“Dad,” Lock cut in again, scowling in warning at his father.
Gwen watched them closely. “What is wrong with you two?”
The MacRyrie men gave identical shrugs and answered together, “Nothing.”
Gwen said good-bye to the MacRyries, giving them her personal cell phone number in case they had any problems with their new heater. As she walked back to her truck, Lock walked beside her.
“I’m sorry we kept you out so late,” he said.
“No problem. I had a really good time.”
“Sure you don’t want me to follow you back to the city?”
She laughed. “Yeah. Right. I don’t know how I survived this long without you shadowing me.”
Gwen unlocked her truck door and pulled it open.
“So, Gwen…you want to go out sometime?”
And there it was.
She faced him, the open truck cab to her back. He had his hands in his pockets and his eyes focused on the bushes behind her head. He was shy and adorable and wouldn’t last ten seconds with her or her family. Sure, in a physical fight and if they snuck up on him, startling him into a violent reaction, he could take Gwen’s uncles and Mitch. But in the verbal duels that represented O’Neill get-togethers? Not two seconds. He got weird when she asked questions about his parents’ dining table and couldn’t even look her in the eye when he asked her out.
“Thanks, Lock, but no.” See? Much better to let him down now, then crush him later when he got attached to the unattachable. “It’s nothing personal, though,” she added.
He laughed, now looking her in the eyes. “Yeah, being turned down for a date is always not personal.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Not really.” But he was smiling and there didn’t seem to be any bitterness or anger. She appreciated that and, to her way of thinking, it said a lot about him as a man.
“I had a great time tonight. Let’s leave it at that, okay?”
“Okay.”
Hmm. Maybe he was taking it too well. Couldn’t he even put up a little fight for her? Jeez. She was glad she hadn’t wasted her time.
She got into her truck, and Lock closed the door for her. He leaned into the open window, looking around at everything, as curious as his father, if not as grabby about it.
Gwen started the truck and put on her seat belt.
“You’ve got the check, right?”
“Yup. Thanks.” She adored prompt payers.
“Okay. See ya.”
“Yeah.” She turned her head to say good-bye and then his mouth was there, on hers.
It was…strange. His lips…they…uh…she didn’t know. But as strange as his lips felt on hers, they also felt wonderful. Amazing wonderful. And instead of pulling back, horrified by the awkward moment or freaked out by his strange lips, she ended up kissing him back. She leaned into that kiss, her mouth opening under his, tongue pressing inside until she felt inundated with the taste of Chinese honey chicken.
She released the steering wheel, her hands reaching out for him, and that’s when he stepped back. His eyes were closed and his tongue swiped his lips, as if he were still savoring the taste of her.
When he looked at her again, he said, “Night.”
And walked off!
Gwen watched him, moving from a slow burn to a nice, frothy rage as he left her sitting there in her running truck.
Again! He’d left her again! This time was worse than the last, too, because she was awake and fully aware he was leaving her!
You turned him down for the date, her rational cat side reminded her. And her human side told her cat side to shut the fuck up!
“Bears,” she growled. “Tricky, eating-out-of-trashcan Jersey bears! I hate all of them!”
She slammed the truck into reverse and tore out of the MacRyries’ driveway, promising herself never to return no matter how much she liked his parents or what a great kisser Lock MacRyrie was.
Never. Again!
Lock walked up to his parents’ house, the sweet taste of Gwen still on his lips.
It had been a long time since he’d felt like this about a woman. A long time since something had caught his interest other than food or survival. And he liked it. He liked feeling something other than hunger or dread, panic or calm, anger or absolutely nothing. For the first time in years he felt warm from the inside out and he loved it. Wanted more of it.
He wanted more of Gwen O’Neill.
She wouldn’t be easy to get, though. Like a cat staring at him from a hundred-foot tree, Gwen kept herself safe from outsiders, only the chosen allowed in to her world.
But Lock was nothing if not persistent. He had pulled ancient trees out by the roots to get to a beehive, and battled full-blood grizzlies to get the best spot in a salmon-filled Alaskan river. So if Gwen thought she could motion him out of her life with a wave of her hand and an “It’s not you, it’s me,” she was dead wrong.
“Nicely handled, son,” his father praised as Lock stepped into the house, the old man patting him on the shoulder as he passed.
Lock smiled in return, feeling surprisingly pleased with himself. “Thanks, Dad.”
Niles, exhausted to his bones, rubbed his forehead and glared across the boardroom table. They’d all been arguing for the last three hours and he’d just hit his wall.
As he slammed his hand on the table, every predator eye locked on him. It was a disturbing sight, but one he’d gotten used to over the years since he’d joined the Board. “We can’t keep having this same argument. Nor can we ignore how things are changing.”
The ancient matriarch of the Llewellyn Pride, Matilda, tapped her claws against the table. She was so old, she couldn’t retract them anymore. “What are you suggesting, Van Holtz?”
“You know what I’m suggesting, and I’m tired of talking. Do we do this…or not?”
“Do we have much of a choice?”
“Not anymore.”
The representatives of every major Pack, Pride, and Clan, as well as reps for nonsocial breeds, glanced at each other. After a much-too-long stretch of time, each nodded, silently giving their agreement.
Matilda was the last. She nodded, white-gold mane briefly covering her face.
“Good,” Niles said, signaling to his assistant. “Then we’re done.”
They rose to leave, one of Matilda’s nieces helping the old lioness out of the chair. But before she left, and after everyone else had, she focused still-sharp gold eyes on Niles. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Matilda, you just agreed—”
She waved one white claw. “I’m not talking about the decision that was made here, young Niles. I’m talking about your new hire.”
Oh. That. Well, he’d known there would be some uncomfortable with his choice, but that was too damn bad. “I was empowered by the Board to make those decisions. Without getting prior approval by you…or anyone.”
“You were. But be careful, poodle.” She made her slow way toward the door, her niece gripping her elbow. “That one’s predecessor…that didn’t end too well, now did it?”
“Perhaps,” Niles murmured, hiding his smile. Because as Niles’s father used to tell the story, it actually only ended badly for the Llewellyn Breeding Male who’d gotten in that one’s way.
“She’s going to be difficult,” his assistant reminded him once Matilda was gone.
“True. But there’s something to keep in mind…” Niles picked up his papers and shoved them into his briefcase “…the old bitch can’t live forever.”
His assistant looked at him with what Niles could only interpret as amusement mixed with pity. “Perhaps not, sir. But she’s clearly going to make her best effort.”
CHAPTER 9
With extreme care, Gwen pulled the sheet back until nothing blocked her from all six feet, four inches and 280 pounds of naked Mitch O’Neill Shaw. Raising her hands, she unleashed her claws. While her fingernails still sported Eagle colors, her claws sported the Steelers.