“Gwen, you’re not an idiot.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Right? Because I’m an O’Neill and that’s what O’Neills do. Fuck other people’s husbands, get shot at, fix boxing matches, and set things on fire for money.”

Lock blinked. “What?”

“And we do that because we’re O’Neills and that’s what O’Neills do. I might as well accept it. And you need to accept it, too. Because according to you I’m your girlfriend and I’m also an O’Neill—so prepare yourself for the humiliation!”

Letting out a breath, Lock lifted Gwen into his arms and moved her around until she was sideways on his lap, her head against his chest, her legs resting over one of his thighs. He held her and his hands smoothed up and down her back.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding pissier than he’d ever heard her.

“Being nice to you. Whether you want me to or not.”

Gwen didn’t struggle; there didn’t seem to be a point. Instead she sat there while he held her. He didn’t try and make a sexual move, he didn’t do anything but hold her. She had no idea what he was waiting for, what he wanted from her.

Gwen was too busy seething to notice the tears until they fell on her chest. Mortified, she tried then to pull away, but Lock wouldn’t let her go.

Would he understand these weren’t tears of sadness, but of frustration? Her frustration for having a mother she adored but who somehow managed to torture her without trying?

And all this violence and fighting, poor Blayne turned into a human shotput, over an old grudge that involved Roxy, Sharyn McNelly and, tragically, Donna McNelly’s father.

And here was this thing, this precious, delicate, amazing thing between her and Lock. An amazing thing she could see growing into more. But how could she hope to keep a man used to intellectual discourse over grilled salmon and wineglasses of cranberry juice, when her own mother was busy nailing the wolves of her derby rivals? An event so well-known it had once been the hot topic of conversation as far away as frickin’

Tennessee. A place O’Neills never ventured willingly until Mitch and Sissy hooked up.

Yet Lock wasn’t running away from her. He’d picked her up at work, taken her back to his apartment, and made her vile tea. Even now he was holding her, stroking her naked body while managing to not make it sexual, but comforting. And as much as she tried to hold back from him, as much as Gwen tried to keep this part of her life separate from Lock, she couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her.

Gwen gripped his T-shirt, knowing she should push him away, knowing she shouldn’t drag him into any of this, but she ended up burying her face against his chest and crying. She cried until she couldn’t cry anymore.

She had no idea how long they stayed like that; evenafter she stopped crying, they stayed like that. But when Gwen was done, she was done. She sat up straight, but Lock’s arms stayed loose around her.

“I’m done now.”

“Okay.” She adored that he didn’t want to talk things out or psychoanalyze the situation. She hated that.

“And we can’t let my mother find out what happened Labor Day weekend, or she’ll do something stupid.”

“You don’t think Mitch—”

She waved her hand, cutting him off. “He’s so freakin’ occupied with trying to get in the middle of my business, it won’t even cross his mind.”

“Okay.” He brushed her hair off her cheek. “You’re staying tonight, right?” he asked.

“If you want—”

“Good.” Lock kissed her forehead. “Now, do you want to feel better?

Oddly phrased question, but okay. “Sure.”

“Do you really want to feel better or would you rather sit around wallowing?”

She chuckled. “No. I’m done wallowing.” And she really wanted to feel better. Of course just having Lock here was making her feel better.

“I can help you feel better.” He lifted her off his lap and placed her carefully on the bed, before he scrambled off.

Gwen wasn’t exactly surprised when he took his clothes off, nor did she mind.

Naked, Lock got back on the bed and stretched out next to her. “Lay down.” She reached for him but he shook his head. “No, no. Stretch out. Next to me.”

That seemed weird but whatever.

“Now…you lift your legs up straight.” Not sure what the hell he was doing, Gwen lifted her legs up. It was kind of humorous to see the two pairs of legs raised up considering how much longer his were. “And using your hands…grab your toes.”

Gwen dropped her legs and sat up. “You want me to do what?”

“Trust me. You’ll feel so much better.”

She quickly scrutinized the room. “You don’t have a hidden camera around here or something?”

“Of course not.”

“This isn’t going to end up on the Internet or something, right? I’ll be really pissed if this ends up on the Net.”

“Trust me,” he said again. And when Gwen looked at him he was playing with his toes.

With a shrug, Gwen stretched out beside Lock, lifted her legs up, and grabbed her toes.

“You can roll back and forth, too.”

All right then.

“What do you think?”

“This is…uh…kind of…nice actually.”

“I know. I do it anytime I’m really pissed or depressed or bored or…playing.”