“I don’t know…maybe a seven.”
“Seven?” He stiffened. “It was at least an eight.”
“If it hadn’t been so quick. But the short duration kicked it down a notch. If you want eight, you’ll have to take your time.”
“I just might do that.”
The implication of his words stirred a flood of anticipation. Her tummy tingled and her heart gave a traitorous double thump.
“Forget your first time,” he went on, his lips grazing her ear. “Tell me about your most memorable sexual encounter.”
No. That’s what she should have said. Followed by a “Please, let’s keep this arrangement as impersonal as possible. That way I won’t jump you, I won’t be tempted to jump you, and I won’t morph into Manhandler Meg.”
Maybe it was the blindfold that made the moment seem almost surreal and, therefore, not as threatening. Or maybe she’d proved to herself last night that she could stand strong and resist making the first move. Maybe a little of both. Either way, she heard herself murmur, “Okay.”
Besides, Dillon was her friend. He always had been. He’d been there before her father had died, standing on the sidelines cheering her on when she’d tried out for the soccer team and then the baseball team, and even kicker on the boys’ football team. He’d been there to console her when disaster had struck and her father had been killed. He’d gone with her to the funeral home and helped her pick out the casket and held her hand while she’d cried until she couldn’t cry anymore. And he’d been there every day since, listening when she wanted to talk, reassuring her whenever she got discouraged at work.
She could tell him anything. Everything. And suddenly she wanted to.
“Set the scene. Where were you?” His deep voice filled her ears and she became instantly aware of the strong, warm hands that slid up to cup her breasts.
She had the fleeting thought that this went far beyond the usual conversation between even the best of friends, but she couldn’t stop the answer that bubbled on her lips. “In my boutique.”
“What did you smell?”
She took a deep breath. The sweet, intoxicating fragrance of cherries spiraled through her head, along with a dozen other distinct scents. Her nostrils flared and her chest heaved. “Fruit and chocolate and something else…a wildness, like the air when the sky’s about to open up just before a big storm.”
Like now.
It was him—his raw sexuality and insatiable hunger—that drifted through her head and teased her senses.
“What did you feel?”
“The hard counter at my back,” she murmured. “Strong, purposeful hands trailing over my body.” She trembled as heat swept through her.
“What else?” he prompted.
“A wetness between my legs…” Her breath caught and her legs threatened to buckle as she relived the memory for the next few moments. His lips and tongue caressing and devouring and—
“Here?” The word drew her away from the memory, back to the present and the fingertip that brushed across her crotch. A sharp bolt of desire shot from her head to the tips of her toes. She caught a gasp and bit down on her bottom lip.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
She nodded as he circled the sensitive area with his fingertips. “Remembering a sexy encounter gets your juices flowing. It stirs you up and makes your body yearn for more.” His touch drifted a delicious inch lower and his fingertips caught her hem. And then she felt him through the thin satin of her thong. He circled her before his touch drifted an inch lower and he stroked the slit between her legs. “Do you want more, Meg?”
She fought for her voice, but the soft, whispering strokes made it difficult. “I…”
“I didn’t hear you, sugar.” His finger went back and forth and her knees trembled. “Come on. Tell me.”
Her mouth opened and the frantic yes rushed to her lips at the same time that her brain issued a firm don’t do it!
“You know you want me.”
She did, and if she said it out loud, so would he.
She wouldn’t be able to stop herself then. She would act on her want without ever knowing if the feeling was mutual. Without ever knowing if he wasn’t just going along with the situation because he was horny and she was handy.
Without ever really knowing that he wanted her.
“I want to make the next Hot Chicks list,” the words rushed out.
She snatched off the blindfold and found herself staring out over a blaze of twinkling lights, her toes flush with a sharp ledge high above the small town.
“Crazy Cooter’s Ridge,” she gasped as realization struck.
She was standing at the drop-off point where, ages ago, Cooter McWilliams had taken a nosedive to his death after his prize-winning hog, Gracie, had run away from home—hence the crazy tagged on to his name. Gracie had turned up a few days later, but Cooter had already taken the plunge and so the pig had inherited a shitload of money and had lived the high life at a local pet resort for several years before dying of old age. The huge cliff that overlooked the town had since become a ripe make-out spot for the local kids on the weekends.
Tonight was a school night, and so the area was deserted.
The wind licked at the tips of her bare toes peeking from her high-heeled sandals. Panic rushed through her as her mind rifled back through the past few moments. The wind whispering around her, the hands teasing her, Dillon circling her, his voice coming from one side then the other. The back and then the front—
Impossible!
She’d been in this exact spot before he’d started talking. Standing at the edge. There’d been no ground in front of her. No place for him to stand. To walk. To tease. Unless…
She remembered dreaming of him standing on her balcony. The way his eyes had blazed first one color and then the other. The way he seemed to always know what she was thinking, as if he could see into her thoughts and read her mind.
Yeah, sure.
Denial rushed through her. She was making something out of nothing. Maybe she was hard of hearing. Or maybe the wind had thrown her off. Or the high altitude. Or maybe she was just plain nuts.
The last one would certainly explain why no man wanted to jump her bones. Men thought women were complicated enough. Throw insane into the mix and, well, it didn’t make for the most attractive package.
“I guess I get a great big zero for this lesson, don’t I?” She started to turn, but he stopped her, his arms on either side of her, anchoring her in front of him.
“Not if you learned something from it.”
“Such as?”
“Trust your instincts. That’s the real key to being irresistible. A woman who trusts herself, who listens to her body and lets it guide her, is the ultimate in sexy. If you’re feeling sexy, you act it.”
“And if I don’t feel sexy?” she managed to ask, despite every nerve in her body which screamed otherwise.
She needed to put some distance between them. He was too close, his chest cushioning her back, his hands anchored around her waist, fingertips burning through the thin material of her shirt. And damned if she didn’t want him even closer, his hands under her shirt, between her legs.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said as if reading her thoughts.
“Easy for you to say,” she said, her voice shaking. “If we plunge to our death, I’m going over the edge first. At least you’ll have a cushion to land on. I’ll be flat on the ground.”
“You underneath me,” he mused. “I could think of worse ways to go.”
“Seriously.” Her heart pounded in her chest. “I know the view is great and everything, but I really don’t like this.” She didn’t want to like it.
To like him.
He tightened his arms around her waist. “I won’t let you fall.”
No, he wouldn’t let her fall. He would push her right over the edge, and suddenly that scared her more than anything else—the notion of falling, helplessly, hopelessly, for Dillon Cash.
He didn’t move for several moments. He just stood there, his hands touching her, his body surrounding her, as if he didn’t buy her explanation. As if the more he touched her, the more he could shake her control. He knew it. And so did she.
“Please,” she added. Please.
Just like that, he let go. By the time she turned, he was already several yards away.
A strange sensation swept up her spine, but then he turned and his gaze collided with hers. Moonlight spilled down around them, outlining his powerful frame, making him seem taller, more imposing. His eyes seemed to glitter with an intensity that sucked the air from her lungs and made her heart beat even faster. “Let’s go.”
A trick of the light, she told herself as she forced her wobbly legs to move. She climbed on behind him, careful to keep her back straight and her hold loose as she slid her arms around his waist.
With her eyes wide-open this time, the ride back to town was even more stirring than the ride to Cooter’s Ridge. Not only could she hear and smell and feel, but she could see him, as well—the wide expanse of his back, his broad shoulders, his muscular, tattooed arms. His powerful hands gripped the handlebars, his fingers flexing as he guided the bike with the controlled ease of someone who’d been riding his entire life.
He hadn’t, she reminded herself. Months ago, he’d been as awkward, as uncertain, as un sexy as she was.
And just as desperate for a change.
She clung to the thought and tried to ignore the desire bubbling through her. A useless effort with most of her senses in major overload. One sweet, succulent taste of him and she would surely go over the edge.
The realization stuck in her head and urged her to lean forward, to trail the tip of her tongue down the side of his neck and relish the salty-sweetness of his skin…
She eased forward just an inch, her lips so close to his tempting skin.
Close, but not quite there.
Not yet.
Not ever.
Temptation pushed and pulled inside of her, threatening her fragile control. By the time he pulled up in front of her boutique, it was all she could do to pull away from him, climb off the bike and walk to the door. She could feel his gaze burning into her, but she didn’t look back, not even to ask about another lesson.
Especially not to ask about another lesson.
She’d barely survived tonight with her dignity intact. The last thing she wanted to think about was facing the temptation all over again. No, she would have to come up with a different plan. The carnal classes would eventually pay off and she would have men crawling all over her. And she would make Tilly’s list. She would just have to be patient until then and make due with her Twinkies and her fantasies.
“Tomorrow night,” she heard his voice behind her as she slid her key into the lock. “I’ll pick you up here.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think—” she started to respond, but then the engine growled, drowning out the rest of her refusal. She turned in time to see him take off down the street.
A few minutes later, Meg climbed into her own car, headed home and tried to come up with several convincing reasons to cancel.
No way was she meeting Dillon Cash tomorrow night.
She would play sick, she decided as she pulled into her driveway, climbed out of her car and headed inside the house. Maybe a rash. A fever. Maybe even some heavy-duty vomiting. Something really icky and contagious. Something that would have her lying on the floor, limp and lifeless—
Her thoughts skidded to a halt, along with her feet when she reached the kitchen doorway and spied the pile of fur that lay on the floor amid the remains of the three boxes of snack cakes Meg had picked up at the store earlier that day.
Babe was on her side, pieces of cardboard and cellophane littering the floor near her head. Crumbs clung to her whiskers, along with the scent of sugar and vanilla.
“Don’t tell me you ate them all?”
The animal lifted her head and whimpered.
She’d eaten them all.
“Glutton.” Meg dropped to her knees and stroked the animal’s head. “I know it hurts, but I promise you’ll live.” But a few more whimpers and she wasn’t so sure. She knew Twinkies couldn’t hurt the dog.
One Twinkie.
Maybe even two.
But three dozen? Along with shreds of the plastic wrappers?
“It’s okay,” she murmured, gathering the large dog close.
The memories stirred and she found herself back home in the cabin where she’d grown up. She sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, a small puppy in her arms, the police officer who’d delivered the news of her father’s accident standing awkwardly by as he waited for her grandparents to arrive.
Meg shook away the images and fought the sudden fear that gripped her.
A few minutes later, she loaded Babe into the backseat of her car, climbed behind the wheel and headed for the nearest twenty-four-hour animal clinic.
12
SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.
Dillon skidded to a stop in the parking lot of Skull Creek Choppers and killed the engine. Climbing off the bike, he stomped to the back door, his body stiff and tight. His gut clenched and unclenched as he shoved the key into the lock and threw open the door.
Inside, he bypassed the office and strode into the manufacturing shop. It was still early in the evening—barely 10:00 p.m.—and so the place was empty. Garret was out with whatever woman he’d taken a fancy to and Jake was with Nikki. Both vampires were no doubt drinking their fill in more ways than one.
A pang of hunger gripped him. His hands trembled, his muscles flexed and his jaw clenched. As worked up as he was, he wasn’t about to try to park himself behind a desk and worry about his blog or his leads or even the Ancient One himself.
He needed to do something.
Hitting the power button, he fired up the high-tech computer terminal that he’d set up near the main tool table. The screen flickered to life and a 3-D image of a custom-made chopper appeared.
Dillon had entered the specifics for Garret’s next order and the end result was the beauty on the monitor. His gaze shifted to the worktable and the simple frame that would eventually transform into the chopper.
Punching up several measurements, he surveyed the spreadsheet that scrolled across the screen. Following the details, he powered on the ARC welder and turned his attention to the hulk of metal that would soon be the custom-made fuel tank.
He spent the next few minutes working on the piece and trying not to think about Meg.
She was scared, all right. But it wasn’t of heights.
She was scared of falling in love, of being in love.
With him.
And the problem is?
He had her right where he wanted her. If he tempted and teased her just a little more, he had no doubt she would make the first move. And the second. And the third.
She would offer herself up to him completely and he would get what he wanted—the chance to break Bobby’s record and be remembered, not as the ultimate geek, but as the most legendary lover in town.
If.
Wait a second, there was no if. It was all about when.
Tomorrow night.
As for her fear of falling in love with him…He simply had to be reading her wrong. When she looked at him, she felt lust. Because of her past, she was afraid to act on that lust, afraid to perpetuate her own reputation.
Lust.
That’s all she felt for him and all he felt for her. So he’d obviously been hallucinating. Since turning, he hadn’t gone a full twenty-four hours without sex. He was going on seventy-two and lack of sustenance was making him punchy.
He needed to feed.
Tonight.
Now.
The thought struck as he saw a flash of lights through the window. He glanced up in time to see Meg’s car haul ass past the shop.
Urgency spiraled through him
, a feeling that had nothing to do with his own damned hunger and everything to do with the woman he’d just glimpsed. Her tear-streaked face. Her fear-filled eyes.
Something was wrong.
So? It doesn’t matter. All you feel is lust, remember?
But it wasn’t. They were friends, too.
Friends first.
And so Dillon did what any friend would do. He climbed on his motorcycle and hauled ass after her.
MEG FORCED HERSELF TO let go and handed Babe over to the night staff at Junction Animal Hospital. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest and her throat tightened as she watched her dog disappear through the double doors leading to the emergency exam room.
“You can have a seat.” The woman behind the desk motioned Meg over to a small cluster of chairs, most of the seats already overflowing with worried pet owners. “It’s a full moon, so we’ve had a busy night. Mr. McKinley’s Jack Russell’s got into a fight with a porcupine. Stu Morehead’s rabbit, Fluffy, got her paw caught in some chicken wire. Jimmy Carmichael’s prize-winning Arabian broke his leg near a gulley out by Old Sam’s Creek and Agnes Carmichael’s Great Dane ate one of her slippers.” The woman smiled. “Just relax and help yourself to some complimentary coffee. This might take awhile.”
Meg walked over to an empty chair, but a full thirty seconds later she was on her feet again. She paced a small area off to the side, in front of the coffee machine, and tried to fight the worry mounting inside of her. The scent of disinfectant filled her nostrils and dread settled in the pit of her stomach.
She had to be okay.
“She will be.” Dillon’s deep voice slid into Meg’s ears a split second before she felt his strong, warm hand on her shoulder.
His presence seemed to wrap around her. The scent of warm male tinged her nostrils and an inexplicable wildness filled her head, chasing away the sharp odor of Lysol and animal fur that hung heavy in the air. She glanced up and her gaze met his. His green eyes gleamed with a certainty that eased her frantic heart beat. A strange sense of peace stole through her, pushing aside her worry and fear.
Love at First Bite Bundle Page 31
