Billion Dollar Bear

by Catherine Vale

  * * *

  Jericho’s breath hitched as he caught sight of the woman hovering at the top of the staircase. She was exactly like the woman he’d read about in the romance novel he’d been reluctantly absorbed by on the airplane – curling, reddish brown hair, whiskey eyes, and curves to make any man go wild. Unlike the romance heroine, she was dressed in a sensible pair of jeans and a snug-fitting t-shirt with the tourism agency’s logo written across her breasts, instead of a medieval gown, but the modern clothing only emphasized her wonderfully curvy body.

  This woman was absolutely breathtaking.

  Her eyes widened with fear as she caught sight of him, and a second later he realized why as her scent made its way to his nostrils. It was a mixture of cinnamon and almonds and – were-bear.

  No, he corrected himself a second later. Half were-bear. Which explained why the blood had drained from her face, and she looked like she was struggling with the urge to make a run for it. He knew he had to calm her down quickly, or he would lose a tour guide, and she would quite possibly lose her job.

  I will not harm you, he said, sending her a telepathic message and hoping she could understand it. Shifters had the ability to communicate telepathically, a useful trait since they couldn’t speak human words while in animal form, but half-breeds were a rather unpredictable bunch, and didn’t necessarily inherit all of the same traits as full-born shifters. I hold no ill will toward you.

  Apparently she heard him, because she relaxed, though her fingers still twisted nervously, and he frowned. Did she not take him at his word? Didn’t she know that shifters could not lie telepathically?

  “Mr. Knight, this is your tour guide, Rebecca Donaldson.” The receptionist introduced them with a cheery smile, completely oblivious to the tense exchange that had just occurred. “She’ll be showing you around our beautiful city of Paris for the duration of your stay.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Rebecca reluctantly offered a hand, clearly forcing the smile that stretched her trembling lips.

  “Likewise.” Jericho accepted her hand, and they both sucked in a sharp breath as electric sensation arced between them at the touch. A flush ignited instantly in Rebecca’s cheeks, traveling down to her toes, brightening her eyes, and leaving her breathless.

  It was clear that Jericho was also feeling the connection between them, as he studied her face carefully, a look of dark confusion burning in his eyes, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

  What the fuck?

  It took a few moments for him to tune back in to what the receptionist was saying, and be able to make sense of anything around him. In those few moments of touching Rebecca, everything had faded and all he could see was her.

  “Sir? We’ll just need you to sign these this form, and you’ll be good to go.”

  “Yes, of course.” Jericho tried to shake off the hold that had taken a grip on his body, and quickly signed the papers. When he looked back, Becca was already at the door, waiting impatiently. From the look in her eyes, she wasn’t entirely sold on being his tour guide, and he imagined she would have a few choice words for him once they got outside.

  They made it to the parking garage beneath the building before she took a deep breath and spun around, fire in her eyes. “This isn’t what I was expecting,” she began, her cheeks flushed, as she looked up at him. She was tall for a woman, but he still towered over her.

  “Yes, well I wasn’t exactly expecting to run into a half-breed myself,” he said dryly. Frustration snapped through him as she stiffened, fear in her eyes once more, and he gritted his teeth. “I don’t want any trouble,” he insisted, his own jaw tightening as he glared down at her. “But if you think you can’t put your reservations aside long enough to be my guide, perhaps I should just go back inside and ask for someone else.”

  Becca felt as though she’d been slapped. Heat rushed to her cheeks, not from arousal this time, but embarrassment and anger. “No,” she said stiffly, lifting her chin. “It’s fine. I’ll be happy to show you around.” Her tone wasn’t convincing, but he couldn’t help but smile at her. She was certainly a spitfire, and he found himself still reeling from the sensations that had taken ahold of him when they had touched. He had never felt anything like that before.

  Dammit, Becca thought to herself. I should just walk away.

  While on the one hand it would be easier on her if she gave him up as a client, she wasn’t about to humiliate herself by allowing him to walk in, and request another guide. The office staff would think she’d done something to upset him, which would reflect poorly on her, costing her any change of a raise.

  And not to mention the fact that Crystalle would like give her shit for losing such an interesting client, much less one as sexy as he was. Not that any of that should matter one bit, she thought to herself. But somehow, it did.

  “Alright then.” His shoulders relaxed, his hands falling loosely to his sides, but he narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. “We agree not to try to stab each other in the back while the other isn’t looking?”

  A laugh threatened to bubble out of her at the twinkle that entered his magnificent blue eyes. His charm and sense of humor threw her off balance, made her want to let down her guard – something she definitely shouldn’t do with a man who could inflame her with such wicked desire with just a single touch. “You really don’t have a thing against half-breeds?”

  Jericho shrugged. “I’ve never been one to judge people based on the circumstances of their birth. You had nothing to do with that.”

  The truth that rang in his words, coupled with a complete and utter lack of disgust that she had come to expect from full-blood shifters, finally helped her to relax.

  “Alright then,” she said, allowing a smile to curve her lips. “You got yourself a deal. No backstabbing.”

  She offered her hand without thinking about it, and as he squeezed it, a hunger sparked low in her belly once again. Her breath caught as she saw the flame of desire reflected in Jericho’s blue eyes, and knew the feeling was entirely mutual – something that scared the hell out of her.

  “My car’s this way.” She dropped his hand like a hot brick, and headed for her cherry-red DS3, sandwiched neatly between the elevator, and a MINI in the compact section of the garage.

  Jericho eyed the car dubiously. “You can’t seriously expect me to fit inside this thing.”

  Becca glanced at Jericho’s broad, six-foot frame, then looked back at her little car. “I should probably back out first.”

  Chapter Five

  “I feel like I’ve been sandwiched into a sardine can,” Jericho grumbled as Becca worked her way down Avenue de l’Opera. “Don’t they sell bigger cars in Paris? Like, say, that one over there?” He pointed toward an SUV lumbering down the right side of the road – something that had shocked the shit out of him initially until he remembered that people drove on the wrong side of the road in Europe.

  Becca only arched a brow as she expertly wove through traffic. “Sure, if you want to spend the majority of your paycheck on gas,” she said. “The average price for a gallon of gas around here is something like six bucks or so.”

  “Six dollars?” Jericho choked. “That’s highway robbery.”

  Becca laughed, and then glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, amusement and curiosity sparkling in the coffee-brown depths. “You know,” she said suspiciously, “You speak a little differently for an American your age. Just how old are you, exactly?”

  Jericho hesitated before answering. He didn’t want to reveal too much about himself, at least not initially, as he didn’t want her to treat him differently. And yet he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t be able to sense a lie. “I was born in the 1890s,” he finally answered.

  Becca’s jaw dropped as she turned her head around to gape at him. “You… you’re… that means you’ve got to be at least one hundred years old.”

  Jericho’s lips curled into a wry smile. “I wish I were still that young,” he admitted. “No, it
’s closer to two hundred.” He frowned at the look of utter shock in Becca’s eyes. “You seem surprised.”

  “I… I had no idea shifters lived so long.” She returned her gaze to the road, her knuckles noticeably whiter as she gripped the steering wheel.

  Concerned, Jericho reached out and touched her forearm, intending to offer her comfort. This time there was no zap of electric desire between them, only the warm flow of compassion from his hand to her arm. “I’m guessing you weren’t raised in a clan,” he said quietly. “Weren’t taught about the history of shifters? What our lives are like?”

  Biting her lip, Becca shook her head. “No, not really,” she admitted. “I was raised by my a human mother. She didn’t really know a lot about shifters.”

  Jericho wanted to ask more, but her somber expression gave him pause. Within minutes, Becca abruptly swerved the car toward a parking spot on the side of the road, and he resisted the temptation to close his eyes as she squeezed her way into the impossibly tight spot, saving the paint on her fender by the skin of her teeth.

  “Now I know why you chose a smaller car,” he said once she’d popped the gearshift into neutral, and cranked the parking brake.

  “Yep. Much easier to find parking.” She flashed him a smile, then exited the vehicle. Instinctively understanding her desire to avoid talking about her life, and not wanting to push her, he followed her out of the car, stepping onto the sidewalk to stare up at a large architectural masterpiece that appeared to be constructed of stone. The dusky white façade was ornately carved, featuring a multitude of paintings depicting musicians and symbolic figures, and the roof of the building was graced by golden statues of angels on either side and a huge, copper-green dome in the center.

  “What is this place?” he asked, still staring up at the building. He hadn’t really had time to explore the itinerary for the tour since he’d booked it on such short notice, so he didn’t exactly know what to expect along the way.

  Becca couldn’t help but smile at the almost child-like wonder that filled Jericho’s face. “We’re at the Palais Garnier,” she told him, going heavy on the French accent as she pronounced the name. “The most famous Opera House in the world.”

  “It’s beautiful.” He turned to face her, a smile spreading across his lips. “Do we get to go inside?”

  Becca gave him an answering grin. “We sure do.”

  She took a few moments to explain the architecture of the façade as they walked across the courtyard toward the building, pointing out all the different artists carved into the front of the building and telling him their names. They then climbed the Grand Staircase up to the Grand Foyer, a huge hall some fifty-four feet high, glossy floors illuminated by ornate chandeliers hung from a ceiling that boasted a gorgeous mural. Jericho surprised her by insisting on spending at least ten minutes studying the artwork, which depicted various moments in musical history, and questioned her at length about each of the scenes.

  “You really know your stuff,” he told her as they entered one of the salons flanking either side of the Foyer, his blue eyes gleaming with admiration.

  Becca couldn’t quite help the swell of pride in her chest. “I’ve been doing this for a little while now,” she said teasingly. “I’ve had some time to do my homework on the different landmarks.”

  “I’m sure you have,” he murmured, staring down at her. “You strike me as a very intelligent woman, Rebecca Donaldson.”

  “It’s just Becca,” she said, trying not to betray the thrill that whipped through her at the way he said her name in that dark, sexy voice of his. But she couldn’t help but feel the air shift between them, thickening with intense heat and emotion. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, her breath catching in her throat as his gorgeous blue eyes swept over her again. She had to admit that the idea that this mountainous hunk of a man desired her gave her battered ego a hell of a boost – she hadn’t missed the flirtatious glances from the various women who’d passed them so far, or the fact that he’d barely given them a second glance, too caught up in the art and architecture of this place, and apparently Becca herself.

  But, she reminded herself firmly, none of that mattered. She didn’t date clients, and she especially didn’t date shifters, even ones who’d sworn not to harm her. Even ones as ruggedly handsome as he was.

  “We’d better get moving,” she said, turning away so she could lead him onward. “We’ve got a lot to see here before it’s time to head on to our next stop.”

  * * *

  “I thoroughly enjoyed that meal,” Jericho replied, as Becca pulled into traffic again. “So much so that I’m amazed I can still fit into this vehicle.”

  Becca laughed as she shifted into third gear, her twinkling eyes focused on the road in front of her. “You packed away enough food for a small army,” she said. “I’m amazed you can still fit into your jeans.”

  He grinned, patting his belly a little. “What can I say? A bear can eat.”

  Becca laughed. “Yeah, so I hear,” she replied, but Jericho sensed the change in her tone at his reference to his heritage. The subject clearly made her uncomfortable, as did the attraction between them. He thought about the way she’d reacted to their connection when they first touched, and then again at the opera house. There was no doubt that she wanted him, and yet she was determined to avoid him. But why? Because he was a shifter?

  And why did he care, anyway? It wasn’t as if these were feelings he could act on, anyway. He was essentially promised to another, even if no formal agreement had been made, so nothing but possible heartbreak could come of anything between them. She was right to keep her distance… and yet he felt an unusual ache in his chest at the thought that she could so easily turn away from the intensity that seemed to pull them together.

  “We’re here,” she announced, wedging her tiny car into another street-side spot. Jericho got out of the car, and a grin lit his face, sweeping aside the troubling thoughts from earlier as he caught sight of the glass, multifaceted pyramid jutting up from the courtyard outside a sprawling museum.

  “I know this one,” he said with a chuckle. “This is the Louvre!”

  “That’s right,” Becca said, laughter teasing the edges of her tone. “And since this is a private tour, you get to skip that lovely little line out there,” she said, pointing to the long row of people snaking out through the front entrance, and into the courtyard.

  Jericho raised a brow as she whisked him past the line, flashing some kind of identification to the front desk that allowed them to skip the line, and walk into the museum. “I guess I really am getting my money’s worth.”

  “You bet your sweet ass you are,” Becca replied cheerfully as she guided him into the museum. “I’ve never gotten a negative review from a client, and I’m not about to start now.”

  “My sweet ass?” Jericho echoed, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Why Becca, thanks for noticing.”

  Her stride hitched for the briefest of moments, and then she shocked him by sticking her middle finger into the air. A laugh erupted from his chest before he could even think to be insulted, and he hurried on after her before she toured the museum without him – but not going so fast that he didn’t get a nice view of her own sweet, curvy ass, cupped by a pair of tight-fitting jeans that could easily drive a man insane.

  * * *

  The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of activity that didn’t leave too much room for awkward moments between them. After introducing him to a variety of exhibits at the Louvre, boasting everything from Ancient Egyptian art to Italian Renaissance pieces, she’d taken him by way of a scenic route along the Seine River to the Ile de la Cite, an island located in the center or Paris in the midst of the Seine. There, she took him along another series of private tours, this time to the Notre Dame de Paris with its watchful stone gargoyles, and impressive display of organs, the Sainte Chapelle with its breathtaking stained glass windows, the Conciergerie with its fat turrets and palace chambers turned
to prison cells, and then a walking tour of Marais district.

  Afterwards, they did a quick drive through the rest of the city, Becca pointing out other famous tourist destinations such as the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, Luxemboug Gardens, and other places they might visit in more detail over the weekend. As she gave brief, but enticing overviews of each destination, Jericho couldn’t help but notice the rosy glow in her cheeks, and the way her eyes glowed with excitement as she discussed monuments and historical sites she had probably visited hundreds of times by now.

  “You really love this city, don’t you?” he remarked when she turned around to drop him off at his hotel. The sun hung low in the sky behind them, gilding the Siene as it came closer and closer to dipping below the horizon.

  “I do,” she said, smiling wistfully. “There was a time I didn’t, of course, when I first moved here with my mother as a child. Back then it was all a confusing mishmash of sights and sounds, a loud world full of people who spoke a strange language, and condescending sneers.”

  Jericho huffed a laugh. “So the stereotype is true then, about the French being a haughty bunch?”

  Becca shrugged. “Not all of them, and not after you get to know them and assimilate into their culture a bit more. They’re simply not very friendly to outsiders who think they can enjoy their country without learning their language.” She smiled again, but this time the expression was a bit more wistful. “I can’t say that I don’t miss America, or that I’m not struck with wanderlust now and again. But for the most part I’m content here.”

  She pulled up in front of the Shangri-La, the gorgeous, sprawling hotel right along the water where he had booked his stay. “Well, here you are,” she said, but her voice lacked the finality he would have expected from the statement, and a kind of longing shone in her eyes as she gazed up at the stone and glass structure, the endless cream of the outer walls broken with emerald green awnings that provided a nice splash of color. “I’ll be picking you up at nine sharp, so you’d better get your beauty sleep.”