The Billionbear's Bride: BBW Bear Shifter BWWM Paranormal Romance (6 page)

Was that a flash of disappointment? If it was, it disappeared almost immediately; he couldn't be sure he hadn't imagined it.

"It's beautiful," she said with an awed smile that pleased Bruce. He didn't know anything about her preferences or style, so he'd chosen a classic, timeless cut.

She held out her hand. She might have intended to take the ring and put it on herself, but he didn't let her. Instead, he took her wrist. Her skin was delicate, and he could feel her pulse fluttering underneath her skin. Bruce slid the ring onto the appropriate finger; it wasn't quite a perfect fit, but that could be fixed.

He was reluctant to let go of her hand, and she hadn’t let go either. Violet was still smiling, too. He swept his thumb deliberately across her knuckles.

But then she slipped her hand out of his and ducked her head. Disappointed, he turned to go.

"Bruce?" she asked, and he whipped around so quickly he almost fell over. Her voice was hesitant, but it lacked the cool distance she'd had in Vegas. Instead, she was shy but inviting. "Let me know when you start cooking. You can show me around the kitchen."

It was a small start, but Bruce would take what he could.

Chapter Seven

Violet

“I still can’t believe it,” Jana declared.

It wasn't the first time Jana had said so that evening. It wasn't even the second. Jana kept looking back and forth between them with the same slightly amazed, disbelieving expression she'd been wearing all night. As she had every time Jana had questioned her marriage, or glanced at her hand to see the ring Bruce had placed there, Violet stiffened slightly. She felt Bruce's fingers squeeze hers in reassurance, their hands joined over the tabletop, and cast him a small smile.

"How did you meet?" continued Jana. "
When
did you meet?"

"I introduced them," Wanda interjected smoothly. She was much better than Violet at keeping her cool; Violet was thankful for her. "They hit it off right away. I knew they'd be good together." Over the rim of her wine glass she winked at Violet.

"I didn't want to say anything right away," Violet added. "You know, in case it didn't work out."

Jana's face took on a knowing look. She was probably thinking about Chad—which was what Violet wanted, even if it wasn't true. Bruce had driven all thoughts of her ex out of her mind.

Bruce's thumb brushed over her knuckles. "I think it worked out pretty well," he said with a tender look toward Violet.

He was
really
good at this faking-a-relationship thing, Violet thought as a flush of heat stole through her body. He should have gone into acting.

Or maybe it
wasn't
an act. Maybe he felt the same way she did. They had chemistry; she knew she wasn't imagining that. The memory of his skin touching hers was burned into her memory. His hands had been calloused, rough from working with his hands, but his touch had been gentle as he explored her. Not
too
gentle, she remembered with a shiver. Underneath the table she pressed her knees together and reminded herself that she had guests.

"So why Vegas?" Jana sounded a little pouty.

"It was just . . . a spur-of-the-moment thing. We got married by Elvis," Violet added, hoping to lighten the mood a little.

"I thought he was dead," said Wanda in a deadpan.

"The King is never dead," Bruce said reprovingly, and everyone laughed.

"You better show me the pictures," Jana said, stabbing a warning at Violet with her fork. "You had pictures taken, didn't you?"

Bit by bit Violet began to relax. Jana began looking less suspicious too, as the dinner went on, or at least she was hiding it better. Violet knew she was going to get an interrogation sooner or later—probably sooner. Jana loved talking about boys and relationships and gossip.

"What
I
can't believe," said Wanda, "is this
food
."

Jana agreed enthusiastically. "This is amazing. You cooked it yourself?"

Bruce tipped his glass toward Violet. "I couldn't have done it without my sous chef."

For their dinner he had prepared a rustic but sophisticated pot roast, redolent with herbs and spices that filled the dining room with their fragrance. Rosemary, thyme, sage, and others Violet couldn't identify. It smelled homey and satisfying, and it fit perfectly with the fire roaring in the grate and the warm colors in the walls.

"He says that, but I just chopped whatever he told me to," admitted Violet, slicing and spearing one of her last potatoes.

"You have to walk before you can run," said her sister archly. Laughing, Violet swatted her on the arm. But if there was someone who was familiar with Violet's mediocre kitchen skills, it was Jana.

"She graced the kitchen with her presence," replied Bruce, leaning over to kiss Violet on the cheek, to the giggling amusement of their guests. "That's all I ask." His lips brushed across her skin, leaving a fire in their wake. Even though it was an act, Violet couldn't hold back the smile that split her face in half.

Wanda sat back with a satisfied sigh. "I wanted to finish it all since it's so good, but there's just too much food here."

Bruce smiled with pride. "Save some room—there's dessert coming."

All the women groaned.

"I don't know if I can take it," said Wanda.

"Dessert doesn't go to your stomach, right?" Jana asked her with a playful elbow to the side. "It's a whole different food group. That's why there's always room for it."

"It was Violet's idea," added Bruce.

"It's Mom's apple pie—or at least I hope it is," she admitted shyly.

Jana's eyebrows flew up. "Did you find the recipe?"

“No—but I guessed.” Violet glanced toward Bruce. “I described it to him—the woodsy flavor, do you remember that?”

Jana looked wistful. “That was the best part. I’ve never tasted it in any other apple pie. Or apple
anything
.”

“Bruce thought it might be rosemary. And I do, too; it smelled just right when it was in the oven.”

Her sister’s eyes were suspiciously misty. Violet retrieved the pie and sliced it carefully, as carefully as if it really were a long-lost relic from their parents’ past. As she passed a slice to Jana, she hurried to add, not wanting to get her hopes up, “It might not be exactly the same, let me know …”

Jana waved her concerns away. “Even if it’s not the same, I’m sure it’s really good.”

Finally Violet sat down with her own slice, and took a tentative bite.

It was like falling into a memory. Violet closed her eyes. The herbaceous flavor of the rosemary with the apples was unlike anything she’d ever tasted before—except for one dish: Rita Simmons's apple pie. She could feel her mother’s warm kitchen around her, a cool breeze coming in through the open window. For a moment suspended in time, she felt sixteen again. Oh, how she had complained then. Complained about the flour dusting her hands that got all over her clothes, complained about the sweltering heat of the oven, complained about not being able to go out with her friends because Mama insisted on family lunch after church on Sundays.

Violet wanted to yell at her younger self and tell her how much she didn’t understand, how she didn’t appreciate what she had. It wasn’t until after she passed that Violet was forced to understand all the ways her mother had provided for them and taken care of them, now that she had to shoulder the burden herself.

What she wouldn’t give to have her back.

Jana’s sigh pulled her back in to the present moment. When Violet opened her eyes, a tear slipped down her face.

Bruce’s calloused thumb brushed across her cheekbone, wiping away the tear. She tried to blink the rest away.  He was looking at her with such gentleness, such care in his clear blue eyes, she could almost believe—

“
Aww
,” said Jana softly—never afraid to irreverently interrupt a moment.

Violet broke her gaze away from Bruce with a laugh. “Look at me, getting all sentimental.” His hand slipped to her shoulder, which he squeezed and stroked comfortingly.

“That’s Mama’s apple pie, all right,” confirmed Jana, with a watery smile of her own. “Now we just need some ice cream to go with it.”

“Next time,” Violet promised. A peace brimmed inside her like she hadn’t experienced in years—the peace of her mother’s presence.

After dessert, and amid a chorus of contented post-dinner groans, she packed up some of the pie for Jana, and sent them her and Wanda both home with plenty of leftovers. Wanda stayed to talk with Bruce about some work business while Violet walked Jana out to her car.

Jana sighed, a mischievous look entering her eye. “After that meal, the only thing I can think about is falling asleep. I
would
stay with you … but I wouldn’t want to interrupt your honeymoon shenanigans.”

“Jana!” Pretending to be shocked, Violet smacked her on the arm, and they both burst into giggles.

When their amusement died down, Jana turned more serious. “Violet … are you happy?”

The question gave her pause. It felt wrong to lie to her sister about something so serious for her part of the charade. 
Was
she happy?

Could she even be happy? Really, truly happy, after everything?

She gave the only answer she could, which was what she felt in that moment: “Yes, definitely.”

Jana’s shoulders relaxed. “I was worried about you, after Chad leaving like that.”

“Bruce isn’t anything like Chad.” Their relationship might not be real, but that she could say with utmost certainty. “And that was a long time ago.”

“At least you know he’s not after your money,” Jana joked.

No, I’m just after his
, she thought with a pang. Aloud she said, “There is that.”

“Bruce is seriously loaded, though. I’m jealous.” Balancing the leftovers precariously in one hand, Jana poked her in the side with the other.

Violet leaned against the car. Her secret fears were piqued by Jana’s words. “I’m meeting his family tomorrow.”

“For the first time?”

“Yeah.” Violet bit her lip. “I don’t know what they’re going to think of me.”

“They’re going to think you’re amazing, of course. Because you are. They’re going to love you.”

“You think so?”

“No one could mistake the way you two look at each other. Both of you.” Jana’s tone brooked no uncertainty.

A warm glow settled in Violet’s chest. “And how exactly does he look at me?”

“Are you kidding? No, wait—did you go
blind
and not tell me? He wants to eat you up with a spoon. And cuddle you, and protect you, and kiss you, and take care of you forever and ever—” Laughing, Jana nimbly dodged Violet’s incoming tickle.

“Ladies, ladies.” Wanda’s voice rang down from the front porch as she descended. “I know you don’t know what to do with yourselves without me, but going all Hunger Games on each other is a bit much.”

Despite her jocular words, there was a crease in Wanda’s brow, like she was upset by something. Maybe she was just stressed about whatever work thing she and Bruce had been talking about, Violet theorized.

“It’s about time, chauffeur,” teased Jana, not noticing anything. Wanda rolled her eyes with an affectionate smile.

But when Wanda hugged Violet goodbye, there was still tension in her embrace.

“Are you okay?” asked Violet.

In response Wanda gave her another not-quite-completely-sincere smile. “It should be me asking if
you’re
okay.”

Right. She knows this is all a setup, and she’s worried about me
, thought Violet. “I’m great,” she said. “Never better.”

Wanda didn’t look entirely reassured, but it was enough. Violet made her way up the porch to where Bruce was waiting. Daringly she slipped her fingers into his and tipped her face toward him. Maybe it was the wine, or Jana’s observations spurring her on. It might be a bad idea to play with fire—but it felt good.

“Kiss for show?” she murmured.

He didn’t need any persuading; he bent to press his lips to hers immediately. The heat she’d felt during dinner paled in comparison to what she felt now—a scorching, searing desire, all the way down to her bones.

His tongue ran over the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. Eagerly she opened her mouth to his, deepening the kiss and savoring the slide of his tongue against hers. One arm wrapped around her, tight and protective, as he plundered her mouth.

In the distance, she could dimly hear the sound of whooping and the engine of Wanda’s car firing. All the rest of her attention was taken up by the kiss.

Bruce rested his forehead against hers. Their breathy pants mingled together in the chilly evening air. Violet could live here forever, in this space between satisfaction and desire.

As if remembering something, he suddenly pulled away from her. Without the heat of his body nearby, the night became colder. She tucked her cardigan around herself more firmly, folding her arms. She knew he could read the question on her face as plain as day:
Do you want me?

Guilt flickered in his eyes before he turned away and went inside, away from her.
I guess I got my answer
, she thought. The night suddenly seemed much colder.

* * *

That night, she woke to the sound of something snapping.

It was still dark. Violet fumbled for her phone on the nightstand. The display said it was only 2:33 a.m. Groaning, she flung her head back on the pillow.

She wondered what had woken her. Maybe the sound had been part of her dream. She didn’t hear anything else.

Tiptoeing so as not to wake Bruce—he had sequestered himself away after their kiss on the porch, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him right now—she made her way to the kitchen. On the top shelf of the pantry she found what she thought she had spied earlier while cooking with Bruce: a hot chocolate mix.

It was the work of a minute to stir up a mug and stand by the big window at the back of the house. The cocoa was hot and comforting, warming her down to her toes. Under the full moon, she had a beautiful view of the property. The woods were encased in mist, lending a sense of mysterious magic to the scene.