Page 61 of Sweet Heart for the Bear

But before I can finish that sentence, Horace hooks his thumbs into his waistband and pulls down his underwear.

And fuck.

I stare.

Like an absolute pervert.

Becauseholy hell.

Horace Vanderbilt’s body is better than any of the romance books I’ve read.

He’s a living, breathing sculpture, all muscle and heat and sheer masculinity, and the worst part?

He knows it. He must know it.

The jerk.

“You gotta stop looking at me like that, Sweetheart,” he rumbles, voice dropping dangerously low. “Or the Bear won’t come out.”

I snap my gaze away, cheeks burning. “Oh my God.”

The sound of bones snapping and fabric tearing has me turning back—just in time to see the man I spent the night with begin to change.

And my brain short-circuits.

Because it’s not just a shift.

It’s a transformation. And it looks hard. Painful.

The man I know disappears, and in his place stands something massive, dark, and covered in thick fur.

A motherhumping Grizzly Bear.

A real, actual, living, breathing Bear.

I am face to face with a gigantic, broad-shouldered, terrifyingly powerful beast.

The penthouse door is still open.

And just when I think I can’t handle one more thing, my sister Dina walks in.

Horace lets out a low, disgruntled roar.

Dina screams.

“CARINA? HOLY HELL, IT’S A BEAR!”

And because I am just that amazing,

I pass out.

Chapter20

Horace

Pushing myself to shift from human to Bear and back again in less than a minute is a fuck-ton more difficult than I can explain.

It’s like trying to force a tidal wave into a teacup—painful, disorienting, unnatural—but I do it anyway.

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