Page 53 of Christmas With The Kings
“Yes. It could happen,” I insisted, chin tilted. “You are my beloved. Mine. Exclusively. You think there’s not a girl out there who might come across you and your gorgeous aqua to die for eyes and not fall headfirst?”
“Okay but you didn’t answer the question. I’m a little big to snatch and run.”
“Doesn’t matter. Have you never come across a desperate woman—don’t answer that. I don’t want the visual. Of course you have. Barbie is just waiting. I know it. Wandering Hyde Park all desperate-like—”
“Who said anything about Hyde Park?” he interrupted.
“I’m smart, you know. Your mother mentioned the big charity event she has this weekend. She somehow roped Isabella and Bash to attend. Said your dad was looking forward to not having to fill in as Santa this year. I put two and two together.”
He stilled for half a beat, then one corner of his mouth curved, equal parts impressed and annoyed. “You are a smart cookie,” he admitted, leaning closer as though sharing a secret. “Dangerously smart. Which makes surprising you difficult.”
“But back to barbie—”
“Oh, yes the desperate one?”
“Exactly. She could snuggle up next to you all doe eyed as she whispers in your ear what she wants for Christmas.”
“And that would be?”
“My prized beast with a monster in his pants.”
He choked. Then, with zero warning, he threw his head back and roared with laughter.
“Prized beast?” he managed.
“Yes, with a monster in his pants,” I repeated.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
I huffed, placing my hands squarely on my hips. “Look,” I said, voice raised to cut through the lingering sound of his amusement. “All I’m sayingis I’m not leaving you out there unprotected. I’m naive—I’ll give you that—but I am not dumb.”
He wiped at his eyes, the last of his laughter lingering in the curve of his smirk. “Never said you were, love. But you’re absolutely insane.”
“No. I’m staking my claim.” My blade was within reach, so I grabbed it and clutched it dramatically to my chest. “Look, I’m the only one who is allowed to wear your brand. Remember our exclusivity clause. It doesn’t expire. Ever. And that means no one else gets to be the…uh…receptacle for your holiday spirit. It’s all mine.”
There was a split second of stunned silence, and then he detonated.
It started with a sharp inhale—like he wasn’t sure he had heard me right—and then the man howled. Full-bodied, head-thrown-back, doubled-over laughter. I could hear him trying, and failing, to breathe through it.
“Oh my God,” he wheezed, “You did not just call yourself—”
“I didn’t say it outright!” I protested, face flaming as the heat licked through my cheeks.
“Yeah, no. I heard you. This one is going in the books and being shared in the next you’ll never guess what the little shit said today notebook.”
I folded my arms, lips twitching. “Well, I am all that and more. Plus the new way sounds festive. Efficient and environmentally conscious, too.”
He struggled even harder to catch his breath. “Stooopp. Jesus, you’re killing me.” He paused, wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. “Festive…that’s you alright and you are absolutely efficient.”
“You’re poking fun at me now aren’t you?” I pouted.
“Not trying to, honestly. But I’ve never heard anyone swap the term cum bucket for what did you call it again?”
“Holiday spirit receptacle. Maybe you should write it down… although it might be a mouthful to say in the moment, now that I think about it.”
That only set him off more. Probably because he was a visual person, and was likely trying to imagine the scenario, as was I.
“Yes—I can see it now…” His voice rose several octaves to mimic mine. “Blade make me your—”
