The Mane Squeeze

CHAPTER 12

He drove her back to her hotel, everyone having cleared out of the hallway by the time Gwen and Lock came out of the bathroom. He’d assumed he’d drop her off and go, but when he stopped amid all the limos and cabs to let her out, she’d asked, “You’re coming in, right?”

That had been forty minutes ago. Forty minutes for Gwen to shower, change in to sweats, clean up all those facial lacerations, and somehow—someway—end up in Lock’s lap.

How he got her in his lap, he still didn’t know. They’d barely glazed over the fight with McNelly when she’d blurted out, “You need a damn haircut!”

When he’d disagreed, she’d suddenly crawled onto his lap. Not that he minded. Not at all. Especially with her facing him, her knees resting on either side of his hips and her amazing little ass resting right over his cock. So nope, he didn’t mind at all.

Gwen put her hands in his hair and pushed it off his face. She studied him for a moment and then pulled her hands out. “I’m not talking a major haircut here.”

“I don’t want a haircut. I’m enjoying my wild side.”

“There’s wild and there’s unruly. You don’t want unruly, do you?”

“There’s a difference?”

“You’re the guy with all the degrees. Shouldn’t you know that already?”

“Much to my parents’ disappointment, I only have one degree.”

“Pieces of paper,” she muttered, still playing with his hair. She seemed fascinated with the silver-tipped ends, studying them closely. “Seems to me you got more of an education in the military. Especially if you saw combat.” She leaned in closer, her studious gaze moving up the strands of hair. She smelled wonderful, especially with that damn honey shampoo she was using. “Did you see combat?” she asked.

“I wasn’t in a combat unit.” She turned her head to look at him and her mouth was so close. It took everything in him to not kiss her again, to not slip his tongue in her mouth and lick his way to heaven. “We’re stalkers. We hunt the ones who hunt us.”

“You were in the Unit?”

He nodded and she released the strands she held and picked up another handful. “You really do have amazing hair,” she said, not asking him anything further about his military past. “I know women who would pay a fortune for this kind of coloring.”

He didn’t think she was changing the subject because she was uncomfortable with it. Almost all shifters knew about the Unit and what their role in the full-human military was. Instead he got the feeling she was changing the subject because what he once did didn’t bother her one way or the other. At least not the way it bothered his parents. Then again, Gwen was a takeno-prisoners kind of female. That’s how she’d been raised, that was how she lived. He knew that from the way she’d brutally fought McNelly. No bluffing, no warning growls or cat scratches to get her point across. He could easily imagine the two females fighting until one or both were dead.

“What shampoo do you use?” she asked.

“Whatever’s on sale at the grocery store when I go shopping.”

Her mouth dropped open and she laughed. “My brother’s head would explode if he heard that. The first job he ever got when he was sixteen was so he could pay for his conditioner. And before you ask, yeah, it was that expensive.”

“I’m too lazy for all that.”

“You don’t have a mighty mane. A sign of a lion’s sexual maturity and power.”

Having had more than his fair share of male lions to deal with while in the military, Lock could do nothing but roll his eyes in disgust.

She lifted another handful of his hair. “It wouldn’t hurt to shape it a bit. I’ve got my clippers, I could do it here.”

“No.”

“If you’re worried, I’ve got my license.”

“As a plumber.”

“And stylist. When I work in Ma’s shop, I get a lot of guys coming in for me to cut their hair.” He bet they did. The bastards probably stampeded the door.

“You can do hair?”

She counted off on her fingers as she answered, “Hair, makeup, pedicures, manicures, and I can wax whatever part of the body you want me to.”

“You’re not waxing anything of mine.”

She leaned in, her thumb rubbing across his brow. “Maybe pluck a few stray hairs?”

“No.”

“Okay, but you’ll have to deal with it later.”

“Deal with what?”

“Your father is getting a unibrow. And since you two look so much alike…”

He brushed her hand away. “The world will have to deal with the horror of my old-man unibrow.”

“Fine. Be that way.”

“I will.” Lock studied her for a moment as she continued to exam his hair. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“You don’t like doing hair, but you’re determined to cut mine?”

“I don’t like doing hair for money, every day. But I do my friends’ hair all the time. That’s fun. Besides, if we don’t clean this up a bit—” she combed his hair down until it covered his face and laughed “—you’re never going to get yourself a nice housesow to breed your cubs and make your dinner.”

He pushed her hands away and shook his hair out of his face. “Because that sounds hot.”

With her fingers resting against his chest, and those intense gold eyes watching closely, she asked, “If a nice housesow’s not to your taste…then what do you want?”

You. I want you.

Yet something told him this was not the right moment to say that, to admit how she was driving him and his poor cock crazy. So the answer was the much more mundane but safe, “Dinner. I want dinner.”

And to prove it, he reached to the side table and picked up the room service menu.

“Hope they have moose,” he muttered as she watched him closely but said nothing.

Gwen didn’t know who she was more pissed at. The bear, for resisting her charms, or herself, for trying to be charming in the first place.

She’d admit that she never bothered working hard to get a guy interested, mostly because there were none who made her feel as if they were worth it. For those she did feel were worthy, she’d put out signals that suggested she was interested in sex and most would respond in kind. Eventually they’d end up in bed together. If it was good, Gwen would usually go back for a little more. If it wasn’t, she wouldn’t bother.

Her life was usually so simple. Now it was complicated because she didn’t feel like she was going after this guy simply for sex.

Okay, she wouldn’t lie and say she wasn’t interested in having sex with him. Because, Christ! Was she interested. But there was more to it than that for both of them.

They ate their dinner at the dining table, but when it was time for dessert, Lock moved the table and coffee table out of the way and opened up the blinds. Removing their ice cream sundaes from the freezer, they sat on the floor, their backs against the couch, and stared out over the New York City skyline.

“Do you ever miss Jersey?” Gwen asked.

“How can I?” He gestured with a tilt of his head. “It’s right over there.”

She laughed. “Good point.”

“Besides, I was going to schools in Manhattan from the time I was ten.”

“From where you live in Jersey?” He nodded. “That must have been a hell of a daily haul for your mother.”

“Not when there’s a bus and subway system available.”

“When you were ten?” He nodded again and Gwen moved around until she could look at him without turning her head. “Your mother sent you into the city on your own at ten?”

“My mother is a big believer in self-sufficient children.”

“So is my mother, but she never put me on a bus alone at the age of ten.”

“But then how else would I have accidentally discovered the Bowery—and learned at such an early age exactly how fast bears can run?”

Gwen shrugged helplessly. “I have no response for that.”

“Yeah,” he said after swallowing another spoonful of his sundae. “Most people don’t.”

“I have to go,” Lock said.

Of course, he should have said it forty minutes ago, but they were having such a nice conversation about the ins and outs of copper plumbing, he hadn’t wanted to leave. But they’d run out of things to say and she was staring at him, waiting for him to make that move. That move to put him in her bed.

He knew his uncles would cuff him in the back of the head and ask him what the hell was wrong with him and “didn’t you learn anything from us? Or have you been listening to that idiot father of yours again?”

The truth was, Lock had learned a lot from his uncles, but there was one big difference between the MacRyrie bears of Jersey and Professor Brody MacRyrie—Brody had the woman he wanted. Had her and had managed for over thirty-seven years to hold on to a sow that everyone said would never be caught, much less kept. Lock didn’t know if that’s where things were going with Gwen, but if he hoped to have a chance in hell with her, something told him he needed to follow his father’s path down this road. Not his uncles’.

“Already?” She glanced at her watch and gave a small wince. “I didn’t know it was so late.”

“Yeah. And I’ve got work…or something.” Or something? Is that the best you can do, you idiot! “I mean, I’m working on a job and I’m running behind.”

“Okay.” They were sitting on the couch again, Gwen facing him, her legs tucked up under her. Those gold eyes watching him with that heavy-lidded, barely blinking, feline stare. Yet she wasn’t tense. She simply waited. For him.

An enticing move, but he wasn’t falling for it. At the same time, though, a little good-night kiss couldn’t hurt, right?

Leaning forward, he slipped his hand behind her neck, his fingers massaging the muscles there. Gwen groaned and closed her eyes, her lips parting in what he could only see as a personal invitation.

Gripping the back of her neck to hold her in place, Lock kissed her. He’d meant to keep it short and controlled, but Gwen’s small hands gripped his shoulders, those damn nails grazing against his throat, behind his ear. It drove him nuts! He tilted his head to the side, allowing himself to be pulled in to that kiss as his tongue stroked hers, as his lips played with hers. She abruptly pulled as far back as the hand holding her in place would allow.

“Your lips,” she whispered, her eyes still closed. “What is that thing you do with your lips?”

“What thing?” he asked and then pulled her in again. She groaned deep and long, the sound coming from the back of her throat as she rose up on her knees, her hands releasing his shoulders so she could wrap her arms around his neck.

He knew he had to stop, he had to pull away. God knew he didn’t want to but…

Lock pulled back, untangling her arms from around his neck. “I have to go.”

Gwen’s eyes blinked open. She stared at him with unabashed surprise but also passion. Deep, raw passion that he’d never seen from another female before.

“You’re…?”

The word “going” hung out there between them.

He kissed her forehead and released her, pulling away as a card was swiped in the front door and it swung open. A male stepped in. Lion. He looked like Brendon Shaw. Must be the infamous half-brother of the half-brother.

The lion strode into the room yawning, glanced at them, and waved.

“Where’s Sissy?” Gwen asked, moving farther away from Lock.

“Off with her She-wolves. I don’t know how she does it, because the jet lag is kicking my ass.” He grabbed a bottle of water from the minifridge underneath the end table closest to Lock, waved again, and headed down a hallway. “Night,” he called out seconds before a distant doorway slammed shut.

“Huh,” Gwen said. “That went well.”

Lock wasn’t sure what she meant until they heard a roared “Who the fuck was that?” and that distant doorway crashed back open.

Jet lag! She forgot about jet lag! Of course, since Gwen had never traveled off the East Coast, this wasn’t exactly surprising. Plus, an early night in for her brother and his mate was usually around six in the morning. But Gwen had forgotten that Mitch wasn’t used to traveling the way Sissy—a hardcore traveler since she’d turned eighteen—was. And because of that miscalculation, her brother was here—exhausted, pissed off, and ready to kill a bear. Her bear!

Mitch Shaw went right for Lock, too, his claws unleashing as he moved in for the killing blow, the power behind those claws capable of snapping a human spine with one well-placed slap.

Even worse, Lock wasn’t startled. A startled Lock meant he could put up a healthy fight. A sedate Lock simply meant he could get his ass…

Oh. Oh.

Well she hadn’t expected that.

Not only was Lock not startled, but he wasn’t frightened either. Nor was he mad. And as Mitch lunged at him, Lock casually reached out and batted the lion down. Gwen couldn’t even call it a vicious mauling. More like a simple sow-swat from a momma bear to her cubs when they were doing something stupid. She doubted Lock put any real strength behind that sow-swat either. But Mitch went down, grunting as he hit the floor hard.

Raging now, and roaring, Mitch got back up and came at Lock again. Again, Lock slapped the big cat down. Even worse, Lock still wasn’t upset. He was laughing. Not mocking laughter, either, which she knew well from when Mitch and her uncles had done it to others. More like entertained chuckles as if he’d found a really great toy.

Again Mitch got up and, again, Lock batted him to the floor, Gwen’s brother going down with a bam!

Lock grinned at Gwen. “He’s fun,” he said, reaching out and cuffing Mitch without even looking at him. “He just keeps trying to get back up.” Bam! “It’s great.” Bam! “Like ‘The Little Lion Who Could.’” Bam!

Mitch, bruised and perhaps permanently brain damaged, tried to struggle up again, but Lock held him down on the floor by using the same hand he’d slapped Gwen’s brother around with.

“I’ve got to go,” he said to Gwen again, oblivious to the curses and promises of violent retribution being tossed at him from the floor. “But I want you to know I had an amazing time tonight.”

The words were said with such sincerity that Gwen completely forgot about her poor—now special-needs—brother struggling on the floor. She gazed into those big brown eyes that were almost too big for Lock’s human face and too small for his bear one and said, “I had a great time, too.”

“Then I’ll talk to you later?”

“Okay.”

He kissed her again, keeping it short this time, but then he pressed his forehead against hers, his silver-tipped brown hair feeling soft and silky against her skin, tickling her cheeks and chin.

“I’ve got to go,” he whispered.

“You said that. At least three times.”

“I know. I’m saying it again.” He took a deep breath and then moved away from her, but not before brushing his skin against hers. It was an almost feline move, and she barely stopped herself from climbing onto his back and steering him like a horse to her bedroom.

He made it to the front door before he looked back at her. Then his eyes grew wide. “Oh! I almost forgot.” He came back over to her and handed her a card. “These are my numbers, e-mail addresses, business URL, physical address, and mailing address. You know…if you need to get in touch with me.”

Get in touch with him? But he left out his social security number, his date of birth, and his high school GPA. “Thanks.”

“If you need anything you let me know. Okay?”

Melting. She was so melting. “I will. I promise.”

“Okay.” He walked back to the door, looked at her over his shoulder. “Bye, Gwen.”

“Night.” He opened the front door and Gwen said, “Lock?”

He stopped immediately. “Yeah?” Did he have to sound so eager when he was the one making the decision to go? Damn him! “Uh…could you leave him here? He kind of comes with the place.”

Frowning, Lock glanced down. “Oh, jeez!”

Oh, jeez?

“Sorry about that.” He immediately dropped the lion he’d dragged from the couch to the door, back to the couch, and back to the door. “Habit. Usually I bat my prey around until they stop fighting and drag them off to the brush to…well…you know.” He looked down at Mitch. “Sorry about that…uh…”

“Mitch,” she told him.

“Mitch. Right. Sorry about that, Mitch. And nice to meet you.”

Lock lifted his gaze toward hers, but shook his head and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Letting out a breath, Gwen buried her face in the couch cushions. She didn’t know how long she stayed there, pressing her face into the fabric, but she didn’t have any intention of moving. That is, until she couldn’t stand the constant moaning anymore.

“I’m dying. Help me,” her brother whined.

“What?” she demanded, glaring at him over the back of the couch. “What are you whining about now?”

“Hospital. Need hospital.”

Gwen snorted. “You’re not even bleeding.”

“Internal. Bleeding inside. Slowly dying.”

She got up and headed to her bedroom. “Such a drama king!” she yelled over her shoulder. “How does Sissy put up with you?”