Sander dived onto the couch, immediately going to sleep; and Sami began to dial numbers. “So does this guy owe you money or something?”

“He has my wolfdog. I want my wolfdog!”

“Okay. Okay. Control the mane. It’s sprawling across your shoulders. Just give me a couple of minutes.” She grinned. “I know some people.” Bo already knew that.

Sami waited patiently while, he assumed, the phone rang on the other end. She looked him over a few times, finally asking, “Any messages from home?”

“Your mother sends her love and details on an incoming shipment of emeralds, which I wasn’t going to tell you about”—he glared at the emerald choker she had on—“but I see we’re a little past that now.”

She shrugged, the fingers of her free hand running over the priceless jewels she wore with jeans and a T-shirt. “Foxes love the sparkle.”

And for the first time in twelve hours, Bo laughed.

Unable to continue sleeping with two females giggling hysterically in his bathroom, Lock headed to his kitchen. Coffee. He needed coffee.

He was walking through his hallway, heading toward his kitchen, when he caught a scent, stopping him in his tracks. He focused on the door at the end of the hallway, blinking when the industrial strength door he’d had installed was torn off at the hinges.

The slightly larger bear-cat hybrid walked into his house like he’d been invited. “Where is she?” Novikov demanded.

“And a happy morning to you, too.”

The hybrid stormed up to Lock, scowling the entire way. When he stood in front of him, the bastard slammed his forehead into Lock’s, knocking the grizzly back a foot or two. Lock shook his head, trying to get the ringing out of his ears. Once he’d done that, he butted the idiot back.

They had each other in mutual headlocks by the time a hearty laugh floated from the bedroom. Novikov threw Lock off and followed the sound.

Wiping the blood from his jaw and nose, Lock grinned.

Okay, yeah. Sometimes . . . I am a dick.

He found her in a bedroom with Gwen. And the sight wasn’t nearly as interesting as it probably sounded since Blayne was stretched out, stomach down on the bed, reading a magazine and Gwen was sitting on the floor painting her toenails.

Scenting that this was the room Blayne spent the night in, he stormed over to the bed and began picking up the magazines she had laying all over the bed, the floor. Everywhere!

“How can you live like this?” he demanded. “This isn’t even your house!”

Without even looking up from the copy of Mademoiselle, “This is how you say hello to me?”

“You’re lucky I don’t wring your scrawny chicken neck. You couldn’t call? Check in? Something?”

“I thought about doing that . . . then I forgot . . . then I remembered. .. then I forgot again.” She shrugged, still focused on her magazine. “I figured I’d see you today or something.”

Unsure of what the hell was going on, Bo looked over at Gwen. She shrugged, looking as confused as Bo felt.

Not sure how to handle this situation, he handled it as his uncle would. He dropped the pile of magazines he’d picked up back on the floor, grabbed the base of the frame of the bed, and flipped Blayne’s cute ass right off it.

“Hey!” she squealed.

Bo dropped the bed. “See ya,” he said, and walked out the door.

“You’re leaving?” she yelled after him.

“Yes!” he yelled back. “I’m leaving, Lady Spoiled Brat of Spoiled-Bradington. Have a good life!”

Bo was near the front . . . hole—the door was still in the hallway, the grizzly trying to figure out how to get it back on—when he heard feet run up behind him and felt something small, cruel, and heartless land on his back.

“You,” she accused, “are so rude!”

Bo stopped walking. “I’m rude? I am rude?”

“You heard me.”

Reaching behind him, he caught Blayne by the ass and swung her off his back. She squealed again until he placed her safely on her feet.

“You left me!” he accused. “You left me and didn’t even bother calling me!”

“You knew I was with Gwen.” She sounded so reasonable, like he was the out-of-control one.

“Nope. I can’t do this.” He took a step to walk around her, but she stepped in front of him, blocking his exit. He tried to ignore the fact she only had on a big Philly Eagles jersey and thick socks, her hair in two ponytails. She looked adorable and it wasn’t fair. It was not fair at all!

“You can’t do what?”

“Put up with you.”

“Put up with me? I didn’t know I was such a chore.”

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Well, since I still can’t get this goddamn watch off . . .” she muttered before looking at it. “Nine thirty.”

“Right. And the first game of the Cup finals less than a week away. And what am I doing, Blayne? What am I doing at nine thirty in the morning before Cup finals?”

“Uh . . .”

“Well?”

“Looking for me?”

“Do you think I’d be looking for you if I weren’t worried about you? Because I hadn’t heard from you? Because I hadn’t heard from anyone?”

“I needed some time to think, okay? And I didn’t know if I was supposed to go back to your place or my place or if I was being kind of presumptuous thinking either way. I figured a night apart would do us both some good.”