Love at First Bite Bundle

by Kimberly Raye

  “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 c
ould 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.

  Except when they swayed, she slid from one side to the other. The leather rubbed against the backs of her thighs and she couldn’t help but remember Dillon’s hands gliding along her bare skin, cupping her bottom and pulling her closer—

  Stop, already.

  She stiffened and let the stinging wind whip some sense into her.

  You don’t want to have sex. You don’t want to have sex. You don’t want to have sex.

  She recited the silent mantra and managed to distract herself all of five seconds before they veered to the right. The motorcycle hit a rut and jumped. She jerked on the seat, slid forward and just like that, she raced right back into the land of temptation.

  She caught her bottom lip against a fierce burst of pleasure. She tangled her fingers in the soft cotton of his T-shirt, eager to keep her hands anchored in place at his waist. The last thing she needed was for him to know exactly how turned on she was.

  While he’d made a few moves, he hadn’t made the move—no whipping off his clothes and having sex with her. Which meant he didn’t find her completely and totally irresistible.

  Still, he had to be a little turned on, right?

  She couldn’t help but wonder. A curiosity that could be easily satisfied with a little southward gravitation of her hands. A few inches lower. A few strokes here. A few strokes there.

  You don’t want to have sex, remember? You don’t want to have sex. You don’t want to have sex. You don’t.

  Another bump and her body jumped. Her hands slipped. Her fingers grazed his crotch—accidentally, of course—and his spine went ramrod straight.

  He was turned on, all right, and there was nothing little about it.

  The knowledge stirred a burst of satisfaction that she wasn’t alone in her desperation. At the same time, it made her that much more aware that she wasn’t alone in her desperation.

  Dillon wanted her, all right.

  But enough to make the first move?

  She felt the tautness of his muscled abs through the thin cotton of his shirt. Her nostrils flared and the scent of him—denim and fresh air and a wildness that stirred something deep and primal inside of her—slid into her head and skimmed across her senses. Stirring and rousing.

  Another bump and she rubbed deliciously against him. Once. Twice.

  By the time they skidded to a stop, Meg’s entire body buzzed with awareness.

  She hoped Dillon felt the same, but then he climbed from the bike and killed their connection, and she wasn’t so sure. Even more, his voice was as smooth, as controlled as always and her hopes plummeted.

  “We’re here.” He took both her hands, his fingers burning into her as he helped her get her footing. “Any ideas where we’re at?”

  She had ideas, all right.

  Unfortunately, none involved their location.

  She tried to ignore the way her nipples rubbed against her bra with each breath she took. Her legs trembled and her thighs ached, and none of it had to do with the ride they’d just taken. No, she couldn’t help but anticipate the ride ahead.

  Dillon over her, between her legs, his hands trailing over her body—

  “Are you okay?” His deep voice shattered the image, pulling her back to the present, to the man standing in front of her and the distinct possibility that he didn’t find her half as exciting as she found him.

  Duh. You already know that. Last night was proof. Just give it up and focus on learning as much as possible. This isn’t about Dillon. It’s about wowing Colt Grainger, and every other available man in town.

  It was, she told herself, ignoring a ripple of disappointment.

  “Meg?” Dillon’s voice pushed into her thoughts.

  “Fine,” she finally managed. “I’m great.”

  “Good. Come on.” He led her several feet, the deep, husky timber of his voice guiding and coaxing, until they finally stopped and he let go of her.

  “Any ideas?” he asked after several long moments.

  “None that are G-rated.” The words were out before she could think better of them.

  A warm chuckle sizzled along her nerve endings and she felt the powerful presence in front of her. “X-rated thoughts mean you’re in tune with your body, which is definitely good.” The presence shifted, and suddenly she felt him next to her. “Listen to your surroundings.” He continued to circle, his voice suddenly behind her. “Drink in the different scents.” She heard him on her left this time. “Feel.” He’d made a complete circle to stand in front of her again. “And tell me where you’re at.”

  “I guess this means we’re doing three lessons all at once. Which is good,” she rushed on, dodging another niggle of disappointment. “Tilly announces her new list in a little over a week, which doesn’t give me much time. So the quicker we get this over with, the better.” Really. She drew a deep breath and braced herself.

  She ignored the urge to reach out and set her mind to the task at hand. Her ears prickled and her nostrils flared and she concentrated on tuning in to her surroundings rather than the man who stood so close.

  Too close.

  The seconds ticked by. “Let’s talk sounds,” he finally said. “What do you hear?”

  “Nothing, really.” Just the steady thud of his boots on the soft earth as he circled her, the brush of denim against denim with each step, the soft in and out of his breaths.

  “What about smell? You have to smell something.”

  “I can’t actually distinguish anything.” Except the detergent from his freshly laundered T-shirt, the faint whiff of aftershave. The sharp scent of desire carried on the breeze, circling her, surrounding her, along with the man himself.

  “What do you feel?”

  You.

  The truth vibrated through her, pushing and pulling at her already tentative control. The sensations assaulted her again—the deep timbre of his voice, the raw, stirring scent of his body, the awareness that he stood right next to her, in front of her, surrounding her.

  Her fingers itched and her nipples ached and she wanted to reach out more than she wanted her next breath.

  “Come on, sugar,” Dillon pressed. “Tell me.”

  “I…” She licked her lips.
“I—I don’t have a clue.” She shook her head. “This just isn’t working.” She reached for the blindfold, but he stepped up behind her and caught her hands before she could pull the material from her eyes.

  “Easy.” The word rumbled in her ears as he checked the blindfold, his fingertips lingering at her temples, feathering over her cheeks, down the smooth column of her throat. “You’re too wound up.” The pad of one finger lingered at her pulse beat. “You need to relax.” He drew a lazy circle against the area. “Think about something else.”

  His touch, so soft and rousing, played over her neck, her collarbone, and she felt some of her tension slip away. He seemed to feel it, too, and he kept going, trailing his fingertips over her shoulders. He massaged and stroked, working his way down her arms.

  She barely kept from groaning. “You’ve got really good hands.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet.” He kneaded her palms for several long moments before his touch drifted back up, softer this time, mesmerizing as he teased the insides of her wrists, her elbows, her biceps. Finally, his hands circled her waist. “Tell me about your first sexual encounter.”

  She became acutely aware of the fingers that splayed against her rib cage. A burst of panic went through her, a bubble that quickly popped and fizzled, the steady touch lulling her as much as the hypnotic stroking a moment ago. “Do I have to?”

  A warm chuckle vibrated the air around them. “That bad, huh?”

  “Aren’t all first times?”

  He stiffened. “Our first kiss was pretty awful.”

  “Awful doesn’t even begin to describe it. Try rotten. Horrible. Disastrous.”

  “Don’t be shy, sugar. Tell me what you really think.” He said the words jokingly, but they were laced with a hurt that reached out and tugged at something inside of her.

  “The second kiss was much better,” she heard herself say. “You’ve definitely mastered the art.”

  “So have you. You have great lips. Soft. Full.” Kissable.

  The last comment slid into her ears and whispered through her head. Warmth crept through her and she felt herself relax even more.

  “So,” he went on. “On a scale of one to ten—” he sounded only mildly interested, but she could feel the expectancy that gripped his body “—how would you rate last night?”