The Billionbear's Bride: BBW Bear Shifter BWWM Paranormal Romance by Zoe Chant

uneasily. After all, there were other bears in the forest—not all of them shifters, and none but himself dedicated to protecting her.
    “You’ll protect me.”
    Sweet words; he couldn’t help but lean down and press his lips to hers. It was the kiss of a moment, spontaneous and genuine. She responded without hesitation, leaning in to him with soft lips.
    His hand slid up her back, feeling her warm skin underneath the fabric. A memory rustled awake: her body stretched out underneath his, her beautiful curves to touch and hold, hot kisses and breathy moans. As he deepened the kiss, she made a tantalizing sound in the back of her throat.
    “Uncle Bruce?” asked a young, tremulous voice from behind him. “Is that you?”
    Violet froze, and a startled giggle emerged from her. “Um, I think we have company. Someone wants to see you,” she whispered against his lips.
    Bruce half-thought of ignoring it in favor of whisking Violet into his arms right there, but then he realized who the voice belonged to. It was his nephew Jackson, who hadn’t yet met Violet.
    “Why don’t you hug him and find out?” he challenged, turning around.
    The boy squealed in delight before taking off like a tiny torpedo in Bruce’s direction. Bruce held out his arms, scooped up his nephew, and tossed him in the air in one smooth moment before catching him. Jackson’s wild curls blew everywhere and he shrieked with joy.
    Jackson abruptly went quiet when he spotted Violet, reverting back to his shy nature.
    “Jackson, meet Violet. She’s my wife. Violet, this is my nephew Jackson.”
    Jackson’s eyes were wide. “You’re pretty,” the toddler blurted out, then buried his face in Bruce’s shirt.
    Violet visibly stifled a giggle. “Thank you, Jackson. How old are you?”
    With a look of intense concentration on his face, Jackson held up three sticky fingers.
    “Don’t lie,” Bruce scolded softly. “Your birthday isn’t until next month.”
    “’M almost three,” said Jackson mutinously.
    “Nice to meet you, Jackson,” said Violet, affection shining in her eyes. She reached out to shake Jackson’s little hand, making the toddler beam. Bruce’s heart tightened at the sight. He hadn’t ever asked her about kids—if she wanted them, if she even liked them.
    But now he could imagine her with them, with his kids. Playing with them, fixing up their scratches and bruises, putting them to bed at night . . . She would be a loving, patient mother—the perfect mate and mother .
    “You kissed Uncle Bruce,” said Jackson.
    Violet hesitated. “Yep, I did.”
    “Are you gonna have cubs?” he said, as if reading Bruce’s mind. Bruce held his breath, waiting in suspense for her answer.
    Violet’s forehead wrinkled at what must have seemed to her an odd word choice. “I . . . don’t know,” she said with a quick glance at Bruce. “I guess we’ll find out in the future, huh?”
    “Okay.” That answer seemed to content Jackson, who rubbed his eyes.
    Bruce sent the little boy back to his parents. “Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly. “He’s a little over-curious.”
    Violet tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow comfortably. “That’s okay. I like kids.” Then, lower, sotto voce , “Your family is probably wondering where we are and what we’re doing. Maybe we should rejoin them before they get too suspicious.”
    He gave a mock-sigh. “You’re probably right.”
    The reception was more of a party, in true boisterous Davis fashion, and it kept both of them busy. It went on for several hours, guests coming and going as they pleased long after the caterers had been gone. Finally, well after dark, they saw the last of Bruce’s relatives off—on the receiving end of a few whistles and catcalls, of course.
    “Thank goodness we don’t have to clean much up,” said Violet, surveying the mild damage back inside the house.
    Bruce was half-listening, walking past their bedroom— his bedroom, he reminded