King of Pride (Kings of Sin #2) by Ana Huang

I stared at the cover, too flummoxed to form a coherent response. “Is this…”

“A signed copy of A Raptor Ripped My Bodice, the latest dino erotica by Wilma Pebbles,” Isabella confirmed. “It’s a hot commodity since Wilma only sells a small number of autographed books every year. I literally had three screens up at the same time so I could snag one before they sold out. Congratulations.” Her dimples deepened. “Your literary collection is now complete. Also, you have something new to translate when the board pisses you off. I bet it’ll be more relaxing than translating Hemingway.”

If the hearts had cracked the outer wall of my defenses, the present—and her explanation—demolished it beyond repair.

I’d received countless gifts in my life. A customized Audi for my sixteenth birthday; a limited-edition Vacheron Constantin watch when I was accepted into Oxford; a penthouse atop the Peak in Hong Kong when I graduated from Cambridge with my master’s. None of them touched me as much as a flimsy paperback of velociraptor erotica.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to make sense of the odd tightness in my chest. I sincerely hoped I wasn’t in the early throes of a heart attack. That would ruin Christmas forevermore for all parties involved.

“Wait, that’s not all.” Isabella pulled a manila envelope from her bag.

“Does the raptor have a brother who also enjoys a good bodice rip?” I teased.

“Ha ha. As a matter of fact, he does, but you’re not ready for the kinks in that book. No. This is, um, my manuscript so far.” Isabella handed the envelope to me with a noticeably nervous expression. “I’m not sure whether it counts as a gift since I can’t guarantee it’s good, but you wanted to read it, so here it is. Just promise you won’t read it until after I’m gone.”

Forget what I said about the book. Isabella trusting me with her work in progress was…

Fuck. I swallowed past the creeping pressure in my throat.

“I promise.” I tucked the envelope beneath Wilma Pebbles and retrieved a box from beneath the tree. Most of the gifts were for show; only two were exceptions. “On that note, I also have a surprise for you. It seems we were on the same page about presents.”

Isabella’s face lit up. “I love surprises.” She took the box and shook it gently. A rattling sound ensued. “What is it? Makeup? Shoes? A new laptop?”

I laughed. “Open it and find out.”

Isabella didn’t have my hang-up about preserving the wrapping paper. She tore through the metallic foil without hesitation, revealing a simple black box.

An unfamiliar rush of anxiety shot through me when she removed the lid and went utterly still.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Kai…”

Sitting in the box, nestled in a bed of tissue paper, was a vintage 1960s typewriter. The manufacturer went out of business decades ago, and there were less than a dozen of its products still circulating in auction rooms and antique shops. I’d paid a king’s ransom to refurbish and restore it to functionality before Christmas, but it was worth it.

“You said you keep deleting what you write, so I thought this would help.” I tapped the side of the box. “No delete option on a typewriter.”

“It’s gorgeous.” Isabella ran her fingers over the keys, her eyes suspiciously bright. “But I can’t accept it. It’s too much. I bought you dinosaur erotica, for God’s sake. This is in no way an equal trade.”

“It’s not a trade. It’s a gift.”

“But…”

“It’s rude to decline a host’s gift in his own house,” I said. “I can show you the exact reference page in my etiquette manual if you don’t believe me.”

“Do you really have…you know what? I don’t want to know.” She shook her head. “I believe you.” She leaned over and kissed me, her face soft with emotion. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I cupped her face with one hand and deepened the kiss, trying to ignore the inappropriate thoughts creeping through my brain. Like how natural waking up next to her was or how this was the most at peace I’d felt in months. Or like how I could spend every Christmas with her, just the two of us, and be happy.

They were thoughts I had no business entertaining. Not when I couldn’t promise anything more than what we had in the moment.

My stomach twisted. I pushed aside the bubble of unease and leaned back. “Before I forget, there’s something else.” I nodded at the box. “Check the sides.”

After some rustling, Isabella retrieved a smaller, slimmer box. It was roughly the size of a Kindle but twice as thick due to the attached keyboard.

“It’s a digital typewriter,” I explained. “Much easier to travel with.”

“Why am I not surprised you thought of everything?” she teased. She squeezed my hand, her face softening. “Thank you again. These are the best gifts I’ve ever received, except for maybe the Monty painting.”

“Understandable. It’s hard to beat an oil portrait of a nineteenth-century serpentine aristocrat.”

“Exactly.”

Our gazes caught and lingered. A thousand unspoken words crammed into the small space between us before we looked away at the same time.