But the older man wasn’t the threat right now.
No, the tension washed off his mother in huge waves. She was worried and scared and she wasn’t backing down until she had Dillon hog-tied in her tent.
“It’s for your own good, baby,” she told him, taking a tentative step forward. “They’ve brainwashed you and it’s up to us to rewire you.”
“I promise. I’m not brainwashed.”
“Of course you don’t think so. No one who’s brainwashed ever thinks that they are. That’s what makes it so obvious that you’re under their spell. Who is it? Those Moonies? A satanic cult? That group I saw on CNN that worships Krispy Kreme donuts? I knew I should have let you have donuts as a child. Then you wouldn’t have been so anxious to run out and get your sugar high somewhere else.” Anguish fueled her voice. “But I was trying to protect you. Really I was.”
“I know.” His own voice was smooth and calm, a direct contrast to the nervousness raging inside him. He felt as if he were a child all over again, showing his mother his infected cut, disappointing her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You did a good job raising me.”
“I failed. Not once, but twice. No more.” She stiffened, taking another step toward him. “I’m doing my duty now. I’m saving my baby.” Another step and her finger went to the spray trigger.
“Drop. The. Mace.” He stared deep into her eyes and said it once more. He didn’t want to push her too hard. He wanted her conscious for this.
At the same time, if he didn’t resort to a little mind over matter, he was going to find himself hog-tied, hanging upside down in a nearby tent, his mom stuffing Krispy Kreme’s donuts down his throat before he could get a word in edgewise.
Her mouth dropped open and her hand went slack. A glazed look came over her and the can clattered to the ground.
He turned to his father, but the man wasn’t staring at him as if he’d grown two heads. No, he was staring at his wife’s catatonic body.
“Just put the stun gun away,” Dillon told his father, but the older man had already stuffed it into his pocket.
“I’ve been trying for years to get your mother to shut up like that.” His father peeled off the mask he’d been wearing and eyeballed his son. “How’d you do that?”
“You really want to know?”
“Are you kidding?” A grin tugged at his father’s mouth and genuine interest gleamed in his gaze.
The tension coiling in Dillon’s gut eased just a little. Maybe telling them wasn’t going to be as bad as he’d thought.
He spent the next half hour sitting on the front porch, filling his dad in on the specifics of what had happened to him while his mother sat in a small lounge chair, a passive look on her face.
Other than an initial rush of disbelief, his father didn’t seem all that shocked. If anything, he looked somewhat relieved and Dillon found himself remembering what Meg had said about the truth being the only thing that made any real sense.
She’d obviously been right.
At least as far as his dad was concerned.
Dillon shifted his attention to his mother. While she hadn’t been able to move, she’d heard every word. Dillon had made sure of that. He fought down his own fear, lifted the trancelike veil and waited for her reaction.
She took one look at him, let out a shriek and passed out cold.
It wasn’t exactly the “It’s okay. I love you anyway, son,” he’d been hoping for, but at least she hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest.
“Give her some time,” his father clapped him on the shoulder as he pushed to his feet.
“What about you? Are you all right with this?”
“I don’t know.” The man shrugged. “It’s pretty unbelievable. At the same time, your mother’s been living in a tent for three weeks straight now, so I’m not beyond buying the impossible.” His gaze collided with Dillon’s and worry lit his expression. “I just want you to be okay.”
“I am.”
“Good because I was afraid I was going to have to zap you with the stun gun. I still haven’t figured out how to do it without goosing myself.”
Dillon helped his father load his mother into the car for yet another trip to the E.R. for smelling salts. And possibly a mental evaluation should she start spouting off about the story he’d just told them.
But it was a chance he had to take. He was through playing it safe and worrying over each and every consequence. No more being scared.
No, he was facing his fears and acting on his feelings for the first time in his life.
He only hoped Meg was ready to do the same.
He fought down a rush of uncertainty, climbed onto his motorcycle and headed into town.
MEG IGNORED THE URGE to throw her hands into the air, or better yet, slide them around Honey Harwell’s neck.
The young girl stood center stage in the back dressing room. It was almost seven and Elise had yet to return. Other than Terry and Hank who were once again having words in the back alley, Meg and Honey were all alone.
Meaning no one would hear if she decided to get physical. That, or wash the girl’s smart mouth out with a little heavy-duty soap.
She resisted the appealing thought and summoned her patience. “Let’s try this once again. It’s the perfect cut and color.”
“It sucks. It more than sucks. It royally sucks.”
Where was a good bar of Ivory when she needed one?
Meg drew a deep breath and tried a different approach. “It doesn’t suck as much as the others, right? I mean, they sucked so bad they reeked,” she reminded the girl of her earlier comments.
Honey seemed to think. “I hate this. I want to go home.”
“Then try the dress on again because that’s the only way you’re getting out of here. Your mother said to pick something by the time she got back or she was taking your iPod.”
“This bites,” Honey breathed as reached for the dress.
Amen.
Meg pulled the curtains on the dressing room and debated whether or not to pick up the phone and call 911.
“…over, I’m telling you.” Terry’s voice carried from the partially open back door where she stood with Hank—again. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”
“But I love you, baby. You mean the world to me. All those other women didn’t mean crap.”
“I don’t care about them. That’s the past. I’ve moved on. So should you.”
“But you can’t just make love to a man and then turn your back…”
Meg bypassed the phone and retrieved a small can of Mace she kept under her cash register. She’d promised Terry to let her handle Hank her own way. As long as he kept a mild tone of voice and didn’t get physical, Meg intended to keep that promise. But at the first sign of real trouble, she was giving him a face full.
She was just about to head back into the dressing room to check on Honey when she heard the rumble of a motorcycle. She turned in time to see Dillon pull up to the curb in front of her shop and kill the engine. Muscles rippled and bunched as he climbed off the sleek black chopper.
Her heart shifted into overdrive as the bell on the front glass jingled.
He wore a pair of jeans and black T-shirt. His jaw was set, his face determined. Emotion blazed in the deep green depths of his eyes, so fierce and telling and—
No!
Panic bolted through her and she opened her mouth before he had the chance. “Don’t say it.”
“Don’t say what?” He arched one blond brow and stepped toward her.
She took a step back. “Don’t say what I think you’re here to say.”
“I told my folks.”
“You’ll just ruin everything,” she rushed on before his words registered and she caught herself. “Come again?”
“I told them and they were okay with it.” He shrugged. “At least my dad was. The verdict is still out on my mom. I realized something yesterday. For all my newfound boldness, I’ve still been holding back. Afraid.” His eyes gli
ttered with a knowing light. “Just like you.”
Before she could blink, much less open her mouth and voice the denial that sprang to her lips, he was standing in front of her. Large, strong hands cradled her face. “Don’t be scared.”
He touched her so softly, so tenderly that her throat tightened. “I’m not afraid of you,” she finally managed to whisper.
“No.” He forced her gaze to meet his. “You’re afraid of you.”
His words sank in as he stared down at her, into her. He saw the frantic thoughts that raced through her head. The anxiety. The denial. The fear.
She fought against the notion and stumbled backwards, away from his warm hands and his probing stare. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are.” He let his hands fall to his sides, but he didn’t look the least bit happy about it. His fingers clenched and it was all he could do no to reach for her again. “You’re afraid to let go, to fall in love, to be in love. Because if you don’t put yourself out there, you can’t get hurt.” His gaze darkened and suddenly she saw herself sitting on the floor in the kitchen, Babe in her arms, the policeman lingering nearby. “If you don’t have anything, then you can’t lose it. That’s why you’re afraid of love.”
Her throat constricted and a rush of tears burned the backs of her eyes. She blinked and fought for her voice. This was crazy. He was crazy. “I love a lot of things. Babe. My grandparents.”
“You loved them before your father died. But since, you haven’t let yourself get close—really close—to anyone. You’re afraid, all right. Afraid to live, to love, to be yourself. That’s why you’ve tried so hard to change all these years. You want to forget the woman you were, to bury the past.”
“I wasn’t a woman back then. I was a tomboy.”
“You were a woman, all right. One hundred percent. And you could hold your own against any man. You still can. The difference is, you were comfortable in your own skin then and you’re not now. Because being in that skin reminds you too much of your father, of your loss, of your pain.” He reached for her again, his hands catching her shoulders, sliding up her neck, cradling her cheeks. “You have to let it go, baby. You can’t keep running and hiding. Just let go.”
She wanted to. She wanted to slide her arms around his neck and give in to the flood of emotion that threatened to blind her.
But she’d been holding back for so long, fighting so hard, that her instincts kicked in and she held tight to the denial racing through her. “You’re crazy. You don’t want to face the fact that I don’t have feelings for you and so you’re making all of this up to ease your wounded ego.”
“If that’s the truth, then look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t have feelings for me,” he countered. His hands splayed on either side of her face, anchoring her in place, forcing her to face him. To face herself. “Tell me you don’t love me the way that I love you.”
“I…” She tamped down on the anxiety pumping her heart faster and fought against the urge to turn her face into his palm, to kiss the throbbing pulse beat on the inside of his wrist, to lose herself in the man towering over her.
It would be so easy to give in.
To wind up on the floor, raw and open and heartbroken.
“I don’t love you,” she said, forcing the words out. And then she did what she should have done instead of propositioning him that night at the motel.
She turned her back on Dillon Cash and walked away.
DILLON BARELY RESISTED the urge to throw her over his shoulder, take her back to his place and love her until she stopped denying him and finally accepted the truth.
He wouldn’t manhandle her because that’s what she wanted—a convenient excuse to dismiss what she felt as lust.
But it was more, even if she refused to admit it.
He watched her disappear into the back and forced himself to turn. He pushed through the door and strode toward his motorcycle. He was about to climb on, to get the hell away before he buckled and gave in to the emotion welling inside of him, when he heard the raised voices coming from around back.
“…can’t do this to me. Not again.”
“Come on, Hank. Settle down.”
“It’s you who needs to settle the hell down. You can’t play with a man’s emotions like that.”
It wasn’t so much what the man said that distracted Dillon from his own damnable feelings and drew him around the side of the building. It was the threatening edge in his voice.
A few steps later, Dillon rounded the back of the boutique. His gaze sliced through the darkness in time to see the man reach for Meg’s assistant.
In the blink of an eye, Dillon reached them. He caught one of the man’s hands before it slid around the woman’s throat.
“What the—”
“Leave her alone,” Dillon cut in.
“Get lost,” the man growled, pulling and tugging against Dillon’s viselike grip. “This ain’t none of your business. This is between me and my woman, here.”
Dillon arched an eyebrow at Terry Hargove. Fear lit her eyes and she quickly shook her head.
“She’s not your woman,” Dillon told the man, squeezing just enough to make his point. Bones cracked and the man shrieked. “Is she?”
“N-no,” the man bit out when he finally seemed to find his voice.
“Good. Now get the hell out of here. And don’t come back.” Another squeeze and then he let go.
The man scrambled from the alleyway and Dillon turned back to the frightened woman. “You didn’t see that,” he told her. She looked startled at first, and then her body seemed to relax. Her eyes glazed over as she stared into his eyes. “Go back inside and forget what just happened. Forget about him.”
She nodded and Dillon had half a mind to recruit Terry for his cause. A few persuasive thoughts and he could easily have the woman trying to convince Meg that he was the greatest thing in the world.
The trouble was, he wanted Meg to come to that conclusion herself.
To want him of her own free will.
To want him enough to admit it.
And so he tamped down his own desperation and watched Terry disappear through the back door. Hinges creaked and the lock clicked. He forced himself to turn away.
He’d risked it all and he’d lost.
The realization made his gut clench. Hopelessness rushed through him, so thick and consuming that he barely heard the footsteps behind him.
The sound pushed its way past the thunder of his heart and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Anxiety slithered up his spine. He stiffened and his surroundings faded into a red haze as his survival instincts kicked to life. A growl vibrated up his throat and he whirled, ready to fight to the death.
But it was too late. He barely caught a glimpse of two shadows before he felt the stab in his neck. Pain gripped him, fierce and consuming. His muscles tightened. The ground seemed to shake.
And then everything went black.
19
SHE WAS AFRAID.
Meg finally admitted the truth to herself as she stood in the dressing room fifteen minutes later, trying to talk Honey Harwell into trying on dress number nine again since eight had failed like all the others. She saw the wistful look on the girl’s face, the hidden longing, and she knew then that Honey wasn’t turning down everything Meg showed her because she didn’t like it.
No, she was turning down this particular dress because she liked it too much.
Because she loved it.
Just the way Meg was turning down Dillon. Running from him. Hiding.
Because she didn’t want to take a chance, to fall in love, to end up brokenhearted and alone.
The truth crystallized as Honey ran her fingers over a row of buttons, her touch lingering a little too long before she made a face.
Yes, Dillon was right.
Meg was still the same person deep down inside, still nursing the same hurt, still scared.
Still alone.
And Dillon was still there.
Holding her. Helping her. Loving her.
He always had been.
And while she had no clue what tomorrow would bring—his salvation or an eternity as a vampire—suddenly it didn’t matter. All that mattered was telling him that she loved him today.
Right now.
“It’s yours,” Meg told Honey as she set aside a stack of dresses.
“Excuse me?”
“I know you like this dress. You know you like this dress. So why don’t you just admit it and end the misery for both of us?”
Honey popped a bubble with her gum, licking the sticky whiteness from her lips. “You’re crazy, lady.”
“And you’re in denial. There’s nothing wrong with wearing pretty things. Just like there’s nothing wrong with wearing sweats and a lucky Cowboys T-shirt.” When Honey’s disdain turned to bewilderment, Meg rushed on, “Stop being afraid of yourself.”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Yes, you are. Face it so you can get past it.”
“What the hell do you know?”
“More than you can imagine.” Her own hurt bubbled up deep inside her, but she didn’t tamp it back down. Instead, she let it come, embracing it. Her eyes burned and the tears that had threatened her earlier slipped down her cheeks now.
Honey stiffened. “Geez lady, you don’t have to get all emotional. I—I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Meg leveled a stare at the girl. “Do you really want to miss your one and only senior prom?”
“Maybe,” Honey finally said after a long, contemplative moment. “I don’t know.”
“Then that means there’s a part of you that wants to go.” She wiped at her tears. “So take that dress and go. My treat.”
An eager light glimmered in her eyes before fading into cold determination. “And look like the rest of my sisters? I have enough trouble getting my mom to notice me without blending in with the bunch.”
Love at First Bite Bundle Page 38
