If Dillon wasn’t going to share his secret, then all hope of making Tilly’s list was shot to hell and back. She was back at square one, still looking for that extra something that would give her an edge and force the men in town to see her in a different light.
A sexy light.
Sexually frustrated or not, she wasn’t breaking her vow—no more first moves. No, if Dillon wasn’t going to help her, she was doomed to wait until she found that extra something herself, which meant she was in store for more frustrating nights like the last one.
Which meant she needed Twinkies. Lots of Twinkies.
Hence her impromptu visit to the nearest grocery store.
She eyed the man again, doing a sweep once, twice, before shifting her attention to old man Darlington who stood near the frozen chickens, eyeing a package of chicken wings. Moving on, she spotted Hubert Humsucker stockpiling chocolate Ho Hos just a few feet away and Leonard Bunker who stood near an end cap checking out a Spam display.
Yes, he was definitely the hottest guy to make it past the open hoofs at the front entrance. Sure, he wasn’t as super sexy as the star of last night’s fantasy, but he was close.
An image stirred and she saw Dillon looking dark and delicious in faded jeans, a worn T-shirt and an expression that said he wanted to swallow her whole.
Okay, maybe hot guy wasn’t that close. But he definitely beat out the handful of losers from her past. He was handsome enough. He was also new in town—the cousin of a cousin of a cousin of Shirley Waltrip who owned a local real estate firm. She had hired him straight out of broker school—which meant he had no preconceived notions about Meg. And, more importantly, he was smiling at her.
He was smiling at her.
She tamped down the urge to waltz over and introduce herself. Instead, she waited, maintaining eye contact, mentally urging him to come to her.
He abandoned the roast and stepped toward her. Atta boy. Her heart kicked up a notch, but it wasn’t anywhere close to the breakneck stampede she’d felt last night.
Not that she was making comparisons. Last night had been so far out there. A wild and crazy dream.
This was the real thing.
He stepped closer, his strong, purposeful stride eating up the distance between them and she started to think that maybe she didn’t need Dillon’s secret, after all. Really, she’d been walking the walk and talking the talk for twelve years. It only made sense that some man would finally notice on his own.
She smiled and said, “Hi.”
He smiled and said—
“Game three of the NBA finals. Spurs or the Heat?” she heard a voice say behind her.
Meg’s head whipped around and she found herself staring at a short, squatty woman in her fifties. The lady wore a hair net, a white smock and a badge that read Fiber is my Friend.
Genevieve Crandall was one of the store’s clerks. She worked the register and handled the incontinent section, which had grown to take up a complete aisle since the second retirement community had opened up on the outskirts of town just last month.
“The employees got a pool going with some of our steady customers,” she told Meg. “Most everybody’s putting their money on San Antonio, including Paul in cleaning products, on account of it’s the closest thing we got to a home team. But Darlene in dairy likes the Heat because she has a sister down in Florida. Loretta and Lettie, the Bakersfield sisters who buy all the pork-’n-beans every time we run a special, put their money on Florida, too, ’cause they got a thing for that CSI Miami show. I like the show, but I ain’t sure it’s worth risking fifty bucks. I thought you could give me your pick.”
“I’m sorry, Genevieve. I was talking to this nice gentleman.” Meg shifted her attention back to hot guy. “I’m Meg. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Colt Grainger. I buy and sell ranch property.”
“Shirley’s cousin, right?”
“Twice removed, but yeah. I’m new around here and I could really use someone to show me around. I was wondering—”
“So was I,” Genevieve persisted. “Come on, Meg. You gotta help an old lady out. I’ve got a new pair of orthopedic inserts riding on this. The Spurs have a better rebound record, but the Heat had multiple three-pointers last year. Both teams are neck and neck on blocked shots.” She stared expectantly at Meg who stared expectantly at Colt.
A strange look came over his face as he eyed her. “You know basketball?”
“I—” Meg blurted, but it was Genevieve’s crackly voice that chimed in, “Sure as shootin’ she does. Why, this gal knows everything when it comes to sports. Girl was born to it. Daddy coached football over at the high school and took us to five consecutive championships. Four for our basketball team. Six for soccer. Eight track-and-field state finals. There ain’t nothing Meg, here, don’t know when it comes to sports. The girl’s a legend around here.” Her gaze swiveled to Meg. “Come on, sugar, who’s your favorite?” Genevieve persisted.
“I think this gentleman got here first.” Meg’s gaze met hot guy’s. “I think you were about to ask me something…?”
He looked puzzled for a split second before a thought seemed to strike. “Actually, I did.”
Her heart paused and the air lodged. This was it. This guy wanted her. She knew it. From the first moment he’d abandoned his roast, up until now. She read the sudden determination that leapt into his expression. The eagerness that blazed in his gaze. The strange way he looked at her now, as if he’d found the woman of his most erotic dreams.
“Yes?” Meg prodded.
“Spurs or Heat?” he blurted.
Meg blinked. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged and glanced at Genevieve. “I’d like to get in on the action if it’s not too late.”
“No problem,” the old woman told him. “Fifty bucks and you’re in.”
So much for flying solo.
Meg spent the next few minutes giving her opinion on the upcoming game—it wasn’t like she couldn’t not help Genevieve, particularly when the woman offered to throw in a case of Twinkies at cost—and then turned on her heel and went in search of Dillon Cash.
They didn’t call her Manhandler Meg for nothing.
8
“THERE’S A WOMAN IN TOWN looking for you.” Nikki, Jake’s girlfriend, made the announcement that evening when she opened the door to the small office where Dillon sat taking notes on the computer screen that blazed in front of him. He’d been at his terminal for an hour now, since sunset to be exact, and he had no intention of powering off anytime soon.
He was finally onto something.
Even more, he was now sufficiently distracted from the damned hunger that had gnawed away at him all day. The more he’d tried to sleep, the more he’d thought about Meg. He’d been so worked up by the time he’d rolled out of bed, that he’d needed to kill some time and cool off before he saw her again. He’d needed something mundane and boring, and so he’d headed to work.
But when he’d logged on to his blog—after perfecting the last line of code for his new software program—he’d gotten a shock that had juiced him up almost as much as the thought of Meg’s sweet, succulent body.
Listed among the Do me, baby and Let’s be butt buddy comments were four posts that actually detailed turning experiences similar to Garret’s—the same sweet scent and the same medallion. All four were recent experiences and one even listed an actual name—Joe—and a location, Bryan Street, south side of Chicago, approximately six months ago.
It seemed that Joe had taken a bite out of Itty Bitty Vamp while he’d been club-hopping down in Chi town. In between clubs, Itty had run out of gas and had elected to knock on some poor sap’s door to ask to use the phone, since he’d had a cheap cell phone and zero service.
Joe had given Itty a helluva lot more than a call to Triple AAA.
The newbie vamp was still screwed up over the sudden change, still trying to figure things out and deal with what was happening to him, and so he couldn’t remember Jo
e’s actual address. He just remembered waking up a block or so from the last club he’d gone to. He’d been bloody and alone and clueless as to what had just happened to him.
But he knew now and he was frantically trying to find a way to reverse the situation.
Dillon had given him the basic lowdown—destroy the source in order to free himself—and then he’d spent the hours afterward cyber-searching Joes in and around the area where Itty had opened his eyes for the first time as a vamp.
He’d come up with four of them.
“She’s been asking around for you all day today,” Nikki persisted, pulling Dillon from his thoughts and the computer screen.
He glanced up at the attractive blonde who stood in the doorway and shrugged. “What can I say? When you’ve got it, you’ve got it.”
“Obviously.” She grinned. “Candy Morgan—that waitress from the Shade Tree—talked nonstop about you last week. I think she wants seconds. And so does Lorelie Hellman and Gina Berkowitz and Tammy Fitzpatrick.”
He shook his head. “As much as I’d like to oblige them all, Garret would have my head.” That, and he couldn’t actually remember any of those women. While he knew they’d been good—warm and sweet and sustaining—the only woman who lingered in his thoughts was Meg.
She was his biggest challenge, after all. So it only made sense she would get under his skin and stick in his brain.
That, or he actually liked her.
He shook away the thought and focused on Nikki. “So who was this woman?”
“Nobody I knew.” Her expression grew serious. “When she came into To Dye For, I thought she wanted a haircut. She sure as hell needed one what with all the split ends. But before I could get her in the chair, she started drilling me about you. How did I know you? When was the last time I’d seen you? What time did you open up shop? I told her you were on vacation and the shop was closed, but she didn’t look like she bought it. I didn’t think she would. I heard from Mary Lou Winegarten that she was at Pam’s Pamper Park asking all sorts of questions, too. Knowing Pam, the woman probably got an earful about you being the new town stud.” She shook her head. “But I’m a little worried. She seemed too anxious.” Just as Nikki said the words, Jake appeared in the doorway behind her.
“Sounds like a vampire hunter to me,” Jake offered, sliding his arms around Nikki’s waist.
“Maybe.” Nikki eyeballed the computer. “Whoever she is, I get the feeling that she’s connected with your blog somehow.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because she referred to you as BigTexasVamp. She tried to cover up the slip, but I wasn’t the only one who heard it. Charlie was doing highlights next to me and he thought she was talking about that new topless joint over in Tarpley—the one that features those dancers with the beehive hairdos who call themselves Big Texas Vampers. That’s your screen name, right?”
Dillon nodded, his mind racing to find a connection between one of the posts and someone actually seeking him out. Sure, he’d had half a dozen women want to hook up with him, but to travel hundreds of miles just for sex?
As outrageous as it seemed, Dillon had watched enough Dr. Phil back in his human days—he’d always had the TV on while doing repairs at his shop—to know that there were desperate individuals willing to do just about anything to get laid.
“She came in during the day,” Jake remarked. “So that means she’s definitely human. She’s either a vampire hunter, someone desperate to be turned, or maybe a groupie from another town who’s heard about you and wants to see for herself.”
Or maybe, just maybe, she had something to do with the Ancient One.
Dillon wasn’t sure where the thought came from, except that it seemed too coincidental that the very day he received a concrete lead, a strange woman showed up in town looking for him.
“Regardless, you should watch your back,” Jake told him, concern evident on the older vampire’s face. “Garret and I are going to look around and see what we can find out about her. In the meantime, do what you can to lay low and avoid a confrontation.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know that, but there’s no reason to prove it. Just be careful.” He gathered Nikki closer, his arms tightening as if he never meant to let her go.
He didn’t. He was crazy about her and she was equally crazy about him, despite the fact that she was still human.
Because of it, a voice in his head whispered.
Jake was a vampire and so any woman he took a fancy to would want him more than her next breath.
At the same time, there was something about the way Nikki looked at Jake that went beyond wanting to rip his clothes off and have wild and crazy sex. She wanted him, the man he’d been and the vampire he’d become. The whole package.
A pang of envy shot through Dillon as he watched the couple disappear out into the fabrication shop where Garret was busy welding the handlebars for his latest creation.
Not because he wanted anyone—especially Meg—to feel the same unconditional love for him. To feel love, period.
Sure, he liked Meg. But the last thing—the very last thing—Dillon wanted was for any woman to fall in love with him, and vice versa. He didn’t need a relationship right now. He had a record to break and if the sudden anxiety pumping through his veins was any indication—that and the gut feeling that he was really and truly on to something—his days as a vampire were numbered.
All the more reason to table his research for now and get the hell out of the shop. He stored his notes and powered off the computer. Pushing to his feet, he tapped on the glass, signaled goodbye to Garret, Jake and Nikki and headed out the back door.
He’d promised to give Meg a few sex lessons, and it was time to start her education.
WHEN MEG PULLED UP IN front of Dillon’s house and killed the engine, the sun had already set and darkness blanketed the area. He lived on the outskirts of town, the nearest neighbor at least a half a block down the gravel road. Not a single light burned inside the sprawling one-story building.
She debated whether or not to get out of the car. He wasn’t home. She already knew that. Just like he hadn’t been at the computer shop. The place had been just as dark, a sign hanging in the front window that read Closed Temporarily for Renovations.
Right. And she had a dozen men falling all over themselves to be her personal sex slaves.
She’d peered through the window and, sure enough, there hadn’t been a ladder or a nail gun in sight. She’d tried room four at the motel, too, but he’d already checked out.
Relief niggled at her. Not that she cared if he did the nasty with Miss Hot Chick again. It’s just that she’d hoped—she’d prayed—that they could start their lessons right away. The fact that he wasn’t shacked up at the inn for another night was definitely a sign that he might be free.
If she could find him.
Her brain told her to put the car in Reverse, back out and look elsewhere—Big Bubba’s honky tonk, the Shade Tree bar and grill, the Dairy Freeze—anyplace, every place where members of the opposite sex met to mix and mingle in Skull Creek. They were all possibilities worthy of a quick look now that Dillon had turned into Mr. Hook Up. He sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting at home all by his lonesome.
Still.
She killed the engine and climbed out of the front seat just to be sure.
Maybe he was taking a nap. After last night—correction, after the last two months—he had to be exhausted. She grasped at the hope, ignored the apprehension that wiggled down her spine and started for the door.
The gleam of her headlights sliced through the darkness, pushing back the shadows and giving her a blazing trail toward the wraparound porch. Awareness prickled the hairs on the back of her neck with each step.
She couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that someone was watching her.
If only.
The sad truth? Dillon was most certainly out on yet another date. At that very moment he was probably smili
ng that sexy smile of his and whichever woman was the flavor of the night was undoubtedly ripping off her clothes.
Meanwhile, Meg was here. The soft ground sucking at her favorite stilettos. The darkness chasing goose bumps up and down her spine. A rope tightening around her ankles—
The thought slammed to a halt as she glanced down. Sure enough, she’d stepped into a roped circle spread out in the grass. The slack had tightened. The rope had hiked up around her ankles. Nylon cut into her tender flesh and—
“Now!”
The man’s urgent voice cracked open the silence and before she could breathe, much less scream, her legs were jerked out from beneath her. One of her heels stuck in the ground and the ankle strap snapped. Her foot yanked free and she flipped. In the blink of an eye, she found herself dangling upside down from a massive oak tree in Dillon’s front yard.
The blood rushed to her head and she blinked, her body flailing as a pair of shadows rushed at her. The next few moments seemed to pass in slow motion, the voices unreal yet oh, so familiar.
“You were supposed to wait for me,” said shadow number one, the voice high-pitched and distinctly female.
“Sorry, dear.” Shadow number two struggled with Meg’s flailing arms.
“No sense crying now,” came the female’s voice. “Just get the handcuffs on him.”
“Handcuffs? I don’t have the handcuffs,” said number two. “I gave you the handcuffs to wipe down with antibacterial wipes.”
“And I wiped them and gave them back. I set them right on the table next to the LYSOL. Didn’t you pick them up?”
“Uh, oh.” Shadow number two released Meg, turned and hightailed it around the house.
Number one plopped a hand on her hip and shook her head. “I swear that man would forget his name if it wasn’t for me.”
Meg blinked against the sudden pressure in her skull and forced her eyes to focus. She peered through the darkness at the upside down figure dressed in a black jogging suit. “Mrs. Cash?”
The shadow loomed closer and a familiar face came into view. “Meg? Dear, is that you?”
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