“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 thepassenger 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.