The Mane Squeeze

by Shelly Laurenston

  The blade slammed into the guy’s lower back and he flipped forward, landing flat on his face. The woman dropped easily to the ground. She lifted up the two men she’d shot, one in each hand, and tossed them into the back of the van. Then she went to the other male.

  Unlike the first two, he wasn’t dead, but he was unable to do more than crawl, his legs dragging uselessly behind him. And he was crying. The woman followed behind him, watching him. When she got tired of that, she stepped on his ass, pressing her foot down to hold him in place. She reached down and yanked the blade out of his spine, silencing his screams with a simple “Shush.” She slid the blade into the holster attached to the back of her jeans and crouched beside him, rolling him over.

  “Names,” she said.

  She didn’t even have to say it twice. He began rattling off names between his sobs. The woman nodded, but didn’t write anything down because she probably never forgot anything.

  Once he’d finished giving her those names, the woman lifted him up by the neck and carried him to the back of the van, where she tossed him inside. Those strong arms reached in after him, and Abby cringed when she heard something snap.

  The woman stepped back and slammed the doors shut. She held a set of keys in her hand. She started to walk around the van but stopped and turned, her nose lifted, nostrils flaring. A few sniffs and she homed right in on Abby, walking over to her. Abby backed up as far as she could, but she had the alley wall behind her. She bared her fangs, but the woman only smiled, the light from the open back door reflecting her eyes.

  “Pup.” She looked down at Abby, cold, reflective eyes looking her over. “Hungry, pup?”

  She was, but…?

  “Come on then.” She motioned to the van and walked away. Did she think Abby would follow? Why?

  “Ain’t got all day, pup,” she said.

  Abby wasn’t crazy but…

  She crept out from behind the trash can, her body low, her legs tense and ready to run at the slightest provocation. But the woman opened the passenger door and casually walked around to the driver’s side. She got inside and waited. She waited for Abby. Creeping closer, Abby stared up at the woman in the driver’s seat. She was on her cell phone. “I got the names,” she told someone. “Nope. I’ll handle it.”

  The woman closed the phone and stare down at Abby. “Move your ass. I’m starvin’.”

  Glancing around, Abby carefully climbed into the van, and the woman reached across the seat to pull the door closed. She relaxed back and said, “Guess no one ever told you not to get into vans with strangers, huh?” She started the engine and added, “If anyone asks, you didn’t see those bodies back there.” Then she winked at her and backed out of the alley.

  Something told Abby she wouldn’t be back to this alley anymore for those free scraps.

  CHAPTER 17

  Lock was starting to see a pattern here. Adding a little Gwen to his life seemed to improve his meals exponentially. In addition, his parents seemed to adore her, and his sister tolerated her, which was more than Iona did with most people. So, using basic science, if he were to add Gwen to more of his life in general, she’d improve it all around.

  At least that was his conclusion. And who was he to argue with basic science?

  Lock held Gwen’s jacket open for her. She reached for it, and he stepped back, continuing to hold it open.

  “Are you going to give me my jacket or what?”

  “I’m holding it open for you.”

  She studied the jacket and then him. “Why?”

  “Just put your arms in the damn jacket!”

  “Okay, okay!”

  He helped her put her jacket on and once he had her in it, leaned down and wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing her neck. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

  “The MacRyries are so polite—except when you eat.”

  “We were hungry. And you still have all your fingers and toes.”

  “Barely.”

  Lock lifted her in the air, making her legs swing out, and Gwen squealed.

  “Lachlan, put her down,” his mother ordered, although she was smiling. She handed Gwen a take-home bag filled with leftovers from their meal. “Here you go. Lunch for tomorrow.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  She hugged Gwen. “I’m so glad you came tonight.”

  “And thank you for covering for me.”

  “Anytime.” Alla went up on her toes and kissed Lock’s cheek. “Talk to you soon?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He opened the door and they walked out onto the porch, his mother behind them.

  “What about Ric?” Gwen asked.

  “His car is here to pick him up, but he’s staying to do the dishes.”

  Gwen stopped and said to Alla, “Ulrich Van Holtz is doing your dishes?”

  “Of course. He always does the dishes when he eats here. Always a very polite boy. And unlike that idiot father of his, he has a brain.”

  “Mom.” Lock chastised, although he knew his mother meant every word.

  “I’m merely pointing out that the gene that controls intelligence skipped a generation in the Van Holtz household. Like red hair or blue eyes.”

  Lock stood on the porch and watched as his father gazed down the street at a dark-blue van with dark windows. It was easy to spot on a small street that hadn’t had new neighbors in more than ten years. Everyone knew everyone else and strange vehicles on the block caught one’s attention. Especially the attention of curious bears. But that van wasn’t strange to him. Hell, it still had the dent on the side from his shoulder.

  “Stay here,” he said to Gwen and his mother before going over to his father. “Dad?”

  “That van. I think someone’s inside, but the windows are so dark I can’t tell.”

  The father and son looked at each other and then back at the van.

  “What are they doing?” Gwen asked.

  “Being curious,” Alla replied. “My husband and son are very curious.”

  Brody leaned against the van and sniffed at the window. When that didn’t seem to work, he grabbed hold of the door handle and pulled, ripping the handle from the door.

  Gwen’s body jerked. “Oh.”

  Lock walked to the back of the van and tugged on the door handles there…before ripping them off. Like his father, he dropped them to the ground and focused on the doors. He pressed on the two darkened windows in the back of the van with his fingertips. Nodding, he stepped back, balled his hands into fists, and slammed them forward, breaking through the glass.

  The motor on the van roared to life as Lock reached into the broken windows and grasped the doors from the inside. Brody broke through the driver’s side window with his elbow and grabbed hold of that door. Tires spun as the vehicle shifted into Drive, but it sat in position for several long seconds, tires churning up gravel and dirt, until there was a hard squeal of metal and the van shot off—leaving its three doors behind.

  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, becau
se 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.”

  She made a little whimpering sound and covered her face up with the pillow again. He wasn’t sure why, but who cared? Because at this moment, in his perfect universe, he had Gwen O’Neill right where he wanted her.

  Gwen caught her lip between her teeth and peeked around that pillow like a nervous virgin. She watched, barely able to breathe, as Lock hooked his arms under her knees and lifted her legs up and back, giving him complete access to her pussy. He gazed down, giving her a brief second of concern, before he licked his lips and lowered his head between her thighs.

  To Gwen, there was absolutely nothing sexier than that first moment a man went down on a woman. In this case, however, she knew she’d never find anything sexier than Lock MacRyrie doing it. He’d given her that explanation about his mouth earlier as if he’d had no idea the power of what he was telling her. Did he not know that some women searched their entire lives looking for a man who’d developed the kind of talents Lock had gotten naturally from his DNA? Of course, this explained why She-bears never talked about their men. Why would they? Why would they give up the secret of their happy marriages? Only a fool would do that, and bears were never fools.

  Lock kissed the inside of her thighs, gently licking and nipping the sensitive flesh. He took his time, and Gwen refused to say a word. She wouldn’t say anything that would ruin this. Not with her big mouth. Not a word. Not a syllable. Nothing.

  His tongue slid ins
ide her and Gwen’s eyes closed, her back arching a bit. Well, if nothing else, the man had the basics down, using his tongue to make her wet and crazy while he held her firmly. As he licked her, Gwen quickly forgot about anything but what he was doing to her. He teased her, taking his time, playing with her body. She enjoyed every second of it and, as she felt that first orgasm coming her way, his mouth moved and she felt his lips wrap around her clit. She groaned, the first orgasm easing through her. Until Lock did…something. Something so astounding, her entire body quaked, his lips tightening around her clit and twisting one way, then another, then tugging. Or something. Whatever he was doing, the original, slow-moving orgasm was brutally shoved away for the promise of something stronger and more powerful than she could have ever dreamed of. Gwen’s entire body bowed, her hands holding the pillow against her face out of courtesy to his neighbors. His lips twisted again, tugged, pulled, and Gwen almost shot off the bed. Her legs started to close of their own volition, but big, powerful hands pinned them down, making her eyes cross from the simple action.

  Shaking, sweating, the orgasm bearing down on her yet still somehow out of her reach, Gwen allowed her body and desires to rule this moment with this man. She trusted him to take care of her, and knowing that made her groans deeper, her gasps louder.

  His hands began to move, and the touch of his fingers against her skin was more intense than anything she’d ever known. Ever felt. One hand wrapped around her breast, his fingers squeezing and tugging the same as what his mouth was doing to her clit. Two thick fingers from his other hand pushed inside her, fucking her hard. He was relentless, almost brutal. But he didn’t hurt her. Far from it.

  It was that mix of restrained strength with unending determination that took her over the edge. She came so hard that only his strong arms pinning her thighs down kept her on the bed, and his wonderful-smelling pillow muffled her screams.