Billion Dollar Bear: BBW Paranormal Billionaire Romance (Bad Boy Alphas) (9 page)

Becca rolled over and reached for the
right side of the bed, questing for a warm, hard body that promised her endless
nights of passion. As usual, her fingers met nothing but cold sheets, and she
sighed, the sense of loss rolling through her more poignant than it had been
the day before, and the day before that.

      It had
been two days since she’d woken up and found Jericho gone, leaving nothing of
himself behind but the spicy, masculine scent of him on the bed sheets to
assure her that he had, in fact, been real. If not for the nice little bonus
she’d gotten from work for, apparently, doing such an excellent job that he’d
given her a five-star review, she’d have begun to wonder if the last few days
had been a dream.

      A highly
charge, erotic dream, but nonetheless, a figment of her wild imagination.

      Sighing
angrily, she rolled out of bed and headed for the shower, wondering what to do
with her day. She had the day off, but since all she really wanted to do was
spend time with a man who wasn’t here for her, every other option out there
just didn’t seem worth leaving the house for.

      She was
supposed to have been off yesterday, but she’d decided to come in anyway, hoping
work would give her something else to focus on. That had been a mistake. The
tour she’d given a new client had only reminded her of the time she’d spent
with Jericho, every step of the way invoking another memory of their time
together. By the time she’d hit the pillow that night she’d been aching with
need and loss, crying herself to sleep.

     
God,
why had she ever decided to sleep with him?
For that matter, why hadn’t she
turned around the moment she’d seen him and demanded that Crystalle assign
another tour guide to him? That would have saved her a hell of a lot of
heartache.

      She was
out of the shower and wrapping a robe around her damp body when the doorbell
rang. Frowning, she peered through the peephole, wondering who it could be, and
curiosity ignited in her chest as she caught sight of a delivery man.

      “Bonjour,”
she greeted the man in French. “What can I do for you?”

      The man
smiled. “You have a very special delivery today,” he told her, handing her an
arrangement of orange roses with little branches bearing white flowers woven
into them. She gasped, warmth flooding through her as she recognized them as
orange blossoms, and immediately knew who they came from.

      “Thank
you,” she said quickly, giving the delivery man a smile as she took the
flowers. She tipped him, and then practically shut the door in his face as she
set the arrangement down on the living room table so she could pull out the
envelope that was nestled between the blossoms.

      Sinking
onto the sofa – which still smelled faintly of Jericho – she opened
the envelope with trembling fingers and unfolded the letter. Two airline
tickets slipped out from the paper and fluttered to the floor, and she grabbed
them, her eyes going wide when she read the details on them.

      A
round-trip ticket to Chicago. This weekend.

      Swallowing
hard, she turned her attention back to the letter.

     
Dear
Becca,

      Try as I
might, I’ve been unable to think of much else other than your beautiful face
and wondrous body since my feet left Parisian ground. I didn’t realize how much
you warmed me with your spunk and sass and fire during our time together, and
now that you’re gone I feel like I’ve been overcome by a chill that just won’t
leave my bones. I’ve driven myself back into my work to try to escape it
– a horrible habit I was trying to break by going on a trip to Paris.
Unfortunately, old habits die hard.

      I know
I’ve no right to ask this of you, but I’m a selfish man with selfish desires,
and I want you with a burning need that defies all logic. Please, come and
spend the weekend with me in Chicago. Come and grace me with the sound of your
voice, with the sweetness of your kisses, with all there is about you that I am
unable to find anywhere else.

Yours,

Jericho

P.S. If you do decide to come, please
call me and let me know. I’d hate for you to get lost in Chicago trying to find
me.

* * *

Jericho glanced away from his computer
screen to the phone vibrating on his desk, hope leaping in his heart that it
was Becca contacting him, telling him that she was packing now and would be in
his arms in just a few short days. But it was only Ravena calling, her house
number flashing across the screen for the third time today.

      Grimacing,
he hit ignore, then turned his attention back to the spreadsheet displayed on
his monitor so he could finish reviewing the analysis one of his assistants had
done for him. But rather than assimilating the information, the numbers blurred
on his screen, then converged into a smiling, heart-shaped face with
whiskey-colored eyes and a sassy smile that beckoned and promised all kinds of
wicked things.

      A knock on
the door jolted him out of the vision, and he looked up to see Emerson on the
other side of the glass.  

      “Come in,”
he called, pushing aside the irritation chafing at the edges of his mind.

      Emerson
entered, carrying a manila file under his muscular arm. “Hey Chief. Brought you
the file you asked for.”

      “Thanks,” Jericho
said distractedly, pushing a hand through his hair. “Just set it right there.”
He pointed to the folder on his desk.

      “Sure thing.”
Emerson put the file down, and then waited for Jericho to say something else.
When his chieftain continued to stare at the screen, he ventured, “Rough day?”

      Jericho
shook his head. “More like a rough night. Didn’t sleep too much.”

      Emerson
nodded. When Jericho didn’t elaborate, he knew he should leave, and yet he
hesitated. “It’s that hybrid you met, isn’t it,” he said quietly.

      Jericho
growled low in his throat, his eyes flashing orange. “She has a name.”

      “Becca.
Right.” Emerson cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve never met
her before.” He eyed his chieftain carefully, not sure what to say to him. He’d
never seen Jericho in a state of lethargy in his life, and it made him feel
oddly helpless. An angry or upset Jericho, he could deal with. But a drained
one… that was completely beyond his scope of experience.

      Part of
him wanted to hunt down the female that had reduced his cousin to such a state,
and rip her throat out. But he had the idea Jericho wouldn’t appreciate that
very much, and that it would likely result in Emerson’s own death. And besides,
it wasn’t really the she-bear’s fault that Jericho was pining away for her.

      He
wondered if his cousin had a clue that he was head-over-heels in love with her.

      “You did
mail that letter to her, didn’t you?” Jericho asked, his eyes cooling to their
customary blue as he met Emerson’s gaze.

      Emerson
nodded. “Made sure it got delivered with that flower arrangement, just as you
asked.” He tilted his head to the side. “You know, you could always go back for
her. Sweep her off her feet, then put her on a private jet and whisk her back
to Chicago. She wouldn’t know what hit her.”

      Jericho’s
eyes darkened. “No,” he said. “She’s not that kind of woman.” A smile played on
his lips at the thought of her, and just how feisty she could be. “I doubt she
would appreciate a kidnapping attempt from me. She must come to me of her own
free will.”

      Emerson
sighed, looking at his watch. “Yeah, well, her flight’s supposed to be leaving
tomorrow and she hasn’t bothered to call or text you. So I’d say free will’s
not getting you very far.” He held up his hands when Jericho bared his fangs.
“Just telling it like it is, Chief.”

      “If you
don’t have anything useful to say, then get out of here,” Jericho snarled. “

      Emerson
snorted. “Love you too, cuz.” He beat a hasty retreat though, closing the door
firmly behind him – even he realized he’d struck a nerve, and it was best
not to provoke a sleep-deprived bear that was missing his mate.

      Back in
the office, Jericho’s phone rang again. He snatched it up, fully prepared to
dash it against a wall if the area code wasn’t Parisian, but he froze when he
recognized the caller ID.

      It was Ravena’s
father, Sergei.

      “Hello?”

      “Mr. Knight.”
Sergei’s Russian accent was thicker than his daughters, but his tone was just
as refined and elegant as Ravena’s own speech. “Are you in good health?”

      “Yes, I
am,” Jericho said, frowning.

      “You are
not ill?” Sergei pressed. “Or perhaps injured?”

      “No.” Jericho
drew out the ‘o’ in a questioning tone, truly puzzled. “Is there a specific
reason why you’re inquiring about my health, Mr. Hastings?”

      “It is
embarrassing for me to have to put these questions to you,” Sergei said, “when
ordinarily it would be none of my business. But you see, Ravena asked me to
call on her behalf, as she is very concerned about you. She says you have not
been returning her calls, and she can only surmise that you must be
incapacitated in some way, and unable to respond.

      Jericho
gritted his teeth.
Damn her
. “Please convey my sincerest apologies to
your daughter,” he said politely even though what he really wanted to say was
much less kind. “I have been incredibly busy with the company, and – ”

      “I
understand that you are a busy man, Mr. Knight,” Sergei drawled, cutting him off.
“As a business man and a clan chieftain myself, I can sympathize with your
plight. Time management can be a… tricky thing when the weight of so much
responsibility lays on your shoulders, would you not agree?”

      “I would,”
Jericho said carefully, unsure of where Sergei was leading him, but doubting
that he was going to like the destination very much.

      “However,
as a mate and father, I have come to learn the importance of setting aside time
for family. My wife and children can be… demanding, and rightfully so as they
need proper care and attention in order to flourish.” Sergei’s voice darkened
almost imperceptibly. “My daughter will continue to need that care and
attention once she leaves my home.”

      “Understood.”
Jericho swallowed, hating that sweat was actually breaking out across his brow.
Sergei was telling him, without stating it directly, that if he did not make
attempts to woo Ravena properly that he would withdraw his support of the
union, which meant that Ravena would be off the table as a mate. And with
practically no other prospects on the table, he couldn’t afford to let that
happen. “I’ll give her a call tonight.”

      “See that
you do.” Sergei paused. “Maybe you can take her on a nice trip somewhere. Like
maybe to Paris. I heard the weather is great over there this time of year.”

      He hung up
the phone just before it cracked in Jericho’s hand.

* * *

“That is it!”

      Becca
jerked upright in her chair as Crystalle slapped her hand on her desk. Hot
coffee sloshed over the rim of Becca’s Styrofoam cup, and spilled all over her
hand, and she yelped, yanking a few napkins from her desk and wiping up the
mess, then blowing on the abused appendage to cool it.

      “What?”
Becca asked, thoroughly alarmed by the angry glint in Crystalle’s eye. “What
did I do? Did I make a mistake on the expense report again?”

      “No,” Crystalle
replied darkly, wagging a finger. “You’ve been completely perfect, work-wise. A
little too perfect. All the light and joy has gone out of you, and today you
look like you’re about to collapse straight at death’s door. I wanna know why.”

      Becca
sighed and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Please, Crys,” she said,
but it came out more like she was begging than trying to sound confident. “I’m
just having a bad hair day. No need for the name calling.”

      “Do bad
hair days usually result in that bleak look in your eye and those dark circles
that are making you look like a raccoon?” Huffing, Crystalle crossed her arms
over her ample chest. “I don’t think so. You’d better tell me what’s going on
right now.” Her face softening in sympathy, she leaned forward a little. “Is it
Ethan again? Is that boy giving you a hard time?”

      “No.” A
small smile curled the edges of Becca’s lips. Jericho had taken good care of
her Ethan problem – she hadn’t heard hide nor hair of her ex since the
night Jericho had scared the shit out of him. But the smile quickly
disappeared. “It’s… it’s someone else.”

      “Someone
else is giving you a hard time?” Indignant, Crystalle straightened in her
chair. “Who?”

      Laughing a
little at her friend’s protective streak despite herself, she shook her head.
“No one’s giving me a hard time. It’s just that I met someone, and he’s gone
now… and I’m having a bit of a hard time with it.”