Billion Dollar Bear: BBW Paranormal Billionaire Romance (Bad Boy Alphas) by Catherine Vale Page A

could, and when she shuddered
beneath him in another release, he finally let himself go.

Chapter Twelve
     
     
    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