Billion Dollar Bear

by Catherine Vale

  “Have dinner with me before you go.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Her eyes widened as she glanced back at the hotel, then at him again. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she replied, but he could see the questioning look in her eyes.

  “Please.” He placed a hand on her arm and squeezed encouragingly, ignoring his better judgment in the matter. “I could use some company and besides… it’s the least I can do after the wonderful time you’ve shown me today.”

  The resolve in her eyes flickered, and then died with a small sigh. “Okay… I’d like that…if you’re sure.”

  “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life,” he replied, his lips curving into a smile. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Six

  Becca thought having dinner with him meant dining in one of the five star restaurants that would no doubt be located in a posh hotel like this – an embarrassing enough thought, considering she was nowhere near dressed for such a place, but she was willing to deal with that for the sake of spending a few more hours with Jericho.

  Why she was so eager to spend more time with him when she would be spending all day with him tomorrow? That was a question she didn’t want to think about right now. She couldn’t hide the look of surprise when, instead of heading out to a restaurant, he led her to the private elevator, and up to the eighth floor.

  “What are we doing here?” she asked as he pulled out his keycard, trying to sound nonchalant, even as her heart started to race. Surely he wasn’t actually planning to spend the evening with her in his room?

  The card reader light blinked green, and he pushed open the door, and then stepped aside to allow her to enter first. “Room service will bring us a fantastic meal shortly,” he explained. “You’ll love it.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she began, hesitating in the doorway, but he shook his head.

  “It’s a great idea.” His handsome face was wreathed in shadows, but she could see the Cheshire cat-like grin on his face that told her that yes, this really was an awesome idea and she’d be a fool to walk away from a man like this. She found herself trembling, not in fear, but with desire. “Come inside…please.” He belied the command with a warm, gentle smile that was hard to resist, and before she knew it she’d stepped over the threshold, and into his room.

  No, not just a room, she corrected as she looked around, an incredibly lavish suite. The place was decorated in cream and gold, with touches of mahogany on the chairs and tables, and the bannister lining a staircase that no doubt led to the bedroom, or rooms above. Below, where she stood, was a spacious living room, and beyond that a long mahogany dining table already laden with covered silver trays. Behind the table, peeking out from beyond a wall, was what looked to be a fully equipped kitchen.

  “This is practically like a flat,” she murmured. “It’s fabulous.”

  “It’s quite comfortable.” Jericho was suddenly beside her. He took her hand and led her to one of the long, rectangular windows. “But I chose this room for the view, more than anything else.

  He drew aside the heavy curtain, and she smiled at the sight of the Eiffel Tower, blazing gold in the evening sky. The sun had already disappeared beneath the horizon, but a few straggling rays of gold and pink seemed to merge with the tower’s luminescence, as if it derived it’s light from the Sun God himself.

  “Wow,” she said after a long moment. “This is a wonderful view of the tower.”

  She felt him move in behind her, and before she knew it, his masculine heat had warmed her skin, sending a surge of intense, electric energy through her body.

  “I want you to take me there tomorrow,” he murmured softly in her ear, his lips nearly brushing her sensitive lobe. “So we can stand at the top, and watch the setting sun.” He didn’t add the word ‘together’, but the unifying word hung between them and they both knew it. A shiver of desire rippled through her, and she looked down for a minute to compose herself, knowing he could sense her feelings, and the impact he was having on her.

  “We’ll definitely make that happen,” she told him, looking up with a smile, and then turned toward the table before she could be caught up in the spell of his beguiling blue eyes. “Now tell me, what’s for dinner? I’m starving!”

  It turned out Jericho, not having much experience with French cuisine, had ordered pretty much everything under the sun, moon and stars that the restaurant had to offer. There was roasted pigeon, duck foie gras, lobster, steaming bouillabaisse and poached scampi – and that wasn’t even including appetizers, or dessert.

  “I think your eyes might have actually been bigger than your stomach this time around,” she groaned, sitting back in her chair. She placed a hand over her belly and glanced at the remnants of the meal. Jericho had adopted a similar pose, eyes closed as he tilted his head back, and the fact that he was completely ignoring the half-eaten sweetbread still sitting on the table told her she was right.

  “I asked them to send up all of their most popular dishes,” he said after a long moment, lifting his head with what looked like great effort. “I guess they interpreted that to mean ‘all of their dishes’.” He managed to haul himself out of his chair, and then held out a hand to her. “Why don’t we move to the living room. I imagine we’ll be a lot more comfortable there.”

  Nodding, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to one of the lemon-yellow sofas. Sitting back amongst the plush cushions, she let out a sigh of contentment, and closed her eyes. “That was so good. Thanks, Jericho. I haven’t had a meal like that in a long time.”

  “You’re welcome.” She felt, more than heard Jericho settle his large frame on the opposite end of the couch, and wondered how such a huge man could move so gracefully. Recognizing that as going into were-bear territory, she steered her mind away from the topic, her brain suddenly switching from the mesmerizing, satisfaction of an incredible meal to the realization of what it must have cost him. “That meal,” she said, and then looked around the room, “and this suite must have cost a fortune.”

  “As did the tour I booked.” He chuckled, and Becca thought she caught an edge to his smile, but it disappeared as swiftly as she’d seen it.

  She silently berated herself for being so rude. Why the hell did she just say that?

  “Don’t worry Becca, I’m good for it. The family business pays well.”

  “Is that right?” Becca plucked one of the diamond-pattered yellow and brown pillows and hugged it to her chest as she eyed him curiously. “And what business is that, exactly?”

  “Real estate.” Jericho squashed the flicker of guilt that manifested in his chest. What was there to be guilty about? Just because he wasn’t telling her he actually owned the company didn’t mean he was lying to her. “We buy and sell a lot of commercial properties, usually for large corporations.”

  “Ah, I see.” Becca fumbled with the pillow a bit, suddenly feeling out of her depth. The man wasn’t just a were-bear, he was also apparently something of a corporate big wig, and though she’d given tours to plenty of those types, she’d never had dinner with any of them. Who did she think she was to be sitting here in this fancy hotel room, stuffed with an expensive dinner, and holding what was probably a three-hundred dollar pillow in her hand?

  Jericho sighed, his face suddenly darkening. “And now I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

  Becca’s heart twisted a little at the sight of the unhappy expression on his face. “Am I that easy to read?”

  He only shrugged, then picked up one of the wine glasses sitting on the coffee table, and twirled the glass stem between his fingers. “It’s not the first time a woman has changed her mind about me once she’s learned more about who I am.”

  The twist in her heart turned into a full-on stab of guilt. “I don’t begrudge you for your money,” she explained quickly, “Nor do I want it from you. It’s just… I’m sure you’ve had many more beautiful women up to your hotel rooms before through
out your many travels.”

  Jericho barked out a surprised laugh, his handsome face twisting into a cynical expression. “Once upon a time I might have lived that kind of lifestyle, but I’ve spent the better part of the last decade buried in work. I could hardly remember what it was like to just be spontaneous, and free. This is the first vacation I’ve taken in ages, because it finally occurred to me that I wasn’t really living my life at all.”

  Becca instinctively took his hand, wanting to comfort him. “I think I can understand what you mean…” she said slowly, “And if what you’re trying to say is that you’d like to be treated like a normal guy, I can do that.”

  The cynical expression melted away into a soft chuckle. “Do you really think you can manage that?” he asked teasingly.

  Becca laughed. “Yes…I certainly can.”

  “Good.” He stroked the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand, and a tingling sensation swept up her arm, briefly stealing her breath. “And just so you know, none of the other women even came close to holding a candle to you.”

  “That sounds like such a line.” She replied, with a smile.

  “Does it, really?” He replied, his voice suddenly taking on a low growl that made her nipples hard. “Because I’ve never had any desire to say that to anyone before.”

  He released her hand, and in the span of time she sat there gaping at him, floundering for something to say, he’d picked the bottle of Cabernet up from the table, along with the shiny silver corkscrew that lay next to it. “Would you care for some wine?” he asked, with a wink.

  She raised her own. “Are you having any?”

  He eyed the bottle dubiously for a moment, then shrugged. “It’s a bit of a waste on me, but sure.” He popped the cork, then filled both glasses on the table, and handed one to her.

  Becca watched as he took a sip of his, then she sampled her own glass. It was dry, with just a hint of cherry, and she liked it immediately. “What do you mean, it’s a waste on you?” she asked.

  Jericho raised his brows in surprise, and then chuckled. “I keep forgetting that you don’t know much about shifters,” he said, shaking his head. “Full-blooded have incredibly fast metabolisms, which makes it very hard for us to retain any kind of drug, or alcohol content in our blood stream. Therefore, we can’t really get drunk or high.”

  Becca eyed him incredulously. “Seriously?”

  He lifted his glass to her. “Seriously.” Then took another drink.

  “Not even a little buzzed.”

  He grinned at her a little over his glass, which was nearly empty. “We can get a little buzzed, but it fades pretty quickly unless we keep drinking.”

  Becca glanced dubiously at her drink again. She didn’t know how she felt about getting tipsy in front of a man who apparently wasn’t affected by alcohol. It would make her vulnerable; give him an upper hand she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to relinquish. But as she watched him sitting there, dressed in a fitted t-shirt and jeans, and sipping wine as though he hadn’t a care in the world, she realized she felt completely safe with him. Something inside her told her that this man would never force her to do anything she wasn’t ready for, no matter what kind of state she was in.

  Lifting her glass to him, she drained the contents, and then handed it to him for a refill.

  He raised a brow. “I didn’t realize this was a competition,” he said as he refilled it.

  She smiled. “It’s not. I just wanted the boost.” The wine warmed her, and she relaxed a little more into the pillows with a thoughtful frown. “You know, I’ve always been able to hold my liquor a lot better than any of my friends. I always wondered if that was a byproduct of my heritage.” She shrugged. “I guess now I know.”

  Jericho gazed curiously at her, sensing that she was opening up a little more. “I imagine that you might have… other… questions, about your heritage?”

  Becca eyed him warily. “I might. Are you offering to answer them?”

  Jericho inclined his head. “Absolutely… you can ask me anything.”

  Becca paused for a moment as she considered. “I guess I’ve never really had the opportunity to ask anyone about shifters before,” she admitted with a laugh. “Everything I know, I’ve gleaned from the internet and what books I could find, and from a few supernaturals’ I’ve encountered in this town that didn’t have any interest in killing me – and they didn’t give out information for free.” She wrinkled her nose.

  Jericho raised a brow. “A witch? Or soothsayer?”

  Becca frowned. “Fortune teller, yeah. Most of the ones out here are bogus but… I sensed something different about one of them, and thought she might be able to help me.”

  Jericho nodded. “Though we have few magical talents ourselves, we are able to sense magic in others. You’ll always be able to detect the frauds from the truly magically talented.” He shifted a little so that he leaned forward. “If you wouldn’t mind telling me… what exactly have you managed to learn about shifters so far?”

  “Well, from what I know werewolves go through a mandatory change by the light of the full moon, but for some reason, for were-bears it’s by the light of the half-moon.” She glanced out through the windows at the crescent moon hovering in the night sky. “Too bad we can’t test that hypothesis right now.”

  Jericho smiled wryly. “Believe me, the last thing I’d want is to have to shift while on vacation. That would be a fine mess to have to explain to the hotel staff.”

  Becca laughed. “Good point.” She paused. “Can you shift when it’s not half-moon?”

  “Yeah, I can, though it takes longer, and is quite painful without enough of the moon’s strength.” He glanced up at the crescent himself. “The fuller the moon is, the easier the shift is for us.”

  Becca considered that for a moment. “Does that mean that even after the half-moon passes, it’s still easier for you to shift throughout the rest of the month until the moon wanes again?”

  “Yes. That’s one advantage we have over our lupine brethren.”

  Becca laughed at the smug smile on Jericho’s face. “You’re just too cute sometimes, you know.” Surprise jolted her as the words slipped out, mirrored in Jericho’s cobalt eyes, but then he threw back his head and laughed heartily before she had time to regret the slip.

  “I don’t think I can remember the last time anyone’s ever called me ‘cute’,” he said when his chuckles had subsided. “In fact, I doubt anyone has other than my mother, when I was still a cub.” His mirth faded a little as his eyes became tinged with sadness.

  “Is your mother still alive?” she asked, then winced at the intrusiveness of the question.

  A dark cloud seemed to pass over Jericho’s countenance, and he looked away. “No,” he said quietly. “She died while I was still quite young.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Becca took his hand in both of hers this time and squeezed his fingers, wanting to comfort him. She could feel his pain as keenly as if it were her own because… well… she had a tragedy similar to his. “My mother died before her time as well.”

  Jericho’s eyes filled with compassion and understanding of his own as he met hers. “Then we have something in common there as well,” he murmured, placing his free hand atop hers and squeezing in return.

  Warmth rushed through her, chasing away the lingering sadness, and she drew closer as the same desire lit in Jericho’s eyes, drawn like a moth to his cobalt-blue flame. The air between them thickened with heat and desire as it had in the opera house, but this time she seemed powerless to turn away. There was nothing here to distract, no works of art or architectural marvels to draw the attention away from the want that seemed to burn fiercely between them.

  “Has anyone told you just how beautiful you are?” Jericho whispered, brushing a stray curl of hair from her cheek. The warmth of his hand flowed through her body, and her eyes fluttered as she fought not to sway into him. It was difficult though; the heat from his body rolled off of him in waves an
d into her, as enticing as the flame of his eyes.

  She met those eyes now, reveling in the depths of desire she saw within them – desire for her. “I’ve heard the sentiment,” she said, breathing shallowly, “but it’s never sounded quite the way it does when you say it in that deep, sexy voice of yours.”

  His eyes seemed to burn even brighter at the acknowledgement that she did, in fact, find him attractive. “‘Peaches and cream skin over a face lovingly carved by God himself,’” he whispered, “‘And eyes dark with the promise of delicious secrets within.’”

  Becca’s peaches and cream cheeks bloomed read at the flowery praise. “You’re not trying to compose a sonnet for me, are you?”

  Jericho chuckled ruefully. “No, I’m afraid not,” he said with a sigh, his eyes losing some of their intensity, though he did not drop her hand. “I stole those lines from a book I was reading on an airplane.”

  “Oh really?” Becca arched a brow, giggling. “And what kind of book would you be reading with such… purple prose?” she asked, borrowing a term she’d heard a writer friend once use to suggest writing characterized by excessive use of adjectives, adverbs and metaphors to craft showy and ornate prose.

  Jericho chuckled. “I’d forgotten to bring a book on the plane, and an elderly woman seated next to me decided to take pity on me and lend me one of her historical romance novels.” He’d promptly looked up the genre once he’d gotten off the plane and his phone was in hand again, wanting to know just how many of these novels were written and if very many women bought them. And, had found both numbers to be astonishingly high. “Having nothing better to do, I read it.” His expression softened as he gazed upon her again. “I have to say, the thing that’s been throwing me for a loop ever since I caught sight of you is that you look just like I envisioned the heroine in the book looked.”

  “Do I?” Becca gave a startled laugh that died off as she noticed his eyes had caught fire again. Clearing her suddenly dry throat, she straightened her shoulders, and lifted her chin. “Do I do justice to your mental image of her?”