Page 46 of The Holiday Clause

“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 wetcotton. 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. Hersoftness 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.

The thought turned her stomach. She didn’t want to picture him with other females, even though she was sure he’d had his fair share of experiences.

Panting softly, she carefully turned to face him without untangling from his hold. His grip tightened, his calloused palm dragging slowly over her hip. She arched back to look him in the eye, her back pressing against the edge of the table.

No matter what he said or how deeply he frowned, he wasn’t unaffected. His lips parted as his gaze drifted to her chest.

Slowly, as if approaching a skittish wild animal twice her size, she leaned up and gently brushed her lips over his.

He stilled. Even his breathing seemed to stop. But he didn’t pull back.

Softly, she whispered, “Did you want to take it off for me?”

The catch of his breath sent more heat rushing to her core. “You’re out of control.”

“Am I?” She purposely went languid in his arms, and he tugged her closer.

His knee wedged between her thighs, forcing her to straddle his leg. She showed no resistance, and his grip tightened. “What are you doing, Wren?”