By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance

I walk out of the ladies’ bathroom with a shit-eating grin on my face and my dick trying to rip a hole through my pants and collide with the woman who’s been serving our table.

She looks at me, glances at the door I just emerged from, and then back to me again.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” I say seriously.

Her eyes widen as if her brain has just suddenly jumped into action.

“Uh…yeah, sure,” she agrees before practically running for the door that has a staff-only sign on it.

I make use of the facilities, reluctantly washing Tatum’s scent off my fingers before returning to the table.

I want to say that my face is all business, but the second Lorelei glances at me, I know I’m not fooling anyone.

“What’s that look for?” I ask flatly when she grins up at me with a naughty glint in her eyes.

She knows.

“Oh, nothing.”

Her eyes drop to my crotch. I’m sitting at the table; she can’t see anything, but it doesn’t matter.

She knows how much I’m suffering.

“You really are much more giving than I expected you to be.”

“Like I said, never judge a book by its cover.”

“Hmm.” She studies me as she sips her drink.

My first clue that Tatum is returning is when Lorelei’s eyes shift over my shoulder. The second is the shiver of awareness that rips down my spine.

Silence surrounds us as she retakes her seat, reaches for her glass and drains the contents.

“I was going to suggest dessert, but it seems you’ve already had yours,” Lorelei deadpans, making Tatum snort prosecco through her nose.

Exactly as I’d planned, there was a small huddle of press when we finally emerged from the Italian restaurant.

Tatum might have thought it was a coincidence, but in my world, there is no such thing. Everything is planned, calculated, and executed exactly the way I want it.

Jonathan Warner wanted our blossoming relationship to be documented as part of this partnership, and that is exactly what’s going to happen.

All week, there have been photos floating around of us. Some are totally innocent, others much more intimate, showing us getting closer.

They’re perfect for the rush announcement we’re going to be making very soon.

The gossip-hungry city is already speculating about where our relationship is going to go. It only seems right to give them what they’re demanding.

After taking Lorelei home, Tatum and I make our way to my penthouse. Silence fills the car, and despite her allowing my hand on her thigh, there is no other contact between us. She’s barely said a word to me since returning from the bathroom, and I’m struggling to get a read on her.

It’s putting me on edge, not knowing what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling.

I hoped that getting her off might make her relax a little. I could tell she was tense from the first moment I saw her sitting at the table. I knew my presence was going to make it worse, but it was the perfect opportunity.This content belongs to Nô/velDra/ma.Org .

She’s still silent as Lewis pulls the car into the underground garage and opens the door for us.

The second we step into the elevator, the air is charged with chemistry, and it only gets worse the higher we get.

She stands tense beside me; any relief she may have found in that bathroom seems to have been forgotten.

She didn’t want to come back here last night, I understood that. But I’d hoped that today might have been a little different. Especially now that all her stuff is here.

She gets to the front door before me and marches inside.

“I wasn’t sure where you’d want everything, so I asked the movers to put your boxes in the guest room at the end of the hallway,” I explain.

She comes to a stop in the middle of the living room and looks around with a deep frown between her brows.

“Where’s Griz?” she asks before turning to me and staring as if I have a fucking clue what she’s talking about.

“Griz?” I ask. What the fuck is a Griz?

She sighs, disappointment coming off her in waves.

“Mrs. Grizabella Von Meowington,” she says seriously.

I blink, desperately trying not to laugh.

Who the fuck calls any animal a name like that? It’s got to be some kind of animal cruelty, I’m sure.

“What?” she snaps. “I’m not living here without my cat.”

“I’m not having a cat in my apartment,” I state, cringing at the thought of all the cat hair. The litter box…

And of course, there’s the small fact that the little fucker hates me.

“But you want me in your apartment,” she states, placing her hands on her hips.

“Yeah, you. I didn’t sign up to spend the next year of my life getting mauled by Satan.”

Her lips thin. “Griz is the sweetest. If you didn’t start the dishwasher, she’d have been lovely.”

One of my brows lifts.

“She can stay with Lorelei. In a home she knows. She doesn’t want to be here.” Fucking hell, I’m making excuses for a fucking cat.

Tatum fumes, glaring at me with nothing but hate in her eyes. “But she’s my cat.”

“And you’re going to be my wife,” I fire straight back.

Her lips purse and her face heats.

“You’re unbelievable,” she says, throwing her arms out to her side.

Before I can figure out what to say next, she spins on her heels and storms down the hallway toward the guest rooms.

I wince as the first door she gets to goes flying back into the wall, but when she discovers that it isn’t full of boxes, she continues to the next door, and then the next, no doubt leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.

Fucking hell. This is why I’ve never wanted a relationship, I muse, combing my fingers through my hair as I watch her finally find the right room.

If I thought she’d abused the previous doors then I was very, very wrong, because I swear the force she slams this one with as she closes herself inside has the power to rock the entire building.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter to myself as I pull my tie from around my neck and shrug my jacket off, throwing it over one of the kitchen stools before marching toward my drink cabinet.

I pull out a tumbler before filling it with a generous measure of my favorite scotch and taking a sip, hoping that it’ll wash away the frustration—and lingering desire—bubbling up inside me.

There are some bangs and crashes from down the hallway. I try to ignore it, but it’s harder than I expect.

With a sigh, I grab a wine glass and fill it from a bottle in the fridge before taking it down to her as some kind of peace offering.

She’d better like it, because she can bet her ass I’m not conceding on the cat thing.

Everything goes quiet inside the room the second I knock on the door, but she doesn’t respond.

Reaching for the door handle, I press down and push. I was half expecting her to have barricaded herself in, so I’m pleasantly surprised when it opens.

“What the—” I stand in the doorway and just stare.

There is stuff fucking everywhere.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought the boxes had exploded.

With her ass in the air, Tatum doesn’t so much as pause.

“I brought you a glass of wine,” I say hesitantly, lingering on the threshold.

But still, she doesn’t react. Instead, more and more clothes are moved from the box she’s bent over, flying across the room and landing wherever they fucking want.

“Tatum,” I snap.

Nothing.

Fuck. This woman.

She’s even more infuriating than I expected her to be.

“Fine. If you’re going to be a child about this, I’ll drink the alcohol.”

She doesn’t respond or react.

The second I close the door behind me, I lift the glass to my lips and drain it.

But it’s not enough.

How the hell am I meant to survive a year of this?

“That’s fantastic. Could you put it on the counter right over there, please?” Tatum says, her voice as sweet as sugar.

My brows pinch as I descend the final few steps of the stairs.

“You got it, love,” a deep voice responds, making my hackles rise.

“What’s going on?” I demand, racing into the room and setting my sights on the delivery man that Tatum is smiling at like he’s personally delivered her heaven.

I might not look at her, but I know she turns her eyes on me. The electricity in it zaps right down to my cock.

“Thank you so much,” Tatum gushes, turning up the charm to piss me off.

The guy is young, and I guess, pretty hot, if you’re into that kind of thing.

He has dark tattoos up both his exposed arms and gauges in his ears. Not Tatum’s type at all—not that it seems to bother her.

“Let me see you out,” she purrs before walking around in front of me to direct the guy to the front door, which I seriously hope hits him on the ass on the way out.

“Tatum,” I growl when I finally turn my eyes on her and discover what she’s wearing…or not.

Her black booty shorts barely cover her ass, and her tank is⁠—

She shrieks when I reach out and tug her back into my body, locking my arm around her to stop her from following him.

The guy turns, his eyes immediately snagging on Tatum’s tits.

“Leave,” I growl darkly.

The guy swallows nervously before darting out of the room. Only a second later, the sound of the front door slamming fills the apartment and Tatum begins to fight.

“Get off me, you Neanderthal,” she cries, twisting and turning to make me loosen my grip.

Never going to work, baby.

I stalk forward, giving her little choice but to move with me until I pin her hip against the counter in front of her new delivery.

“What is this?” I demand quietly, my lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She didn’t emerge from the guest room once last night. I lost count of the number of times I talked myself out of going down there.

I knew it would only end in a fight. Didn’t stop me from imagining all the ways I could fuck the anger out of her, though.

My cock swells now just thinking about it. Having her round ass pressed against it sure doesn’t help either.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she breathes, her voice low and raspy.

Fuck, it’s hot.

I squeeze my eyes closed, trying not to think about how it might sound while she’s on her knees staring up at me, telling me how much she wants to suck my⁠—

“Tatum, what is this?” I ask again, desperately trying to stay on track.

She tries to buck against me, but it’s pointless. With a granite counter in front of her and me behind, she’s stuck until she gives me what I need.

“A coffee machine,” she finally concedes.

“Why is there a coffee machine in my apartment?”

“Our apartment,” she counters, being the smartass I know her to be.

“We’re not married yet,” I warn.

“Then why am I here?”

Because it’s where you belong…

“You know why,” I hiss, refusing to even consider my previous thought.

“You don’t get to control my life or my body, Kingston.”

I move my hands from her waist and cup her tits, squeezing in a way that makes her moan in pleasure.

“Is that right, baby?” I whisper in her ear.

“I hate you,” she seethes.

I smirk, hating that she can’t see my reaction to her barbed words.

“No, you don’t. You just hate that I’m not punishing you in the way you want.”

“W-what are you⁠—”

I grind my dick against her ass before releasing her and stepping away.

“Asshole,” she hisses.

I hold my hands out at my sides and smirk.

“What you see is what you get, baby. I hope you enjoy your caffeine hit, but don’t enjoy anything else.” My eyes drop down her body, lingering on the juncture between her thighs.

“You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“Fine. Defy me. See if you think it’s worth it.”

Her eyes narrow and her lips purse. All it does is make my smile widen.

Without another word, I grab my briefcase and march toward the front door with her eyes drilling into my departing back.