Because no way was Dillon falling in love with her.
His life—or lack of—was way too complicated as it was. The last thing he needed was to muck it up with a relationship that didn’t stand a chance in hell, heaven or the in-between.
13
MEG LISTENED AS THE rumble of Dillon’s motorcycle faded in the distance. She barely resisted the urge to rush to the French doors and catch one last glimpse of him.
Instead, she slid her hand to the indentation he’d made next to her. The warmth seeped into her fingers and his lingering scent teased her nostrils.
“I want you.”
His admission echoed in her head, but it did little to curb the disappointment creeping through her.
Because she’d given in first.
That’s what she told herself. No way would she even consider the alternative—that she missed Dillon. That she felt more for him than mutual respect or friendship or simple like.
Ditto for all three, but nothing more. She certainly hadn’t fallen for him.
Not even a little.
She’d been tired and upset and horny, and the three had made for a dangerous combination. Of course, she’d gone a little nuts. The guy was hot, sexy, irresistible, and so she’d caved.
But no more. She’d had enough sex to last her another six months and she was no longer terrified that she might lose Babe. A little sleep, and she would have her wits about her.
Tomorrow morning, she would wake up and get back in the game. Back to searching for a way to beef up her sex appeal and make Tilly’s coveted list.
Without Dillon Cash.
She couldn’t continue their lessons even if he wanted to—and she had her doubts considering the fact that he’d left without so much as a see ya. While she hadn’t fallen for him yet, she wasn’t going to take any chances.
It would be too easy.
And too heartbreaking.
Despite his admission, she knew he didn’t feel the same I-have-to-have-you-right-now-or-I’ll-die passion that she felt for him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to hold back for so long. No, he’d teased and taunted the past few days and she had no doubt that, had she not made the first move, tonight would have ended like all the others—sexless and frustrating.
Regret washed through her and she stiffened. She pushed to her feet. A delicious ache spiraled through her along with several vivid, very graphic memories of the past hour. Her hands trembled and her legs shook and heat chased up and down her skin.
Yep, tomorrow she was back on the wagon.
As for tonight…
She headed for the bathroom and an ice-cold shower.
“LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE didn’t get much sleep last night,” Terry remarked when Meg walked into work fifteen minutes late the next morning.
It was the same comment she’d heard from Doris Milligan when she’d stopped at the coffee shop for a double cappuccino with a shot of espresso. And from old Mr. Parker when she’d stopped at the Quick Stop for a copy of the latest In Style.
It was as if the entire world could tell with one glance that she’d had wild and crazy sex last night with Mr. Wild & Crazy himself.
“It wasn’t anything serious,” she blurted, telling Terry the same thing she’d been telling herself since Dillon had walked away last night. “We’re just friends.”
“I wasn’t talking about you. I’m talking about me again.” The woman hefted an armload of dresses to a nearby rack. “I swear I didn’t get so much as a solid ten minutes.” She reached for the protein drink sitting on a nearby table and took a long swig. “And I’m definitely feeling it this morning.”
Meg set her purse on the shelf near a stack of Brighton leather belts and headed for the cluster of boxes to help Terry unpack. “Anyone I know?”
The woman shook her head. “Hank.”
“Don’t tell me you slept with him again?”
“I didn’t sleep with him.” She shook her head. “But he wants me to. He called all night long, first while I was trying to work out on my elliptical trainer. Then while I was on the treadmill. Then during my favorite Move Those Buns DVD. Then while I was scarfing down a double cheese and sausage pizza.”
“You don’t scarf pizza. You don’t scarf anything.”
“I do after eighteen phone calls from Hank.”
“Eighteen?” Meg noted the worried glimmer in Terry’s brown eyes and suddenly her own troubles didn’t seem all that terrible. “Maybe you should call Sheriff Matthews.”
“And tell him what? That I slept with my ex and now he wants a repeat?” She shook her head. “Hank’s just lonely, that’s all. Since we broke up, he hasn’t had a relationship that’s lasted over two months.”
“Because he’s a jerk.”
“True.”
“A jerk who’s harassing you.” Meg reached for a box cutter. “You should call the sheriff.”
“He just wants to talk. He hasn’t threatened or yelled, or done anything.”
Yet.
The silent word hung between them for several long moments before Terry finally shook her head.
“I know Hank. He’ll give it up eventually. He always does.” She summoned a smile. “I swear the man couldn’t stay focused long enough to hold a job or give me a decent orgasm. He’ll move on to something else.” She waved a hand. “In the meantime, I just have to hold tight and keep from encouraging him.”
“And try not to gain thirty pounds in the process.”
“You aren’t kidding.” She pinched at her waist before turning her attention to the boxes. She sliced open one box while Meg tackled another. A few seconds later, she unearthed a black sports jacket and let loose a low whistle. “Since when do we carry anything like this?”
“I’ve had a few requests for men’s clothes, so I thought I’d have a some samples on hand just in case anyone is interested.” Meg shrugged and ignored the sudden ache between her legs. “It’s all in the name of good business.”
“And here I thought it was all in the name of Dillon Cash.”
Meg’s head snapped up. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Meg. The entire town knows that you and Dillon are seeing each other. Margie Culpepper’s daughter Dana saw you two out riding around last night. And Camille Harlingen’s grandmother was out walking her dog and saw you two here at the boutique the night before that.” Terry gave her a knowing look. “Either you guys are seeing each other, or Grandma Harlingen’s doing more with that cooking sherry than making pot roast.”
Meg’s mind rifled back through the past hour. She’d had a ton of knowing looks while she’d been in line for her coffee. And even more at the Quick Stop.
Because they know.
Her hands trembled as she searched for her most nonchalant voice. “What, um, exactly did she see?”
“Enough to have you halfway down the aisle because you’re carrying his baby.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Terry shrugged. “You’re a woman and he’s a man. You were in the same room together and, if Grandma Harlingen’s bifocals are still the right prescription, you were minus your undies.”
“That still doesn’t mean we had sex.” Not here.
“Maybe not, though I can’t for the life of me imagine that you would go undieless and not jump Dillon Cash.” She waved a hand. “But even if you didn’t, Mabel’s told everyone you’re the reincarnation of Jezebel, so you might as well have.”
“Who exactly did she tell?”
“Her Bunko group at the senior center. And you know that’s as good as telling every person in this town.” Terry grinned. “Looks like I might have some competition for next week’s list.”
Hope fired inside of Meg, dispelling her sudden embarrassment. “You really think so?”
“One more date with Dillon and I’m old news.”
Terry’s words were like a rush of wind and just like that, the hope died. “I wouldn’t write a goodbye speech just yet.” At the woman’s q
uestioning look, Meg added, “I’m not seeing him again.”
Terry arched an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”
That good.
Meg could still remember the feel of his skin beneath hers, his hands roaming her body, his hips pumping furiously, his penis plunging deep. Her cheeks heated. “I wouldn’t exactly say he was bad. It just wasn’t what I expected.” It was more, which meant she couldn’t—wouldn’t—go out with Dillon again, not even for the sake of Tilly’s list.
She tamped down a rush of disappointment and tried to focus on the positive. The lessons, however few, had obviously worked. She’d finally reached Jezebel status.
The trick now was to figure out a way to keep it, at least for the next week until Tilly announced her new list.
Her mind raced and rifled through dozens of possibilities as she turned her attention to unpacking merchandise. She’d just pulled a pair of Gucci silver slingbacks from a mound of tissue paper when genius seemed to strike.
If being seen with the town’s hottest guy had upped her sex factor that much, then being seen with another guy—not as yowza as Dillon when it came to sex appeal, but still a respectable wow—might solidify it.
The notion struck and she almost pushed it back out. The sudden thought of being with a good-looking man, touching him, kissing him, didn’t stir the same excitement that it usually did.
Because of Dillon.
He wasn’t just a hot guy. He was a double whammy—a hot guy and her friend, and last night she’d realized just how dangerous to her control such a combination could be.
Still, she’d come too far to give up now.
She reached for the phone and dialed the local real estate office. “Colt Grainger, please,” she said when the receptionist picked up.
“This is Meg,” she said when she heard his deep “Yes?” “I’d rather not wait until next Saturday. Why don’t we see each other tonight?”
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN two months, Dillon Cash was alone on a Friday night.
He sat at the bar, a bottle of beer in front of him, a lively two-step number bouncing off the walls around him. The Roundup was one of about a half-dozen honky tonks that lined the interstate between Skull Creek and Junction.
The perfect place to pick up a warm, willing woman.
All he had to do was scope out the sea of hot bodies that filled the dance floor and pick whichever one caught his fancy. A blond bombshell with a nice ass or a brunette with big breasts or a redhead with long legs.
The trouble was, he’d already slept with most everyone in the place, and so he’d settled for a beer.
He took a deep swig of Coors, but the liquid didn’t ease the tightening in his gut or sate the thirst that clawed at his throat. He needed to feed, to drink in enough sweet, rich blood to fortify him on top of the heavy dose of sex he’d had last night.
Then he could think again.
Concentrate.
He had a ton of things on his plate right now—the handlebars he’d started last night on the new chopper, his blog, the background checks on his list of possible Joes. Which meant he should give it up, head for a spot farther down the interstate where there were sure to be a few new faces, and get busy.
He knew it, but damned if he could make himself move. Instead, he downed another swig of beer and wished with all his heart that he could punch something.
His gaze fixed on the woman currently two-stepping her way across the dance floor with another man.
His woman.
She wore a brown leather vest that didn’t have anything underneath it except skin, and a pair of tight, stonewashed jeans. Add a pair of high heeled cowboy boots, her jeans stuffed inside, and Meg Sweeney was definitely the hottest thing on two legs.
But her appeal went deeper than the clothes. Her long, blond hair was slightly mussed and flowed down around her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled. Her skin glowed. She looked as if she’d just rolled out of bed after a night of incredible sex.
Which wouldn’t have been a problem if she’d been with the man responsible for said night.
Dillon downed another gulp and barely resisted the urge to haul ass across the room and inform her that she was making a fool of herself.
Why, she was hanging all over the guy.
Her arms looped around his neck. A smile tilted her full lips as she drank in his every word. She slid this way and that, her boots kicking up sawdust as she danced and had the time of her life.
She looked happy, vibrant, and completely oblivious to Dillon.
Not that he cared. Hell, no. Last night had been his final challenge and he’d proved himself. She’d been all over him, and she was now history.
End of story.
Bye-bye.
Sexually, that is. They were still friends. Hell, he’d sat at the vet half the friggin’ night for her and he’d even dropped by her place on the way to The Roundup just to see if Babe was feeling better. Meg hadn’t been home, of course, and so she hadn’t known he’d sat for a full fifteen minutes, talking and petting the animal who’d toddled out her doggie door to see him until he’d felt certain the dog was on her way to a full recovery. Still. He was thoughtful and considerate and, basically, a great friend. The least she could do was look at him.
And if she doesn’t know you’re here?
That thought bothered him even more than the notion that she just didn’t want to acknowledge him.
They’d slept together, for Christ’s sake. He could still feel her hot, tight body pulsing around him. He could hear the soft breaths that sawed past her lips and the excited beat of her heart. He could smell the intoxicating aroma of warm, sweet woman. Her memory haunted him.
She, on the other hand, wasn’t sparing him a second thought. Otherwise she would have looked as bad as he felt.
So much for leaving a lasting impression.
No, he was the one left with the impressions and damned if he’d had a moment’s peace since he’d walked away from her. There’d been no consuming sleep that day. No smothering blackness to rejuvenate him. Instead, he’d tossed and turned and mentally kicked his own ass for leaving so abruptly.
He should have written a note or said goodbye or something.
But the something he’d had in mind had involved a lot more kissing and touching and so he’d gotten the hell out of there.
No seconds.
Garret had warned him and Dillon knew what would happen should he violate the rules. He’d barely made it out without biting her last night. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself the next time. He would sink his fangs in as easily as he sank his cock deep, and the damage would be done.
They would be forever linked.
Like Jake and Nikki.
A pang of envy shot through him. One he quickly ignored by downing the rest of his beer. He wasn’t Jake. When the cowboy reclaimed his humanity, he would still be the ultra-cool guy he was now and Nikki would still be in love with him.
But Dillon…
He would go back to his life before and he already knew that Meg didn’t find that guy the least bit attractive. As for her falling in love with him…That was an even bigger long shot than Roxy Thompson agreeing to dance with Herman Tremaine.
Dillon’s gaze shifted to the short man picking his way through a maze of tables toward a tall, leggy brunette wearing a miniskirt and tube top.
Herman was six years younger and while Dillon didn’t know the man personally, he knew he’d been president of the chess club and the captain of the chemistry team, and he’d gone to the state spelling bee championships both his junior and senior year, an accomplishment that no one other than Dillon, himself, could claim. Meanwhile, Roxy had been homecoming queen and dance squad commander. She’d since gone on to pose in three different Hooters calendars and had done a recent commercial for the local Piggly Wiggly. She’d also made eight out of the last ten Hot Chicks list.
Dillon’s ears prickled. The music and laughter faded as he tuned into Herman’s trembling voice.
/> “Hi, Roxy.”
“Hey,” she murmured. Her forehead wrinkled. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Herman. We went to grade school together. And junior high. And high school. We work together.” When she didn’t look anymore clued in, he added, “At the bank.”
“You’re a teller, too?”
“A loan officer.”
“Oh.”
“I, um, was thinking maybe we could, you know, dance or something. If you want,” he rushed on. “We don’t have to. It’s just a thought. But since the music’s pretty good and you’re not dancing with anyone and I’m not dancing with anyone, I figure we could dance with each other. That is, if you want.”
“Sorry, Harry. My feet are really hurting.”
“It’s Herman.”
“That’s what I meant.” She touched her temples. “And I’ve got this splitting headache, too,” she added before turning to her friends and putting her back to him.
“Okay.” He shifted nervously. “Um, well, I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow then.” He turned and her soft voice followed, “Not if I see you first.”
Talk about a crash and burn. One that hit much too close to home. Dillon had dealt with the same rejection for most of his life, and he had no doubt he would deal with it again.
It was just a matter of time.
All the more reason to push last night completely out of his head and get his ass out of here.
His gut tightened and his stomach grumbled.
He was hungry.
That was the only reason he was thinking such crazy thoughts, like how Jake and Nikki seemed so happy and how he might—if he tried really hard—be able to explain things to his parents in a way that wouldn’t send his mother to an early grave. And how maybe, just maybe, he might forget all about finding the Ancient One, and he and Meg might forge their own bond.
Too late, a voice whispered. That same voice that had played at the back of his head all evening, reminding him of the strange woman who’d been asking around town about him.
Love at First Bite Bundle Page 33