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

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

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

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 face.

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.