Gwen charged down the stairs and across the street.
“Have you two lost your minds?” she yelled.
Holding the thick, steel-enforced doors in both hands while blood dripped down his arm from where he’d been cut by the glass, Lock watched her curiously. “Why would you say that?”
Lock took her back to his apartment, parking his SUV in the garage under his building. When he turned off the motor, they sat inside his vehicle until Gwen said, “How the hell did you find an apartment with parking in this city?”
Not what he expected her to say, but Gwen always seemed to surprise him. “My uncles helped me get this place.”
He got out of his SUV, and by the time he walked around to the passenger side, she was out and heading toward the elevator. Neither spoke in the elevator nor while walking down the hall to his apartment.
Once inside, he took off his jacket, hung it up in his closet, and headed off to the bathroom so he could take off the gauze bandages his mother had wrapped around his arms. His mother handled it, because Gwen wouldn’t let a very pissed-off Iona near him. “You just keep your Hands of Evil away from him, butcher girl,” she’d said plainly with a completely straight face.
Tossing the bandages into the trash, he quickly examined his forearms. The wounds had already healed up, appearing more like scratches one might get from their pet rather than the gouges they were a couple of hours ago.
Lock rinsed off any residual blood, washed his hands, and tracked Gwen down in his kitchen. Coffee was percolating in his twelve-cup coffeemaker, and she was invading his cabinets for sugar and mugs.
“I can’t believe how much ice cream you have in your freezer,” she said.
“I like ice cream.”
She shut the cabinet door and placed the small container of sugar on the table, along with a generic bottle of honey he kept for emergencies and two large mugs. Glancing at his arms, she held her hands out. “Let me see.”
Lock dutifully held his arms out and she grasped his wrists, examining his forearms closely. “They’re healing up nicely. See? I knew your mother could handle it.”
He didn’t respond, too busy noticing how close his hand was to her chest, the curious bear in him desperate to discover how her breasts would feel. Always one to explore when he had the chance, Lock simply lifted his right hand until her breast filled his palm.
Gwen froze, but she didn’t push him off.
Lock closed his hand around her breast, gently squeezing, amazed how such a simple action could feel so good.
Gwen gasped and, to Lock’s great appreciation, stepped in closer.
He used his left hand and gripped her other breast, squeezing until Gwen reached for him. Her hands dug into his sweatshirt and she tugged at it, trying to lift it. He released her long enough for him to bend at the waist, allowing her to yank the shirt off over his head and toss it somewhere.
Moments later she had those small, soft hands of hers gliding over his shoulders and down his chest. She moved in closer, pressing her head into him and brushing her hair against him in a way that was totally feline. He trembled and slipped his hands into her hair, lifting her head and tilting it back so he could take her mouth fully, his tongue and lips exploring hers as he’d been wanting to do since he met her at Jess’s wedding.
Gwen gripped his hair, her fingers holding the strands tight as her tongue met his and she moaned into him. Lock let himself get lost in that kiss, let his body take him where it would without thinking much on where it was going.
Abruptly pulling back, her eyes wide, Gwen gaped at him.
“The way you kiss,” she gasped. “You do something…weird.”
He scowled. “It’s not weird.”
“Not bad weird but,” one finger slid across his bottom lip and his entire body shuddered, “amazing weird.”
Weird was still weird to Lock, but she didn’t seem freaked out or anything. Besides, he might as well tell her and get it out of the way. “It’s nothing, really. We, bears I mean, have, uh…well, the technical term is prehensile-type lips.”
Gwen’s eyes focused on his mouth, her brow furrowed as she studied it for a long moment. “You have what?”
Gosh, this was awkward. “I mean…” Damn, what did he mean? “They can move independently. When I’m bear, they’re completely unattached from my jaw, and as human—I can kind of play with that.”
She leaned back a little more, her furrowed brow turning to an outright frown and well on its way to a healthy scowl. “Are you telling me that your lips are like…” She had this look on her face that could be a look of disgust or a look of confusion, he had no idea which one. Confusion he could handle…disgust, however…
“Your lips are like fingers?”
He swallowed, terrified he was about to lose everything with this answer, but Lock had never been one to lie about much, especially himself.
“Yeah,” he admitted, reluctantly. “I guess that’s one way of—”
She shoved and Lock moved back from her, watching in stunned silence as she ran out of the kitchen.
Gee, is that my broken heart lying on the floor? Yes. Yes, it is.
Wait. He wasn’t going to let her go that easily, was he? Simply because she didn’t understand? No way.
Determined, Lock stalked out of the kitchen, through his dining room, and into the hallway. He looked toward the front door, expecting to see Gwen struggling with the security system. She wasn’t.
More curious than panicked now, Lock sniffed the air and followed Gwen’s scent…to his bedroom.
As he walked in a sneaker hit him in the forehead.
“Why are you still dressed?” she demanded, standing in the middle of his bed. “Get naked!” Another sneaker hit him in the head.
“Uh…Gwen?”
“What? You’re asking me questions now? Why are you asking me questions now?”
Because she was freaking him out?
Gwen tore off her socks and then went for her jeans.
“What are you doing?” he asked, completely confused.
“I know, I know.” She was panting. Heavily. “You want something more organic or romantic or some other bullshit, but I don’t have time for that.”
“Why? Do you have to be—”
“I mean, seriously…how many times in a girl’s life can she hope…even dream?”
“Gwen, I don’t under—”
“I swear,” she begged while wiggling out of her jeans before she sent them flying, “you take care of me, I swear, swear, swear I’ll take care of you. I just need you to do this for me.”
And there went her panties.
“That sounds great, but I guess I’m unclear—”
“Unclear?” she snapped. “You tell me your lips function like fingers and you’re unclear? On what exactly?”
Lock took a moment to luxuriate in the wonder that was Mr. Mittens. Because, holy hell, he adored this woman!
“I see.”
“I hope so.” Completely naked from the waist down, Gwen stretched out across Lock’s bed, her feet pointing at him, and spread her legs. She fisted her hands at her side and said, “Okay, do it. Wait!” She reached over and grabbed one of his pillows, covering her face. “Okay,” she said behind the pillow, “now do it.”
Unable to help himself, Lock teased, “If you’re sure.”
The pillow slammed against the bed, and that desperate feline glared at him from beneath a mass of unruly curls. “Oh, my God! I will kill you!”
“Okay, okay.” Laughing, Lock kneeled on his bed. “No need to get crazy. I’ve got it covered.”