She swept her hair aside and tilted her neck, offering him the sustenance he so desperately sought.
His groin tightened and his stomach clenched and he leaned forward…
And then he’d stopped.
Shit.
“You have to feed.” Garret pushed to his feet and walked over to the refrigerator. He hauled open the door and retrieved a dark red plastic bag. He tossed it on the table. “You can’t live on this stuff.” The “stuff” referred to a limited supply of bagged blood Garret had managed to get his hands on when he’d paid a visit to an ex-girlfriend who worked a local blood bank. “It serves a purpose in a pinch—when you’re trying to lay low or curb the hunger when it threatens to rage out of control—but it isn’t a permanent fix.” He snagged a beer from the fridge and picked up his laptop. “You’d do well to get used to what you are for now and just do it.”
Dillon nodded. Not that he had a problem embracing his need for blood. He had no problems sinking his fangs into a warm, willing woman. It was just that he didn’t want to. Not unless the warm, willing woman happened to be Meg.
Double shit.
“Don’t fall for anyone,” Garret told him. “I know Jake is hooked on Nikki, but he’s the exception to the rule. The only exception. For the rest of us, it just doesn’t work.”
“It’s not about a woman.” It wasn’t. He wasn’t hung up on Meg herself, but what she stood for. She was the ultimate challenge and bedding her meant blazing a new trail as the town’s studliest guy. End of story.
“Nikki told me about the woman.”
Dillon nodded. “Jake thinks it’s a groupie or a vampire hunter.”
“More than likely.”
“And the not so likely?”
“It’s not worth considering,” Garret said, but his expression wasn’t half as convincing as his voice. “Just feed.” He motioned to the bag. “Either way, you’re going to need your strength.” He turned and started for the hallway leading to the cellar.
“You feel it, don’t you?”
Garret stalled in the doorway and turned. His body hummed with tension. “Feel what?”
“I don’t know.” Dillon shrugged. “It’s like an awareness. Like something’s close. Watching.” His gaze collided with Garret’s. “Maybe the Ancient One isn’t as far away as we think. Maybe my blog is working and instead of locating him, he’s located us.”
“We should be so lucky.” Garret shook his head. “I would know if he was here. Vampires can sense other vampires. You sense me, don’t you? And Jake?”
Dillon nodded. Their presence was a constant in his mind. He could feel their power as distinctly as he could feel his own.
“It’s instinctive and fierce,” Garret went on. “Not subtle.” He shook his head. “I’m sure whatever’s bugging you is nothing.” Even as he said the words, Dillon could tell Garret didn’t believe it half as much as he wanted to. “I’m installing a security system here at the house. If she’s a vampire hunter, she’ll come after us during the day when we’re most vulnerable. I don’t think she’s clued in to our location yet, otherwise she wouldn’t still be asking so many questions.”
“And if she’s not a vampire hunter?”
Garret winked. “Then we can both stop worrying and have a good time.”
Easier said than done.
The notion stayed with Dillon as he downed the blood and headed for the cellar. He kicked off his boots and stretched out on the bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
But he didn’t see the cedar beams crisscrossing the Sheetrock. He saw Meg spread out on the countertop, her body lush and inviting and damn near irresistible.
He tasted her, too, the ripe taste of wild, forbidden fruit still potent on his lips.
He smelled her—the faint scent of strawberries and chocolate and warm woman.
He heard her—the frantic beat of her heart and the long moan when she’d come apart against his mouth.
He even felt her—her sweet, round ass warming his palms, her frantic fingers tugging at his hair.
Deep in his gut, he knew he couldn’t begin to drink from any other woman until he finished what he’d started with Meg. Until he seduced her to the point of no return, shattered Bobby’s record and proved himself once and for all.
The sooner, the better.
“LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE’S been having ultra hot sex,” Terry said when she walked in the back door of the boutique the next morning.
Meg stood near a rack pulling dresses for her first appointment. When Terry smiled and gave her a knowing look, a rush of heat swept from her toes to the roots of her hair.
“Dillon and I did not do the nasty.”
Not yet.
Meg ignored her body’s traitorous whisper and pulled an orchid chiffon dress from the mix. “Last night was strictly business,” she went on. “I’m still flying solo in the orgasm department.”
“Not you.” Terry tossed her purse on a nearby shelf and headed for the small fridge that sat in the far corner. “I’m talking about me.” She pulled a bottled yogurt from inside and popped the top. “Hank dropped by last night. One minute we were arguing over who was supposed to get the Tim McGraw CDs and the next, we were doing it on my kitchen table.”
Meg’s hand stalled just shy of a navy blue sheath. “But you hate Hank.”
Terry shrugged. “An ex is like a large order of French fries. You know it’s bad for you, but sometimes you just have to have one.” She looked doubtful as she took a sip of her yogurt. “But it was just a one-night stand. It’s not like we’re moving in together and I’m back to binge eating Ben & Jerry’s. I so can’t do refined sugar anymore. Besides, I think Hank’s an asshole. And he still thinks I’m a bitch.” She smiled. “Which I am.” She shook her head. “No, it was just a one-time thing. It’s still over between us.”
“Let’s hope Hank thinks so,” Meg added.
A frown pinched between Terry’s eyebrows. “He knows.” Her expression eased. “I like it.” She indicated the rose colored taffeta Meg had just pulled from the rack. “Honey will go nuts.”
“You bet she will.” Meg ignored her own doubts about the Hank issue and let the woman change the subject. Meg wasn’t exactly the voice of experience when it came to men. “These are the dresses she picked out of the magazines I gave her. Narrowing it down from this bunch should be no problem.”
“True.” Terry nodded. “But I’ll get the wine just in case.”
HONEY HATED THE DRESSES.
Which meant that two hours later, Meg was ready to pull her hair out and Elise had consumed an entire bottle of Chardonnay. The woman was now paying homage to the porcelain god in Meg’s backroom while Honey played Astroturf Warriors on her hand-held Sony PSP.
“We need something to settle her stomach,” Terry announced after checking on Elise for the tenth time. “Maybe I should head over to the grocery store.”
“And leave me here to deal with Honey?” As if on cue, Honey let out a long string of cuss words with a few illegal tackles and slow running backs thrown into the mix. A moan from the restroom punctuated the tirade.
“You’re the boss,” Terry told Meg, “which means you take the bulk of responsibility when it comes to this place. Meaning, you get to wash Miss Filth’s mouth out with soap and you get to wash the puke out of her mother’s hair.”
“Being the boss means I get to delegate that responsibility as I see fit. And I definitely see you staying here while I head to the Piggly Wiggly.”
“Bitch.”
“Happy washing.” Meg grinned and grabbed her purse. “I’ll get Honey to look through the latest magazines and pick out something else. That should keep her quiet while I’m gone. Try giving Elise some coffee in the meantime. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
“I really don’t feel comfortable feeding someone something that’s so addictive.”
“If you’d rather take her home with you and let her sleep it off, be my guest.”
“A little c
offee never hurt anyone.”
Five minutes later, Meg walked into the nearby grocery store. She picked up three different types of antacids and had just handed everything over to the cashier when she heard the deep voice behind her.
“I owe you big-time.”
She handed over a twenty before turning to find Colt Grainger standing behind her. He wore black slacks, a white button-up dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and a big smile.
“Really? How’s that?”
“I went with your pick for the play-off game and won a hundred bucks.” He set a pack of disposable razors on the counter and reached for his wallet.
“Good for you.” Meg ignored a rush of disappointment as she took the change the clerk handed her and stuffed it into her purse.
“You’ve really got an eye for sports.” He handed over his money for the razors.
“Thanks.” She grabbed her bag and started for the door.
“No, I mean it.” He waved for the cashier to keep the change, snatched up his purchase and hurried after her. “Wait.” He caught her hand just as she reached the sliding double doors. “I want to talk to you.”
“The Spurs,” she blurted, noting the curious stares of several cashiers and old Mr. Wickerby who was busy paying for a gallon of buttermilk. “The Spurs have the strongest turnover record and they throw more three-pointers than anyone else in the NBA. Both of those factors are weak for the other team.”
“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“It’s not?”
“No. I mean, I guess it was, but then I saw you and you look…” His voice trailed off as he gave her a once-over. “Did you change your hair?”
She touched the blond locks, which she’d been wearing loose and long since senior year. “I washed it, but I do that every morning.”
Another once-over. “You must be wearing different make-up.”
“Just my usual pink passion lip gloss and sunrise blush.”
“A new outfit?”
“They’re all new to you,” she reminded him. “We just met a few days ago.”
He grinned, the expression fading as he studied her again. “I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something different from the last time I saw you. You look…I don’t know.” He shook his head. “You just look really good, that’s all.”
Really sexy.
The truth whispered through her head and her heart gave a tiny kick. “Thanks.”
“What do you say you and I go out Saturday night? I’d really like to take you to dinner. Maybe dancing.”
“Really? Like a date?”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
A rush of happiness went through her. It was far from “I have to lay you down and make made passionate love to you right now, or I’ll go berserk,” but it was a start.
She reveled in the feeling for a few seconds before she shook her head. “Actually, I already have plans.” Dillon was basing his lessons on the five senses. One down, which meant she still had four to go before she would be ready to put her newly learned sensuality to the test. It was already Thursday and even if she and Dillon met every night, they still wouldn’t be finished in time. “What about next Friday?”
Hope flared in his gaze and he grinned. “That would work.” He gave her another thorough once-over. “Are you sure you didn’t so something different?”
She shook her head. “Just the same old, same old.”
On the outside, but the inside…
Her mind rushed back to last night. She felt the slick glide of the cherry along her lips, tasted the burst of flavor, and her stomach hollowed out.
“It’s really good seeing you again,” he said, his voice deeper and his eyes brighter, as if he read the thoughts racing through her mind.
He didn’t. At the same time, he saw the way such thoughts made her feel. He saw the woman she’d become rather than the tomboy she’d once been.
Thanks to Dillon.
“Next Friday,” she said.
“Next Friday it is.” He winked.
Meg waited for her stomach to pitch the way it did when Dillon winked at her.
The only thing she felt was a burst of satisfaction. The lessons were working! And she had the date to prove it.
Now if she could just hold it together and control herself for the last four lessons, she would be home free. Forget just asking her out. Colt Grainger, as well as every other available man in Skull Creek, would be falling all over her. She would be a shoe-in for Tilly’s new list.
In the meantime…
Dillon’s image pushed into her head and she remembered the way he’d looked the moment before he’d kissed her—his body taut, his face dark with passion, his eyes so deep and green and mesmerizing.
Not that she’d been the least bit mesmerized. She’d held her own last night and resisted temptation, and she would do the same tonight.
She was not jumping his bones and begging him to have sex with her.
No matter how much she suddenly wanted to.
SHE WOULD BE ALL OVER him tonight.
Guaranteed.
That’s what Dillon told himself when he arrived at the boutique an hour after sunset. He’d hadn’t even bothered to stop off at Skull Creek Choppers. Rather, he’d rolled out of bed, taken a shower, spent a half hour learning the ins and outs of Garret’s new security system—complete with video surveillance and several different alarm codes—and then he’d headed straight here.
“Get your purse and let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and led her around the counter.
“But I’ve got some outfits to show you.” She motioned to several boxes that sat stacked near the counter. “I had a few things overnighted—some shirts and jeans, a sports coat. Stuff you might look good in.”
“Later. I want to show you something.”
“I’ve seen it,” she said when he pulled out the blindfold.
He grinned. “Not this.” He folded the material and came up behind her to tie it into place.
“How can I see anything when my eyes are covered?”
“Sugar, you can see everything. Your mind will paint a clear picture based on the information it receives from your other senses.”
“So sayeth the man without the blindfold.”
“Just trust your instincts,” he murmured.
Hair as soft as silk brushed his fingertips as he secured it at the back of her head. Before he could stop, he threaded his fingers through her hair and let the strands tease his palms. He leaned down and took a deep breath. The scent of strawberries filled his head and sent an echoing throb to his groin. His hand grazed the skin at the nape of her neck and her breath caught.
The sound, so soft and nearly discernable, vibrated in his eardrums and mesmerized him for a long moment. He tamped down on the lustful thoughts that swamped his senses and drew a deep, steadying breath. Not that he actually needed it, but he was still a new vampire and it was a habit he’d yet to break.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he took her hand and led her out to the curb where his bike was parked.
“You tell me.” He helped her straddle the powerful machine, then turned to retrieve an extra helmet. “That’s tonight’s test. Based on what you hear and smell and feel, I want you to tell me where we’re at.”
She smiled. “We’re standing in front of my shop.”
“Not now, smart ass.” He barely ignored the urge to capture her full lips and kiss her like he’d done last night. But slow this time. And thorough. “Once we get there.” His fingertips brushed the underside of her chin and he felt the frantic thump of her pulse. A shudder ripped through him and his hands actually trembled.
Crazy. He was a vampire in complete and total control.
A hungry vampire who’d yet to feed on anything other than the bagged blood back at Garret’s place.
He needed a real woman.
A warm woman.
This woman.
“Let
’s go.” He straddled the bike in front of her in the hope that having her out of eyesight would ease the throbbing inside of him. It didn’t. Her arms snaked around his waist. Her full breasts pressed against his shoulder blades. Her pelvis cradled his ass and her slender thighs framed his, and it was all he could do to turn the key on the bike and crank the friggin’ engine.
As for driving…Thankfully, he didn’t have to have steady hands for that.
He could let his mind take control and guide them.
Once they hit the back roads and headed outside of town, he did just that. He fixed his gaze on the moonlit road ahead and sent out the silent commands to the mass of metal beneath him.
Pick up the pace and get there already.
The engine roared and the bike gained speed. The tires ate up the dirt road at a furious pace, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. While he still rested his hands on the handlebars, he wasn’t the least bit concerned with steering.
No, the hands he kept in place to keep from touching her.
There would be plenty of time for that once they reached their destination.
11
“I’M REALLY NOT DRESSED for this,” she yelled above the rush of wind.
Meg’s skirt slid higher up her thighs, her crotch nestled firmly against Dillon’s butt. The only thing between them was the thin cotton of her thong and his jeans, and it wasn’t nearly enough at the frantic pace they were moving.
Not with the bumps and lurches and ahhhhhh…
His denim-clad butt rubbed deliciously between her legs and the sudden friction caused an avalanche of heat that doused her and cut off her oxygen supply for several long seconds. Pleasure speared her and she barely caught a moan before it sailed past her lips.
“What was that, sugar?”
“Nothing.” It was bad enough she was getting turned on with little effort on his part. He was driving, for Pete’s sake. Not paying her the least bit of attention. No flirty comments or smoldering looks or purposeful touches.
She blew out a deep breath. Jesus, she might as well just jump him right now.
Squelching the notion, she scooted as far back as she could on the seat and concentrated on keeping a scant inch between them. There. That was much better.
Drop Dead Gorgeous Page 11
