The Billionbear's Bride: BBW Bear Shifter BWWM Paranormal Romance Read online

  Worse, his clan was a traditional one, and clan tradition dictated that the alpha had to be mated and married—or he couldn't be alpha at all. Most clans had caught up with the times and didn't care about a piece of paper, but not his, and he was duty-bound to preserve what was left of their shifter culture heritage.

  So he'd struck a deal with the werebear clan next door. Both clans would be strengthened by an alliance. He'd only been willing to agree for the sake of his clan; their numbers were dwindling, and the last thing he wanted was for them to die out, his proud bear lineage lost forever.

  Guilt weighed heavily on him. He didn't know why he hadn't found his mate yet—God knew he made sure to shake the hand of every woman he met, just in case—but its ill effects were visible in the clan: fewer mates, lowered pregnancy rates. He couldn't shake off his duty to his clan; he was the alpha, he was responsible for their well-being. That was why he'd made the deal in the first place.

  He intended to keep it. He did. But as the clock counted down, his anxious itch only increased. One way or another—whether he miraculously found his mate or married Rachel of Whitebeam—his life was going to change forever.

  "Bruce, you know my goal isn't your unhappiness," his mother said.

  Bruce repressed a sigh. "Next weekend," he repeated—his birthday was the following Saturday, and it was Friday today. Seven more days.

  After the call ended, Bruce rubbed his hands over his face tiredly, leaning against the desk for support. This was tying him in knots. He tried to gather his thoughts.

  He needed a solution. No, he needed a miracle.

  "Mr. Davis?"

  It was Wanda again. God, he hadn't even heard her open the door. Lately his concentration was really shit.

  "Is something wrong?"

  Bruce waved away her concern. "No, I'm fine." His smile was small but genuine; Wanda was one of the few people at the company whom he could stand to be around for any length of time, and he trusted her in a way he did few others.

  Four months into her job, he'd been forced to reveal his other nature to her when she'd had to bring him clothes in the middle of a thunderstorm after an accidental transformation. He'd been unable to walk home—they were on a business trip—and he'd fully expected that the sight of her naked boss in tatters of clothing like a raving lunatic would send her running screaming, or at least quitting her job, but she'd been unfazed by his transformation. She'd even suggested ways he could bring an extra suit along to his extracurricular, bear-shaped activities. A practical soul.

  She hesitated. "If I may—" She closed the door to his office behind herself and sat in the plush chair opposite him. He didn't stop her. He'd always valued Wanda's mind; she had saved him from a bad decision more than once.

  "That was about your little problem, wasn't it?"

  "It was," he confirmed, not sure at all where she was going with this. She knew about his deal with the Whitebeam bears, of course; he had confided in her early on, hoping her sharp mind would see a solution he didn't.

  She hadn't liked his arrangement, expressing her skepticism: what if he found his fated mate after he was married to someone else, she asked quite reasonably, and he hadn't had a satisfactory answer for her, and still didn't. He expected it would hurt—but he had a bear's loyalty and a bear's stubbornness, and he wasn't a cheater. He would just have to deal with the heartbreak, he supposed.

  Wanda was watching him closely. "At the beginning of … all this"—she waved a hand—"we talked about the possibility of a fake marriage to give you some more time to find your real mate."

  They had. He had rejected the possibility almost out of hand: he didn't have anyone who would do that for him like a friend; he couldn't fathom paying somebody, especially a stranger, for a relationship, even a fake one without love or sex; and the idea of taking advantage of someone else's need—especially a woman's—to tempt her into a lie was anathema to him.

  So it had been a dead end from the start. Wanda knew all this. So why was she bringing it back up now?

  "We did," he confirmed, gesturing for her to continue.

  "I have a friend. A very good friend. She's going through some tough times right now—trying to pay for her sister's kidney problems. I think—I'm not sure, I wanted to check with you first—she might be open to a … mutually beneficial arrangement." Her tone was delicate.

  She sat back and waited for his reaction.

  His first instinct was to protest—he didn't want to take advantage of anyone's desperation; it felt wrong, dirty somehow, even if it was a sex-free, uncomplicated business arrangement. He knew his consternation was showing on his face. "The idea of …"

  "Hey, I don't even know if she'll agree to it," Wanda said with a slight smile. "It's possible she won't want to. But think of it this way—you'd be helping somebody. Somebody who deserves it," she added emphatically.

  Now that she'd said that, and now that she'd told him about her friend's troubles, he almost couldn't not help—at least she would be getting something out of it, if not a real husband and mate.

  "What's she like?" he asked, beginning to consider it for real for the first time.

  "I think you'd get along," she replied. "I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise—I don't want either of you to get stuck with somebody you don't like. She's nice, a little reserved. Duty streak a mile wide, you have that in common." She laughed.

  His bear stirred in interest at the description. A woman who took care of her family, her sister, at cost to herself—he could relate to that. Maybe they weren't fated to be together, but—they could still be friends and help each other out in a temporary arrangement. That wouldn't be so bad, would it?

  His bear rumbled his disagreement, but Bruce pushed him down.

  "You haven't talked to her, though," he said, reining his hopes for an easy solution in for the moment.

  "No, not yet. But I will. If she's open to the idea, I can arrange for you to meet each other."

  "Does she know about shifters?"

  Pause. "I don't think so. I haven't told her, anyway. Of course, if she knew, she might think I didn't know and kept it from me.” There was another pause, this one more pregnant. "I'm not going to tell her myself … but I think you should. It ’ s one thing not to tell her when you are strangers, but it's different if you're going to be involved. Even if it's not for real."

  Slowly, he nodded. He wasn't sure, but—she was right, it was only fair for her to enter into an arrangement with all the facts. Abruptly he realized he was getting ahead of himself.

  "That's assuming she agrees."

  Wanda nodded. "If she's open to it, I'll set up a meeting, and you can see where to go from there."

  After she'd left his office, Bruce rose to look out the window. He had a gorgeous view from his corner office. The late afternoon sun illuminated the forest below in the distance—his bear stirred again at the thought of home.

  And no one to share it with. The thought only wedged open the lonely space in his heart further, his bear's empty space for a mate and a family.

  Bruce longed for the day he would come home to sounds of laughter and love, the patter of little feet and the joyful smile of a mate. It would be easy to endure the city for that, to know that there was something making it all worthwhile.

  "Who knows," he muttered to himself, "Maybe she is our mate." Wouldn't that be lucky?

  The spark of hope that he would find his mate in the next week hadn't been extinguished. But before long he might have to bury it.

  Chapter Three

  Violet

  Violet's hands circled her coffee, one fingernail tapping erratically on the rim of the mug as she waited. To her right, the waitress materialized with a pot of coffee in hand.

  "Need a top off?" she suggested kindly, perhaps catching on to Violet's mood. Violet let her refill the cup, her mind wandering.

  She'd been so nervous she'd come to the diner half an hour early, and now she was stewing in her own anxiety.

&nbs
p; Why did I agree to this again? she thought—but she knew the answer.

  When Wanda had brought up the possibility of Violet marrying Wanda's boss, Violet had been shocked. Appalled, even. Marrying a billionaire to get some money—she wasn't a gold-digger. Despite her private fantasies of a knight on a white horse, she didn't want to think of herself like that.

  Wanda had backed off immediately after Violet's protests. Her pride wouldn't even let her consider it.

  The next day had put that conviction to the test. She and Wanda had driven to her apartment to collect all her bills, a chore in the dark, and then spread them out over Wanda's floor to look them over.

  Just looking at all the figures had made Violet feel nauseated. Worse, no other solution had magically presented itself. At the end of the day she had been left feeling even more hopeless than the night before.

  And to cap it all off, Jana had called, just wanting to chat and catch up about her week, and Violet had spent the entire conversation being slowly crushed under the weight of all the things she wouldn't say—couldn't say—to her sister.

  After Jana had hung up, Violet had turned to Wanda, taken a deep breath, and said, "Okay, tell me about this guy."

  Apparently he had some kind of family inheritance he needed, but couldn't get without being married first. This was in spite of the fact that his wealth was all self-made, according to Wanda. Violet didn't know what all that was about—but maybe it didn't matter. He obviously needed somebody, and Wanda said he was a trustworthy, decent man.

  "And he's hotter than hell," Wanda had added with a hint of mischief, showing her pictures.

  He was. He had a strong jawline, clear blue eyes, and what looked like soft, thick, dark blond hair that made Violet's fingers itch with the urge to touch it.

  And now she was here, waiting for a strange man in a diner. And obviously crazy for even considering a scheme like this.

  Violet wasn't going to get her hopes up, though. He might be nice to look at, but this wasn't a real relationship, a true marriage of soulmates. No, this was more like a business deal, she told herself. No feelings, no sex, no complications, just a temporary arrangement.

  She checked her watch. Two minutes to go.

  For the millionth time, she rubbed the fabric of her skirt between her fingers and wondered if she should have worn something else. Her skirt was brightly colored in red, yellow, and pink patterns, and her solid red top complemented it—and her figure—with a deep scoop neck that bared her décolletage. She didn't put on any jewelry, though; she'd sold anything of value already.

  Maybe it had been foolish to primp, she thought. But it was hard not to when you were going to meet someone who was ultra-wealthy . . . and good-looking to boot. He probably had his own personal tailor, she reminded herself; he would look nice. (She was sure he looked very nice in whatever he wore—or didn't wear.) She was just going to match him.

  A warm, deep voice interrupted her thoughts. "Are you Violet Simmons?"

  Her head snapped up, sending her dark curls bouncing.

  Standing next to her table was a bear of a man.

  Oh. My. God, she thought. Violet's mouth dropped open; she couldn't help it.

  The photo Wanda had shown her hadn't done him justice. His hair was windswept, a dark burnished gold that she didn't just want to touch—she wanted to run her hands through it. His blue eyes seemed clear and honest.

  The top button of his shirt was undone, revealing a triangle of skin, and his cuffs were rolled up to his elbows, putting his impressive musculature on display. Those were arms that could hold a woman.

  Belatedly, Violet realized his hand was outstretched—to shake hers. Before she could shake herself loose and out of her daze to meet him halfway, his hand withdrew, and his smile dimmed. Oh, no.

  "I'm sorry, have I—" He looked at her curiously, like he was comparing her to a picture in his mind too.

  "No, I'm Violet," she said hastily. "I mean, yes, I'm Violet, sorry! You startled me." She gave a little wave, feeling foolish.

  He eased. "I'm Bruce. May I?" He gestured at the other side of the booth. Very gentlemanly.

  "Of course, of course. Please." Violet took a sip of her coffee to cover her embarrassment.

  His intensely blue gaze seemed fixed on her, and he wasn't any less intimidating and large—or handsome—when he was sitting down. His hands were restless; they played with the empty plastic cup of half-and-half she'd added to her coffee. It was a very human gesture; it made him seem a little more like a person, instead of a Greek god in the flesh.

  Violet glanced around at the diner around them; maybe coming to a public place hadn't been such a good idea. She'd been nervous about meeting him alone—but here anyone could overhear them. There were plenty of people here, chattering in the early morning rush.

  He seemed to catch on to her discomfort. "Maybe we could take a walk?" he suggested.

  "I think that's a good idea." The relief in her voice must have been clear, because he chuckled quietly. He signaled the waitress and paid for her coffee without asking.

  Outside, in the morning sun, they walked down the Main Street sidewalk. She snuck a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed as reluctant to say anything as her. It must be as awkward for him as it was for her. The air seemed thick with all the heavy things unspoken.

  She caught him sneaking a little glance at her, too, in exactly the same way, and that did it: she laughed, and the tension eased. The corner of his mouth lifted in half a smile, and then he chuckled too.

  "We both know why we're here," she said. "Why don't we just … have a conversation and get to know each other a little?"

  He nodded. "I'm an inventor," he began, and told her all about his work, the things he had created or improved. As he talked, he gestured expressively with his hands, and they were nice hands, too. Very nice: large enough for a woman to get lost in, well-shaped. And his fingers were calloused at the tips, lending credence to the idea that he did more than just sign documents and push paper with them. Those hands would feel good on her, she knew with a sudden certainty, the rough parts skimming over her skin, his grip strong and firm.

  With a start she realized he had trailed off.

  Oops.

  It was her turn. Her skin was warm; she was glad he couldn't see her flush. "So what are you working on now?" she asked, before the silence became awkward, and hoped he hadn't already described it.

  "An improved car-seat. It's safer than anything on the market," he said, then looked alarmed—but at himself, not her. "Don't tell anyone I told you that. Company secret."

  Violet crossed her heart, feeling a little giddy. "Your secret's safe with me." Sweet—how he trusted her.

  "But enough about me. What about you?" he said, turning to her with a sharp gaze. He looked engaged—actually interested, like he wanted to know her answer.

  "I work in marketing," she said as they walked to the little park down the street. "It's not quite as impressive as engineering, I know—"

  He shook his head, smiling. "Don't say that. If it weren't for people who are savvy at that kind of thing, I would just have a heap of dusty inventions sitting around in a garage somewhere."

  He was self-deprecating—so down to e arth, and not at all what she'd expected. Violet had never met a billionaire before, but she'd imagined somebody colder, more arrogant, less warm and inviting.

  "I have a little sister, Jana," she said, feeling compelled; she'd never wanted to tell a near-total stranger about her family, but she wanted to now—or at least she wanted to tell him.

  "I shouldn't call her 'little'," she continued fondly, "she doesn't like it. She's twenty-five, she'll have you know." Violet mimicked her little sister's offended tone, and Bruce laughed, his broad shoulders shaking.

  Their steps were slow, as if they wanted to delay the end of the conversation. Despite his intimidating figure and devastating good looks, he was just so damn easy to talk to. She found the rest of her story spillin
g out like a dam bursting.

  "A few years ago her health went sideways—it was her kidneys. The doctors still aren't sure what happened, exactly, but she needs a transplant. She's on the list. For now she just gets dialysis a few times a week, but . . . it adds up." Her hands twisting together, Violet trailed off. He already knew the rest, she supposed; Wanda would have told him the basics.

  That didn't make it any easier to drag her gaze up to meet his. Now they stood close together under a great oak tree.

  "That's why I'm here," she finished lamely.

  The expression on his face was grave, gentle—almost tender. Could she be imagining it? Could she trust that it was real? But it was impossible to fake that kind of sincerity. His gaze was mesmerizing; his eyes were blue ocean pools she could feel drawing her in. Eyes she could drown in.

  "You want to take care of your family," he said softly, so low it could only reach her ears.

  In a flash Violet knew he understood her.

  "Family's the most important thing," she whispered, unable to look away from him.

  They drew closer together, almost unconsciously. She felt the heat radiating off him even through layers of clothing. She wondered what it would be like to touch him—how hot his skin would be under his fingertips if she ran them up his arms and down the well-defined chest outlined under his dress shirt.

  His hand rose, as if to cup her cheek; she waited with bated breath for his touch.

  Their gazes locked together. He leaned forward, tipping his head down to hers—was he going to kiss her?

  Fear asserted itself, and she jerked away, stepping back. A fallen branch cracked under her foot.

  What was she thinking? She saw disappointment flash across his face—but then he composed himself, drawing back and closing off. She couldn’t help but regret it; he had been so open moments before.

  Violet's heart hammered in her ears. She tried to smooth her ragged nerves over with a smile. You did the right thing, she told herself through her disappointment. Don't make things more complicated than they need to be.

  This was a business arrangement. It wouldn't do to get anything else involved—especially something like feelings. Emotions were messy, and she needed a clear head. No sex, no feelings, no complications.