs.

“Nothing. I just can’t picture you wielding a knitting needle.”

Her brow lifts.

“What?”

“A knitting needle? To crochet?”

“I dunno. It’s not like I’ve ever sat down to do either.”

“Maybe not, but you do know you don’t paint with a pencil, right?”

“Fine. It’s fine. Laugh it up.”

She shakes her head, trying to hold her amusement in. “I just thought the great Kingston Callahan knew everything.”

“Everything that’s important to life. Knitting and crocheting aren’t a part of that.”

“Well, maybe they should be,” she teases. “I can picture us now…” she says, waving her hand out as if the image is appearing like magic before her. “At Christmas, wearing matching Mr. and Mrs. sweaters knitted by none other than you.”

I scoff. “Laugh all you like; I bet I’d be a kickass knitter.”

“Of course you would, Mr. Everything I Touch Turns To Gold.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“Do I?” she deadpans.

“Yep, I touched you a lot earlier and you didn’t turn to gold. In fact…” I say, crawling closer to her. “You melted.”

Planting my hands on either side of her hips, I get right up in her face, forcing her to lean back to escape me.

“King,” she warns breathlessly.

“What, baby?” My eyes alternate between looking into hers and down at her tempting lips.

Reaching out, I wrap my hand around the back of her head before lowering her to the floor and fully crawling over her.

Claws tap on the wood flooring and I groan.

“Not now, Queen Fluffpuff,” I complain when the damn cat stalks over like she owns the place.

“Is it a wonder she doesn’t like you? Her name is?—”

The angry hiss the cat emits cuts off Tatum’s words.