Curves for the Werewolf Cowboy (Paranormal BBW Erotic Romance, Alpha Wolf Mate) Read online

  Copyright © 2013 by Cassie Laurent.

  Kindle Edition

  v1.0

  Curves for the Werewolf Cowboy is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This book or portions thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form whatsoever without direct permission from the author.

  This book is intended Only for Mature Audiences 18+. It contains mature themes, substantial sexually explicit scenes, and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.

  UUID: bebd92e0-5f61-4211-a5e0-49a58997f6d4

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title/Copyright

  Curves for the Werewolf Cowboy

  More from Cassie

  About the Author

  Other Paranormal/BBW titles by Cassie Laurent:

  Claimed by the Alpha Prince

  The Werewolf Claims His Virgin

  Pursued by the Wolf Pack

  My Boss's Werewolf Secret

  The Pack's Leader: War of the Wolves

  Seduced by My Werewolf Professor

  Taken by My Werewolf Boss

  Crazy for the Werewolf

  Rocked by the Werewolf

  Curves for the Werewolf

  ~ Amber ~

  I remember his order exactly: double bourbon, neat. A drink for a man looking to do some serious drinking. Woodford Reserve, too. Top shelf stuff. A man with class, and money perhaps. I almost did a double-take when he ordered, surprised by both the drink and the man. He didn’t look like the type to come to a dive like this, and that sure as hell wasn’t the type of drink you ordered when you found yourself here.

  But I didn’t have the time to pay him much mind. It was a Friday night. The bar was hopping, the music was loud, and I had other customers to serve. So once I poured his bourbon and placed it in front of him, I headed off to serve the rest of the customers crowding the bar.

  I made the rounds, pouring beer after beer for the cowboys and ranch hands who packed the bar. These were loud, uncouth men, used to living on the edge of the frontier. I say that with a bit of irony. The little dive I work at is just on the outskirts of Houston, so it’s not like we’re so far from civilization. But these men who come in here every night, they’re sure an unruly bunch. The type of men who don’t give a damn about anyone else and are quick to fight if you look at them the wrong way.

  Most of my nights here were spent fending off the advances of these drunken cowboys. Oh, I’d flirt a little bit of course, it helped with the tip. But these men were delusional if they thought I’d be going home with them. I think they knew that, too. It was just a familiar game they played, and I played along, but only to a certain extent.

  “Hey, sugar, I sure wouldn’t mind those curves ridin’ me tonight” said one of them drunkenly.

  “Charming. Very charming. I’m sure that line works on all the girls, doesn’t it? So, what’ll you be havin’?” I shot back.

  “I’ll be havin’ you if I play my cards right,” said the drunk cowboy with a wink.

  “Honey, you don’t even have a pair of deuces. You want a drink or what?”

  “Yeah, get me another Bud,” said the cowboy.

  I poured him his drink and moved onto the next customer. Best not to linger, I thought. Don’t want to give this man the impression I’m interested in him.

  Working my way across the bar, I eventually found myself in front of the strange yet handsome man who ordered the double bourbon. His tumbler was empty, set in front of him like a challenge. He gave me a look that told me to fill it up with more of the same. I poured him another double and placed it in front of him.

  “If you wanted another you should have gotten my attention, I didn’t mean to leave you waitin’ like that,” I said with a smile, being polite and cute in my playful southern way.

  “I’m not in any rush. The night is young.”

  “Very young. Not even past eleven. You let me know if you need anything else, OK?” I said with a wink.

  “Sure,” said the man, stone-faced in his response.

  Something about his look gave me a chill as I moved onto the next customer. I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every move. It made me nervous and self-conscious. I opened two Bud Lights and handed them to the another customer. Then I looked back at the man, still sitting at the end of the bar. He wasn’t looking at me, his eyes were fixed on a baseball game on the TV overhead. A wave of relief washed over me; maybe I had been imagining everything.

  I stared at him momentarily, trying to figure out what about him had freaked me out so much. To someone less perceptive, he might look like any other customer. He was dressed the same, his face was tanned, and his muscles were big. Presumably from long days out on one of the many ranches in the area. He was handsome though, and there was a dark streak in him. Something scary and sinister. The more I stared at him the more I saw it in him. It was so real I could almost feel it. I’d never seen him before tonight.

  My face turned pale as I saw his dark eyes staring back at me. I turned my head away and pretended to be entering a drink order into the computer behind the bar. Then I chanced a glance back at him. He was still staring, but this time I noticed him tapping a finger against his empty glass.

  I went over and took his glass from him, my hands shaking all the while.

  “Another d-double?” I stuttered, forcing a smile across my face, as I tried not to show my nervousness. Why was I so damn nervous?

  “Yes,” he said seriously.

  I walked away and the glass slipped through my hands, shattering on the floor into a hundred little pieces as my face blushed red hot in seconds. I motioned to one of the other bartenders to grab the broom while I found another glass and poured the man a drink. I brought it over to him, steadying it with both hands.

  “Thanks,” he said gruffly, not a hint of sympathy in his voice or on his face. He’d said nothing when I’d dropped the glass. Was he incapable of seeing how nervous I was, did he even care? He seemed so inhuman right now.

  I walked away, feeling more self-conscious than I’d felt in years. Why was I so nervous around this man? Why the hell did I give a damn about what he thought? I’d never seen him before, for all I knew he was just a man passing through town. In all likelihood I’d never see him again in my entire life.

  I kept pouring drinks, but my mind kept wandering back to that man. The more I thought about it the more indignant I got. I was starting to get fired up. This was my bar, what right did he have to make feel like this? I had an inkling to go over to him and give him a piece of my mind. I slammed drinks down on the counter for two customers and stomped back over to him. His eyes were plastered on the TV again as the Astros turned a double-play, but as soon as I walked over he turned his eyes to mine, maintaining eye contact as he took a slow, purposeful drink.

  His eyes were grey, a cold grey like a Wyoming winter, like wolves roaming around the flats of North Dakota. The chill was back, and suddenly all those sassy things I’d planned on saying disappeared from my mind.

  “Yes?” he said, folding his arms in front of his broad chest and leaning back on his barstool.

  “Um,” I hesitated, my mind completely blank. Then I noticed the empty glass in front of him. “You want another bourbon?”

  “Please,” he said, a smirk on his fac
e.

  I felt violated. It was like he could read my mind, as if he was subtly mocking me for not having the strength to give him my mind. I poured another double shot into his tumbler and then slammed the glass down in front of him. Suddenly, I’d found my courage.

  “What the hell’s your problem?” I demanded, unwilling to leave until I had an answer.

  “I don’t have a problem,” he said gruffly.

  “Yeah? What the hell are you doing in this bar?”

  “Drinking, same as anyone else.”

  “You’re not the same as anyone else in here, ‘cause none of them are makin’ me this angry. You from town?”

  “No, just passin’ through on business.”

  “What’s your business?” I asked, trying my best to stare him down.

  “None of yours,” he said curtly, not breaking eye contact. I didn’t know what to make of this man. The chills were gone, but still something lingered, some suspicion as to who he was. His story made enough sense; we get a lot of people passing through town. But I didn’t trust him, not one bit.

  Just then a commotion broke out. The sound of glass shattering and people yelling. Two men were fighting at the far end of the bar. Someone was trying to break it up and I went over to help. After the men had settled down I went back to the bar, only to see that the man was gone. Two crisp fifty dollar bills lay on the bar counter where he’d been sitting. And a number hastily scribbled onto his a napkin. I took the napkin and slid it into my pocket. I don’t know why, but it just made sense.

  There was something about this cowboy that had a hold on me. I tried to pinpoint what it was as I sat there in my apartment, staring at the napkin with the mysterious number written on it. He was handsome, yes. He looked strong, muscular. But at the same time there was something a bit too refined about him. He was ruggedly masculine with tanned skin, but he didn’t look like some common ranch hand. And from what I could tell, he wasn’t. He’d said he was passing through on business.

  Did I dare call him? I don’t know why I was even thinking about it. He’d been impolite. He’d made me uneasy for some unknown reason. Something about him had scared me. Was this why I was so intrigued? Maybe. I guess part of me had a taste for the dangerous.

  But not tonight. I put the napkin down on my bedside table and turned out the light.

  I’m sure I don’t have to tell you I had a hard time falling asleep that night. Eventually I drifted off sometime around four in the morning. I slept in late, almost to noon. This was my schedule as a bartender: late night, and late mornings. I got up and made myself breakfast, watched some TV and read a bit. Around three in the afternoon I went out to run a few errands and take care of some laundry.

  Around 6:00 PM I headed back into the bar to start getting things ready for that night. Saturdays were big, so I knew I had to get everything in order. I had to go grab extra bottles of liquor from the basement storage and make sure the beer was fully stocked. The whole time I had that strange man on my mind. Would he show up tonight? The prospect intimidated me. It made me anxious. And yet, I wanted to see him. I wanted to understand just what it was about him that made this nervous energy course through my veins.

  Around 7:30 PM, customers started streaming in. These men worked long days out on the ranches that populated the fringes of Houston, but boy, when they cut loose they really cut loose. A little after eight the entire bar was packed. Soon I was so busy I forgot all about the mysterious man of last night. I was pouring beers left and right as the music blasted over the speakers, and the atmosphere was blanketed with the big laughs and bravado of cowboys on a Saturday night.

  Then I noticed him. I was taking an order from a customer when I saw him walk through the door, handsome-looking with a confident stride. He was much taller than I’d remembered.

  “Babe, two Buds. Hello? Anybody there?”

  I looked toward the source of the voice to see some guy waving his hand in front of my face.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say you wanted?” I said apologetically, but still slightly distracted.

  “Two budweisers,” he said, holding two fingers up as if to drive the point home.

  “Got it.”

  I grabbed two Buds out of the cooler and popped the tops off, handing them over to him, a gruff-looking guy of about forty or so, with a weathered face. He held out a credit card in my direction.

  “Do you want to start a tab?” I asked, nearly yelling through the din of the packed bar.

  He nodded yes and then walked away, blending back into the darkness of the huge crowd beyond the bar counter.

  I looked back down the bar, searching for the mysterious man. He’d taken a seat by the TV, the same stool he’d occupied the night before. My heart started racing as I walked over to take his order. But before I was halfway there the other bartender, Marcy, had already walked up to him. I watched as she poured him a double bourbon. Then I heard a customer yelling for my attention. I turned around and took his drink order. After serving him I told Marcy I needed to step outside for a second to get some fresh air.

  Out in the crisp fall air I tried to get my head straight. I was usually in my prime on Saturday nights. I liked most of our customers and the tips were good. I had absolutely no problem with it being busy. But tonight I just couldn’t concentrate. I knew I wasn’t going to get this man out of my head until I talked to him. So once my breath had steadied I walked back into the bar, doing my best to remain cool and confident.

  He was still seated there, eying the television as the baseball game went to commercial. He looked down at his drink and then brought the tumbler to his lips, finishing off the last of the bourbon in one smooth sip. Putting the glass back down on the counter, he motioned with his hand to get my attention. I walked over with a huge smile plastered on my face, a forced smile to hide my nervousness in his presence.

  “Another double bourbon?” I asked cheerfully as I took his glass.

  He stared at me for a second, as if searching my face for some kind of sign. Then he nodded his head solemnly, not saying a word. I brought him a clean glass and poured his drink right in front of him. I slid it back to him with another warm smile. He took a sip, then spoke:

  “Why haven’t you called me?”

  “What?” I asked, trying to feign surprise. Of course I knew what he was referring to, but I didn’t have an answer for him. What was I going to say?

  “I gave you my number. I thought it was obvious enough.”

  “Well, I—I mean, I saw that number. I guess I don’t know what to say. I was a bit taken aback. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “What kind of girl are you?”

  “Not the type that goes home with any old stranger.”

  “What makes you think I’m just ‘any old stranger’?” he asked. He was dead serious, almost indignant that I’d even suggest he was just any average Joe.

  “Well, I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t know anything about you. I just don’t let anyone up and take me home just ‘cause they gave me their number on a damn napkin.”

  “But you don’t have a boyfriend do you?”

  “No,” I said, feeling somewhat shy at this point.

  “Why’s that?” he asked.

  “Like I said, I’m not interested in just anyone.”

  “Well, I’m not just anyone.”

  “Yeah? Well, how should I know that? All I know about you is you’re form out of town and apparently only drink double bourbons.”

  “That’s why I want to take you out.”

  “Well, I don’t get off until way too late. I’m sorry.”

  “Doesn’t have to be tonight. I’m in town for awhile. Here’s my number again, in case you lost it,” he said with the hint of a smile, pushing a napkin towards me with nine dark numbers etched on it. I noticed it was a Dallas area code.

  He tipped his hat and walked out of the bar. I looked down at the counter to find two crisp bills that more than covered his tab for the evening. I watc
hed him walk away. He seemed so powerful, I felt like I could almost see people deliberately moving out of his way as he left the room.

  Once again I slipped the napkin into my pocket, even though I still had the other one at home on my nightstand. Would I actually call him this time? I wasn’t sure. But for all I knew he’d keep showing up at the bar until I did. I wasn’t sure what I wanted. Sure, he was damn attractive and even as I thought about him I could feel myself getting slightly wet. But I didn’t know this man at all, I needed to keep my guard up. For now, the bar was busy and I got back to work. I didn’t give him a single thought for the rest of the night.

  The next day was Sunday, my day off. I woke up late and ate breakfast by myself in my apartment. I read, lounged around, watched television. Nothing special, really. Periodically I would walk into my bedroom and see the crumpled napkins sitting on the nightstand. I thought about calling him. I don’t know, I was bored I guess, but also intrigued. Besides, it’d been forever since I’d been on a date. All my friends told me I needed to put myself out there, that I should stop working so hard. But I never seemed to meet anyone I was interested in.

  I sat down on the couch with the napkin laid out on the coffee table. I started to dial the number on my cellphone, but I could feel my heart racing. I needed a drink. It was three in the afternoon, so not totally out of the question. Just something to calm me down, ease my nerves before I made this big step. I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of merlot.

  After sitting back down on the couch and taking a few relaxed sips, I finally felt like I was in the right state of mind to take the plunge. I picked up my cellphone and dialed the numbers rapid-fire, not giving myself a chance to second-guess my decision. I heard the phone ringing on the other end. It was then that I realized I didn’t even know this man’s name. And he didn’t know mine, either.

  “Hello?” said a rough voice on the other end.

  “Hi, it’s, um, Amber,” I said shyly.