“Maybe. But if you’re going to do something, you might as well do it right. Namely, if you want to make a complete transformation, it means looking the part right down to your skivvies.” She arched an eyebrow. “You still doing the Spider-man boxers?”
“Not since the third grade.” Her dad had gone out of town and she’d slept over at his house. She’d worn an oversize Green Bay Packers T-shirt that night, while he’d been in his webbed boxers and a plain white T-shirt. She’d brought her army men and a flashlight, and they’d snuck into his closet after bedtime and played until dawn. While she’d looked and acted like one of the boys back then, she’d smelled a hundred times better. He could still remember the scent of her strawberry shampoo.
His nostrils flared. Beneath the perfume and hair products, he caught a whiff of the familiar scent.
“Whites?” she persisted. “Solids?”
“Neither.” He inhaled again and electricity spiraled straight to his groin. He fought against the hunger and focused on giving her another grin. “I’m in commando mode.”
“Oh.” Her gaze shifted nervously and he knew she was racing to think of something else to say to distract herself from the sudden mental image he’d stirred. She shrugged. “Okay, so you don’t really need any advice when it comes to undergarments. But these jeans…” She shook her head and wrinkled her nose.
“There’s nothing wrong with them.”
“They’re from last year’s bargain bin at the Shop-’til-you-drop, aren’t they?”
“So?”
“So you need a pair that are a little more updated, not to mention a shirt to go with them. An outfit that says cool, classy, sexy, which I can certainly provide.” She leveled a blazing blue stare at him and made her proposition. “You educate me in the finer points of being a convincing sex object, and I’ll help you find a look that does your new image some justice.”
He seriously doubted she could come up with anything that could do more for his sex appeal than the vamp blood flowing through his veins, but the thought of letting her try definitely snagged his attention.
Resisting him during a brief run-in like this might be easy. But no way could she hold back if they spent more than five minutes together. The thought struck and suddenly he knew exactly what he needed to do—seduce Meg Sweeney to the point that she stopped holding back and offered herself to him like the countless other females in Skull Creek.
Not only would he break Bobby’s record, but he would disprove beyond a doubt what he’d started to suspect—that he was, indeed, as geeky as everyone thought.
Tempting a woman determined not to be tempted would be the ultimate proof, not to mention he’d spent a lot of years wishing he could go back and re-do that first horrific kiss.
His memory stirred and he saw the disappointment in her eyes, the reluctance to try it again.
The image fueled his determination and he gave her his most seductive smile. “You’ve got yourself a deal, darlin’.”
DARLIN’? SINCE WHEN DID Dillon Cash use the term darlin’?
Since he’s morphed into a megalicious stud-muffin who makes you want to rip off your panties and do the happy dance all over him.
Not that she would.
She was through taking the lead. She wanted a man to want her so badly that he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. A man who would gladly rip off his boxers and do the happy dance all over her.
Holding tight to her resolve, she drew a deep breath and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as she walked back toward the motel lobby.
She could feel his gaze on her and awareness zipped through her. Her nipples pebbled and she became painfully aware of the way the lace cups of her bra rubbed back and forth with the slight swinging motion of her arms. Her blue jean skirt tugged and pulled and her thighs actually trembled.
Thanks to Dillon and his suddenly overwhelming sex appeal.
As tempting as he was, she couldn’t deny her good fortune. She’d definitely found the key to her future success. Once they started lessons—
Her thoughts slammed to a halt. She’d been so anxious to escape her traitorous thoughts that she hadn’t proposed a time and date for their first session.
“What about tomorrow morning—” she said, but the words died as she turned and found the walkway empty.
June bugs bumped against the single bulb that lit the concrete path. Her gaze traveled back to the spot where he’d stood and she eyed the closed door.
No rustle of denim as he’d turned. No creak of metal as he’d opened the door.…No thud as the door had shut behind him. Nothing.
One minute, she’d felt his gaze and the next…poof. He’d disappeared.
Right.
She ignored the strange tingling that worked its way up her spine. He wasn’t actually gone. He was inside and she’d obviously been too wound up in her thoughts and her body’s traitorous response to notice the details.
Grasping at the explanation, she fought down the notion that something wasn’t quite right and turned back toward the lobby.
She would give him a call in the morning and set up a meeting. Maybe midmorning. While she didn’t have any men’s clothes in her shop, she could take his measurements and then do some online shopping later. He would tell her what books he’d been reading, give her some pointers, and then they could head over to Uncle Buck’s for a makeup lunch.
Thanks to her lustful thoughts and her desperate attempt for a diversion, she had a sudden craving for double pepperoni that even a dozen pleasure bites couldn’t touch.
A craving that haunted her for the next hour as she turned in her homework, finished her class and headed home. A craving that drove her straight to her kitchen in search of satisfaction, aka junk food.
In massive quantities if possible.
Since it was the end of the week and she hadn’t yet made it to the grocery store, she quickly ruled out massive and settled for Babe’s three remaining Twinkies. She also snatched up what was left of a bottle of wine she’d received from one of her customers the Christmas before last.
Bottle in one hand and sponge cake in the other, she headed upstairs and tried not to think about Dillon and whether or not he’d improved in the kissing department.
Obviously, he had. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have every woman in town falling all over him.
Most of the women in town, that is.
They were just friends, she told herself as she peeled off her clothes and crawled into bed.
Just like she saw the real Dillon, he saw the real Meg. The one who hadn’t managed to cancel her subscription to Sports Illustrated. The one who still tossed around a baseball in the back-yard every now and then when she was sure her neighbors weren’t looking.
Which explained why he’d done little more than flirt with her tonight. Not that she’d wanted him to do more.
It was the principle that mattered.
Obviously, like everyone else in town, he just couldn’t see the Hot Chick that Meg had become.
Not yet.
Not ever a voice whispered. One she quickly ignored as she devoured two of the three cakes, downed a long sip of wine and snuggled under the sheets.
If Dillon could convince an entire town full of people he’d known since birth, so could she. Even more, she could be convincing enough to get herself into Tilly’s top ten.
All she had to do was buckle down, learn everything she could from Dillon, and not jump his bones in the process.
No problem. Manhandler Meg was ancient history.
At least that’s what she told herself.
5
SHE NEEDED HIM TO SEX her up.
Even more, she wanted him to sex her up.
Dillon sat in the small office that housed the administrative portion—aka a desk, a file cabinet and a state-of-the-art computer system—of Skull Creek Choppers and tried to push Meg and her proposition completely out of his head.
The truth echoed through his head, tighteni
ng his groin and stirring the damned need that twisted his gut. He fought against the sensations and tried to focus. He had work to do. He was smack-dab in the middle of developing custom-design software for a new line of choppers being introduced in the Fall.
He’d spent the past hour since leaving the motel hard at work on the templates that would be the starter point for each bike. At the moment, Jake and Garret were working from a sketch only, crafting the cycles from the ground up and dealing with problems as they arose during the building process. The computer program Dillon was developing would simplify everything and allow them to foresee any structural and/or mechanical problems before they encountered them. They would be able to enter in the measurements and must-haves for each bike. The computer would process the information and put together a cyber model, pinpointing errors and “fixing” them before any actual fabrication. Dillon was just days away from putting the final touches on the program, which meant he didn’t need a distraction right now.
He stared at a particular line of code, but instead of seeing the sequence of numbers and letters, he saw Meg, her lips so full and kissable, her blue eyes filled with determination.
A sliver of excitement went through him, followed by a wave of disbelief. He still couldn’t grasp the fact that she’d asked for his help. Thanks to his ability to read minds, he now knew she never asked a man for anything.
Never demanded or pushed or manhandled.
Not anymore.
She’d sworn off any and all aggressive behavior when it came to sex. She wanted a man to lust after her. She wanted to feel desirable and sexy and confident that her own transformation—from pudgy tomboy to curvaceous woman—had been successful.
Deep down, she wasn’t so sure.
He’d seen the truth in her gaze, the way he saw everything else about her—she was up to her neck in mortgage payments on her dream house, she had a dog addicted to Twinkies, she loved her job even if it did mean being cooped up most of the day and, thanks to the upcoming prom season, she was certain she would double her profits this year.
Yes, he saw it all. Her hopes. Her dreams. Her fears—the biggest being that she was doomed to a lifetime of being Manhandler Meg, regardless of how much she tried to change things.
Which was why she’d asked for help. She needed him.
Him, of all people.
The sudden burst of skepticism made him all the more confident in his own decision. He would help her, all right, and teach her his “secret.”
Not that he was going to sink his fangs into her sweet neck and bring her over to the dark side, not when he had zero intention of staying there himself. He would never do that. He wasn’t sure he even could. He was still learning the ropes from Garret and that wasn’t something the older vampire had ever addressed.
But while he wouldn’t turn her, he would teach her what he’d learned about seduction since his own turning.
One of the key factors that made vamps such sensual creatures was that they were fine-tuned to everything. They saw things more vividly, smelled them more intensely. They were aware of even the smallest sound, the briefest touch. While Meg’s senses weren’t supercharged like his, she still had them. If she learned to tap into them more, to use them, trust them, he had no doubt it would boost her sex appeal tenfold.
Enough to make her irresistible to every man in town.
The notion stirred a rush of jealousy. Understandable, of course. They were friends. It only made sense that he would feel protective of her. That, and he felt even more aroused than usual because she wasn’t throwing herself at him like every other woman he met. She knew the real Dillon, which made her all the more determined not to sleep with him. Which made him all the more determined to sleep with her.
Thanks to free will, humans were much more powerful than they realized. While a vampire could, indeed, mesmerize and hypnotize, such supernatural persuasion meant a hill of beans if the subject wasn’t willing.
Most women wanted to be swept away by passion. Deep down, they longed to experience wild, earth-shattering sex with a charismatic stranger, and so they were wide-open and vulnerable to his seduction.
Meg wasn’t much different from every woman in that respect, and that was the problem in a nutshell. Dillon wasn’t a stranger and so the last thing, the very last thing she wanted was wild, earth-shattering sex with him.
If he could seduce her to the point that she saw past the geek he used to be and embraced the hunk he’d become, he would know deep down inside that he truly had been acting all these years. That he wasn’t a loser when it came to women.
That he wasn’t a loser, period.
Seducing her would be the ultimate validation.
Excitement rippled through him. The scent of her strawberry shampoo spiraled through his head and hunger gnawed in his gut. His mouth watered and his muscles tightened and it was all he could do to keep his ass in the chair.
He had to get a grip and take things slowly. One lesson at a time. Until she reached the point of no return. It might take a day. It might take a week. But eventually she would offer herself to him. Of that he felt certain.
In the meantime, it was business as usual.
He spent another fifteen minutes working on the code before closing the design screen and moving on to his second order of business—keeping his promise to Jake and Garret.
He stared through the wall of windows that separated the office from the fabrication shop. Jake McCann stood near a large metal table that held the skeleton of what would soon be the next custom chopper to roll through the doors of the motorcycle shop. Unlike most of the bikes they’d been doing, this one wasn’t headed for a specific individual. Rather, it was a spec model being sent up north to advertise Skull Creek Choppers to the rest of the country. Jake took a few measurements before walking back over to another table that held a sheet of metal that would soon be the gas tank. He reached for a special tool and started tracing out the measurements.
Like most every other man in the small Texas town, Jake wore cowboy boots, jeans, a faded Resistol and an easygoing grin. But unlike most every other man in town, Jake was the real deal. A bona fide cowboy who’d been turned back in the eighteen hundreds. He’d spent his human life and a good chunk of his afterlife riding and working horses for a living. In the past decade or so, he’d traded in his horse for a hog. He was now one of the best cut-and-design guys in the chopper business. He was also deeply in love with Nikki Braxton, owner of the town’s most popular beauty salon. Nikki was nice and beautiful and still very human. And she was staying that way as far as Jake was concerned.
As long as there was hope of finding and destroying Garret’s sire.
Dillon’s gaze shifted to the second man clad in jeans, a white T-shirt with a skull and cross bones on the front, and biker boots. He stood in the far corner near a large welding unit. He had a red, white and blue bandana tied around his head, a worn straw Resistol perched on top, and a pair of goggles secured over his eyes. Gloved hands reached for a long strip of metal. He powered on the ARC Unit and worked at the piece, firing and shaping until it started to resemble a rear fender.
Despite the hat, Garret wasn’t anywhere close to a real cowboy. When he’d been turned back in the seventeen hundreds, he’d been a Texas patriot. A bona fide hero, and one of the founding fathers of Skull Creek. Not that anyone in town knew his identity. No, they thought he was just another leather-clad biker who’d invaded their small town to set up a manufacturing shop for his business. He liked fast motorcycles and even faster women, and he’d become somewhat of a role model for Dillon. The older vampire had been teaching him about his new vampness, showing him the ropes and outlining the vampire equivalent of the Ten Commandments.
Number one? No entering a home unless invited by the host. Public buildings were fair game, from the Piggly Wiggly to the local VFW Hall, but no personal dwellings unless specifically asked.
Number two—no direct sunlight.
Number three—no s
harp objects, including knives, stakes and giant toothpicks like the ones used over at the Pig in the Poke Barbecue Joint.
Number four—no Italian restaurants. The old legend about garlic warding off vampires had turned out to be true. While it couldn’t kill one of Dillon’s kind, it could cause a lot of pain.
Number five—no solid food.
Number six—no changing eye colors. A vampire tended to reflect his emotions with his eyes and so they changed color frequently depending on his mood. Most vampires could control this. Since Dillon was young (in vamp years), he wasn’t able to leash his feelings as easily as his older vamp buddies, but he was learning.
Number seven—no changing into a bat. Such a change took its toll and made the vampire weak and vulnerable. Which meant it was usually avoided.
Number eight—no indulging in blood and sex at the same time. Unless he wanted to tie himself to one woman for the rest of eternity. Talk about a snowball’s chance in hell. Dillon had waited too long to unleash the wildness inside. He wasn’t screwing things up by landing himself in a permanent relationship.
Number nine—no spending more than one night with any one woman. The more sex a vampire had with a woman, the more she wanted him. The last thing any vampire needed was a Fatal Attraction chasing him all over town.
Which led to number ten—keeping a low profile. A vampire’s survival hinged on blending in with mainstream society, laying low and playing it cool.
Hence Garret’s cowboy hat. The vamp was now living in a small Texas town, and When in Rome, as the saying went.
While Garret taught the importance of blending and urged Dillon to accept what he’d become, the vampire didn’t seem all that content in his own skin.
Rather, he seemed restless.
Anxious.
Hungry.
But not for sex and blood. No, Garret wanted what Jake wanted—his humanity.
Dillon turned his attention back to the computer and clicked on his Internet Explorer. A few seconds later, he logged in at MeetVamps.com and scrolled down the screen to the first comment posted on his page yesterday.
Love at First Bite Bundle Page 23