Page 54 of Tempting Wyatt
“Mittens, huh? I see. And did you name her that, or is she wearing a collar with a name tag?”
His lips twitch, like he realizes he just gave away too much. “You come in here just to give me a hard time, Hollywood?”
The return of my nickname—hell, him speaking to me at all—makes me happier than it should.
“Seemed like you might be avoiding me,” I admit.
“Wasn’t.” He turns his attention back to Mittens. “Just busy.”
Liar.
But progress is progress. This is the same man who barely grunted two words at me when I arrived. Who looked likehe’d rather wrestle a grizzly than have a conversation. And now, here he is, feeding a stray kitten and calling her a good girl.
I take a slow, deliberate step closer. “So, do you name all the strays you pretend not to care about, or is this one special?”
I’m not talking about the kitten anymore. When he turns around to face me, his lips press into a hard line. Our eyes meet, and I know he clocks the connection. He didn’t want me here, but he nicknamed me within ten minutes of meeting me.
I see you, Wyatt Logan.
His fingers flex at his sides, like he’s debating whether to give in or keep up his tough-guy act.
Finally, after a long, brooding pause, he exhales sharply. “I named her. She’s a runt, small. Didn’t think she was going to make it when I first found her. But she’s strong. Feisty.”
He doesn’t break eye contact, and I’m lost in the dark cavern of his gaze.
He reaches out, never looking away from my stare as he fingers a strand of my curls like he’s never seen hair before. “I don’t know where she came from, but I suspect she’ll fit in just fine around here.”
My stomach flips. I focus on breathing normally. Because the way he says it—low and rough—makes it hard to do.
I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice steady. “Right. Well, she’s lucky to have you.”
At my feet, the kitten lets out an unimpressed meow, likely demanding more food.
Wyatt looks away from me as he bends down to offer her the last of the turkey, his fingers brushing against her fur as she snatches it up. And just like that, his tough exterior cracks again.
“Admit it,” I say, watching him. “You’re secretly a big softy with a warm, gooey center.”
He stands, eyeing me like I offended him. “Got me all figured out then.”
“Definitely not. But I know a man who feeds stray kittens and secretly names them isn’t nearly as tough as he pretends to be.”
Wyatt takes a slow step forward, closing the small space between us, his broad shoulders blocking out everything behind him.
“Maybe not,” he murmurs. “Real question is, why are you working so hard to figure me out?”
Good question.
He smirks down at me. “No more snappy comebacks, Hollywood?”
I decide to change the subject.
“Your mom texted Isaac and said to tell you dinner is ready. Sounds like it’s a good time to call it a night and come eat.”
“Still working,” he clips, jerking his head toward some mechanical parts on the workbench.
“So, take a break. It’s late. You need to eat.”
His eyes tighten. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”
