“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.”
“Is that what this is about, Honey Harwell?”
The familiar voice filled the room and Meg turned toward the curtained doorway to see Elise standing there.
“You’re acting like a mule because you want my attention?”
“Hardly.” Honey tossed the dress back at Meg. “The last thing I need is you hounding me.”
It was the last thing she needed, and the one thing she desperately wanted.
Meg knew it and, thankfully, so did Elise.
The woman took one look at her daughter, grabbed the dress and thrust it at the young girl. “Put it on.”
“I already hate it.”
“Then we’ll try on more until we find one that you don’t hate. And we’ll keep trying if we have to spend every single day here from now until prom.” She smiled at her daughter. “That, or you could take this one and we could head over to the diner for a couple of diet sodas.”
“Without Katy or Ellen or Marjorie or Sue?”
“Just us.”
Excitement fueled the young girl’s gaze as she motioned to dress number eight. “I’ll take this one. And those gold shoes and the earrings I saw in the front window. And that necklace in the front case.”
One problem solved. One to go.
Meg promised Elise to have everything boxed up and delivered tomorrow, then bid the mother and daughter goodnight. She was just about to lock the front door and see what she could do about tackling problem number two when she spied the black motorcycle still parked at the curb.
Hope flared, only to die a quick death when she walked outside. Fear slithered up her spine a split second before she heard the grumble of an engine. She turned toward her left in time to see a car pull out of the driveway behind the storefront next to hers. The Buick crept onto Main Street and headed North, away from her.
A strange sense of déjà vu swept over her and her mind rushed back to the parking lot at The Roundup. She saw the familiar blue paint and tinted windows.
Her hands and feet started to tingle and she knew then that something was desperately wrong.
Even before she heard Dillon’s desperate voice.
Get help.
But she didn’t have time. Despite the car’s slow, steady pace, it was already near the main intersection of town. Once it turned onto the highway, it would pick up speed and be God knows where by the time she called Jake and Garret. While she had no doubt they would find him, they might not make it before…
The thought trailed off and fear rushed through her. Time sucked her back, paralyzing her for a brief moment.
The worst day of her life.
Not this time. Not if she could help it.
“Call Nikki Braxton,” Meg told Terry as she rushed inside and snatched up her keys.
“What for?”
“Tell her Dillon’s in trouble and he’s headed for the interstate.”
“Dillon? Dillon Cash? But he was just here.”
“You saw him?”
“Yes.” She seemed to think and the lightbulb that had clicked on in her head dulled. “I guess not. Where are you going?” Her voice followed Meg as she rushed back out the door.
“To help Dillon.”
I’m coming. She sent the silent thought, climbed into her car and took off after the Buick.
MEG’S VOICE WHISPERED through his head, coaxing him from the smothering blackness that held him immobile.
They hit a bump and his body bounced, shaking him from the lethargy and jerking him back to reality. To the vinyl seat beneath him and the duct tape binding his wrists and ankles, and the voices coming from the front seat.
“Can’t you drive any faster?” a woman’s voice asked.
“You want me to get stopped?” The question was deep and inexplicably male. “There are state troopers up and down this road. The last thing we need to do is get pulled over with a body in our backseat.”
“A vampire,” the other voice corrected. “There’s a big difference. You saw for yourself last night.”
“Yeah, well I still ain’t one-hundred-percent convinced, and I won’t be until I’m holding one of those fangs in my hand. Until then, I’m taking this as if we were in the middle of a bona fide kidnapping. Any kidnapper worth his salt knows you don’t speed when you got someone hog-tied in your backseat.”
“So don’t speed. But you can at least go the friggin’ speed limit, can’t you? That damned dart will wear off before we even get back to the motel at this rate.”
But it was already wearing off, thanks to last night, Meg’s sweet blood, and the voice that whispered through his head.
Hold on, she chanted. Just…hold…on…There. I see them.
Panic bolted through him. The last thing, the very last thing he wanted was for Meg to catch up to them while he was tied up and defenseless. She would wind up in the backseat next to him, at the mercy of whoever sat in the front seat.
He fought against the numbness and willed his hands to move. His fingers flexed and tightened. The tape snapped as easily as toilet paper.
“I hope you’re right about this,” the man muttered. “If we go to all this trouble and all we get is a couple hundred dollars, I’m going to be pissed.”
“Just hush up. That grilled cheese sandwich with the Jesus image went for eight thousand dollars on eBay. You think a real vampire fang won’t go for at least ten?”
“If it’s real.”
“It’s real, already. You saw yourself last night at that honky tonk. Didn’t I tell you?” the woman muttered. “I told you even before we headed down here. This guy’s a vampire, all right. I knew it when I first saw the blog. I told you then, didn’t I? The stuff he mentioned…Well, you just can’t make shit like that up.”
The words sank in and the truth dawned. Dillon knew then that he hadn’t drawn the attention of vampire hunters, or even the Ancient One.
Not yet, that is.
No, he’d drawn a couple of crazies who wanted to auction off his fangs on eBay.
As ridiculous as it was, he couldn’t deny the pain piercing the side of his neck where they’d shot him with another tranquilizer dart. To render him unconscious so they could take him to some seedy motel, tie him to a bed, rip out his fangs and make their fortune on the damned Internet.
Like hell.
He summoned his muscles to cooperate and eased up just enough to peer over the seat. His gaze dropped to the tranquilizer gun sitting on the cracked vinyl between them, right next to a pistol and a giant-size set of pliers.
Make that dangerous crazies.
“Holy shit,” the driver muttered and swerved.
Dillon hit the seat and hissed as a wave of pain swamped him.
He fought against the heat that needled him and focused on the voices.
“What’s wrong?” The woman demanded.
“There’s a car following us.”
She shot a nervous glance over her shoulder. “Okay, fine, but don’t put us in the nearest ditch. Just stay calm.” She twisted back around and motioned to the right. “Pull over.”
“But someone’s on to us.”
“And we need to take care of it. Now pull over.”
The car started to slow and the pain eased enough for Dillon to focus.
A few bumps and they pulled off onto the shoulder.
Headlights blazed in the rearview mirror as Meg skidded to a stop behind them. She scrambled from behind the wheel.
Metal clicked as the woman fed bullets into the gun and cocked the trigger.
“Dillon!” Meg’s frantic voice filled the air at the same time that Dillon reached over the seat and snatched the gun from the woman’s hand.
“What the—” The question faded into a loud crack as the gun exploded.
The windshield shattered. The man and woman took one look at him and screamed. They scrambled from the front seat, rushed past Meg and headed for the surrounding trees.
Dillon had half a mind to go over him, but then he caught the distant rumble of motorcycles and he knew the cavalry was on its way. Jake and Garret would find the crazies soon enough and dissuade them from ever again pulling such a stunt.
Right now, Dillon had more important things to tend to.
“You’re okay,” Meg breathed as he climbed from the backseat and stared down at her. Her hands went to his face in a quick search-and-discovery mission before he could even answer.
He caught her hand and held it over his heart. “That depends on who’s asking?” She gave him a puzzled look and he added, “If it’s my friend, I’m fine. All parts present and accounted for. If it’s my lover…” He let his voice trail off as he studied her face, searching for the truth, praying with all his heart that she didn’t block him out this time.
He needed to know in the worst way.
As if she sensed his desperation, she stared up at him, meeting his gaze. Her eyes gleamed, shining with a love so fierce that it hit him like a sucker punch to the gut and he knew.
Deep in his heart, he knew.
“You were right,” she said. “I was scared. I still am, but I’m willing to face that fear if it means being with you.” She swallowed. “I love you, Dillon. I always have.”
“Even when I couldn’t kiss worth a crap?”
“Even then. I just didn’t realize it.” She read the doubt that still niggled at him and her hand touched his cheek. “You have to trust me just like I have to trust you.”
He held her hand to his cheek. “I do. I love you.”
“Even when I couldn’t kiss worth a crap?”
When he hesitated, she gave him a playful punch. He caught her in his arms and drew her close. “Even then,” he assured her. “I know the future seems uncertain, but everything will work out.”
Drop Dead Gorgeous Page 20
