Jess, who’d been about to put her butt in the chair, stood back up. “Oh, come on!”
“Do you want to promote Nazism?” Sabina demanded of her Alpha.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Blasphemy,” May muttered under her breath.
“Shut up.” Jess folded her arms over her chest. “Lock, just tell us where you got the goddamn chair from so we can stop all this foolishness.”
Lock’s jaw popped as he kept his focus on Gwen. How the hell did she manage it? For the last three years he’d been giving his stuff to Jess and her Packmates and not once had they asked where he got it from. They’d never cared, usually too busy amusing themselves with the gift instead. But without breaking her word, Gwen had gotten them to do what they’d never done before!
Understanding his body language more than she should this far in to their relationship, Gwen explained to him, “I’ve been best friends with Blayne Thorpe since ninth grade and she’s more dog than wolf. So do the math, Jersey boy.”
“Well?” Sabina pushed. “Tell us where you got this or get your Nazi chair out of here.”
“It’s not—” Lock stopped, took a deep breath in an attempt to remain calm and keep the embarrassment at bay. “It’s a combination rocking chair and Viking throne,” he explained. “I looked at some of the old Conan the Barbarian art and stole some ideas for the chair from that and combined it with a standard rocking chair design. Hence the Viking runes—not Nazi.”
Sabina looked at the chair and back at Lock. “I do not understand.”
But Jessica did. “You made this, Lock?”
He shrugged, livid with Gwen. Could he wring her neck and get away with it—legally? “Yeah. I made this.” He cleared his throat. “But if you don’t like it, I can definitely—”
Lock’s words abruptly halted as Jess burst into tears, his gaze quickly swinging to Gwen’s in panic, but all she could do was shrug helplessly.
“Jess,” he began, desperate, “if you really don’t like it, I can make you something else.”
Jess took a step toward him, still sobbing, and raised her arms.
Lock briefly closed his eyes. “Jess, come on.”
She slammed her foot down, her arms still raised. Lock glanced at Gwen again before he reached down and picked Jess up.
Gwen’s eyes narrowed as Jess buried her face in his shoulder, her arms around his neck, and continued to sob.
Chewing her lip, May slowly moved around the chair and was about to sit down in it, when Jess’s head snapped up.
“Your ass hits that chair and it’s the last thing it’ll ever do!”
“Oh, come on, Jess!” May begged. “Just let me sit in it.”
“No! It’s mine!” Jess rested her head against Lock’s shoulder. “All mine. My throne of power. By this chair I rule.”
“I can’t believe you’re being so selfish!”
“Mine!” Jess screamed.
Sabina slapped Lock’s arm and pointed at the chair. “Make me one but with Russian words I will give you.”
“Hey!” May snarled. “That’s not fair.”
“What is not fair?”
“Why should you get a chair first? I’m the one pregnant again. So if he’s making another chair, it’s gonna be for me!”
“You spawn like the salmon this bear eats,” Sabina accused. “Why should you get something special for something you seem to do constantly?”
“Why? Because I’m creating the future leaders of the United States of America. You, however, are breeding thugs!” May smiled at Lock. “I’m sure Lock wouldn’t mind making my chair first.”
“He make your chair first in hell.”
“Back off, Putin!”
“I pay,” Sabina offered Lock, gripping his arm. “Three thousand for chair.”
“I’ll give him five thousand.”
“Ten, hillbilly.”
“Fifteen, Chekhov.”
With Jess still in his arms, Lock stepped between them. “Stop it. Both of you. I can make you both chairs for—owwww!” He glared down at Gwen while a spot on his thigh throbbed from where the little psychopath had pinched him. “What the hell was that for?”
“I’ll handle this,” she said, grabbing hold of an arm from each wild dog and pulling them out of the living room. “You show Jess her new…uh…throne.”
Lock glanced at the woman in his arms. She was no longer sobbing, but was now smiling and giving her best Queen Elizabeth wave to her nonexistent “people.”
“I,” she somberly intoned, not to Lock but her invisible “people,” “as your ruler and sovereign, do thank you for this lovely throne.”
She motioned to the chair. “You may now place me in my throne.”
“You have got to be kidding me, Jessica.”
“Place me!”
“All right. All right.” Lock placed her in the chair and Jess leaned back, sighing and smiling. “I love it, Lock,” she said. After she rocked back and forth a few times, she stopped and looked up at him again. “The other stuff you’ve given me. The desk, the dining table—where did you get those from?”
Lock let out a breath and wondered how Gwen could manage to cause so much trouble without really trying.
CHAPTER 21
“Aren’t you a little interested in finding out how much—”
“No.”
Lock got out of the SUV and slammed the door shut behind him. Gwen followed after him, trying to keep up as his long legs quickly took him across the parking garage interior.
“I didn’t break my promise, ya know?”
“I know.”
He slammed his hand against the elevator button and Gwen flinched, certain he was going to shove the entire wall back.
“Then I don’t see why you’re so ticked off.”
“I don’t like being embarrassed. Okay?”
“Then you shouldn’t be hanging around me.” Gwen blinked. “Wait. That came out wrong.”
“I’m bettin’ it didn’t.”
Gwen’s mouth dropped open, shocked at the insult. And a little hurt.
“Fine,” she finally said as the elevator doors creaked open. “I’ll go back to the hotel then. I don’t need this shit.” She turned away from him, figuring she could take the stairs back to the street. But Lock caught hold of her denim jacket and hauled her into the elevator. It wasn’t even a struggle for him. He simply caught hold of her and yanked her in like she was a bag of dirty laundry.
Christ! What was she thinking getting involved with a guy this strong? He seemed nice enough, but what if he wasn’t? What if the whole shy, sweet bear thing was a sham and he was a dangerously unstable man-eater? Then what would she do?
The doors opened on the first floor and Gwen tried to walk out, but he put that Thor’s Hammer he called an arm in front of her and pushed her back.
“If you’re so mad at me, I don’t know why you’d want me around.”
He didn’t answer her but pushed her out of the elevator when they got to the second floor. He walked behind her until they reached his apartment, his arm reaching around her to unlock the door, and he didn’t move until she went inside. She walked away from him and into his living room.
Lock came in behind her and she gaped at the way he filled that large entryway.
“Look, I’m not mad at you,” he said.
He wasn’t? Holy shit! What about when he was? He would be eventually and then what? He’d snap her neck like a deer’s? Crush her tiny, insignificant head with his bare hands?
“You’re not mad?”
“No. I’m—” Snarling a little, he tore off his jacket and threw it at the couch. “I’m not used to people talking about my work. Looking at it. Knowing it’s mine.”