Angrier than he’d ever been with anyone not trying to kill him, Lock lifted her up and held her there. She was fully out of control, the two felines inside her roaring for blood. Her claws were out now, tearing at his favorite T-shirt, and Lock couldn’t imagine either a full lion male or a full tiger male being able to handle her when she was like this. He wasn’t even sure she knew what she was doing.

Out of ideas, he did the only thing he could think of. He carried her to the showers, turned her so she faced away from him, and flipped the water on full blast and cold.

Gwen screamed, but she finally sounded human. He held her under the water even as she kicked to get away. He wasn’t taking any chances.

“You son of a bitch! Put me down!”

He spun her in his hands until she faced him again. “You have control of yourself?” he demanded.

She answered him by slapping his face. So hard he actually felt his teeth rattle, then she was kissing him and he…uh…kind of stopped caring about the whole teeth rattling thing.

Attacking someone without warning for something they did weeks before? Check. Ready to turn a simple breed dispute into something far uglier with the razor blade she kept on her at all times? Check. Using blood as a weapon of rudeness? Check. Threatening death? Check. Attacking a helpful stranger or friend? Check.

Kissing a helpful stranger or friend without warning or permission? Check.

Yeah, it only took Gwen six weeks to become her mother.

The horror of that was staggering and perhaps that was why she was making out with Lock MacRyrie in a men’s locker room. She knew it belonged to the men because of the testosterone funk permeating every corner. Normally she’d gag, her delicate feline senses unwilling to accept the lingering aftereffects of too many male breeds mulling around the same area after a game. But for some reason kissing this man focused her attention on him and only him. Not only distracting her from the “man funk,” as Blayne called it, but from her rage. A rage that, once unleashed, could rarely be contained or controlled by anyone, which was why she fought so hard to hold it in—but when she realized who that bitch was…

Yet none of that mattered right now as all that anger and hatred slipped back into its safe place and she allowed herself to enjoy this kiss. She still didn’t know how he did that…that…thing with his lips, but it did make her wonder what effect those lips would have on other locations of her body.

And God, he tastes so sweet. It must be all the honey he eats.

Was there a way to make this kiss last forever? With the freezing cold water pouring down on them from the showerhead, she could almost imagine they were standing under one of the Macon River falls, fresh from a swim in the river, and making out like two teenagers.

She briefly wondered how far she could take this little fantasy when Gwen heard Blayne come into the bathroom. “Gwenie? Hon, are you oooooooooo—wow.Okay. Yeah. Uh…”

Blayne wasn’t alone, either. She had Jess with her and the two canines, in their pathetic attempt to leave quickly without being noticed, slammed into each other and then tripped over the other as they tried to make it to the door.

By now Lock had stopped kissing her so he could watch the two boneheads over his shoulder. Although Gwen didn’t blame him. Some things simply couldn’t be ignored.

Jess yanked open the door, slamming it right into Blayne’s face.

“Ow!”

“Oh, shit. Sorry!” Jess pushed her out the door and smiled back at Gwen and Lock. “Sorry,” she mouthed before she spun away and right into Blayne, who hadn’t moved.

“Ow!”

“Oh, Blayne! Honey, are you okay?”

The door swung closed and there was a moment, maybe two, before she heard that first snort from the bear. After that, it took forever for them to stop laughing.

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.