Betting on Wolves (Shifter Country Wolves Book 2) Read online

  Kirsten gasped, then laughed. The entire bar seemed to stop and stare, and Kirsten gave everyone a weak wave and a half shrug as if to say, hey, gotta howl it out sometimes, right?

  “Yeah,” Jack finally said.

  “Grrrr,” added Houston with a wink.

  “So you can shift,” she said.

  “Of course,” said Jack.

  “That’s the point,” said Houston.

  “Can I see?”

  “Not now,” Houston said, laughing. “It’s generally frowned upon to turn into a wild animal in a fine dining establishment like this one.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Kirsten. “You just howled.”

  “Different,” said Jack. “Besides, when you shift, you wind up naked.”

  That’s fine, Kirsten thought immediately.

  “You won’t show me your scar, you won’t shift,” said Kirsten. “I must just be here for the free drinks.”

  With that she grabbed her Greyhound and drained it.

  “I’ll show you my scar,” said Jack. “You’re just drunk and keep getting distracted from the price negotiations.”

  “I’m here now,” said Kirsten. “Glass is empty, I’m focused totally on price. I’ve got a phone and a credit card.”

  “Keep your stuff,” Jack said.

  He leaned forward.

  “All I want is a kiss.”

  Kirsten laughed.

  “This whole time, that was all I had to do to see the scar?” Kirsten asked, twisting in her seat, looking up at Jack. She was pretty sloshed, though dimly aware that maybe her better judgement wasn’t firing on all cylinders.

  “C’mere,” she said, and grabbed the front of his shirt in one hand, pulling his face down to hers.

  She did manage to smash their noses together at first, but Jack corrected skillfully, his mouth working against hers. His hand cupped the side of her face as he kissed her hungrily. Kirsten moved both of her hands to Jack’s torso, feeling the ridges of muscle there, haphazardly grabbing his shirt and trying to bring him closer to her.

  I’m in trouble, she realized, closing her teeth around Jack’s bottom lip and biting gently.

  He growled at her softly, and Kirsten obediently opened her mouth again, his tongue on her lip, then inside her mouth, then wrestling with hers.

  I can’t stop myself, she thought. I don’t even want to.

  Jack ended the kiss and stroked her cheek, looking down into Kirsten’s eyes.

  Then he spoke.

  “You’ve got lipstick everywhere,” he whispered.

  “So do you,” she whispered back, feeling lost in a haze.

  Then Jack’s gaze flicked to somewhere above her head, and he grinned wickedly.

  “Want to lick it off?” he asked Houston.

  “Gross,” said Houston, as he leaned around Kirsten and kissed Jack hard, just inches in front of her face.

  Yes, was all Kirsten could think, her hand on Houston’s thigh again. He covered it with his, holding it there with more force than necessary.

  “I’ve got scars,” he offered, sitting back.

  It took Kirsten a minute to remember what the hell he was talking about.

  “Same price?” she finally asked.

  He didn’t nod, he just kissed her, his rough stubble tickling her face. He locked one hand in her hair and put the other on her knee, his touch so hot that Kirsten thought it might burn her.

  When the kiss finally ended, Kirsten felt like she didn’t know up from down anymore. The only thing she could think was: we have to go somewhere.

  Now.

  Except Jack was unbuttoning his shirt.

  Right here, right now? Kirsten thought for a split second.

  Then she saw the thick, pinkish-white scar that stretched the diagonal length of his torso, ending in a shiny pad about two inches below his nipple.

  She gasped and covered her mouth with both hands.

  “Oh my God,” she said, her eyes wide.

  I want to lick it, she thought.

  Instead, she reached out one hand and ran her forefinger along the scar. She started at the circle on his chest, and let her finger trail down, until the scar ended, almost on his hip bone.

  “This was all one steer?” she asked, letting her hand linger over him, running her finger up and down the end of the scar, through the light line of hair that ran down his belly and into the waistband of his jeans.

  Jack nodded.

  “It took about two seconds, maybe less,” he said. “It threw me, I got up, and bam. Unzipped me, then stuck a horn right through.”

  He twisted in the booth, moving his shirt out of the way so she could see the round scar on his back, this one only the size of a quarter. Kirsten touched that one too, her fingers exploring the smooth surface, the edges.

  At another table, Kirsten noticed a couple of women staring at Jack and not even being subtle about it.

  Ha! she thought. He’s with me!

  “Now I run a glorified bed and breakfast,” Jack said.

  “Well, you partly run it,” said Houston. “I don’t remember the last time you opened a spreadsheet.”

  He had his arm around Kirsten now, and she relaxed into him, even as her hand trailed along Jack’s torso. Jack cast a glance around the bar, then started buttoning his shirt again.

  “Oh, come on,” said Kirsten. She hooked one finger under the waistband of his jeans and tugged, even though he could hardly move closer to her. “Don’t do that.”

  Jack looked over Kirsten’s head at Houston.

  “I swear she wants us naked in public,” he said.

  “We already put on a show that she personally requested,” rumbled Houston. Kirsten could feel his voice vibrate through her as he spoke. “I don’t know how much raunchier we can get without getting kicked out.”

  Jack put one arm under Kirsten’s feet and hoisted them onto his lap, so she was leaning against Houston on one side and Jack on the other. Her skirt had ridden up so that it was now mid-thigh, and out of habit, Kirsten tried to pull it down.

  Both of them laughed at once.

  “So I can be naked, but you can’t show a little thigh,” Jack said. “I get it.”

  “I can show a little,” said Kirsten.

  “But you’re not that kind of girl?” asked Houston.

  Kirsten was less sure of that with every passing second.

  “I don’t want to flash the whole bar,” she said, trying to sound reasonable.

  Jack put his hands on her knees and starting tracing her kneecap with one finger, a chill running up Kirsten’s body.

  “What now?” she asked, stretching her legs out. Her skirt rode up a little, now maybe six inches above her knee, and she didn’t fix it.

  “I’d offer more drinks, but I’m sort of comfortable here,” Houston said. He brushed the hair off of her neck, his fingers skimming along her skin, and Kirsten closed her eyes, sighing.

  “Is that room service champagne still on offer?” she asked, wiggling her toes in her shoes.

  Jack and Houston looked at each other.

  “She thinks we’re easy,” said Houston.

  Jack drummed his fingers on her thigh, leaning back in the booth, nudging her legs closer to his torso, his metal belt buckle cool on her calf.

  “You made it pretty clear that we weren’t doing that tonight,” Jack said. “Maybe we don’t feel like it now.”

  “You’re impossible,” she teased. “Both of you.”

  “We’re respectable,” said Houston.

  “What if we stop by Elvis first,” Kirsten joked. “Will that make you feel less taken advantage of?”

  She was kidding, but when she said it, Jack looked straight at her, his face totally serious for a moment, a glimmer of something deep in his green eyes. Kirsten couldn’t see Houston’s face, but he kissed the top of her head.

  We seriously could, thought Kirsten. I know I’m drunk, but why the fuck not? Either it works out or it’s a funny story I get to tell to m
y grandkids someday.

  “We’d all be showering the glitter off for days,” said Jack. “Did you see that jumpsuit?”

  “You wouldn’t have to dress like Elvis,” Kirsten said, laughing. “I think. I’ve never gotten married in Vegas before, you know.”

  “So you want your first time to be drunkenly, to two wolves you met eight hours ago?”

  It can’t go worse than the last time I got married, Kirsten thought. It didn’t occur to her that she’d be getting married after about thirty-six hours of singledom, or that she didn’t even know their last names. She just wanted to keep the two of them around, for tonight and maybe for longer.

  “Do you even know how drunk I am?” Kirsten asked, laughing. “Drunker than a freshman girl at a frat party. And having a way better time.”

  Then she sighed.

  “Room service champagne, at least?” she asked. “I won’t even ask you to take your shirt off again.”

  She wasn’t totally sure how the night had gone from her refusing to let Houston pay for her drink at the casino bar to her promising not to try and bed them, but it had. And she was stretched out between them, warm and drunk and happier than she could remember being in years, and she didn’t want it to end.

  “I have to use the ladies’ room,” she said, moving her legs down off of Jack. For a moment she got dizzy, but then the world righted itself. “At least think about it while I’m gone?”

  “Don’t get lost on the way back,” Houston said.

  Kirsten navigated her way to the bathroom, only grabbing the back of one chair to right herself when she misjudged a step. She pushed open the bathroom door and stood in front of the mirror. The bathroom was dimly lit, with dark walls and dark counters, a fake plant in one corner.

  That’s one thing about Vegas, she thought. The bathrooms are usually really nice.

  Along one wall were a couple of urinals, which she thought was weird, but she just shrugged.

  Maybe this place used to be a men-only strip club or something, and both bathrooms still have urinals, she thought. She dampened a paper towel and started wiping the bright red lipstick from around her mouth, where she’d smeared it making out with Houston and Jack.

  I can’t believe I suggested getting married, she thought, as the paper towel turned bright red.

  I’d do it, but I can’t believe I suggested it.

  The thought of getting to be with Jack and Houston long term was very, very appealing just then, but Kirsten took a deep breath, tossed the used towel in the wastebasket, and went to pee. When she came out of the stall, she washed her hands, dried them, and then grabbed onto the edge of the counter, leaning over toward her reflection, which swayed a little.

  “Just sleep with them and get their numbers,” she said out loud to herself. “Have some fun. You’re allowed. You don’t have to be the good girl forever, and no one even needs to know—”

  Mid-sentence, the bathroom door swung open and Houston walked in, then stopped, his eyebrows going up. For a second, they looked at each other in the mirror.

  “You’re in the men’s room,” he said at last, walking up to her.

  Suddenly, the urinals made more sense.

  “Oh,” Kirsten said, as Houston walked up behind her and put his hands on her waist, pressing his body against hers, her hips driving into the bathroom counter in front of her. He bent his head down and kissed the side of her neck and Kirsten’s eyes slid shut, a noise she couldn’t identify coming out of her mouth.

  “We’re not even going back to your room?” she managed to say.

  That’s fine, she thought. They can just take me on this bathroom counter, I don’t care, I just want them...

  He nipped her with his teeth, and then whispered into her ear.

  “We’re going back to the suite,” he said. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

  She held his steady gray gaze in the mirror, then took one of his hands from her waist and moved it to her right breast, where he ran his fingers over her nipple, through two layers of cloth, and Kirsten shuddered.

  “You’ve got my lipstick all over your face,” she said, and then the spell was broken, and he took a step back, the now-familiar grin on his lips.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Go keep Jack company and get out of the men’s room.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jack

  As Kirsten walked toward the bathrooms, both Jack and Houston stared at her, moving across the bar toward the hall with the bathrooms, and neither spoke until she disappeared.

  Then Jack leaned forward, putting his head on Houston’s shoulder.

  “Fuck,” he said. “I’m drunk enough to get married by Elvis.”

  I’m not sure I’d have to be drunk, he thought, but since he was drunk, he couldn’t be sure.

  “Same,” said Houston.

  They both paused.

  “What if we just do it?” asked Houston. “This is it, right?”

  “What if we broke ourselves?” said Jack, his head still on Houston’s shoulder, slumped against the other man. “What if we just can’t tell anymore?”

  He swallowed.

  “This feels different, but what if we’re wrong, because we didn’t wait?”

  Houston just shrugged.

  “We’re not wrong,” he said.

  Good enough for me, thought Jack. He’d always trusted his mate’s judgment better than he trusted his own. Houston had never ridden rodeo, for starters, never put his life on the line for eight seconds of glory. He was the one who’d started the bed and breakfast ranch, the one who was solid and dependable, who kept the books.

  There were days that he woke up next to Houston and still couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten.

  “Let’s do this, then,” Jack said. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Houston said, and Jack straightened up and kissed him, putting one hand tenderly on his chin as the world spun, slowly.

  Across the bar, a couple of people stared, but Jack couldn’t have cared less.

  “I gotta take a leak,” said Houston, and he got up from the table. “You’ve got lipstick all over your face, by the way.”

  Then Houston sauntered to the bathroom. Jack made a face and picked up a spoon, looking at his reflection in the back of it. He wet a napkin with the condensation from an empty glass and set to work cleaning the lipstick from his face. He’d nearly gotten it all off when Kirsten came back, looking slightly flushed, her own lipstick totally gone.

  Without asking, he pulled her down to sit sideways on his lap, catching her before she fell backward, the feel of her body against his making him ache. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “I’m pretty drunk,” she announced, as though it were news. “You might have to carry me.”

  “The whole way?” he asked. “It’s a pretty good hike.”

  “Well, just hold me up,” she said, kicking her feet out into the aisle of the restaurant, getting a dirty look from a passerby. “That’ll do, I guess.”

  “Think you can make it to Elvis?”

  Before she could respond, Houston came back from the bathroom. Even though he looked almost as neat as ever, Jack saw the telltale signs that he was ridiculously drunk: his shirt was tucked in sloppily, his belt buckle just off center, and he walked in a casual, loose-limbed way. He offered one hand to Kirsten, and she took it, hopping off of Jack’s lap, and Jack followed.

  A couple of heads turned as they walked past the now-crowded bar, some female, some male, but Jack didn’t look twice. They rounded the corner, and there was Elvis again.

  Suddenly, Jack was nervous.

  I’ve never done this before, he realized. With Houston we never talked about it, formally, we just met and fucked and then a month later I moved in.

  “It’s y’all three!” Elvis shouted. He dropped rhinestone-covered sunglasses in front of his eyes and pointed, rotating onto one knee. “Whaddaya say now? Had enough to drink?”

  Kirsten squeezed both their ha
nds and laughed. Jack held his breath, looking at Houston over Kirsten’s head. His mate nodded, just barely.

  Jack didn’t give himself time to think, he just bent and scooped Kirsten into his arms. She yelped as she put her arms around his neck, squeezing her eyes shut.

  “Want to get married?” Jack asked.

  Kirsten opened her eyes at last and stared at him.

  I can’t believe I just did that, Jack thought. She’s going to say no, of course she’s going to say no, this is insane—

  “You’re serious,” she said.

  Jack just nodded.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  She kicked her feet a little, then looked over at Houston, standing on her other side.

  She’s at least thinking about it, he thought.

  “You are too,” she said, reaching out one hand and touching the gray in his sideburn, just like she had in the taxi.

  “When you know, you know,” Houston said softly.

  “Okay,” she said at last.

  Jack felt his face break into a grin, and he kissed her hard, then kissed Houston over her. Then he carried Kirsten over to Elvis, still wearing the rhinestone sunglasses. Up close his wig was even more obvious, and he raised his eyebrows over the sunglasses.

  “All right,” Jack said. “Marry us.”

  “For real?” said Elvis, without a trace of his former accent.

  “For real,” said Houston, walking up behind Jack and putting a hand on his mate’s hip.

  “Hi,” Kirsten said to Houston, looking over Jack’s shoulder.

  “Hi,” Houston said, leaning down to kiss her.

  “Well, right this way!” said Elvis, his accent suddenly returning. He swept his cape out to one side, indicating a big wooden door. Houston opened it, letting Jack step through with Kirsten into a small chapel, complete with an altar, a few rows of pews, and two women dressed like showgirls milling around.

  Jack finally put Kirsten down and she took his arm, leaning against him. He still couldn’t quite believe what was happening, and had to rewind all the way to earlier that night: had they really found her, finally? Had she really agreed to hang out with them, sing karaoke, get drunk?

  Were they really getting married now?

  “All right,” said Elvis. “If you’ll step right this way, we’ve got a variety of packages to choose from with a number of attractive options...”