Betting on Wolves (Shifter Country Wolves Book 2)

  Betting on Wolves: Shifter Country Wolves #3

  Copyright © 2016

  Roxie Noir

  All rights reserved.

  Betting

  on

  Wolves

  Shifter Country Wolves #2

  Roxie Noir

  This book is intended for audiences 18 and over only.

  For Vivian, a lady who knows exactly what she wants.

  EXCERPT

  It took them a while to figure out where west was, but at last, they spilled out of a revolving door in front of a bored man holding up a whiteboard that said HOUSTON TWIST.

  “That’s me!” Houston shouted, holding up both arms like he’d just scored a touchdown.

  The driver didn’t say anything, just held open the back door, and Houston practically dove in, followed by Kirsten and Jack, tumbling on top of him, landing in a pile of giggles on the limo’s back seat.

  The driver got in and opened the partition.

  “Where we going?” he asked, not bothering to look in the back.

  “Where are we going?” Houston whispered.

  “The big gold one at the end,” Jack said to the driver.

  “Mandalay Bay?” the driver asked.

  “Yeah, that one,” said Houston, already distracted by Kirsten, giggling and sitting halfway on him.

  “Champagne’s in the mini fridge,” the driver said. “Complimentary with the wedding package.”

  The partition closed again, and Kirsten twisted around in her seat, her skirt riding halfway up her thighs.

  “There’s a fridge in here,” she said, very matter-of-factly.

  Jack reached for a handle in the side of the car and was rewarded when it pulled open, revealing a bottle inside. In moments he’d ripped off the wire cage and yanked out the cork with a loud pop, then looked around for glasses.

  He didn’t find any in two seconds, and then Kirsten was grabbing the bottle from his hands, shrugging at it, and taking a long swig right from the bottle. Then she handed it to Houston, who did the same, finally handing the bottle off to Jack.

  “How long until we’re there?” she asked as Jack gulped, holding her hand out for the bottle again. As he handed it off, his brand new wedding ring caught the light from a neon sign outside, and he reached up and switched off the overhead light in the limo, leaving the three of them lit only by the dazzling street outside.

  In the near-dark, Kirsten giggled. As his eyes adjusted, for a moment Jack focused on his other senses — and especially on the deep, musky, almost-overwhelming scent of arousal.

  Houston took a last drink and gave the near-empty champagne bottle to Jack, just as Kirsten swung around to straddle his lap. She had to pull her dress nearly up to her hips and Houston ran his hands up her legs right away. Kirsten bent down and sought his mouth with her own, making a breathy moan of satisfaction as she found it.

  Jack swallowed the last of the champagne and put the bottle in a cup holder, never tearing his eyes from his mates as they kissed furiously, Houston’s fingers leaving indentations in Kirsten’s thighs. He felt himself straining at his jeans, his own erection aching and desperate to be free, but he forced himself to be still for another moment, just drinking in the most perfect sight he’d ever seen.

  Then he nudged his new wedding ring with his thumb one more time, a habit he’d already acquired.

  Kirsten was breathing hard, fumbling with Houston’s Cascadia belt buckle, her hair wild and tangled with the bridal veil she still wore.

  “How do you undo this thing?” she finally asked, exasperated.

  “Here,” said Jack, and he slid over, grabbing the belt buckle. Before he undid it he pulled on Houston’s belt, the familiar sensation of his erection in his pants throbbing against Jack’s fingers, and covered Houston’s mouth with his own, pressing against his mate hard, almost savagely.

  Now was when he let his wolf take over as much as he could without shifting and he growled, biting Houston’s lower lip, feeling Houston’s fingers dig into his side, maybe hard enough to leave bruises. He let the other man go, his fingers deftly undoing the offending belt buckle, then the belt.

  Chapter One

  Houston

  The gate opened, and the kid on the steer busted out of the corral and onto the sand-covered arena. All the spectators held their breaths at once, a hush falling over the crowd.

  The clock ticked. Houston was so close that he could hear the animal’s hooves pounding against the sand as it bucked and twisted, running and leaping, going hell-for-leather to get his rider off.

  Next to him, his mate Jack let out a long, low whistle.

  “Kid’s good,” he said to Houston. The two of them were standing up against the barrier, as close to the action as they could get these days.

  “He is,” said Houston, his own eyes glued to the action. The kid couldn’t have been more than twenty, maybe twenty-one, and now he was starting to slip off the steer, his face a vision of concentration and agony.

  The clock hit eight seconds. The kid tilted more and more. Nine seconds and he was thrown, landing hard but then rolling over all in one motion, getting on his feet and running like hell for the safety of the corral.

  Gracefully, the rodeo clown swooped in to distract the steer, while a couple of cowboys waiting in the wings roped it.

  Jack and Houston both exhaled at the same time, and the buzz of the crowd crescendoed again as people began to stand from their seats, coming down out of the bleachers.

  Jack was grinning, shaking his head, beer in his hand as he leaned against the concrete barrier between himself and the arena.

  “The steers they got these days,” he said. “I wouldn’t last two seconds on one of them.”

  “Well, not now,” said Houston, nodding at the arena. “These guys are nineteen, twenty? You’re old enough to realize you’re gonna die someday.”

  Jack chuckled.

  “Don’t look so worried,” Jack said, a sparkle coming into his bright green eyes as the skin around them crinkled, just slightly. “Every time I think of getting back on one of those things, my ribs start hurting all over again.”

  Houston took a long drink of his own beer, draining the flimsy plastic cup.

  “Good,” he said, and then tossed it in a trash can five feet away, right in front of a blond woman wearing a tight white denim jacket, curls cascading down her back. She wore some of the tightest pants he’d ever seen.

  Houston turned back to his mate, Jack’s eyes still on the blond.

  Glad we’re on the same page, he thought wickedly. They usually were, especially when it came to women.

  “Promise?” Houston asked, grinning.

  “Promise,” Jack said, grinning back.

  Houston kissed him hard, grabbing Jack’s belt and tugging the other man’s hips against his own.

  “Disgusting,” said a fat, older woman as she walked by, giving them a death stare.

  “Right in public like that,” said the man with her, who looked like he’d been muscular at some point maybe twenty years earlier.

  Houston pulled back. The blond woman had walked behind him, and he could see Jack’s eyes tracking her as he thought.

  “Nah,” Jack finally said. “I think she’s got a wedding ring on.”

  Houston turned to take a look at the same time that she peeked back at them, a faint blush on her cheeks. The moment she saw Houston looking at her she turned her head back around quickly, putting one manicured hand on the arm of the guy next to her.

  Houston shrugged at Jack.

  “Her loss,” he said.

  “Let’s go find another drink,” Jack sa
id. “Plenty of women in Vegas, right?”

  They sauntered out of the enormous arena, following the crowd of people out onto the sidewalk, then into the main casino. Even though it was barely 6 p.m., it always felt like midnight in a casino to Houston, with all the flashing lights and loud noises. Casinos never had windows or clocks, after all — part of their strategy to make people gamble more.

  Jack nodded at a bar in the middle of the casino floor, filled with people who’d just been at the rodeo sitting on plush leather chairs and laughing at the tops of their lungs, jeans and cowboy boots everywhere.

  “I got my fill of cowgirls the last couple nights, to be honest,” Houston said.

  Not that he hadn’t enjoyed it. The blond two nights ago, the one with the cute accent and cowboy boots who’d handed Jack her panties, then winked and walked to the women’s bathroom? He’d forgotten her name already, but he’d sure enjoyed their time together.

  The brunette with dark eyes, olive skin, and a definite twang to her speech the night before? Bella, or Beatrice, or something? It turned out she’d always wanted two men at once, and Houston and Jack were more than happy to oblige.

  Jack nodded, his eyes lingering on a girl wearing a plaid shirt tied around her midsection and cutoff shorts. Houston understood every inch of Jack’s look, the unnameable hunger behind his green eyes: despite trying harder than anyone they knew, they still hadn’t found their mate.

  Well, trying was a generous term. Since they’d met in their mid-twenties, they’d always assumed that, sooner or later, one of their conquests would turn out to be their mate, and then they’d settle down with her.

  Only, that hadn’t happened. All the other wolf shifters in their pack were happily mated, getting married, expecting, and Houston and Jack felt stuck in the same pattern they’d been holding for years. They’d briefly tried dating, even internet dating, but it had never gone well. Besides, they had a bit of a reputation back in Rustvale.

  Houston was starting to think that she didn’t exist. Part of him just wished that he could somehow know that she didn’t, so he could go ahead and settle down with Jack on their ranch instead of constantly wondering whether they’d find her.

  They walked back outside into the cool desert air, the neon everywhere making the street nearly as bright as day. Jack nodded at a casino with a replica Eiffel tower standing outside it, then looked at Houston.

  “That looks like a classy place,” he said. “Want to give it a shot?”

  “Why not,” said Houston.

  Inside, they sauntered over to the casino bar, got two Jack Daniels on the rocks, and turned to watch the floor.

  Cocktail waitresses walked around, but Houston and Jack hated to bother someone who was at work. As his eyes roved over the casino floor — maybe a redhead tonight? — Jack elbowed him in the side.

  A gaggle of girls, five strong, was walking across the casino floor, laughing and giggling to each other. One of them spied Houston and Jack, standing there, then said something to her friends. Moments later, all five were whispering and giggling to each other, tottering on their too-high heels, their hips wiggling back and forth in their tight dresses.

  Obviously, they were going somewhere. Dinner and a club, most likely.

  The girls changed course, coming toward the bar. They were all human, which didn’t surprise Houston at all. Human girls were always the curious ones, the ones who felt especially naughty going to bed with two wolf shifters at once. Shifter women didn’t need to get drunk in Las Vegas to find shifter men for their fantasies.

  The leader of the pack was a blond with brown eyes, heavily ringed with eyeliner, and she stepped up to the casino bar, casting a glance in their direction before pretending to look over the bottles of liquor. The bartender patiently placed five cocktail napkins on the glass bar surface, totally bored by the game already.

  “Get you a drink?” the bartender asked.

  “What kind of vodka do you have?” she said, her voice coming out breathy and high-pitched.

  As the bartender rattled off vodka brands, Houston exchanged a glance with Jack, then together, they sauntered toward the girls.

  “Could we buy you ladies a drink?” Houston asked.

  They tittered. Two looked at each other. One was already turning bright pink, and one was pretending to look at her phone and probably didn’t want to be seen talking to shifters.

  Her loss, Houston thought.

  “Sure,” said the leader brightly. Up close, her blond hair had brown roots, and she wasn’t quite as pretty as Houston had thought, but she was wearing a very tight, very short dress, and more than anything, had that look in her eyes. That I’ve always wanted to have sex with two men at once look.

  Houston was very familiar with the look.

  “Could we get five vodka tonics?” she asked the bartender.

  He poured the drinks, and then Houston paid the man, tipping well. He did wish that girls didn’t travel in packs like this. Being around other girls made it a little bit harder to get one alone with him and Jack, since girls seemingly didn’t want their friends knowing they had sex.

  Not that he and Jack got turned down often.

  Houston rejoined the group, raising his glass in a toast along with the rest of them.

  “To Vegas!” the head blond shouted, and Houston wondered how much she’d had to drink already.

  They all drank.

  “All right,” Jack said, addressing the girls. “Let me guess. You guys are here for a bachelorette party?”

  They all laughed.

  “No,” said the girl who’d been looking at her phone. She had her arms crossed in front of her.

  “It’s your birthday,” Jack guessed, looking right at her.

  “It’s mine!” said the head blond, playing with a strand of her hair.

  “You get everything you asked for?” Houston said. He took a sip of his whiskey and let his eyes travel over her body: the tight dress, the long legs, the high heels, and felt himself begin to warm up a little.

  Fact was, they weren’t picky. Both of them just liked women, as long as they were together for the act. As they’d gotten older, they’d liked women more and more, an unscratchable itch that never stopped.

  Not yet, anyway. Houston had a pretty good idea what might stop it.

  He just didn’t know if they’d ever find her.

  “Almost everything,” she said, blinking at them like she was trying to be coy.

  “You wanted a birthday spanking, didn’t you?” asked one of the other girls, wearing a strappy black dress.

  “Ashley!” the head blond squealed, though she didn’t blush.

  “Don’t lie,” the other girl said, glaring at her friend jealously. Houston looked her over, too.

  I’d take her, he thought. I don’t think she’s as interested as the blond, though.

  Behind the girls, someone else came up to the bar. It was another woman, wearing a high-necked, knee-length sparkly silver dress, and she stood casually between two stools, asking the bartender a question.

  Suddenly, Houston couldn’t hear a thing that the girls said to him. He looked straight past them, standing taller for a better view. He felt like he was in a vacuum, all the air and sound sucked out of the enormous, noisy casino floor, and all he could see or hear was the new girl at the bar.

  Houston panicked, just for a moment. He’d been with more women than he could keep track of, but he’d never had a reaction like this to one of them.

  What the hell is happening? he thought. Am I having a stroke or something? Do I smell anything weird?

  He took a deep breath. Nothing but whiskey and cigarette smoke, regular casino smells. He still couldn’t tear his eyes away from the new girl.

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and he watched her perfect curves move beneath the silver dress, her honey-colored hair spill over one shoulder, and he felt lightheaded. The bartender smiled and showed her a tequila bottle, and she smiled back and no
dded.

  Deep inside, he felt a tug at him, like something was trying to pull his spine out through his bellybutton, and the feeling left him breathless.

  I’ll kill the bartender if he’s flirting with her, Houston thought. His wolf bared its teeth, and he pushed it down quickly.

  “Hello?” the head blond was asking, starting to look annoyed. Then she looked over her shoulder at the newcomer, then back at Houston and Jack, simply looking confused.

  Houston ignored her, looking over at Jack. His mate’s green eyes had gone wide, an expression of total confusion and bafflement on his handsome face.

  Houston knew exactly how he felt.

  “Guys?” asked the blond, waving her hands in front of her.

  “Excuse me,” Houston said to the gaggle of girls, pushing through them. He heard one of them ask “What the hell?” behind him, but he couldn’t have cared less.

  The bartender was pouring her something from a nice tequila bottle, and he and the girl both looked up at Houston and Jack, the gaggle of girls squawking behind them.

  “Put it on my tab,” Houston told the bartender. Then he winked at her.

  She looked over, and Houston’s heart stopped for a moment. She had wide-set eyes, sharp cheekbones, light brown eyes, winged eyeliner, bright red lips.

  Going out for the night, Houston thought.

  She considered the two men for a moment, her pink tongue running over the very inside of her lip as she did.

  “No, it’s okay,” she said, still standing there. She took a wallet out of her purse. “I’m just grabbing a quick drink before I meet some people. I can’t stay.”

  “I insist,” Houston said.

  “No,” she said, frowning at them, a second of hostility flashing in her eyes. Jack put a hand on Houston’s back, and Houston gritted his teeth, forcing his wolf down. Without breaking her eye contact, she handed the bartender her card.

  The bartender ran her card and she signed for the drink, thanking him. The bartender pretended to file the receipt, but Houston could tell that he was paying attention to the drama instead.