She snatched his jersey off the floor and pulled it on before storming out of the room. Deciding he wasn’t done with this fight, Bo went after her. She was already walking out the front door, morning light flooding the hallway by the time he turned the corner.

“You’re not even wearing shoes,” he called after her, relieved to see that at least the storm had blown over.

“Thanks, Mom! I’ll keep that in mind.”

Grabbing a set of boots she’d left lying on the floor, he followed her out the door.

“Do you want to lose your toes? Do you think that’ll be attractive?” She stood at the top of the porch, so he crouched beside her, placing her feet in the boots. “Don’t make me mental, Blayne.”

“Uh . . . Bo?”

“We can argue. You can walk away.”

“Bo.”

He tied her boots. “But don’t walk away into volcanoes or tsunamis or into the freezing Ursus County cold because you’re being a drama queen.”

“Bo!”

“What?”

Blayne cleared her throat and said, “Uh . . . Bold Novikov, I’d like you to meet my father. Ezra Louis Thorpe.”

Praying she was kidding—but already knowing she wasn’t—he looked down the porch stairs. Unsmiling, black, powerfully built, in his fifties, and still wearing a buzz cut that was mere millimeters from bald, Bo knew this was Blayne’s father.

“Sir,” Bo said before raising his gaze to Blayne’s. “I am so naked,” he whispered. What kind of first impression could he be making right now?

“I’m almost positive he noticed that,” she whispered back. “Although if you go inside and get some pants . . . I don’t think he’ll mind.”

Bo nodded. “Good plan.” Then, with as much dignity as he could muster, he stood and walked into his uncle’s house.

Blayne waited until Bo had disappeared into the house before she marched down the stairs to her father.

“Why are you here?” she asked, seriously confused.

“I thought you wouldn’t come home unless I came here myself to get you.”

“Yeah, but . . . I didn’t expect you to actually come here. Although a phone call making sure I was okay would have been nice.”

Her father flicked her on the forehead, something she’d always hated. “Yeah. I can tell you’ve been hiding under the couch, waiting to be rescued for days now.” It took a lot not to cringe when her father reached over and tugged down the collar of her jersey just enough to see where Bo had marked her.

“Huh,” he said. He laid the collar back down, sighed. “I don’t want to worry you, but you’re still oozing.”

“Gee . . . thanks, Dad.”

“What do you want me tosay?”

“You see that your daughter is marked, and that’s the best you can come up with?”

“What would you like to hear then? ‘Hope your kids aren’t freaks?’”

“Oh, my God!” she exploded. “You’re a such a—”

A big hand wrapped around her face, cutting off the rest of the sentence that would send father and daughter into one of their screaming matches. “Let’s get you dressed,” Bo said, shoving her toward the house. “So we can head home.”

He pushed her up the porch, down the hallway, and into the bedroom they’d been sharing. He closed the door. “You need to calm down,” he told her.

“He called our future children freaks!” she accused.

“We’re having children now? Because before he showed up you couldn’t handle living under my brutal regime.”

“I never said that.”

“Really?” he asked, grabbing the clean clothes he’d placed on the bed for her and handing them over. “Because it sounded like you did.”

“I don’t hate you, you idiot. I’m in love with you. That’s why I’m panicking!” She marched to the door and yelled, “And our children will not be freaks!”

“Except their mother already is,” her father yelled back.

Deciding that the old bastard’s untimely death was in order, Blayne yanked the door open, but Bo quickly slammed it shut again. He leaned against it and gazed down into her face. “You love me?”

“Do you think I’d put up with your obsessive nature for five seconds if I didn’t love you?”

“And I’m sure the multimillion-dollar hockey career has nothing to do with it,” her father said through the door.

“When we get home, old man. You are so going to the old folks kennel!”

“Yeah, yeah,” her father said. “I look forward to it. Until then, think you can shift that shiftless ass into gear so we can get out of here before those Van Holtz idiots start whining about your goddamn safety—again?”

They walked into the chief ’s office, and Blayne squealed, “Lock!” She tore across the room, throwing herself into the grizzly’s arms.

Bo’s eyes narrowed, and his mane dropped to his shoulders.

“Oh, no,” her father said next to him with a level of sarcasm even Bo was finding hard to take. “Your kids won’t be freaks at all.”

“I love your daughter, sir,” Bo said low for Mr. Thorpe’s benefit only. “But don’t think for a second I won’t snap your neck like a twig if you get on my nerves.” The wolf looked up at him, brows raised, and Bo added, “No, really.”