by Zoe Chant
Violet cried out again. He was hot and hard and heavy inside her. And so big. His shaft massaged her inner walls, sending sparks of pure pleasure through her core.
He groaned, and drew back to thrust into her again. This time her hips rose eagerly to meet his, and she wrapped her legs around him.
She couldn't help the moan that issued from her lips as he pumped into her, steady and sure. His head ducked as he fastened his mouth around one nipple again and sucked hard, making her arch into him.
Her pleasure rose to new heights as he changed the angle, hitting that spot just right, over and over, and she'd never been with anyone like this, anyone so attentive and good, anyone who made her body feel such fireworks, anyone who felt so unexplainably right.
He took one of her hands in one of his, lacing their fingers together and pressing their hands into the silk sheets. That was it—she clenched around him and screamed, her brain going white in her climax.
Bruce groaned her name as she came. "Violet—" Spurred on by her own orgasm, or just by lucky timing, the rhythm of his hips grew erratic and she felt him come, pulsing inside her. Violet held him as he did, running her hand through his hair and stroking his back through it.
"Violet," he murmured again in her ear when their breathing and heart-races had slowed. She was still stroking his back, too euphoric to think. He kissed her again, stroking her face—a little clumsy, but she was too satisfied to care. His touch stayed with her until they fell asleep.
Chapter Six
Bruce
Bruce rose hazily from sleep. Waking up was usually hard—to a lonely bed and an empty home.
But not today. He was intimately aware of his mate by his side, even without opening his eyes—he would know her scent anywhere, delicate lavender and honey.
He moved toward her warmth, seeking her skin. He wanted to get his fill of her. Without thinking he curled his arm around her, pressed his chest to her back, and buried h is nose in her hair.
The early morning atmosphere was hushed and quiet, like there was no one else in the world, and they had it all to themselves.
Murmuring, she shifted back against him so that every possible square inch of their skin was touching. His hand stroked gently over her bare curves. All that soft, silky skin—he couldn't help it.
When she exhaled, she let out a breathy moan, igniting a fire in Bruce's loins. There was nothing in this world better than his mate's instinctive response to him, he decided. He was already hard, his cock trapped between their bodies with a delicious pressure.
Then she really woke up—she turned around, bleary-eyed, and her eyes widened in more than just surprise.
"Oh, no," she said, her voice rough with sleep but alert.
Bruce's heart stuttered in his chest. He didn't know what he'd expected in her reaction, but it wasn't that.
"Violet—" he began, but she was already rolling out of bed, her back to him, and he didn't know what to say.
She scrambled around for her clothes, her breathing quick and anxious. Bruce's heart constricted. Over her shoulder she said, "Could I have the room?" Her voice was almost too steady—like she was trying to hold something in.
He wanted to reach for her, to comfort her and soothe whatever ache she was feeling. "Violet, what's wrong?"
Her shoulders shook slightly at his words, but she only said, "Please?" while clutching some clothes to her chest. He was powerless to deny her.
As he waited anxiously outside the door for her to emerge, his bear rumbled his displeasure. It was not happy that his mate was upset—and it blamed him. You did something wrong. You made her unhappy. Fix it.
But it was hard to fix things when you didn't know what had gone wrong.
Violet had been enthusiastic enough the night before. She'd wanted him as much as he'd wanted her, he was sure of it. Something must have happened between then and now, but they'd only slept. Maybe it was a ghost from her past, a bad relationship. Or, he thought, she was embarrassed about having slept with him so soon, wedding night or no. Bears didn't care about that kind of thing—animal instincts ruled the day, generally—but she didn't know about that aspect of him.
This was not what he'd hoped for the morning after his wedding.
It was a long time—or it felt that way to Bruce—before the door to the honeymoon suite bedroom cracked tentatively open. Thanks to his enhanced senses, he heard her take a deep breath, as if steadying herself.
Bruce jumped up. "Violet—"
He was about to spill his guts about everything—about his bear, about them being mates, about how she didn't have to be afraid—but she held up a small hand before he could get any further.
"Please, let me go first," she said.
She came out; she'd put something shapeless on that camouflaged all those beautiful dips and curves. They sat together on the couch, Violet maintaining a careful distance between their bodies.
Her eyes met his. "What happened last night—it was fun. But it was a one-time thing. We have an arrangement—a business arrangement—and I don't think it's a good idea to mix business with pleasure." Beat. "Even if it was fun pleasure."
He heard a hint of humor in her voice. At least there was that.
"We'll go our separate ways in six months, and I don't want things to get complicated between us. What happened in Vegas stays in Vegas."
They aren't complicated, Bruce nearly said, you're my mate, and I love you. Simple as can be.
But the look on her face brooked no arguments.
The morning had started out so well with the promise of warmth, intimacy, and love—and the illusion had been shattered by her words. She didn't want to be his mate. She didn't want him at all.
* * *
That conversation set the mood for the rest of their stay in Vegas; she held herself a little ways apart from him. What had begun as a grand adventure, full of laughter and hope, became an awkward, quiet affair.
His desire for her wasn't gone. Far from it. He found himself thinking about her, fantasizing about her luscious, generous body, at the most inopportune moments—in line at the café, on their return flight. How she had felt under his hands, so delicate and soft, how she had responded to his touch—it was agonizing having her so close, and yet so far.
Where there had been hot desire in her eyes, there was now a cool reserve. A wall had come down between them, or maybe she had put it up, wanting to protect herself.
Time, he thought, trying to calm his bear. She wasn't a shifter—maybe it just wasn't the same for non-shifters. It would just take time. He hoped.
He wasn't sorry to leave the punishing sun and harsh architecture of Vegas for the cool stillness of the river valley.
Violet seemed to agree—she breathed in an audible sigh of relief as she stepped off the plane, and the residual tension he'd seen in her shoulders ever since the Morning After (as he'd come to think of it) seemed to relax out of her body.
Bruce showed her around the house. He was proud of what he’d accomplished—and he showed it.
“This stonework I laid myself,” he said as they approached the fireplace. It was enormous without being grand; instead it had a homey vibe. The stone was a patchwork of different natural colors and textures, and the room itself was large—large enough to hold a family and then some. He had imagined lazy Sunday afternoons here: kids running around and playing, or reading, or just lounging around and enjoying each other’s company.
He still wanted that; in fact, the desire had only grown sharper after meeting his mate. Violet fit perfectly in this space, completing it. Completing him.
“Wow, that looks amazing.” She reached out to brush her fingers across the rough surface, her touch lingering. She shivered; she must still be chilly from outside, Bruce realized belatedly. His bear kept him warm for the most part, but she didn’t have that protection. He would have to be her protection.
Without prompting he immediately began grabbing logs from beside the grate and piling them into the
fireplace. It was the work of a moment to add some kindling and light it up.
When the flame caught and lit them in its warm glow, he turned back to Violet—who was watching him with an eyebrow quirked. When she caught his eyes, her gaze flicked back to the fire, which was coming to life. On impulse Bruce slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. His hands stroked down her arms. She tugged the leather jacket’s collar tighter around her and their hands brushed. A small, shy smile played over her lips.
“So are you going to show me the rest of your extravagant bachelor pad?” she continued after a moment, holding her hands out to warm them. The firelight—and maybe something else, or maybe it was just Bruce’s imagination—flickered in her warm brown eyes.
“It’s not a bachelor pad anymore,” he responded.
Her only response was to bite her lip and look away.
He showed her to the kitchen, which was spacious and open. “Anytime you want to make yourself something, go right ahead,” he told her. “Do you like to cook?”
She gave a nervous laugh. “Uh, not really?” she said, as if uncertain of his reaction. “I can make some basic things, the stuff everybody does—spaghetti and meatballs, that kind of thing—but honestly I don’t have the time,” she rushed to say. “Mostly I survive on takeout.”
“Takeout has nothing on a good home-cooked meal,” Bruce said. “I’ll have to prove it to you sometime. Or,” he added, “I can show you a thing or two, since you’re living here now.” For the next six months, at least, said a little voice in the back of his mind. Bruce tried to banish his doubts, but they lingered in the back of his mind.
The corners of her eyes turned up with her smile, framed by thick lashes. “I’d like that.”
Taking his arm, Violet tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Now, show me around the rest of this place. I’ve never lived in a house-house before.”
“No? Never?”
“Just apartments. I was saving for a down payment when … when Jana started having her health problems. And …” She hesitated, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.
“What is it?” he encouraged gently.
“I was seeing someone—Chad was his name—we were going to get married.” Her hand twitched on his arm; she was running her thumb over her the base of her ring finger, again and again. Bruce’s bear growled internally at the thought of someone else marrying his mate. “We had started putting our lives together. You know, living together, putting each other on our bank accounts, that kind of thing.”
Bruce sucked in a breath. He could see where this was going.
Violet’s voice trembled as she continued. “A few weeks before the wedding, Chad … I don’t know what happened. He just ran off. No goodbye, no forwarding address, no official breakup. And he took all my savings with him.”
Rage flared in him, a strong fire burning hot. If he ever met this Chad, Bruce knew he was going to show the guy what his insides looked like. No one treated Violet, his Violet, like that. What a creep.
“Well, I know what happened,” Bruce said, a little bit of darkness entering his voice.
“What?”
“He’s an asshole, that’s what.”
Violet turned to him. Tears glimmered in her eyes. He cupped her face and swiped tenderly at a falling tear with his thumb. “I always wondered if it was my fault,” she confessed. “If I had done something wrong. If I had been a better girlfriend, or skinner, or prettier … He never seemed like the kind of guy who would do something like that.”
His bear’s growl rumbled through his chest at Violet’s self-deprecation. How could she not see in herself what he saw—a beautiful woman, strong but delicate, funny and kind?
“Don’t say those kinds of things,” he rumbled fiercely. “They’re not true. If he didn’t think you were the most beautiful, perfect woman in the world—then he was blind and stupid. He didn’t deserve you. Not one bit. His loss.”
She ducked her head, breaking his touch. Then she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and said, “Where to next, tour guide?”
He showed her the rest of the house—the game room, the dining room, the den, and finally the bedrooms. His bear wanted her, of course, in the master bedroom with him, and tortured him with visions of how good she’d look between his sheets. But of course she would be staying in one of the guest beds. He would be sleeping alone again—just like he had been before the wedding, before he’d met his mate.
It was even harder now that it had been before. At least before he’d met Violet, he hadn’t had such temptation—his mate, so close, but so out of reach. And sweet, sultry memories of their one night together to haunt him.
He carried her two bags to the room and set them on the bed. Violet was exploring the large walk-in closet. “I’ve never had a closet this big,” she said, delightedly running her hands over the row of empty hangers, making them click and clatter like wind chimes. “Everything I brought with me won’t even come close to filling it up.”
“We can go back to your place anytime and get your other things,” he promised. He wanted to shower her with new things; she had been living paycheck to paycheck for so long, and after what that asshole did to her—she deserved more. She deserved everything he could give her, and then some. Patience, patience, he reminded himself. Bears could be patient. They waited all winter long for spring to come.
He wasn’t sure he could last that long.
“In the meantime,” he continued, “you can start settling in. We have some time before dinner.”
The plan was to host a dinner to break the news to Wanda—who knew, of course—and her sister Jana—who didn’t. Violet was especially worried about Jana’s reaction, he knew from their conversations. His own family would find out tomorrow night, and he suspected it would be a bit thornier.
“Sounds good to me.” She began unzipping the first suitcase, but not before flashing him another smile. He couldn’t help but return it, his heart buoyant with hope.
Something hard nudged at his hip. Belatedly he remembered the ring. He pulled a small, velvet box out of his pocket. The gesture caught Violet's eye, and her lips rounded in a silent 'O'.
"To complete the … arrangement," he made himself say, even though what he really wanted to say was I love you desperately, marry me for real.
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 h
ands 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.