by Vivian Arend
Copper King
Copper King
Three things make billionaire Jim Halcyon’s to-do list: women, work…and more women. It’s a perfect agenda for a rich shifter who has no problem letting his inner grizzly out to play. From the bright lights of Vegas, to the sophisticated action of New York—he’s got the money and the power to do anything he wants.
Anything, except resist the lure of Lady Luck, an ancient copper coin he gambles yearly to possess. Jim is determined to regain control of the pretty penny, and damn if he’ll let any bit of eye candy distract him from his goal. Not even the mesmerizing woman in the middle of the casino floor with the shimmering hair and enormous green eyes.
With a life-changing move ahead of her, Lillie’s finagled a temporary layover en route to her future. She’s got five days to soak in new experiences, and while Vegas is too big and shiny and loud for her shy bear self, she’s eager to do this up right. It’s the last chance she’s got to let her hair down.
Until his challenge begins, Jim is more than willing to oblige Lillie’s wish for a final fling. Only Lady Luck has some twists of fate planned for them both…
Chapter One
Jim Halcyon was in lust.
Or maybe obsessed was a better term. Whatever it was, he couldn’t pull his gaze away. Her bright coppery tones reflected the overhead lights, sparkling back as she rotated before him. Soft edges, infinite value—not because she was so rare, but because of what she represented.
This time, she wasn’t getting away from him.
“You’re the easiest person in the world to distract,” Damon Black taunted.
Jim instinctively closed his fingers over the coin lying in the palm of his hand, tempted to slam the fist he’d formed into the pretty-boy face of one of the only shifters brave enough to mock him.
His best friend peeled his grasp open and withdrew the small copper disk, placing it and its protective plastic case on the bar counter in front of them. “Now that you’ve seen for yourself Lady Luck is here, let’s talk. How have you been? I haven’t seen you much in the past month, and phone calls and texts don’t cut it, since you suck at doing anything other than yattering about work.”
“I’ve been busy,” Jim snapped.
Damon raised a brow, his unspoken see what I mean? coming through loud and clear.
Jim let out a long, slow breath. Fine, he’d humour the blond bastard. “You know, for someone who swears he wants me to relax, you might let a fellow have some quality time with the woman he loves, instead of rushing the moment.” Jim deliberately lifted the coin in the air, twisting slowly so the casino lighting bounced off the cut lines, making the ancient artifact shine like a brand-new penny.
“Fine by me.” A gloating grin drifted over Damon’s fair features. “Since this is the only time you’ll get a chance to fondle her, you may as well make the most of it.”
“Ass.”
Damon chuckled. “Three years running I’ve won the bet. You must miss having Lady Luck in your life.”
Jim forced down a growl of discontent, but facts were facts. It wasn’t because he hadn’t done his damnedest to win, and no way Damon could claim otherwise.
The trouble was every man had a fatal flaw, and Jim Halcyon’s was women. Blonde, brunette, short or tall, there was so much to love about women. Plus, there were so many women to love, and Jim happily obliged as many as possible.
His dedication to the task had inevitably led to his downfall during their previous contests. Not because he’d been fucking around, but because every damn time he’d ended up acting as a white knight to some damsel in distress. He had no proof, but he was almost certain the ladies had been setups put in place by his rival.
Damon might be a great friend, but the joker never gave an inch.
Not about anything—and lately his neurotic energy seemed focused on make Jim relax. It was like being friends with an overenthusiastic border collie.
Other years their challenges had taken them around the world to all sorts of exotic locations. They’d wined, and dined, and partied like animals as well as completing their task. This time, though, the lucky piece was the only part of the competition Jim was interested in, as he’d informed his friend months ago. Set up something fast and to the point—make it over quickly so Jim could get back to work a.s.a.p.
Damon had refused to give up any advance details, damn near dragging him to Vegas and holding Lady Luck as bait until Jim finally agreed to show up without specifics.
“This year’s going to be different,” Jim insisted. “I refuse to get caught up in any sob stories that might steal victory from me. Let’s get rolling. What’s the challenge?”
Damon gave him a long, hard stare, his bright blue eyes far too astute. “Dude, stop and breathe for a minute. You can’t keep going like a madman or you’re going break something. Or someone.”
“Exactly. So hurry up and let’s start relaxing.”
Damon rolled his eyes.
“I’m winning her back,” Jim warned.
His friend shook his head slowly, as if realizing something. He spoke in a far softer voice. “It is just a game, right? A chance for us to let off some steam. You don’t really believe your luck for the coming year depends on winning the coin?”
“Of course not,” Jim denied, shoving down memories that threatened to rise. “I don’t believe in luck.”
“Ha!” His friend’s response, instant and loud, brought the attention of others their way. Mostly smiles, especially from the women as Damon turned the single outburst into a rolling laugh, the kind that was contagious. “Do you want me to get you a shovel to handle that load of shit?”
Oh, the joys of friends who have known you for years. “It’s not really that I think I have shitty luck without her.”
“Okay.” Which also meant bullshit.
Jim briefly wondered what Damon would look like as a rug.
Vengeful thoughts temporarily on hold, Jim rolled the coin between his fingers like a street performer. A low hum of conversation and music surrounded them with the constant din unique to Vegas. Slot machines sang, bells and thrills echoed, accompanied by the occasional burst of laughter or raised voices. Piped-in oxygen wafted on the air. All of it as familiar as his own backyard.
Hell, this was his backyard—one of them, anyway. The luxury suite on the thirty-sixth floor had his name on the lease, same as the penthouse apartment he owned in New York, and the spectacular new home going up on his family inheritance in the north.
The memory jerked him to a stop—
There were things he didn’t want to dwell on, and that was one of them.
So he forced a grin back on his face and went to work distracting Damon. “I just happen to have even more spectacular luck than usual when she’s in my possession. I was the one who found her all those years ago.”
“I know. I get to hear this story every damn year. An old woman foretold your future and called you the Copper King. Blah, blah, blah.” Damon shook his head sadly, as if ready to call the men in white for a visit. “She’s a figment of your imagination, Jim. You were drunk.”
“Me? If I was drunk, how come you don’t remember how we got back to the ship?” Eighteen years old, and they’d spent the summer running rampant through the Mediterranean. It was the best graduation present his parents could have given him.
Another hard slam to his gut. Another fake smile pinned to his lips.
Damon?
Laid a hand on his shoulder, as if the bastard knew exactly what was going through his brain.
Jim lifted his glass in a silent salute to his parents before shooting the liquid back, the cold burn settling in like a familiar fire. Seize the moment—it’s what they would have wanted. It was part of the reason they’d giv
en him such freedom so many years ago.
And the summer hadn’t all been partying and fooling around…
Well, it had mostly been partying and fooling around, but there had been two other noteworthy accomplishments. The acquisition of the ancient coin he and Damon had pooled their rapidly dwindling resources to purchase, and Jim had gotten a good look at all the different architecture.
He’d come back inspired, not only from the Copper King prophecy bouncing in his head, but with the belief he could do anything he applied himself to.
Including becoming rich building others’ dreams.
Richer. He might have been born into money, but he’d more than doubled his initial stake since putting his mind to the task.
At his side, Damon swirled his whiskey, his smile broadening. “That summer will live on in infamy.” He glanced at Jim. “Whether the fortuneteller was right or not, we’ve had our moments, haven’t we? I mean all things considered, who would have guessed that a wolf and a bear could go as far as we have in the last dozen years?”
Jim raised his second drink in the air. “It’s only going to get better.”
Damon clinked their glasses together, and they both drank, the icy liquor flowing down Jim’s throat in a rush that turned to liquid flames.
Having a wolf shifter as a best friend wasn’t typical, but then neither Jim nor Damon were typical shifters. Rather than hang out with the wolf pack, Damon tended more toward the loner side of the equation. And most bears, who were better known for enjoying seclusion, didn’t understand why Jim enjoyed constantly having company around.
He liked time alone well enough, but crowds made him surprisingly happy. And women—
Because these days it always came back to the women. They were his distraction, and thus his salvation.
On the other side of the round bar, two nicely packaged ladies were eyeing them, lashes fluttering as they sipped their drinks and whispered together in low tones.
Damon noticed them noticing, a low approving rumble escaping as he motioned for the bartender. He ordered a pitcher of beer then turned back to Jim. “The blonde on the right thinks you’re exceptionally sexy, by the way. She wants to slurp you up in one go.”
Jim choked in mid-drink. “You should come with a warning sign. It’s not fair wolf hearing is that much better than humans’.”
“You’re just complaining because you can’t hear for shit.”
“Fuck off.”
His hearing was better than a typical human, just not as good as a wolf. Another delight of having old friends—the arguments carried on for years. “You want me to open a can of whoop-ass on you?”
His friend twisted in his chair. “Ignoring for a brief moment the all-too-desirable damsels who are flirting with us, are you ready for this year’s challenge?”
“I take it we’re not canoeing the length of the Yangtze River?” He’d come so close to winning last year, he’d been positive Damon wouldn’t dare another physical challenge. Yet here they were in Nevada. “We’re trekking across the desert, right? No food, no water. A true Survivorman in the best tradition of shifterdom.”
“Unfortunately, there are a few too many satellites perusing this section of the state. I don’t think we want anyone wondering why there’s a grizzly trekking through the area. Hell, do you want to end up hit by another tranquilizer dart?”
Jim chuckled over a previous year’s disaster. “I never expected the RCMP to find us that far north in Québec.”
“You’re lucky I figured out which zoo they took you to after you got caught.” Damon put his empty glass on the bar. “No, since I am the previous winner and get to set the challenge, I’ve worked hard to make it perfect. I considered organizing a game of wits—”
“Admitting defeat already, are you? Since you’re unarmed?”
Damon ignored his interruption. “—and instead decided that, come Friday, we’ll be biking to Crater Lake and back.”
Wait. “Okay, the biking thing works for me, as long as you’re talking motorbikes, but what the hell? Why did you tell me to get here on Monday if this doesn’t go down until Friday?”
“Can I borrow your phone for a second?”
Jim stifled his second what the hell and handed it over. “Not answering my question is immature. What gives?”
His friend shrugged, poking briefly at the phone. “I figured you need one thing right now. Time off.”
“Right. I’ll take the day off to do the ride.”
“And you’ll dive right back into work the next day.”
“So?” Jim glared, daring him to keep pushing.
Like the moonstruck-crazy wolf that he was, Damon only grinned harder. “So, consider this an enforced vacation. From now until we hit the road, you’re off the clock. You’re in Vegas. Play some games, find someone to screw. Have some fun.”
Damn it. His friend was asshole enough to force him to have a good time. “This is bullshit, Damon. Give me back my phone.”
“Sure.”
Jim watched in shocked disbelief as Damon deliberately dropped his lifeline to work into the beer pitcher the waiter had just set on the counter.
“You shit.”
Damon hauled the container out of reach before Jim could rescue his technology. “I know you have nothing vital in the works, because you had no idea where I would take us. Which means, as completely obsessive as you are, you cleared your calendar for the week. Suck it up and have a good time for a change.”
It was damn near impossible to stay angry with the loco wolf. “You owe me a new phone, and a new pitcher of beer.”
“Deal.” Damon thrust out a hand. “First thing when we get back from the road trip, I’ll buy you one with all the bells and whistles.”
Jim gave in and gave up, shaking his friend’s hand. It wasn’t that bad an idea—spending a couple days hanging out with the bastard. “We haven’t done this for a long time.”
“Maybe you haven’t, but I’m fully up to speed with all my moves, and ready for the next round.” Damon eased back his chair, tilting his head toward the women, making it obvious what kind of action was on his mind.
Hell, yeah. Jim made eye contact with the ladies who sized him up as if he were a tasty piece of cake. One of them licked her lips, and a hit of sexual heat rolled through his gut. If Damon insisted he had to stay and play?
Playing could be fun.
He slapped a pile of bills on the counter, motioning for the bartender. “Tell the ladies their drinks are on me.”
Jim planted a hand between Damon’s shoulders and forcibly directed him around the corner of the elevated bar. The women watched, rosy-cheeked and obviously pleased at their approach.
“Who says you’re out of practice?” Damon elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re such a dog.”
“Look who’s talking, wolfboy.”
His friend didn’t argue. In fact, he slipped between the women easily, hands landing on their shoulders as he kicked into flirtation mode.
With devoted attention to his task, Damon didn’t notice Jim jerk to a complete stop, captured by the most mesmerizing sight on the casino floor.
Sensual curves topped by absolute concentration, the woman’s gaze was fixed on a poker table. Her face was unconventionally beautiful, with high cheekbones and a crooked mouth, the corners of which were curled into a smile that screamed mischief.
Jim unlocked his feet from where they’d frozen to the ground, drifting forward slowly so he could get a closer look at his wonderful discovery.
Her hair was incredible. Long strands of spun reddish-gold, fresh from Rumpelstiltskin’s wheel, the shimmering mass brushed past her shoulders. The tiny diamond in her earlobe flashed in the lights as she stroked a loose strand behind her ear.
He wanted to see if her locks were as crushably soft yet silkily strong as the strands of copper they reminded him of. The copper he had, in his early years of construction, painstakingly handled, coiling old wire into bundles to be resold.
A pleasant anticipation shot through his limbs, and his bear rumbled awake.
She was short, petite even. The size of woman he could scoop up with one arm and not even notice her weight, especially if she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Of course, that would lead to her putting her legs around his hips, and suddenly the images flashing into his brain were far more intriguing than the idea of hanging with Damon, even with the lovely ladies at the bar.
His mysterious woman licked her lips, and his groin tightened further. He stared at the moisture left behind on the plump surface as driving lust hit. He needed to taste her. Her lips, the curve of her neck. The sweet swell of her breasts.
His cock pressed rock hard against the front of his dress pants, and he damn well planned to do something about that. Very soon.
A brief, blinding concern struck—everything about her wide-eyed innocence called to the protective side of him. He didn’t want to simply fuck her a few times. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, bending low to protect her from the sight of everyone else as he took the first taste of her rose-tinted pout. But no way would another woman come between him and winning this challenge.
Which led to a conversation between his lust and his ambition. Jim never understood why other people talked about having angels and devils on their shoulders to work out moral dilemmas.
All he had was one raunchy bastard and one filthy fucker, and it was scary how fast they got to the point.
It’s only Monday. You have until Friday.
This is just about getting her into bed.
Of course. And in the shower. And up against the wall.
Go get her…
He took another top-to-bottom perusal, his amusement rising after spotting the neon-green shoes on her feet. Pale grey pants clung to her legs, rounding over the flair of her hips. Her top was white with what looked like teeny polka dots scattered on the material, a hoodie in the back. The cut of the front was modest, but he’d easily fix that by slipping a couple buttons loose to better appreciate her full breasts. For someone who would barely come up to his chin, she was built just how he liked.
