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)
“Possibly.” She kept her eyes on Tinsel. “Kittens need socializing until about seven weeks. He looks younger than that. The fact that you found him alone is a little concerning.”
“Nah, Rat’s tough. He’ll be just fine once he gets a good night’s sleep and a good meal in him.”
“His name is Tinsel.” She shut off the faucet and prepped her washcloth with some shampoo, then sloshed it around the warm water. “He doesn’t look like any of ours, which means there’s another female out there needing to get spayed.”
“You’re dunking him in there? I thought cats don’t like water.”
“Older ones don’t. It depends on how they’re brought up. But, no, he’s too young for a full bath.” She cradled Tinsel to her chest, holding him close so he felt safe and secure. “You’re okay, baby.” Using her wet fingers, she gently stroked between his ears. His feather-like fur was fine enough that he was wet in only a few soft pets.
“I don’t think he likes that.”
The kitten chirped and squawked, its little needle claws pawing at her as he desperately sought escape. “Squirt a dab of shampoo in my hand.” She held out her palm and Greyson gave the bottle a squeeze. Using the sink water, she formed a lather and stroked Tinsel, making sure to get all his hidden crevices.
“He hates it.” Greyson frowned, hovering every step of the way.
Wren was careful to avoid the kitten’s ears, eyes, and mouth. Once he was covered in suds, she held him over the sink and used the cup to rinse him off gently, shielding his face and making sure the water was warm, but he cried the entire time.
As soon as the water rinsed clear, she pulled him back to her chest. “Hand me the towel.”
Greyson was already unfolding it. She swaddled Tinsel up like the world’s smallest burrito, and he finally stopped crying. A second later, his eyes were closed, and his motor was softly purring again.
“I think we tired him out.”
Greyson stepped closer to peek at the little bundle. “I still think he looks like a rat.”
“He’ll be cuter when he dries.” She tipped her chin toward her basket on the counter. “There’s a heating pad in there. Can you set it up in his box?”
While Greyson prepared the kitty condo, she rocked and hummed softly to Enya. Once he was done, she laid Tinsel inside and nestled a fresh towel around him to keep him warm. He was out cold.
“Sweet little feral gremlin.”
They both reached out to pet him at the same time and stopped when their hands accidentally touched. Greyson pulled back first.
Great, back to awkwardness.
Wren cleaned up her supplies and pulled out the canister of kitten formula and a bottle. “He’s still too small for solid food, so he’s going to need formula for a while longer.”
Greyson cleared his throat and looked up at the rafters. “Your, uh, shirt.”
She looked down and gasped. The entire front of her T-shirt was soaked, her nipples pressing noticeably against the wet cotton. She grabbed a towel to cover her chest then decided not to.
“You act like you’ve never seen my boobs.”
“Jesus, Wren.” He still wouldn’t look at her.
“Oh, come on, Grey. You’re being ridiculous. I’m wearing more clothes than you.”
He glared at her then, his gaze shifting to her chest and back to her eyes. Every shift of his breathing was evident in the rise and fall of his chest.
He acted like he hated the sight of her this way, but he obviously didn’t. She couldn’t understand why he’d fight something he so clearly wanted. Or, at least she thought he liked it. She wasn’t entirely sure, since she didn’t have much experience with men. And Greyson was unlike every other man she’d ever met.
With an unsteady breath, she met his stare and said, “I could... take it off.”
“Don’t start.”
“Don’t start what?” She took a step back, gathering the hem of her shirt and twisting it around her fingers.
“Wren.”
The corner of her mouth curved upward. He could try to play the serious grump with her, but she knew him too well and couldn’t resist teasing him when he got all stern and bossy.
Pushing her mouth into a pout, she held his stare. “But I’m all wet, Greyson.”
He sprang for her. “Brat—”
She laughed and bolted, rushing around the rustic farm table, laughing as she zigged and zagged out of reach. When he finally caught her, they were both out of breath.
Something about being captured in his strength caused her insides to melt. She closed her eyes and sank into his hold. Her softness curved into his hardened body, and she savored the rightness of being in his arms.
Time stilled. Was he feeling it too? How could he not? Or, perhaps this was what it felt like for him with every woman.