Love at First Bite Bundle

by Kimberly Raye

  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 smiling 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 te
nder 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?”

  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 ord
ered 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.