Bear Cuffs (Broken Hill Bears #3)(10)

       
        

    "Harper," he murmured. She sensed his bear, engaging with her own. There was no mistaking the desire in his eyes, the way his features altered very slightly as his bear came closer to the surface, his primal side trying to take over. He's still attracted to me? she thought. This doesn't make any sense. Her bear purred, bringing her a step closer to him, near enough to pick up the scent of spearmint gum on his breath. Those lips. No-one kissed like Rocco. Because no-one had such beautiful, firm, pillowy lips. Neither of the men she'd dated since him had turned her on anything like he did. In fact, she'd often wondered if he'd spoiled her for anyone else. He tilted his jaw. Their lips were now six inches apart. She could hear the deep, rumbling purr of his breathing, see his chest rising and falling. His bear wanted to tear her clothes off; she could feel it. And her bear wanted him to take her, to mate her. He leaned closer. His lips brushed hers.

    And she took a huge step back, tearing her arm out of his grasp. So what if he wanted her now? He didn't want her then, and that was all that mattered.

    "Thank you for the ride, Rocco. I appreciate it," she said in a cool, firm voice, and she turned and strode inside without waiting for his reaction.

    "Living together has just got ten times harder," she muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs up to her bedroom.

   

   

    8

   

   

    Rocco stood for a full minute, watching Harper's retreating back, the way her ass moved in her tight black pants, the way her soft navy shirt had ridden up, sexily exposing a few inches of skin. And then he placed the helmet on the ground, started his bike up again, and roared off, heading straight for the mountains. He didn't know why he'd insisted picking Harper up on his bike, because the truth was that it had been unbearable. The feeling of her arms wrapped around him, her fingertips caressing his skin. Her thighs, gripping him so sexily, and her breasts  –  pressing against his bare back, only a flimsy layer of a fabric and a bra separating them from him. He'd spent half the journey trying to figure out whether he could make out the points of her nipples, and the other half chastising himself for even having the thought. But it wasn't his fault. She'd looked so damn sexy when he'd pulled up, casually leaning on her car, the v of her shirt low enough to reveal a whisper of cleavage. Looking at her, being in her presence was pure nostalgia. It felt so right to have her behind him, her body entwined with his, as if the past few years hadn't happened. He always used to say that one day he'd help her to overcome her fear of motorbikes and they'd go on a road trip together, traveling around the country. She'd raise one of those long, elegant brows and say "ain't never gonna happen, kiddo," but there was always a flicker of excitement in her eyes, like a challenge to him. He smiled to himself as he thought about her reaction when she saw that he was on the bike and not in a car, as she'd expected. Same old feisty Harper  –  all flashing eyes and hands on hips. He loved that she got so hot tempered when she was angry. That she was generous and calm on a day-to-day basis, but didn't put up with any crap. He'd been acting cool and laid back, but when she climbed onto the bike behind him, wrapping those strong, curvy thighs around his body, he'd been ridiculously excited, his bear scrabbling at his insides. 

    She was his idea of perfection. She was the one. But she was the one he could never have. His bear let off a roar of misery, and at the last minute he turned off the mountain track and into the forest, wanting the distraction of riding through challenging dirt trails. It had been emotional agony being around her since she'd moved in. His bear wanted her, bad. Every whiff of her incredible, sweet musky scent was intoxicating. And at the same time, he couldn't stand the fact that she hated him so much. Every so often, he'd see a flash of the real Harper  –  like when they'd cooked together  –  and he'd start to think that maybe she was mellowing out. But then she'd shut down again, give him the cold shoulder. And his bear would howl in pain. God, he loved her. He'd tried so hard to forget his feelings over the years, but it was becoming very obvious that they hadn't changed one bit. No-one could ever compare to her. She was perfect in every way for him.

    "I love her!" he said aloud. And at the same moment, his bike went over a rut in the track. He wasn't paying attention, so lost in thoughts of Harper. It jerked to the right, and by the time he reacted, it was already too late. It went right over the edge of the track, tipped over a sharp ledge, and plunged down into a hollow.

    Rocco used every ounce of his strength to tear himself away from the bike as it fell. His back slammed into a tree trunk, but the bike fell away from him and hit the ground a couple of feet away; more than 500 pounds of metal crashing to the forest floor, just missing his foot. The engine cut off automatically and silence descended. He lay dazed for a few seconds, then he blinked up at the canopy of branches that obscured his view of the sky, twisted his neck from side to side, shook each of his limbs, and pulled himself into a sitting position. Nothing hurt too bad, thank goodness. Then he lay back down and laughed his ass off. He loved Harper. He'd never come off his bike in his entire life, despite riding in intensely challenging conditions, and it had happened right now, because he realized that he was still crazily, madly, stupidly in love with her. He always had been, and he always would be. He glanced at the bike. It wasn't in great shape. He'd be lucky to be able to ride back home. But he didn't care. He'd just had the most important realization of his entire life. His bear let out a wild, joyous roar, and all those feelings flooded back  –  the ecstasy of being in a relationship with Harper; the heart-piercing discovery that he had to break up with her; the pain of telling her that he couldn't be with her any more, and the never-ending pain of not being able to tell her the truth, and having her hate him. The last time he'd been truly happy was when he was 18 years old, he realized. When they were blissfully in love, spending all their time together, and talking endlessly about their dreams for the future. Their cabin, their cubs. The trips they'd take as a family. Ever since then, he hadn't felt complete. That was why he went off the rails sometimes, and did things that weren't good for him. He'd been grieving the loss of Harper all that time.

    A lump came to his throat as he recalled the day that changed everything  –  the day he'd had the terrible news from the Oracle. It was his 18th birthday, and, as tradition dictated, his father took him to see her, to discover his future career and who his mate should be. He'd gone there with a light heart, knowing that she'd tell him it was Harper, and then he'd be free to make it official. The Oracle lived in the midst of a craggy mountain range, way up at the top of a steep peak. It was a long journey on foot, and all the way there, he'd been picturing going back home and giving Harper the good news, asking her to be formally mated to him.


     
       
         
       
        

    Then he and his father went into the cave and met the Oracle, a grizzled old bear shifter, with long, pure white hair and milky eyes. She'd laid her bony, gnarled hand on his chest and spoken the words that would ruin his life:

    "That girl. The one you've been dating  – "

    "Yes  –  Harper!" he'd said, too eagerly.

    "You must break up with her. You cannot become mates, because you will expose her to a deadly risk." He stared at her in confusion, his breath hitching in his throat.

    "What do you mean?" The Oracle fixed her gaze on him, her left eye becoming huge and the milkiness clearing.

    "Young man! I do not know what I mean," she boomed. "The Oracle isn't a time traveler. She doesn't look into the future. She receives the words of the deities. And you should be grateful enough for that!" His mouth fell open.

    "B-but?" he stammered. "You must be mistaken. Harper is my mate. I've known it since the day we met. Everyone knows it. We're perfect for each other." The Oracle's bony index finger shot out and jabbed him in the stomach, as hard as a rod of iron.

    "The Oracle is never mistaken. Ignore her pronouncement at your peril. Know this: if you stay with this female, great misery and destruction will come into her life very soon. Her suffering will be on your head." Rocco took a step back, held his head in his hands. His bear pushed at his skin, its claws trying to force its way out. He wanted to attack the Oracle, force her to take back her words, tell him she'd made a mistake. His father laid a hand on his back.

    "Son, the Oracle speaks the truth. We have to respect it," he said. Rocco lifted his head again and met her ancient gaze. Something flickered in her eyes  –  pity.