Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
“Mr. Hawthorne, you remember my dad.”
Magnus looked over his mask and gave a nod of recognition. There had only been a handful of times Wren recalled seeing their fathers in the same room. Unlike their mothers, the two had little in common and never passed time in the same circles.
“Wren, where am I putting this?” Astrid, still holding her dish, called from the doorway.
“In the kitchen. Follow me. Then you can help me with the centerpieces.”
The maid fussed at the idea of letting others dress the table, but Wren insisted. Soren and Jocelyn bickered over candle placement. Aunt Astrid argued that the silver clashed with Greyson’s aura. Everyone had an opinion, and Wren tried to compromise, giving up her dream of a centerfold-worthy outcome, and instead settling for a hodgepodge mashup of tacky meets good intentions.
Greyson, sensing her stress, took her hand and pulled her into the kitchen. He didn’t give her a chance to gripe. Instead, he kissed her—slow and drudgingly. “Have I told you how much I appreciate everything you’re trying to do.”
Trying… That wasn’t exactly a rave review.
She nestled into the shelter of his strength. “Is it working? You can lie to me,” she teased.
“Depends on what you hoped the outcome would be.”
She’d hoped for a miracle, but she’d settle for tolerance at this point. “Was it a mistake inviting my family?”
He drew back and frowned, holding her firmly by the shoulders. “Why would you ask that?”
She shrugged. “They’re…you know…a lot.”
“You mean weird?”
“Yeah.”
He kissed her temple and hugged her. “You know I love Bodhi and Astrid.”
“You do, but the others aren’t used to them.”
“Give them time.”
“What about your dad?”
He chuckled. “He’ll adapt. Your aunt settles in with the subtlety of an enema.”
She laughed. “Your dad didn’t look too happy to see my dad.”
“My dad’s never happy, Wren. It’s easier if you just accept that he’s a miserable man.”
She looked up at him. “That’s not true. I saw him…” Her words trailed off as she tried to explain the look in his eyes.
“What? Smile? Impossible.”
“No, not smile, but I saw him get emotional a few times. He’s not as unaffected as you all think.”
“I’m sure it’s a welcomed distraction.”
Maybe her expectations had been too high. “How are you doing?”
“Me?” He smiled. “I’m great.”
She studied his sharp blue eyes. “This isn’t too much for you?”
“No. I can handle it.” He swiped a fleck of glitter off her cheek. “You’re very sparkly.”
Rising on her toes, she kissed him. It was only meant to be a quick peck, but it quickly turned into more. When the kitchen door swung open, Greyson covered her mouth and yanked her into the pantry.
“My god, will you get off my ass!” Jocelyn’s voice carried through the closed door and Wren’s eyes widened.
Greyson slowly pulled his hand away, and continued kissing her.
“Would it kill you to ask for help?”
Wren broke the kiss, distracted by their bickering. They never stopped. Greyson, in the shadows of all the shelves and dry goods, rolled his eyes.
Wren frowned when he flicked open the button of her jeans. “What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Shh.”
“Grey, we’re in a pantry!”
Rather than answer, he sank his hand into the front of her panties. “You’ll have to be quiet then.”
His fingers pressed into her as soon as Jocelyn snapped, “I’d rather fall and crack my skull than owe you anything.”
“That can be arranged.”
Greyson tugged her close, distracting her with a kiss as he worked her into a tizzy. He guided her hand to the bulge at his crotch and pressed her fingers around his length. How far did he want to take this?
“Do you always stalk women who can’t stand you, or did I do something special to provoke this sort of unwanted attention?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, please. You get off on annoying me. It’s like some sort of twisted foreplay.”
Grey shoved down her pants and turned her toward the wall, planting her hands on the built-in shelves. Wren’s eyes widened as she realized he planned to go all the way.
His warm breath teased her ear. “Hold on tight.”
She gasped, rising on her toes, as he gave her no chance to object.
“Shh,” he chuckled, gently covering her mouth as he drew back and thrust hard. “You don’t want them to hear us.”
She whimpered against his fingers as he plunged into her again. Outside of the pantry, the two idiots continued to argue. A box of pasta fell with a thud and Wren froze, digging her nails into Greyson’s arm.
“Did you hear that?”
Shit, shit, shit… With her jeans twisted around her legs, she couldn’t move if she wanted to. Greyson froze, but didn’t pull out. Wren winced, squeezing her eyes closed against the kitchen light when the pantry door opened.
“Uh…” Soren’s voice was amused as much as it was confused.
“We’re looking for nutmeg,” Greyson blurted.
“Up her ass?” Jocelyn laughed wickedly.