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Description
Luke is rough cowboy, but every once and a while even a good rider gets knocked down. Between the rodeo and his personal life, Luke lives in the dirt.
All he wants is a good drink, a good woman, and a good night’s rest. He wants a girl with that spark, and he usually gets what he wants. When a feisty woman challenges him to a game of pool, Luke agrees to the stakes. Winner takes all…
A one-night stand with a mocha buckle bunny might help him forget his horrible ride, but Luke needs a bigger break than meaningless sex. When a friend from the training facility calls and asks for his help to catch a thief, Luke takes initiative in his life for the first time. Little does he know it is going to lead him to the woman who can fix everything.
This BWWM romance contains steamy love and romance between an feisty black woman and a rugged white cowboy. It is *not* for the faint of heart.
For my man, my cowboy.
Prologue
Note:
This is a separate work in Luke’s perspective and is a bonus story for the reader.
It ain’t easy to adjust yourself when you’re sitting on almost a ton of living, breathing, pissed off bull. Each shift, each movement, could result with a crushed femur, or a broken arm. Especially if that damn animal gets pissed enough to slam into the gate. Hold steady, what as what Luke had to do. Just hold steady.
He checked and rechecked his grip on the bull rope, it was wrapped around his arm, and it wasn’t going anywhere.
Deep breaths. Technique, training, it was all there; all he needed to do was fight against his instincts. Easier said than done.
“You ready?” the flankman asked.
“Ain’t I always?” He gave him a wink as he waited for the announcement.
Out he went.
One last breath before the gate opened and the bull shot out of the chute. He kept steady, holding tight as adrenaline filled him. Time slowed. His senses took over. Heightened, they picked up everything from the smell of the dirt on the arena floor to the feel of the warm flesh under his body.
Gentry Fellow was a good bull to be on, known for his less gentle ways, he was considered unpredictable and that meant a higher score.
If he could stay on.
As soon as the bull hit the ground he turned into his hand, the clockwise motions easy to predict and counter for, but it only lasted a couple of second and the bull switched his trajectory, heading into the fades, an unpredictable mix of bucking and turning.
“Shit.”
This was exactly what he wasn’t hoping for. He could feel his body shift and move on the bull, his legs gripping hard to the meaty sides of the animal. The entire time he had to keep his free hand up, away from the bull, or risk being disqualified. It was impossible to predict which was Gentry was going to go next, so he just clung to him as best he could, and let his skills take over. One moment survived, then another. He was almost there, just a little longer. His hat flew off, but he ignored it. This bull was his.
The excitement of finishing caught up with him, and he ended up caught in a spiraling vortex as the bull found a bucking pattern, away from his hand, his speed overwhelming Luke.
Before he knew it he was clinging to the side of the bull, down the well he went. Shit.
He pushed himself off of the animal, letting go of the rope for a clean dismount.
Except the damn bell hadn’t rung. It wasn’t a qualifying ride. It wasn’t anything.
He wasn’t even going to place.
Fuck.
He swore to himself as he ran through the arena, parting the crowd. Desperate to find the damn exit. He needed an escape, a place away from the bullfighters and that son of a bitch.
He needed a drink and lay. The barn wasn’t going to be the best place for him tonight, especially when he wasn’t in the winner’s circle.
He needed someplace a little darker, a little seedier.
Dusk. The only bar in the area that could come close to what he wanted.
***
“Hey man, heard about your ride. Tough luck.”
“My usual, Sam.”
“No problem.” Sam closed his mouth and moved back to the bar, grabbing a bottle and pouring him a double. He stopped, looked at Luke, and then poured another shots worth in.
It was the last he was going to hear of his ride.
The rider pulled his hat off, dusted it off, and then put it right back on. He was too pissed to care about how he looked. Hell, he even still had the same jeans on, the dust and dirt ground into them.
He looked around, nope, no one would give a flying fuck. That was why he loved the place. He could come here and just… relax.
“Any good lookin’ bunnies in here tonight?”
“Most of ‘em are up at the barn,” Sam answered, “but there’s a couple. You see one that catches your eye, let me know, I can send ‘em a drink.”
He swallowed the last of his drink, and ordered another, standing and carrying it over towards the back room.
Every honky-tonk like this had three elements, a bar, a dance floor, and a pool hall.
He wasn’t in the mood for chattin’ it up at the bar, dancin’ was not on the agenda either, so pool it was. He got started on a table, shooting by himself, just fucking around, knocking balls in the pockets. It wouldn’t be long before someone came along.
And when she did, he was gonna to rope her in.
“You always play with yourself?” The silky voice asked from behind him. It was soft and feminine, just the kind he was hoping to hear. When he turned there were two women staring at him, a blond with a big smile on her face, and her mocha colored friend who had her arms crossed, with just a bit too much attitude.
“Depends.”
“On?” There it was, the question that would get her thinking. He knew he was playing his cards right, this girl was going to be coming home with him.
“On who is willin’ to come play with me, if they ain’t good enough, I got no problem playin’ alone.” He completely ignored the blond woman and walked right up to the one who was staring at him with that little bit of snark. Race didn’t matter to him one bit. He liked women who were any color, any background. What mattered was the spark. The little bit of confidence that really got him going.
Even if he was only looking for a good time.
He stopped, considered her and then asked, “Do you wanna play?”
It was a loaded question, but he could see her weighing it, considering it.
“Depends.” She smiled at looked her blond friend who just rolled her eyes and turned, walking away.
At least that was easy enough.
“On?” His turn to ask.
“If you’re good enough.”
“Let me buy you a drink, and then we can see. What’ll you have?”
“Shot of tequila with a lime.”
“Right.”
He walked over to the bar and flagged down Sam with just a wave. “You know tequila with lime?” He gestured towards her as she
waited in the doorway to the billiards room. She leaned into the doorway and gave them a wink.
“Yeah, she’s a newer regular. Bit of a wildcat, if you ask me.”
That was just what he was looking for.
“She any good?”
“At pool or you asking about something else?” Sam smiled knowingly.
Luke didn’t say anything.
“Hear she is plenty good at both, for what it is worth. She likes to win, though. You let her think she is going to, then take it away, you will have a pretty good chase on your hands.”
That was exactly what he needed to know. He slapped the bar, grabbed his drinks and headed over towards her.
“So, you need a quick tutorial on how to play or are you good?”
“Oh, I’m good.” Why was it that he swore she was answering a different question?
She denied the need for a quick tutorial, so he just shrugged and grabbed the rack, collecting the balls and putting them in place.
“You go first.” He motioned to her with his cue stick. Luke wasn’t much of a talker. He said what needed to be said and left the rest for his mind to think. Right now all he was pondering about was the tight pair of jeans bent over the pool table as she aimed the cue ball.
His loss wasn’t nagging at him, all his failings right around the corner of his mind, ready to jump out and take him down.
Okay, that was obviously a lie.
He took another gulp of his liquor and pounding the bottom of the cue stick on the floor, the bang making her jump. Good. She was on edge. He liked them that way.
“So, tequila with lime, you got a name?”
“Letoya. You?”
“Luke.”
“Sounds about right.” She finally hit the ball and broke up the set, knocking a solid into the left corner pocket. “Looks like you’re stripes, I’m solids, Luke.”
“Yup.” He waited for her next shot and miss. Stepping up to the pool table he bent over his focus only on the game. One ball, then another, and then another. Finally, he took a shot and missed, aiming his cue ball just a hair wide. She was going to win this game, he planned on it, but there was no way he was going to make it easy.
“Shit, you’re pretty damn good.”
“I am.” He wasn’t going to lie to her. He was good, he had done this a lot. Bars, pool halls, basements. He had been hustling since he was a teen. Best way to make a living while his mom struggled to come up with rent money when he was young. It stuck with him after she made it big, and they had to stop worrying about that sort of thing.
He liked the power of the dance.
Letoya popped three right in the pockets, one after the other, showing him exactly what she could do. She was a good shot, that was for sure, but Luke was better.
“Damn, you ain’t too bad yourself.” He commented, and he meant it. He was impressed.
“I’ve been known to hustle a table once or twice.”
Not this time, Letoya.
She needed to really feel like she was winning, even if Sam said nothing he would have picked up on it, it was the look in her eyes that gave it away. The one that let him knew exactly what she wanted. She was the kind of girl who wanted to fight for something, but needed to come out victorious.
Well, tonight he was going to be the one who came out on top.
He watched her as she moved around the pool table, confident, yet slightly aloof. Oh, Letoya knew exactly what she was about. She wanted to play the game as much as he did, and he wasn’t talking about pool.
The sway of her hips as she bent over the table and aimed her stick was driving him wild. Each little movement back and forth pushed away his irritation at his loss, at his lost career. Push. Push. They were making him forget all the pent up anger, all the hurt.
Making him forget the pain he had been put through.
Well, that and the alcohol he was intent on draining, even if it did rot his liver. At least then it would match his heart.
She sunk another ball in.
“Shit, girl. You trying to make it impossible for me?”
“That’s the goal.” She wiggled those hips just a little more, and winked at him, taking a shot and missing.
The game continued like that, ball after ball in until just three balls and the eight ball were left, two of them hers and one of them his. It was her turn up.
Bam those two balls went right into the corner pocket one after the other.
“I get this and I win.”
“What do you win?”
“I dunno yet. I’ll let you know what I want when I win.”
“Didn’t know we were playing for stakes.”
“Oh honey, I always play for stakes.”
“I like that.” He said as he considered her words. “I like a difficult win.”
Bam. She hit a hard shot with a good angle, sinking the eight ball. It looked like he never stood a chance. Her grin let him know that she had no idea he threw the match. Good.
“So, what will it be?” he asked.
“Your hat. And a dance.”
“Two things?” He shook his head, but grabbed his hat and pulled it off, adorning her head with it. It was too big, and fell down over her eyes almost immediately. It should have made him smile, but he was too far gone for that. Lust burned in his eyes.
“Yep. Two things.” She was a sassy one. He liked that.
Letoya grabbed his hand and pulled him through the billiard room, forcing him to set his drink down on the pool table, and onto the dance hall bringing him into a two-step. It was lucky that he knew how to, and she didn’t even ask. He grabbed the back of her neck in one hand and her hand in the other and started her around the dance floor. Slow. Quick. Quick. Slow.
“You got your own style, I see.” She said, nodding over to my hand on the back of her neck, just under her hairline.
“Don’t we all?” He asked, giving her a wink, moving her clockwise around the dance floor. There weren’t a whole lot of women who could follow at two-step, but she did a good job, her pace keeping with his, mirroring his movements. Damn she was hot. She knew how to dance too. He really liked her. It was impressive, but the look in her eyes was even more urgent.
It was one that screamed lust.
He could get lost in eyes like that. At least for a little while.
“So, are you going to give me a chance to win my hate back?”
“Depends, you going to give me a reason to want to play again, you going to up the stakes?”
“I win, I take my hat back, and you home.”
“And if I win?”
“What do you want?”
“To keep your hat. And I want to take you home.”
“I think that’s a fair deal.”
As the song faded they stopped dancing. She pulled him across the dance floor and back into the billiard room.
“Rack ‘em up.” She twirled her finger, a sweet little smirk on her face. This woman really thought she had it in the bag.
Luke was only too happy to let her keep thinking that. Grabbing the rack, he arranged the balls in it and set it up.
“You’re going first.”
It wasn’t a question, a request, or a suggestion. It was a command, and she was only too happy to oblige. What she didn’t realize was that she had fallen into his trap. He wanted her to have this much confidence. This much willingness.
He knew exactly how to play to get what he wanted. Until she took her first turn.
She was good, better than the last time, better than he realized. Letoya wasn’t lying when she said she was a hustler. He’d known plenty of them in his time, and he was surprised he hadn’t taken her at her word. Always the fool.
She hit half her balls in on her first turn, the knock of the heavy pool balls echoed in his ears as they smacked up against each other.
Finally, with a smile, her turn ended.
“Not bad.” Was all he said as he bent down and took his own turn. Hitting his solid into the corner left-hand p
ocket. He rose and sunk another one in. And another. Letting his prowess show. He was no fool, and he wasn’t about to be taken this time.
He really liked that damn hat.
The turns traded back and forth her than him. Then her again. She was damn good, and closing in on him fast. Despite how much he used his intellect and his skills, he found himself overtaken. Until all that stood between him and his head were four pool balls. One was his; two were hers, and the eight ball. Fuck.
He didn’t even stand a chance; she got up there and sunk in ball after ball, until the eight ball was gone.
Not even a turn.
“Shit,” he drawled, shaking his head. This was just not his night.
Couldn’t fucking win a damn thing.
“Guess I’m keepin’ the hat. And you’re comin’ home with me.” She was awfully pretty. The kind of woman who had a smile in her eyes, even when her face was stern. He really liked that. And he liked her curves.
Damn, he almost had to look away.
“Fine, but I’m drivin’.” Luke chewed the inside of his lip and then looked her over. She was a lot more intoxicated than him; he could handle twice that kind of liquor and not feel a thing.
Came from all those years of rodeo chasin’.
“That’s okay, I don’t mind giving directions.” She wrapped herself into his side, plastering her body up close to his, “And I don’t mind giving baths. Damn, you are dirty.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
***
Luke’s rusty old pickup truck roared into Letoya’s driveway, the sound of his bad muffler echoing off the little post war houses. It was a cute neighborhood, small, country. Just like every other neighborhood in this little old town.
“My unit is the one in back.” Letoya motioned as she leaned into him, her body tight up against his the whole ride there.
She smelled good, like something fruity and bubbly but it wasn’t the kind of good he could get used to. He wanted a softer smell against him, something to sooth him, instead of wake him up.
The Rider's Dangerous Embrace (An Interracial Bad Boy Romance Story) Page 1