The Mane Squeeze

by Shelly Laurenston

  “You look like Santa’s whores. And has Santa been pimp-slapping you all over New York?”

  Gwen took a step toward the mouthy wild dog, but Blayne caught her arm. “We came right from practice. We’ll wipe the blood off.”

  “Do that,” the Russian ordered before heading off to the kitchen with the cakes.

  “And happy fucking holidays to you, too.”

  “Ignore her.” Blayne shook off the rudeness like she always did and grabbed Gwen’s hand, dragging her into the party.

  “Blayne!” the crowd called out as soon as she walked in.

  Gwen pushed Blayne toward her waiting friends and cut through the crowd. She saw Ric and said, “Where’s my honey bun?”

  He laughed. “Upstairs, I think. And was that the lovely Dee-Ann I just saw come in with you?”

  “Yeah. And if you can find her again, more power to you.” She kissed his cheek and kept moving through the crowd until she saw Mitch and Sissy kissing on the stairs.

  “Find a room,” she teased, stepping over them.

  “Don’t begrudge us our forbidden love,” her brother playfully chastised.

  Laughing, Gwen jogged up the stairs. “Hey, Bren.”

  “Hey, Gwenie. You look cute.”

  “Thanks.” As Gwen went past him, she saw Ronnie Lee, slammed back into the wall, and bared her fangs at her while hissing.

  “Hey, darlin’,” Ronnie Lee said with that big smile. “Have a wonderful holiday!”

  Still hissing in very clear warning, Gwen went down the hall, keeping her back to the wall until Ronnie and Bren disappeared down the stairs. She turned and kept moving until she reached another set of stairs. She ran up those, passing others she knew, wishing some a happy holiday, ignoring others she didn’t really like.

  She caught sight of Jess coming out of a room. She slowed down and stopped in front of her. “How ya doin’, sweetie?”

  “Everybody gets morning sickness in the first trimester. Leave it to me to get it in the second.”

  “At least two of my aunts got it in the second. You have Saltines?”

  She held up the packet. “But it’s Christmas. I should be gorging, not purging.”

  “Now you’re like all those Hollywood stars.”

  She smirked. “Thanks.”

  “Have you seen my honey bun?”

  Jess nodded. “See those stairs at the end of the hall? Go all the way up and the door at the end will take you to the roof. He’s been up there for like an hour.”

  “You know how he is about crowds.” Gwen headed toward the stairs. “How long before you need me?”

  “Another ten, fifteen…I…I…” Hearing retching noises, Gwen spun around to see Jess dashing back into the bedroom with her hand over her mouth. Gwen started to head toward her, but she saw Smitty.

  “She needs you.”

  “I know.” He held up a soda can. “I got her some ginger ale.”

  He winked and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  Following Jess’s directions, Gwen found Lock right where Jess had said he’d be. On the roof.

  Gwen sat across from him, her legs straddling the roof’s ledge. It was a healthy drop if either of them fell, but hell…they’d survived going over a mountain, they could survive this.

  Lock smiled. “Hey.”

  “Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

  “No problem.” He leaned in and kissed her and like always she lost herself in that kiss. Hard not to when he had those damn lips that did something to her every time.

  Lock was the first to pull back, but he nuzzled his nose against hers, and Gwen ended up giggling.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he sighed.

  “I’m glad I’m here, too.” She took his hand between her own. “You ready for tomorrow?”

  His eyes crossed, making Gwen giggle more.

  “Breakfast at my parents’ and dinner at your mom’s? Can’t wait.”

  “Let’s get through tomorrow and then for New Year’s Eve it’ll just be you, me, champagne, Chinese food from down the block, and your favorite honey.”

  “You promise?”

  “Absolutely. We’ll need the break.”

  “You sure you want to miss out on the yearly Shaw extravaganza at his hotel?” When Gwen only stared at him, he said, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Good. Now let’s get downstairs.” She started to get up, but Lock tugged her back down.

  “Wait.”

  “I want to give you something,” Lock said, digging deep for the balls to do this.

  “I thought we were going to wait until Christmas…especially important since I haven’t actually finished wrapping.”

  “This can’t wait.” Lock took a deep breath and quickly placed his gift into her palm. “Here.”

  Gwen opened her hand, gazing down at it until she said, “It’s an engagement ring.”

  “Yeah. It had a box. Two, actually, including one of those blue Tiffany ones.”

  Slowly Gwen’s gaze lifted to his. “It had a box?”

  “Yeah. I was holding it, trying to think of the best way to ask you to marry me and I…uh…accidentally crushed it.”

  “I see.”

  “The ring’s fine, though. Right?” He leaned in, trying to look. “Isn’t it?”

  “It’s…” Gwen suddenly looked up at him. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

  “Badly but…yes.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean why?”

  “Mitch still calls you ‘that bastard’ and Bren won’t even speak to you and I’m almost positive something is going on between my mother and one, if not all, of your uncles and Blayne is well…Blayne, and my Uncle Cally is still talking about taking a two-by-four to the back of your head and—”

  “Gwen. They’re not you. I love you. I want to marry you.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Lock laughed. “Of course I’m sure. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But…I don’t want to rush you into anything. So if you feel more comfortable—”

  Gwen slipped the ring on her left index finger. “It fits. And it’s perfect.”

  “I went for subtle. Hope that was okay.”

  “Perfect.”

  She looked up at him and Lock was reaching for her, knowing what her answer would be from the love in her eyes, when the roof door slammed opened and Blayne walked out. “Hey. They want to start giving out the gifts so…”

  Lock didn’t know what Blayne saw or if the friends had some nonverbal communication that passed between them but suddenly Blayne shot forward and grabbed Gwen’s hand.

  “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

  “Blayne,” Gwen warned. “Don’t do anything stup—Blayne!”

  Lock watched as Blayne dragged his fiancée off the roof.

  He charged after them, but the pair moved like lightning, their derby skills allowing Blayne to drag Gwen through the crowd of people in the wild dog house, dodging bodies and kids and stuff with amazing ease.

  As Lock made it down the stairs to the first floor, people instantly moving out of his way while the wild dog pups followed behind him as they always did, hoping he’d roar at them, Blayne jumped up on a coffee table in the middle of the room, holding Gwen’s hand up.

  “They’re engaged!” the wolfdog screamed out.

  There was a long shocked pause, and then the room erupted into hysterical cheers, the wild dogs rushing forward while Ric smiled, the Smith wolves appeared confused, and the Shaw brothers scowled at Lock.

  He shrugged at them and said, “At least I’m marrying mine.”

  “Bastard,” Mitch snarled.

  “Son of a bitch,” Bren snapped before both brothers stormed off.

  As the crowd of well-wishers surged, Gwen was suddenly spit out of the group and right into Lock’s arms.

  “Are you okay?” He put her on her feet but kept his arms around her.

  “Yeah, but…” She motione
d to the crowd around Blayne, Ric, and a rather unwell-looking Jess. “Shouldn’t they be congratulating us?”

  “That’s usually the protocol, but they’re wild dogs, which automatically translates to weird.”

  “I guess, but still.”

  Not caring about any of that, Lock lifted Gwen into his arms and held her close, her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

  “So,” he said, rubbing his nose against hers, “I’m assuming when we were on the roof you were about to say yes.”

  Gwen laughed. “Yeah. I was about to.” She kissed him. “And yes. I’ll marry you.”

  Pulling her closer, Lock went in to kiss Gwen again, but she pulled back.

  “You should know that an O’Neill female getting married? That hasn’t happened since the druids ruled Ireland. So you should be prepared for me and Blayne to be doing a little cousin torturing.”

  “If you’re going to do that, Mr. Mittens, then we should really have some fun and think about a big wedding.”

  Gwen’s face scrunched up in clear disapproval.

  “Big wedding? You, who hates being the center of attention and me who hates…everything else?”

  “Think about it. Your mother forced to work with mine—who has huge moral issues over large weddings—while your brothers are forced to help them by your mother. In the meantime you, me, Blayne, Ric, Jess, and Dee, if we can actually find her, are in Hawaii. By the time we get back, we’ll be married, and the wedding will only be a nightmare party we have to get through.”

  “Diabolical.”

  “I am my mother’s son.”

  Gwen brushed her hand across his chest and shoulders, before slipping her arms around his neck, and Lock hiked her up a bit so they could look each other in the eye.

  Kissing his cheek, Gwen asked, “And, baby?”

  Lock sighed as she kissed his neck. “Uh-huh?”

  “For the wedding night—” kissed his jaw “—when we’re alone…”

  “Uh-huh?” he asked again seconds before he started humming, his eyes crossing as her tongue traced his ear and those damn nails dragged along the corded muscles of his neck.

  “You’ll wear the kilt, right?” And Lock burst out laughing, the amazing feline in his arms grinning and snuggling closer, her body fitting perfectly against his. “Ya know? Just for me?”

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  The man holding her elbow tugged her in out of the rain.

  “Thank you,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry—my umbrella—”

  “Marco picked it up,” came a very deep voice with a bit of a rough edge to it, like maybe he’d just woken up.

  She was still blinking water out of her eyes and he still had a hold on her elbow. Her other hand was clutching her purse and laptop bag to her side in a death grip. Everything was just a blur. “Marco?”

  “Ground crew. Here, let me take those.”

  Her elbow was abruptly released, which sent her a bit off balance, then her bags were suddenly lifted from her shoulder and slipped out of her death grip as if her hands were made from putty, sending her staggering a step in the other direction. Both her feet slipped a little as the smooth soles of her shoes were not made for…well, any of this. And then his hands were on her again, both elbows this time, and, and…well, the entire last sixty seconds had been so discombobulating, for a person who was never discombobulated, that she didn’t know quite what to do. She blinked at him through wet ropes of hair and fogged glasses, arms still akimbo as he wrestled her to a balanced position.

  “Bad day?”

  It was the dry amusement lacing his tone that gave her the focus she so mercifully needed. She tugged her elbows from his grip, as if all this was suddenly very much his fault, but instead of being the liberating, independence-returning move she was so desperately seeking, the action only served to send her wheeling backward. Which resulted in being caught, once again, even more humiliatingly than before, by his very big, very strong, and very steadying hands.

  “Thank you,” she managed through gritted teeth. She carefully removed one elbow from his grip, not chancing leaving his steadying powers all at once, and scraped her hair from her forehead and removed her fogged glasses from her face. Finally able to see, she looked up…only to be thrown completely off balance all over again. But, this time, her feet were totally flat and stable, on hard, steady ground. “You can let me go now,” she managed in a choked whisper.

  He was just above average height, probably not even six feet, but given she topped the height chart at five-foot-six, and that was in three-inch heels, he was very tall to her. But it wasn’t the height part that commanded the attention. Nor was it really the square jaw, the thick neck, broad shoulders, very nicely muscled arms and chest that were obvious even through the old sweatshirt and T-shirt he wore. The thick, sun-bleached brown hair might have been a teensy part of it, but mostly it was the piercing blue eyes—truly, they pierced—staring at her from his weathered, deeply tanned face.

  Crinkles fanned from the corners of those eyes, and there were grooves bracketing either side of his mouth, but she didn’t know if that was from squinting into the sun or smiling a lot. He wasn’t smiling now, so it was hard to tell. But he was still holding on to her, and it was that, plus those look-right-through-you eyes, that were keeping her from reclaiming the rest of her much-needed balance.

  “I’m—fine. Really. Thank you. Again.”

  He held her gaze for another seemingly endless moment, then gently let her go. “No worries.”

  “I, uh, need to rent a car.” She was normally calm and cool under fire. It was why Todd had been so impressed and promoted her up the ranks of his campaign staff so quickly. It was also why she’d been one of the first ones the senator had hired to his permanent staff when he’d won his bid for office. If he could see her now, he wouldn’t even recognize her. She didn’t recognize her. Of course, the fact that she probably looked like a drowned cat didn’t help matters. “If you could just point me in the right direction—” I will slink off and pretend we never met.

  “You don’t need a car.”

  She looked up at him again, and though she’d never particularly thought of herself as vain, she’d have given large sums for the use of a comb, a tissue, and a handheld mirror. Okay, so a full salon makeover probably wouldn’t have hurt at that moment, but her pride wouldn’t have minded at least a brief attempt at restoration. “Where I’m headed is about two and a half hours from here, and though it’s probably not all that far-fetched to think they probably rent horses here, I’m thinking the locals, not to mention the horse, will be a lot safer if I get a nice SUV instead.”

  His lips quirked a little then, and her pulse actually did this zippy jumpy thing. And it felt kind of good—in a somewhat startling, disconcerting kind of way. However—reality check—she hadn’t forgotten that her appearance was highly unlikely to provoke the same reaction in him. Besides, she was not here on vacation. She was here on a very serious mission that had absolutely nothing to do with having a vacation fling of any kind. Not that she was the fling type. Or that men ever flung themselves at her, vacation or otherwise, for her to know. But, still.

  “Given the weather, it would probably be as uncomfortable for the horse, but that’s not why I said you don’t need a ride. You don’t need one, because I’m your ride.”

  God help her, she looked him up and down before she could stop herself. He was her ride?

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  “Who the hell was that?” McCabe said from behind her.

  “And this day just keeps getting better and better.” Bebe turned to face Donovan. “Dara’s none of your business, so forget her.”

  “Dara who?” He had his cop stare firmly in place. She hated being on the receiving end of cop stares, because it mea
nt the cop wasn’t budging till he got an answer.

  “Dara is my mother-of-the-year. Make that foster mother. There, now you know. Happy? And what are you doing here anyway? Thought we were meeting at the station?”

  Donovan’s eyes widened and he let out a soft whistle, his gaze on Dara retreating down the street. “How the hell did that happen?”

  “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re a pain in the ass.” But the crack wasn’t as sarcastic as she intended because he wasn’t all pain and he certainly had a nice ass. And right now he was all yummy with his black hair damp from a recent shower and a soft navy shirt and worn jeans hugging lean hips. “I’ll give you the ten-cent version to shut you up. Best I can figure, Dara was paid to take me, and no, I don’t know why, and no, I don’t intend to find out, because my real parents must be total scum to sell a kid. And yes, I did change my name and don’t you dare go feeling sorry for me, because I sure as hell don’t need a pity party, and now you want to tell me what you’re doing on my front stoop at this hour?”

  Her gaze met his and she braced herself for the Oh, you poor thing look, but instead Donovan bent his head and kissed her. She started to protest, but her lips were busy and suddenly her tongue was, too, and then her arms got into the act and then her insides melted into hot goo, which had acid beat all to hell and back. This kiss was all wrong on every level except one…Donovan McCabe felt so darn good when she was feeling crappy as hell.

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  Whatever the Seer wanted, the Seer got, be it for his comfort of his whim or his pleasure.

  She stood staring at the chair on the raised dais at one end of the chamber, the chair where he sat when the visions came. From the expression that filled her green eyes, she knew it as well.

  Had she witnessed his power? Had she watched as the magic within him exploded into a vision of what was or what would yet be? As he influenced the high and the mighty of the surrounding lands and clans with the truth of his gift? Walking over to stand behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her back to his body.