She blinked and the dimly lit room started to focus. A pair of jeans lay in a heap on the hardwood floor. A lacey bra dangled over the back of a nearby leather chair. One red high heel peeked out from under the corner of the bed. The covers bunched at the bottom of the mattress, the bedspread a tangled heap on the floor.
A very naked Susie Wilcox lay on her stomach, her cheek nuzzling a pillow, one arm slung over her head, the other resting on the empty spot next to her—
Wait a second. Empty?
Just as the thought struck, she heard the deep, familiar voice. “Nice view.”
The words slid into her ears and her heart stalled. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Awareness zipped up and down her spine, along with a rush of embarrassment.
She was so busted.
3
SHE KNEW IT WAS DILLON even before she turned around.
Before her gaze swept from the long bare feet peeking from beneath the frayed hem of a worn pair of jeans, up denim-clad legs, past a trim waist and an enticing funnel of whiskey-colored hair that bisected washboard abs, over a muscular chest, thick biceps encircled by slave-band tattoos, a corded neck, to the familiar face—
Wait a minute.
Tattoos?
Her attention swiveled to one sinewy arm. Sure enough, an intricate black design snaked around the bulging muscle, making it seem larger and more powerful. Her gaze swiveled to the other arm. Ditto.
“Nice view,” he repeated.
The deep timbre of his voice drew her full attention and made her tummy quiver. Her thighs trembled and her nipples pebbled and—
Girlfriend, puleeeeease. We’re talking Dillon. The guy who’d given her dry-cleaning coupons for her last birthday. Other than those few ridiculous moments in anticipation (thanks to Kim and Mickey) of their first kiss, she’d never felt anything for him other than friendship.
Certainly not the overwhelming need to get hot and sweaty and naked.
Then again, she’d never seen him wearing nothing but worn, faded jeans, the top button undone, a pair of dark and dangerous tattoos and a relaxed, confident, sexy-as-hell smile.
“Yeah,” she blurted, eager to distract herself from the sudden trembling of her body. “She’s, um, really pretty.” Her throat tightened around the words as if it actually bothered her to admit as much.
As if.
“I wasn’t talking about the view inside.” His gaze slid from her eyes to her mouth and lingered for several seconds.
If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn she felt a distinct pressure on her bottom lip. Like an invisible finger tracing the plump fullness, testing it…Crazy.
She licked her lips, killing the strange sensation, and his gaze collided with hers.
“I’m talking about the view out here,” he added. Something hot and sensual shimmered in the green depths of his eyes and her pulse jumped.
“I’ve left over a dozen messages,” she blurted, eager to ignore the sudden butterflies that fluttered away in her stomach. She gathered her indignation and nailed him with a stare. “Did you forget how to use a phone, or have you been avoiding me on purpose?”
The corner of his mouth crooked into the faintest hint of a smile. “I’ve been a little busy.”
She glanced at the window. “Too busy to call your folks?” She eyed him. “I saw your mom at the hardware store last week. She’s worried about you.”
He shrugged, his biceps flexing. The tattoos encircling his arms seemed to widen. “I haven’t been able to call.”
“You haven’t been able to, or you haven’t wanted to?”
“Things are different for me now. I’m different. I doubt they’d understand.”
Meg doubted it, too. They’d freaked out when he’d stepped in an ant bed back in the fifth grade and had pulled Doc Wilmer away from a championship golf game just to apply Benadryl. Meg could only imagine what they would do if they knew Dillon was stepping into motel rooms, and every place else it seemed, with every available woman in town.
Correction—almost every available woman. He’d been avoiding her like the plague.
“What’s going on with you? You never miss pepperoni day.” She didn’t mean to sound so accusing. So what if he’d blown off their monthly lunch at Uncle Buck’s Pizza not once, but twice now? She would have skipped their infamous double-decker pepperoni in a heartbeat in favor of a date with a really hot guy. “You could have at least called.”
“I meant to.” The sexy confidence faded for a split second and she glimpsed a twinkle of true regret. “Don’t be mad.”
“Because you’re going through some major life crisis and didn’t have the decency to tell me? You really think I’d be mad at a little thing like that?”
“You’re not mad, then.”
“I meant that sarcastically.” He grinned and she felt her indignation melt. “Okay, spill it. What’s up?”
He gave another shrug. “What can I say? I’m finally coming out of my shell.”
“At thirty-one?”
“Maybe I’m a late bloomer.”
“And maybe I’m wearing polyester to the next VFW dance.” She shook her head. “It’s more than that. Something happened to you.”
“You’ve found me out.” He leaned one hand on the window near her head and leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he murmured, “I’m not really Dillon. I just look like him.”
The scent of him, so raw and masculine, slid into her nostrils and filled her head. For a split second, she had the urge to lean closer, to press her lips to the side of his neck, to taste him with her tongue, to—
She fought the urge and leaned back.
“I suppose you’re really a pod person and we’re about to be invaded by little green men.”
“They’re purple, but you get the idea.”
“You’re so full of it.” She leveled a stare at him. “I was really worried.”
A strange gleam lit his eyes, but then it faded into a vivid green that sparkled and glittered so bright she found herself staring for the next few heartbeats until reality zapped some common sense into her and she managed to shift her attention to his mouth.
He had really great lips. Full, but not too full. Just right for a man.
She’d always thought so. At least for those few moments before he’d given her some of the worst kisses of her life.
He stiffened. “I’m sorry you were worried, but I can take care of myself.” His sudden frown faded into an easygoing grin. “And most anyone else who comes along.” The words were ripe with innuendo and her tummy did a quick somersault before hollowing out.
Dillon, she reminded herself. Dry-cleaning. Zero attraction.
But while her brain received the crucial messages loud and clear, her body had tuned in to a different frequency.
Warmth zipped up and down her spine, sending out blasts of heat to every erogenous zone in her body, from the arches of her feet and the sensitive skin below her belly button, to the ripened tips of her breasts and the back of each ear.
She had the sudden urge to step forward, close the fraction of distance between them and press her body flush against his.
So do it.
The words, raw and sexy, rumbled through her head as if Dillon himself stood next to her and murmured the encouragement directly in her ear.
He didn’t. He stood inches away, his mouth crooked in a sinful grin, his eyes gleaming with desire and a knowing light that said he read every lascivious thought that raced through her mind.
Yeah. Sure.
She’d obviously had one too many of Winona’s pleasure bites. No way would she ever make the first move on a man again.
Been there. Done that. Uh, uh.
And she certainly wouldn’t make the first move on Dillon, of all people. He wasn’t her type. He never had been. She went for tall, sexy, aggressive.
Okay, so maybe he was her type. All except for the aggressive part.
There were no strong purposeful hands reac
hing for her, no seeking lips. Gone was the uncertainty that had always simmered so hot and bright in his greener-than-green eyes when it came to women. The fear. Rather, his gaze blazed with a newfound confidence that did crazy things to her heartbeat.
He stood there, ready and waiting, as if he expected her to be overcome by lust and fall all over him.
“You did it, didn’t you?” she blurted as the truth crystallized.
He arched one blond eyebrow. “You’re the one looking through the window. You tell me.”
His meaning sank in and her cheeks started to burn. Or maybe it was the sudden knowing gleam in his eyes that made her face heat. Either way, her body temperature climbed degree by dangerous degree with each passing second. “Not it as in sex,” she said, managing to find her voice. “Although you obviously did that, too. I’m talking about you. You’ve really changed.” Somehow, someway, Dillon Cash had managed to accomplish in a matter of months what she’d spent half her life trying to do. “You’re really and truly—” she swallowed “—sexy.”
His mouth slanted into a grin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not at all. It’s really good. Great, in fact.” She shook her head. “I just can’t figure out how you did it. I mean, obviously, you did the whole makeover thing—” she eyed his jeans “—with the exception of the clothes, but it’s more than that.” Her gaze met his. “I’ve read every self-help sex book known to man. I’ve taken tons of seminars at the junior college. I’ve completed several online courses. This is my eighth class with Winona since she took over for Cheryl Anne.” She shook her head. “And I’m still trying to get onto Tilly’s list.” She glanced through the handspan of window space at the beauty draped across the bed.
He’d done it, all right. He’d finally uncovered the secret she’d been searching for all these years—he’d found a way to make himself ultra attractive to the opposite sex.
Women ogled him. Fantasized about him. Stripped off their clothes and hopped into bed without a thought.
Skull Creek’s biggest geek had become a bona fide sex object.
To every other woman, that is, except Meg.
She knew firsthand that people couldn’t just change. Not deep down inside. Not overnight. It had taken her years to complete the process. There was no way he’d managed it in a matter of months.
No, he was still the same Dillon beneath the silky hair and toned muscles. Still the same guy who’d thrown up after Darla Sue Alcott had turned him down for the Homecoming dance.
She knew that, even if it was getting more difficult with each passing second to remember it.
A strange look crossed his face, as if he’d peeked into her head and glimpsed her thoughts. But then the expression faded into an easy grin and her heart gave a double thump.
“Six months ago, you couldn’t even talk to a girl,” she pointed out, her own desperation getting the better of her. “And now you’ve got Susie Wilcox offering herself to you like some pagan sacrifice.”
“Talking’s overrated,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through her. “There are much more interesting ways to communicate.”
“And you learned this how? Book? Seminar? Gene therapy that replaces geek DNA with a hung-like-a-horse chromosome?” The last comment drew a full-blown smile from him. “Because whatever it is, I want some.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You want to be hung like a horse?”
“You know what I mean.” Her gaze locked with his. “I want the female equivalent. I want to know your secret.” A secret that would surely land her on Tilly’s newest Hot Chicks list. If Meg could make the list, she had no doubt that the men in town would view her differently.
Bye, bye Manhandler Meg, hello irresistible sex object.
“You owe me,” she told Dillon, “so pay up.” When he gave her a questioning look, she added, “For your half of the pizza, plus the tip. Add in pain and suffering because I had to sit there alone, and punitive damages to my hips because of all the extra calories I consumed since I don’t believe in wasting, and I’d say you owe me big-time.”
His gaze dropped. “Your hips look pretty good to me.”
The butterflies started again. An insane reaction because the old Dillon had never acknowledged anything about her. Not her hips. Or her trim waist. Or even the decent rack she’d been showing off with a Wonderbra since senior year.
This Dillon seemed to notice everything.
And made her want to offer herself up as the second willing sacrifice of the night.
She shook away the sudden visual—Dillon naked and panting above her—that popped into her head and focused on her grumbling stomach. She hadn’t eaten yet, so it was no wonder she was feeling so deprived.
She wanted food, not Dillon. Not really.
She swallowed and did a mental recitation of the menu at her favorite restaurant. “Good try, but you’re not changing the subject. Give,” she persisted.
“Since when did you get so bossy?”
“Since birth. Seriously, I want to know.” Desperation bubbled inside of her, along with the deprivation niggling at her gut. “I need to know.”
He eyed her for a long, drawn-out moment and she had the feeling that he faced some internal struggle.
“You’re sure? You really want to know?” he finally asked.
Excitement rushed through her and she nodded. “Tell me everything.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” His gaze gleamed with a hidden knowledge. His fingers flexed on the glass next to her as he leaned forward. His stubbled jaw rasped her cheekbone. His lips grazed her ear. “Why don’t I show you instead?”
4
WHAT THE HELL WAS HEthinking?
The thought pushed its way past the ferocious hunger that gripped Dillon’s insides and sent a burst of reality straight to his brain.
This was Meg. His buddy. His pal. His friend.
Meg was the one woman he could actually talk to.
The only woman who’d ever cared what he had to say.
No way was he thinking about pushing her up against the nearest wall, sinking himself into her hot body and soaking up her delicious energy while he pumped in and out and drove her to a screaming climax.
And there was no way he was thinking about sinking his fangs into her sweet neck and drinking in her essence while he pumped in and out and drove her to a screaming climax.
While he fed off blood and sex, he never indulged in both at the same time. That was the first rule Garret, his other vampire mentor, had taught him. The big no-no because it forged a bond that was unbreakable. Forever.
The last thing Dillon wanted was to tie himself to one woman for the rest of eternity. Not when he was this close to breaking Bobby’s record.
That’s what he told himself, but with Meg’s scent filling his nostrils and her frantic heartbeat echoing in his ears, forever didn’t seem like such a long time. His muscles tightened and his gut ached and he had the sudden thought that he wanted her more than he wanted to break Bobby’s record.
And she wanted a double pepperoni pizza with extra cheese.
The thought slid into his head and he pulled back. His gaze drilled into hers. Sure enough, he saw an image of Uncle Buck’s Pizza Joint, a table, an extra large pie, and Meg scarfing it down to her heart’s content.
She didn’t want him.
Or at least, she didn’t want to want him. She responded to him. All women did. But she wasn’t falling all over him like every other woman he’d come into contact with in the past few months—with the exception of Nikki, the owner of the local beauty salon.
Nikki was totally enamored of Jake and so her lack of interest didn’t bother Dillon.
But Meg…She was a single, red-blooded female. She should be out of her mind with lust.
Or at least a little overwhelmed.
He drank in the sight of her. No inviting smile. No come-and-get-me-now gaze. No pleading or begging.
“Please.”
All righ
t, so she was begging. A little. But not in the way he’d become accustomed to since stepping over to the vamp side. She wanted his help. His guidance. His advice.
What she didn’t want was to jump into the sack with him.
Correction, she didn’t want to want to jump into the sack with him. He stared into her bright gaze and read the truth as if it were spelled out in neon. She was determined to resist temptation, to wait for a man—any man—to make the first move when it came to sex. She was even more determined to resist Dillon. They had too much history. Even more, she knew for a fact—makeover aside—that he couldn’t kiss worth a flip and she was in no hurry to try it again.
He fought down the urge to press his lips to hers and prove her wrong right then and there. He would have, if he hadn’t been so determined to break Bobby’s record.
Bobby hadn’t put the moves on any woman. Rather, they’d come to him, eager and willing.
Ditto for every woman in Dillon’s recent past. He was on a mission and he wasn’t about to get distracted now.
“I’ve been trying to make Tilly’s list forever,” Meg continued. “If I can beef up my sex appeal, I’ll be a shoe-in. You have to give me some pointers.”
“And what will you give me?” He waited for a long list of seductive suggestions starting with “I’ll strip naked and give you a lap dance.”
“New clothes.”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“While you’ve made a decent transformation physically and, obviously, mentally, what with overcoming your shyness and everything, you haven’t come anywhere close to finding a sense of style.” She eyed his jeans. “Designer?”
“Who cares?”
“The majority of women the world over, every homosexual on the face of the planet, and let’s not forget the metrosexuals, bless their stylish little souls.”
“When I look at a woman, I seriously doubt she cares what sort of jeans I’m wearing.” He gave her an intense look and grinned at the way her pulse suddenly leapt at the base of her throat. But while the reaction was immediate and intense, it quickly faded and once again she was fantasizing about the pizza. “My jeans are irrelevant.”
Love at First Bite Bundle Page 22
