Love at First Bite Bundle

by Kimberly Raye

  Hunger gripped him, twisting at his insides, shaking his already tentative control. He fought against the sensation and fixed his attention on her eyes. He could see the victory that pulsed through her.

  The anticipation.

  The hell, yeah.

  “I think you’re getting it, sugar,” he said, his voice deep and raspy and raw. He slid his button back into place, planted a quick, rough kiss against her full lips, then turned on his heel and walked away.

  Because no way was Dillon blowing his one chance to prove to himself that he wasn’t the geek that everybody thought. He’d waited too long and battled too many doubts.

  The next move was Meg’s.

  10

  SHE COULDN’T MOVE A muscle.

  Meg came to that conclusion as she stared up at the ceiling, her body still tingling from Dillon’s delicious mouth. Even more, she didn’t want to move. She wanted to lie there, to remember the feeling of his hands and his lips on her body. To bask in the tiny convulsions still clenching and unclenching inside of her. To revel in the knowledge that her dry spell had ended.

  Sort of.

  Reality struck and she tried to summon her disappointment that they hadn’t actually had sex.

  She should be upset.

  She wasn’t. Rather, she felt content.

  And relieved.

  As worked up as she’d been, she hadn’t reached for him or pulled him close. She’d resisted the temptation and let him make all the moves.

  Including that first kiss.

  She swept her tongue over her bottom lip and tasted the wild ripeness of his mouth. A hungry spurt of desire went through her, followed by a burst of excitement.

  He’d kissed her. A quick press of his lips that had been brief and to-the-point, and a hundred—no, make that a million—times better than the first.

  Because he was different now. Bold. Confident. Sensual. Sexy.

  And she was one lesson closer to following in his footsteps.

  A smile curved her lips as she slid from the counter, retrieved her undies, and turned to clean up the mess they’d made. More than once, she caught herself tasting the leftovers, savoring them before she bagged them back up.

  Sweet chocolate melted on her tongue.

  Light, frothy whipped cream filled her mouth.

  Fruity slush slithered down her throat.

  The different tastes were highly stirring. The various textures extremely erotic.

  By the time she’d put away the last of the supplies, her entire body felt alive. Aroused.

  She shoved the bags into a nearby trash can and turned. Her gaze snagged on her reflection in the mirror and her breath caught.

  This time she didn’t notice the sexy cut of the metallic dress, but the woman beneath it. Her eyes appeared heavy-lidded, her cheeks flushed, her lips slick and red from the slush. She looked as if she’d just rolled out of bed after a night of wild lovemaking.

  She looked desirable. Sexy.

  Even more, she felt that way.

  It was a feeling that stayed with her as she closed up shop and headed home to bed.

  She didn’t stop off for a quick Twinkie fix. She didn’t bother putting on a pink nightshirt or a slinky nightie or even a skimpy thong.

  For the first time, Meg Sweeney peeled off her clothes and crawled between the sheets wearing nothing but her own skin.

  DILLON STARED AT THE woman behind the bar and noted the sway of her hips as she walked the few steps to the cooler, the way she positioned herself so that she could give him a bird’s-eye view of her ample cleavage when she leaned down and reached for a chilled beer mug.

  Her breasts jiggled and swayed as she set the mug on the counter and gripped the draft handle. Gold liquid streamed into the frosted glass and she licked her lips. Her nipples pressed decadently against the thin cotton of her tank top, Grady’s Bar & Grill emblazoned across the front.

  Either she was extremely thirsty and close to bursting at the thought of sucking down a cold one, or she wanted to suck something altogether different. One glimpse into her eyes—her thoughts—settled the controversy.

  Libby Sue Wentmore. Early twenties. Bartending was just a way to pay the rent until she got her big break at the American Idol auditions and made it to Hollywood. From there it was a straight shot to the big time—from making the actual show and the final two, to a recording contract and an appearance at MTV’s VMA awards, to her very own quarterback boyfriend. But she had her sights set on the hunk running the ball for the Packers rather than the Cowboys. Puh-lease. Everybody knew Green Bay kicked royal ass.

  And speaking of ass…

  She was more than willing to hand hers over to him.

  “Here you go.” She set the ice-cold draft down in front of him and gave him her most provocative smile. “Good for what ails you.”

  “Thanks.” He lifted the mug and touched it to his lips.

  Her gaze riveted on the motion and she licked her own lips.

  “Is this your first time at Grady’s?” she asked after he’d taken a long pull on the beer. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

  “First time.” Dillon had driven over to Oyster Creek, a small town about a half hour north, on purpose. He’d been too worked up to go back to the bike shop. And much too hungry. He’d needed a woman.

  One who wouldn’t remind him of Meg, or Skull Creek, or the all-important fact that he still hadn’t managed to break Bobby’s record.

  “I’m not from around here,” he added.

  “A tall, hunky stranger.” She smiled again. “I like.” Her expression faded into a look of pure hunger. “I get off in fifteen minutes. I could show you around if you’re interested.”

  He tipped his mug toward her and took a long swig. “I’ll meet you out back.”

  He spent the next ten minutes finishing his beer before he tossed several bills onto the counter and pushed to his feet. He cast one quick, hungry glance at the bartender who looked ready to hop up on the counter and take him on right there. She winked and he could practically feel her pulse beating against his lips, her lifeblood gushing into his mouth.

  His groin tightened and his stomach grumbled and he turned just as one of the waitresses approached him.

  “Hold up, buddy. This is yours.” She held out a fresh beer.

  “Sorry, but I didn’t order another.”

  “Someone did.” She pointed to the far end of the bar at a now vacant barstool. “That’s funny. She was there just a second ago. Oh, well.” She shrugged. “Enjoy.”

  He might have if he hadn’t had the distinct feeling that something wasn’t right. He felt it in the tightening of his chest and the tensing of his muscles. He drank in the faces that surrounded him and a barrage of thoughts rushed at him. He picked through fact after fact, searching for…

  He wasn’t sure. Something out of the ordinary maybe.

  Or someone.

  Most likely a groupie. At the same time, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility of a vampire hunter. By blogging, he’d opened himself up to both.

  He stiffened as a wave of anxiety washed through him. Followed by a burst of sheer desperation. Because as much as he knew it had to be one of the two, he couldn’t shake the gut feeling that it was neither.

  That whoever—whatever—was after him had something to do with the Ancient One himself.

  “Let’s get out of here.” The bartender came up beside him. “Maybe pick up a pizza and head back to my place.” She winked. “I’m starving.”

  The music and chaos seemed to fade, along with his speculation. Her pulse echoed a steady ka-thunk, ka-thunk in his head. His gut tightened and his gaze fixed on the smooth column of her throat. “You just read my mind, sugar.”

  “IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU showed up.” Garret Sawyer sat at the kitchen table, a laptop open in front of him. He looked like a classic biker tonight with a black bandana tied around his head, a black Harley Davidson T-shirt and worn jeans. His feet were bare, his
boots discarded a few feet away. “You’re pushing it, don’t you think?” He glanced at his watch. His arms flexed and bulged, accenting the telltale tattoos that encircled his biceps. “It’s fifteen minutes until sunup.”

  “Plenty of time.” Dillon collapsed in the chair directly across from Garret’s.

  “If you’ve got a hankering to deep fry your ass.” Garret’s attention shifted back to the laptop. He hit a few more keys before closing the lid and eyeballing Dillon. “You look like hell.”

  Garret had just fed.

  Dillon could tell by the fierce gleam in the vampire’s eyes, the flush of his cheeks and the sweet, sharp scent of blood that still clung to him.

  His own stomach grumbled. “Thanks for the compliment.”

  Silence stretched between them as Garret continued to stare. “Have you been feeding?” he finally asked.

  “I fed tonight.”

  “I’m talking blood, not sex.” His eyes gleamed with a knowing light. “You’re young. You need both right now.”

  Dillon knew that, which was why he’d taken the bartender back to her place. He could still see the tempting picture she’d made standing in the small living room, her eyes bright and determined and hungry.

  She pulled her tank top over her head and bared her breasts. “Give it to me, baby,” she said as she stepped toward him.

  “Why don’t you give it to me?” he countered as she pressed her body against his.

  Her gaze collided with his and just like that, she knew what he wanted. Not consciously. But deep down she knew what he really wanted from her. What he needed.

  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.”

  “Tru
e.” 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 coffee 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.