Bearly There: BBW Paranormal Bear Shifter Romance (2 page)

“Are you all right, Zachary?” his colleague Mallory asked doubtfully. She was beautiful, with pearl-clear skin and sleek black hair, but despite her obvious interest in him, his bear had never responded. Which meant Zachary had never responded.

And of course it was her birthday dinner, meaning she expected to get all his attention.

“Yeah,” he said as casually as he could, flashing a smile he didn’t feel.

“Sir?” asked the waiter. “Is something the matter with your dessert course?”

“Not at all,” said Zachary, and this he meant. “I’d just like to speak to the chef to extend my compliments.” Only after he spoke did he realize the woman he’d seen could have been anyone. But there was no real way to say he’d meant the one peeking out of the kitchen without spooking everyone around him—and maybe even getting her in trouble.

His bear remained watchful.

The waiter smiled and promised to bring the chef right out.

All Zachary’s business partners had finished their profiteroles and were staring at him now. This was anything but typical behavior for him; he usually tried to avoid anyone he didn’t absolutely have to talk to.

“You must have really liked that ice cream thing,” Caleb said, trying not to laugh.

“I guess,” said Mallory, frowning.

Zachary couldn’t care less what either of them thought.
They
worked for
him
, and they’d do well to remember that. “It’s called a profiterole,” he said.

In the next second, even that thought flew out of his head. The waiter returned, leading the woman from the kitchen in tow. Zachary drank in the sight of her. She was like water to a parched field, champagne to a newlywed, the way he couldn’t stop staring at her deliciously curvy body, her long legs, her mouth like a red bow an Amazon might have wielded, her eyes so dark and full of secrets. He felt as fizzy as if he’d just downed an entire bottle of fifty-year-old Dom Pérignon.

His bear leapt up on his hindquarters in excitement, and so did Zachary. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the heavy, gorgeous breasts that pressed tight against her white uniform, and he was willing to bet that if she turned around, her ass would be equally lush and round. The fact that she was splattered with food stains seemed irrelevant; she was the one who had made that amazing dessert, and she was the one his bear wanted.

Which meant she was the one Zachary wanted, too. A rush of desire went straight to his groin, making him hard as a rock. To keep anyone from noticing, he stuck out his hand. “Mr. Zachary Cunningham, CEO of BNS Biopharmaceuticals. I just had to pay my compliments to the chef for this world-class meal.”

The woman stared at him with wide eyes every bit as luscious as the dark chocolate sauce had been, then shook his hand. At the contact of flesh on flesh, every cell in Zachary’s body sang out. She was the one! She was his mate, his life partner, his everything. So sexy, so beautiful, he couldn’t fight the attraction drawing him to her even if he wanted to.

And he really, really didn’t.

“I’m . . . I’m Esme,” she whispered at last, looking at him like they were alone. It was the most intimate, the sexiest thing Zachary had ever seen.

In earlier years, he’d slept with many women in the hopes of discovering his mate, but none of them had ever made him feel the way Esme did, like his blood was on fire, and like if he didn’t sweep her to a bed right this second, he’d explode and take the entire universe with him. Never mind that they’d barely exchanged two words.

His bear rumbled in distinct pleasure.

Yes,
he said.
Ours.

Zachary opened his mouth to speak.

“Zachary?” called Mallory. “Don’t you want to come back and have your coffee before it gets cold?” She sounded both amused and bitter.

Zachary didn’t care so much about that, but the reminder that Esme and he
weren’t
alone, that they in fact had a curious audience, was a hard slap to the face. He swore under his breath and dropped her hand. “Don’t go anywhere,” he whispered, then sat back down.

Esme looked trapped, then hurried back to the kitchen. Zachary hoped she understood he meant not to go anywhere until he’d had a chance to talk to her again.

His bear bared his teeth.

You let her get away
, he growled threateningly.
The one we’ve been waiting for!

Zachary sighed inwardly.
No, I told her to wait until we can actually talk. Do you think I can really talk to her in front of my
company
? This needs delicacy. Be patient.

His bear growled but seemed to accept that. For the moment, anyway. Zachary knew he didn’t have much time.

And now his whole company was staring at him.

Counting the seconds until he could get the hell out of this party and go find Esme, he ordered a round of drinks for the table.

* * *

Shaking, Esme drifted back into the kitchen. What had
that
been about? Why would a gorgeous billionaire care about complimenting a sous chef he’d never see again—and even shake her hand?

Her memory kept replaying that moment when she’d seen him looking at her, how her eyes had devoured his huge, muscular physique—visible even through his suit—his gleaming yellow hair slicked back in a ponytail, his eyes bright as the sky. He looked strong. He looked confident. Esme blushed all over, remembering his big, powerful hands and thinking of what else they might be able to do.

Something had happened then, when their hands had touched, some kind of strange magnetic connection, or like Esme had been struck by lightning. She’d never felt anything like that before. Maybe it was just overstimulation from this entire day?

She didn’t know, and she didn’t have time to worry about it right now. The kitchen needed to be cleaned, and the other sous chefs were glaring at her. “Think you’re so special?” Janice grumbled. “We did just as much work as you did, but do you see any hot guys giving
us
any credit?”

Esme immediately felt terrible. “Of course you deserve credit, too. I never could have done any of this without you.” The second the words were out, she wished she could take them back.

The other sous chefs all straightened up and nodded. “I
knew
she thought she was the star,” Suzanne muttered. The others agreed. The smiles they flashed at her were dangerous.

“That wasn’t what I meant!” Esme protested.

“Yeah, right, prima donna,” Suzanne said, advancing. “We’ll show you where you really belong.”

Esme took a step backward, but before she could respond, the kitchen doors flew open.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” the drop-dead gorgeous woman who’d been sitting by Zachary snapped, “but you need to go back to your little kitchen.”

“What—?”

“You think I didn’t see how you were trying to seduce Zachary with your food and your little swaying hips trick? You think I was born yesterday?” The woman pushed her face into Esme’s, and she could smell chocolate mixed with wine on the woman’s breath. “Well, I wasn’t, and you’d better back off.”

“I . . .” Esme fought for the words to set this right, though her head was spinning as if she’d been the one who’d enjoyed the three-hundred-dollar bottle of merlot.

But it didn’t matter. The woman had already stormed back out of the kitchen, leaving Esme alone with the circle of smirking faces. It was all the stuff they’d wanted to say, and now they didn’t have to.

She felt like crying, except none of this made any sense. So she did the one thing she could and started cleaning up in silence.

To their credit, the other sous chefs did stay to help. She’d fully expected them to just leave. After all, what could she have done about it?

Don’t go anywhere.
What had he—Zachary—even meant? And did it matter? He was probably just drunk, too.

Esme sadly helped the dishwashers rinse off the plates coming in from the dining room and wished she’d never stuck her head out of the kitchen to begin with. Then Zachary wouldn’t have seen her, and this still would have been the happiest night of her life, instead of the weirdest.

* * *

It was two
a.m.
, and Zachary had finally managed to get everyone out the door and into cars and taxis to go home. He had begun to think they’d be there all night. But there was no way he was going home, not until he’d talked to Esme. His bear agreed; they’d wait until sunrise if they had to.

Mallory in particular had cracked the brightest, most brittle smiles. She’d nursed her glass of champagne carefully while laughing the loudest, talking the most. But she’d never really taken her eyes off Zachary.

Damn! He knew she was up to something. Had she . . . figured out what he was?

Impossible. No one could know.

Besides, he’d seen her get into her car. All the other kitchen staff had left, too. Now it was time to find Esme.

Breathless, his bear urging him on, he walked back into the kitchen—just in time to find Esme and the owner of the restaurant facing off. “I am extremely disappointed in you, Esme,” Mr. Lambert said. “I heard from one of tonight’s party that you were making untoward advances to the guest of honor. This is, to put it simply, not at all what I expected from you when I offered you this opportunity. You actually had her in tears! In
tears
. Do you know how that makes my restaurant look?”

Immediately Zachary grew furious. The desire to shield Esme—what a beautiful name—swelled up in him. How
dare
one of his company report lies about her like this? Once he found out who it was, he’d make sure that person paid hugely.

Esme was backed up against a counter. Zachary couldn’t help but notice she’d changed out of her uniform into a beautiful shift dress the same red as her lipstick. The way it clung to her ample curves—and he’d been right; her ass was glorious, so round and full, so sexy he wanted to bite it—was like a siren call to his cock, and he bit his lip to keep from making any noises. “I . . .,” she trailed off. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Mr. Lambert. All I know is, I didn’t do anything but make the best food I could, just like you asked me to.”

“And you’re going to lie about it, too?” Mr. Lambert thundered, his face turning purple. “I was ready to help you get into culinary school, and this is how you repay me?”

Save our mate
, his bear demanded, rearing back on his hind legs.

“I—I—” Esme looked like she was about to cry, and Zachary snapped out of his trance. He felt his bear stirring, all his protective wrath filling Zachary, hot and blazing.

“You’re fired,” Mr. Lambert announced. “Pack whatever you have here and don’t come back.”

That was it. Zachary stormed forward. “Hey, listen, jerk,
I’m
that guest of honor you just mentioned, and I can tell you Esme did no such thing. She made the best food I’ve ever had in my life, and that was it.
I’m
the one who asked her to come out of the kitchen so I could pay my compliments. She did absolutely nothing wrong.”

“You . . . you did?” Mr. Lambert stammered, his expression turning foolish. He mopped his sweating forehead with the handkerchief he produced from his pocket. “But your guest said—”

“I don’t
care
what Mallory or anyone else said,” Zachary roared. In that moment, his bear and he were one. “All I know is, this chef makes food so delicious, the best restaurants in Paris can’t compare, and you’re firing her? Without even giving her a chance to defend herself? You have no idea what you’re losing, buddy.”

He offered Esme his arm, and with her dark, delicious eyes full of gratitude and shock, she took it.

“You can bet you’re never getting my business again,” Zachary added, “and my friends will be hearing about this, too.”

He whirled on his heel, taking Esme with him, and leaving Mr. Lambert sputtering behind them. Esme quickly reached out and grabbed her purse off a hook, and then they were out of the kitchen. Zachary guided her to the back door of the kitchen and through it.

Then they stood in the starlight together, and Zachary stopped to drink her in, her lush, round body with its abundance of curves just begging him to touch, her dark curls slipping out of their bun, her beautiful light brown skin, her small, lovely hands. How easily they’d disappear into his much larger ones . . .

A cool breeze washed over them, and Esme’s nipples hardened through the soft material of her dress. It made her breasts even more beautiful, and Zachary’s cock was slammed with another flood of lust. “I don’t know about you, but I’m still hungry,” he said, careful not to overwhelm her by letting his desire show. “How do you feel about all-night diners?”

* * *

Esme couldn’t stop staring at this strikingly good-looking man, this billionaire—everyone knew who Zachary Cunningham was! He was something of a local celebrity due to all the free medications he sent to poor countries—who had somehow swooped in to save her from Mr. Lambert. She still felt like crying. Her dream, flushed down the toilet by a woman she didn’t even know. What threat did that woman think Esme presented to her? She was just a stand-in sous chef!