Duke (Lucky River Ranch, #4)

by Jessica Peterson

“I like Shiner. Here, I’ll get the first round⁠—” “You’re cute.” Duke grins down at me. “When you come to my dive bar in my town, I’m buying. Shiner it is.”

“I don’t share. 501 is your jam because you play the long game. You’re a steady Eddie chiseling away at those points, making your opponent think you’re not all that good. But then—bit by bit—you crush them, and then you finally go in for the kill.”

“To be distracted by your gorgeous opponent.” He grins. My heart plunges to its death somewhere at the base of my spine when he turns and hits a bullseye on his first throw. “Giddyup, cowgirl.”

“You wanna be good to me?” Sweetheart, I’d be so good to you. So fucking good.

I’m not easy to love. My family has made that abundantly clear. So I’m the one who runs. I’ve learned in therapy it’s a self-defense mechanism, my way of rejecting people before they inevitably reject me. But knowing that about myself isn’t the same as fixing it.

“Now get in the truck. We ain’t got much time, Bluebonnet.” She gives me a look as she adjusts her hood. “Bluebonnet?” I give her a look right back. “Surely you know what⁠—” “Of course I know what a bluebonnet is. I just don’t get why I have a nickname all of a sudden.” “Because you’re my Texas flower, remember?” “Ew.” “Would you prefer Blue?” “I would prefer Wheeler, thanks.”

“Got it.” I step forward, activating the automatic sliding door. “All right, Blue. Gird your loins. It’s as cold as a witch’s tit in a steel bra out there.”

“Now I’m telling you that you’re gonna take every inch of me. Every fuckin’ inch, you hear?”

“Unreal.” His voice is thin. “You. Bare. Coming. Keep coming, sweetheart.”

My dick screams. I make a sound I don’t recognize. The urge to protect her, fill her, care for her, is so fierce it nearly knocks me over. “You look so fuckin’ pretty with my baby inside you.”