Relief rushed through Meg and washed away the fear that had gripped her. “Guilty.”
“I got the handcuffs,” came the winded voice of the man who trotted around the corner of the house. He was dressed in black also, but unlike Dora Cash, his face was obscured behind a ski mask. “I brought the stun gun, too.” He waved the small hand-held device. “I figure we’ll zap him and then do the handcuffs—”
“No!” Meg and Dora said in unison.
“But we’ll never get the handcuffs on,” the man protested.
“It’s not Dillon,” Dora told her husband. “It’s Meg.”
“Meg?” Harold Cash lifted his ski mask, pulled a pair of bifocals from his pants pocket and shoved them on. “Meg Sweeney?”
“Hey there, Mr. Cash.” Meg wiggled her fingers. “I was just looking for Dillon.”
“You and us both,” Dora told her. “We’ve been camped out in his front yard for the past few weeks trying to catch him when he came home. But he never showed. So we decided to switch tactics and move our tent to the backyard, that way he might think we’ve given up and come back. I mean, he has to come home sometime, right?”
“You would think so.”
“One of us has been here day in and day out—with the exception of those three ER visits—and we still haven’t seen him,” Harold said.
“Poor Harold, here, had this red boil come up on the back of his neck,” Dora chimed in. “My aunt’s husband’s sister had that and it spread until his entire head was inflamed. It caused major brain damage. Luckily, Harold’s wasn’t that bad.”
“It was just a mosquito bite,” the man told his wife.
“There is no just. Mosquito bites are dangerous. People die from them all the time. That’s why I bought the mosquito netting even though we invested in four bug lamps, a dozen citronella candles and a case of bug spray. You can’t be too careful.”
“The second visit was because of a paper cut I got opening the carton,” Harold added.
“Staph is a serious thing,” Dora said.
“And then I got indigestion from a can of chili.”
“People mistake heart attacks for indigestion all the time. Besides, I told you not to eat that chili. Spicy food is bad for your intestines.”
“So is Mace, but that didn’t stop you from making me go after that group of ferocious Girl Scouts.”
“How was I to know they were armed? They were Girl Scouts, for Pete’s sake. Besides, I thought it was Dillon.”
“There were four of them, dear.”
“I thought it was Dillon and a few of his fellow cult members.”
“They were all less than four feet tall.”
“They could have amputated his legs to keep him from running away.”
“They were pulling a wagon full of cookies.”
“The wagon could have been for my poor legless baby.” She shook her head. “It was an honest mistake that could have been prevented if you’d been wearing your glasses.”
“I can’t wear them with this mask.”
“So leave the mask off.”
“It goes with the suit. Besides, if it hadn’t been for the mask, I would have gotten a face full of Mace. That would have been ER trip number four. Our insurance company would have dropped us on the spot.”
“They can’t do that. We have the ultra premium plus plan that even covers pre-existing—”
“Excuse me,” Meg cut in. “I have the cheap value plan that doesn’t pay for any ER visits, so can someone please cut me down before I start bleeding out of my eyeballs?”
“Why, yes. Of course, dear. Harold, where’s your knife?”
“I don’t have the knife. You borrowed the knife to open that mosquito netting.”
“And then I gave it back.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I most certainly did—”
“Everything’s getting blurry,” Meg cut in.
The two scrambled around back.
A few minutes later, Dora Cash worked at the nylon with a large kitchen knife while Harold kept a steady hold on Meg to keep her from crashing to the ground. A few more seconds, a near death experience when Dora nicked her finger, and finally the rope snapped.
Harold helped Meg to her feet before turning to his wife who clutched her finger. “Should I call 911?”
“Don’t be silly.” She smiled. “It’s not like I’m going to drop dead at any moment.” Her expression faded into serious intent. “It takes at least a few hours for most bacterial infections to set in, which means we have more than enough time to make it to the E.R. over in Junction.”
“Sorry about the misunderstanding,” Dora told Meg as Harold went to get their car, which they’d parked down the street. “We didn’t mean to ruin your shoe.” She indicated the one high heel that was still stuck in the ground.
“It’s okay.” Meg pulled the shoe free, stared at the broken ankle strap and tried to tamp down a rush of disappointment.
A feeling that had nothing to do with her ruined footwear and everything to do with the hot, hunky man she couldn’t get off her mind or out of her fantasies.
The house had been her last hope since she had no intention of barging into Big Bubba’s and interrupting Dillon with another woman. Which meant she was heading home, to an empty house and a box of Twinkies. And maybe even her favorite sweatpants and her lucky Cowboys T-shirt, still packed away in a box in her upstairs closet.
Hey, if she was going to backslide, she might as well go all the way.
She shrugged. “I didn’t have any special plans tonight anyway.”
SHE MEANT TO GO HOME.
She even went so far as to pull into the driveway and open the car door. But then she spotted the telltale tread marks near the curb, and just like that, she slammed the door shut, gunned the engine and headed over to her shop.
The next two hours were spent getting a jump start on tomorrow’s workload and trying not to think about Dillon and the fact that he’d obviously changed his mind about helping her.
Because she wasn’t sexy enough.
The truth taunted her, eating away at her self-confidence as she re-arranged her front window displays and moved on to unpack the new shipment of merchandise stacked near the main counter. She sliced open the first box, pulled aside several layers of bubble wrap and unearthed the metallic dresses she’d ordered at the last trunk show in Austin.
Not that she cared. It wasn’t about being sexy enough for Dillon. It was about appealing to the rest of the male population of Skull Creek. She could care less if Dillon would rather boink his way through the current Hot Chicks list than keep his word to his oldest and dearest friend.
She fought down a wave of self-pity and pulled a low-cut silver number from the box. She held the dress up against her and eyeballed her reflection in the mirrored wall behind the cash register.
Not bad, but somehow, it wasn’t as great as she remembered.
A few seconds later, she peeled off her clothes in a nearby dressing room and let the material slither over her head. A few tugs and pulls and…there. She walked back out to the front and stared at her reflection.
That was more like it.
The hem hit her mid-thigh, the silver fabric molding to her legs and waist. The neckline was a plunging halter that accented her cleavage and outlined her full breasts. Everything about it screamed Hello? Hot female here.
Which was why she’d ordered it in the first place.
Why she ordered every item in her store.
It was all about embracing her womanhood. Reveling in it.
She eyed her reflection again. Mission accomplished. She couldn’t look any more feminine.
Yet here she was. All alone.
“It’s not about the dress.”
At the sound of Dillon’s deep voice, Meg’s head snapped up. She saw him standing on the other side of the glass door.
He wore jeans and a plain white T-shirt. The soft cotton molded to his broad shoulders, the
sleeves falling just shy of the slave band tattoos that encircled both biceps. His green eyes gleamed with an intensity that screamed hold on to your panties.
She had the fleeting thought that no way could she have heard his voice so clearly and distinctly with a wall of thick glass between them. But then he grinned and her heart kick-started, and all thought faded in a rush of desire so intense it made her legs tremble.
He motioned her to unlock the door.
She fought down the urge to strip naked, haul open the door and do a full body tackle. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she took one step forward, then another. Calm. Controlled. Still, her heart beat a frantic rhythm. Just as her hands touched the key to throw the dead bolt, a wave of anxiety went through her, followed by a bolt of pure, unadulterated lust. Her breath caught. She hesitated and sent up a fervent prayer for divine intervention.
As hot and bothered as she was—and at nothing more than a glance—she knew she was going to need all the help she could get.
9
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Meg asked, pulling open the door.
“Our first lesson.” Dillon’s gaze collided with hers. “Don’t tell me you forgot about it?”
“I thought you were the one who forgot. It’s half past nine.”
“I had a few things to do first.” He indicated the brown grocery sacks that filled his muscular arms. “But I’m here now.” He winked. “Armed and ready.”
Her tummy fluttered with excitement. “You’re really good.”
“How’s that?”
“You’ve got the flirting down perfect.” She shook her head. “But you don’t have to do it with me.” Please. “I don’t need an actual demonstration. I just need to know how you do it.”
His teasing grin faded into a serious expression. His green gaze brightened. “Then let’s get to it.”
“What’s all this?” she asked as he deposited both sacks onto the counter near her cash register.
“A few things—” he rummaged inside one of the bags and pulled out a small jar of cherries “—to whet your appetite.”
“I’m not really hungry.”
He grinned and gave her a smoldering look. “Not yet.”
She fought down a wave of excitement as she watched him unpack. A can of whipped cream, a small box of chocolates, a six pack of individual pudding snacks, three different pints of ice cream, a can of diet soda, a bottle of sweet tea, some orange juice and a large slush. “You’ve been to the Quickie Mart out on the highway.”
“The Piggly Wiggly had already closed and it was the only place open this late.” He set the bags behind the register and shoved a large, tanned hand into his pocket to unearth a red, white and blue bandana. His gaze collided with hers and his eyes gleamed a bright, vivid blue—
She blinked. Just like that, the color faded into a rich emerald green. Had she just imagined the strange color?
Duh. Of course you imagined it. He has green eyes, not blue. He’s always had green eyes.
“School’s in session,” he said, his deep voice killing any more speculation as he circled and came up behind her. The hard wall of his chest kissed her shoulder blades. She caught a quick glimpse of them in the mirror behind the counter and her stomach hollowed out at the provocative picture they made. He looked so large and powerful and intense. And she looked so…hungry.
The realization struck as she noted her glittering eyes and parted lips, the way her body fairly trembled in anticipation.
Of course, she was trembling. She’d been waiting for this for a long, long time.
Since the ninth grade.
His heavily muscled arms grazed her bare shoulders, distracting her from the ridiculous thought. He settled the bandana over her eyes and blotted out the truth staring back at her. “I want you to forget everything else and focus on what I’m going to put into your mouth.”
“And how is this going to help me convince the rest of the town that I’m sexy?”
“Being sexy isn’t about what clothes you’re wearing or what kind of sheets you have.” His deep, husky voice reminded her of last night’s dream and she felt her cheeks heat. “It’s about being sensuous.” Strong fingers brushed her temple, her cheekbone as he adjusted the bandana. “This little exercise is going to get you in touch with your sense of taste. After that, we’ll move on to the other senses—touch, smell, sight, sound.”
With her vision gone, her others senses became sharper in that next instant. Her nostrils flared with the aroma of warm, hunky male. Her skin prickled from the heat of his hands burning into her arms as he led her to the far edge of the rectangular countertop. He turned her until her back was to the end of the counter and then his hands went to her upper thighs.
When the realization hit, panic bolted through her, followed by an avalanche of excitement. Her breathing quickened. Her pulse pounded.
“What are you doing?” she blurted as he gripped the back of her thighs and lifted her.
“Making things more convenient.”
She quickly found herself perched on the end of the long, rectangular countertop, the groceries spread out the length behind her. She could feel the coldness of one of the ice cream cartons seep through the thin material covering her right buttock. A freezing contrast to the heat of the male hands that slid down the outside of her upper legs, over her knees to the tender skin inside. He urged her legs apart and wedged himself between them. Worn denim grazed her inner thighs and awareness rushed through her. Her ears tingled at the deep, husky murmur of his voice.
“There. Now we’ve got plenty of room. You can lie back if you want.”
Yeah, baby.
The notion rushed through her head and she stiffened. He was too close, too overwhelming and with her eyes covered, she experienced a rush of vulnerability she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Suddenly, she was back in high school, her insides tingling in anticipation of her first actual kiss.
A kiss that had been the worst of her entire life.
“I’d rather sit.” She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position where they weren’t actually touching. “You know, I really don’t see why you can’t just give me a copy of your online research,” she said, eager to put some distance between them and kill the intimacy. She went for the blindfold. “I’m really better at studying than any actual hands-on training.” Strong, warm hands caught hers before she could pull the material free.
“That’s the point, isn’t it? To get you out of your comfort zone? Obviously what you’re doing isn’t working. We need to try something new.” He urged her hands back down to her sides. “Stop fighting and work with me, Meg. Otherwise, I’m going to think you like sitting home every Saturday night.”
“I don’t sit home every Saturday night. I go out once in a while.” She swallowed. “Just not with hot guys.”
His warm rumble of laughter slid into her eardrums. “This will change that. If you give it a chance.” Before she could reply, she felt the press of something hard against her lips. “Now stop fighting and open up.”
The scent of chocolate filled her nostrils and her stomach gave a traitorous grumble.
“The object of this exercise is for you to guess what I’m feeding you,” he continued. “Focus on the flavor and texture.” His voice, so rich and deep, stirred her even more than the sugary sweet decadence. “Take your time to savor every mouthful. Then tell me what you think.”
And what you want.
The deep command echoed in her head, as if he’d whispered the words right into her ear.
He hadn’t.
She hadn’t felt the rush of his breath against her temple, the graze of his lips. Nothing. Just the crazy feeling that he’d somehow, someway, invaded her thoughts.
Wariness wiggled up her spine and she had the sudden urge to hop off the counter and make a run for it. But then her stomach grumbled again and her mouth seemed to open of its own accord.
She sank her teeth into the sweet confection he fed her and f
ocused on the burst of flavor rather than the urge to drag her tongue across the tip of his finger and taste him instead.
“Let’s see…” she said, savoring the delicious mouthful.
Chocolate melted on her tongue, stirring her nerves into a euphoric buzz. She chewed and did her best to ignore the massive man who loomed in front of her. So close she could touch him if she leaned forward just so…
If.
She balled her fists and tried to concentrate on the specific flavors overwhelming her taste buds. His large hands settled on the tops of her thighs as he waited and awareness prickled her skin. Her stomach quivered as she swallowed. “It’s, um—” she licked her lips and tried to differentiate the different flavors that lingered in her mouth and made it tingle “—milk chocolate with a darker, more rich chocolate inside. Fudge,” she blurted, as the realization hit. “It’s milk chocolate with a fudge center. I’d say…a truffle from that box of chocolates?”
“You might be a quick study, after all.”
She smiled, but the expression died when she felt the cool pressure of something at the corner of her mouth. His fingers moved and the thing he was holding slid across her bottom lip, teasing and tantalizing, until she forgot all about talking and opened her mouth.
A few seconds later, she bit down on a ripe, succulent piece of fruit. Juice spurted, drenching the inside of her mouth and trickling from the corner. “Cherry,” she said, as she tried to catch the drop with her tongue.
“Bingo.” The word was deep and husky. If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn she felt the soft flutter of his lips at the corner of her mouth, the soft flick of his tongue—
The thought shattered as she snatched the blindfold down to find him looming in front of her, his face several inches away, his gaze hooked on her face.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I just thought…” That you were going to kiss me. She shook her head. “Nothing. I just got a little claustrophobic.”
“Since when are you claustrophobic?”
Since the hottest guy in town walked into her boutique, hiked her up onto the far end of the counter, stepped between her legs and started mucking up her common sense.
Drop Dead Gorgeous Page 9
