Page 22 of Bred By the Sheikh

The cat leaned harder into her hand.

Then, apparently satisfied with the arrangement, the creature allowed itself to be lifted.

She tucked it against her chest.

My chest tightened unexpectedly.

The cat’s narrow body disappeared against the soft curve of her breasts while Chrissy pressed her cheek briefly to its head.

“You’re too skinny. Who’s been feeding you?”

The cat purred.

Chrissy looked up at me.

“We have a problem.”

“We do?”

“This cat needs a name.”

Of all the problems I dealt with in the course of a normal day, this one had never appeared.

“It needs food.”

“It needs that too.”

“And a veterinarian.”

“Yes, obviously, but we can’t keep calling it ‘the cat.’”

“We’ve been acquainted for approximately thirty seconds.”

“That is plenty of time.”

“Plenty of time for what?”

“Initial naming decisions.”

I folded my arms.

Chrissy studied the animal.

“What about Biscuit?”

“I don’t think it looks like a Biscuit.”

Her eyes widened. “That was very fast.”

“What does a Biscuit look like?”

“I have no idea.”

“Then your objection has no foundation.”

A laugh threatened.

She looked back at the cat.