Page 110 of The Holiday Clause
“If you come inside, I’ll rub your feet, and you can tell me all the things I do wrong.”
She chewed her lip, torn between desire and self-preservation.
“Fire’s warm, Wren.” He excelled at wearing her down, chipping away at her defenses like water on stone. “Please,” he whispered, closing the distance between them.
Despite her efforts to resist him, she melted. “I didn’t come for foot rubs.”
“Is that a yes?”
A war raged inside her chest, desire winning over self-respect, despite her best efforts. Women everywhere would be disappointed in her lack of backbone.
“Just because I’m going inside does not mean I forgive you.”
“Uh-huh.” He took her arm and towed her toward the house. Once inside, he took her coat, gloves, and hat. Then stilled when a small squawk of despair screeched from the bedroom.
“Shit. I left Rat in bed.” He darted to the back of the house.
“You’re letting him sleep with you?”
A moment later, Greyson reappeared, nuzzling the kitten’s tiny face with his chin. “Of course. Where else would he sleep?”
Stunned, she shrugged. “In a box.”
“That’s not how we treat family, Wren. Besides, the little rodent’s growing on me. He goes everywhere I go.”
She watched him nuzzle the kitten with a mixture of pride and envy.
Greyson warmed some formula as the kitten scaled his shoulder like Spidey-cat. Never once did he complain or appear bothered by the demanding fluffball.
“He’s getting attached to you.”
“We have a symbiotic relationship. I feed him and show him the town. He protects me from pickpockets and other threats.”
The way he cradled the little kitten undid something inside her, triggering an unexpected maternal longing, a deep ache she hadn’t realized existed. Her anger softened around the edges, melting like snow under warm sunlight.
“There you go,” he said softly, nudging the tiny bottle into the kitten’s mouth with his seemingly giant hands.
The little guy seemed ravenous for its late-night feeding. “Maybe he’s ready for solids.”
“Probably. He burns a lot of calories hunting when we’re not on the road.” Greyson’s usually deep voice shifted into a gruff coo. “Just like your daddy does.” He looked back at Wren and smiled. “Today he caught a string, massacred a fleet of dust bunnies, and spent a good ten minutes stalking his tail. He hasn’t realized it’s attached yet.”
She couldn’t watch anymore. The sight of him all gentle and nurturing was too damn irresistible. She shouldn’t have come here.
“Don’t go,” he said, sensing her urge to bolt. “Please.”
She sighed, noting the creases of exhaustion surrounding his eyes like worry lines etched in stone. “I don’t want to fight.”
He frowned. “Who’s fighting?”
Wren shrugged. “I guess no one.”
“Let me get Rat situated and then I’ll make some tea. I have the kind you like.”
Uncertain, she nodded and made herself cozy under a blanket on the couch. Greyson filled a tea kettle and set up a mug with a teabag and honey, all while holding the kitten in one arm and propping the formula bottle against his chest. When the cat fell asleep, he set it in the basket of blankets on the floor.
Turning his attention to the stove, he casually confessed, “My dad’s in the hospital.”
Wren immediately sat up, her heart clenching. “Oh my gosh, is he okay?”
