Love at First Bite Bundle

by Kimberly Raye

  She barely resisted the urge to turn and reassure herself that he was okay.

  He would be. She’d made sure of that tonight. She’d given him what he needed—her body and her blood—and that was more than enough to strengthen him against whatever he might face.

  A vampire hunter. The Ancient One. A few rays of sunlight.

  They were friends, she reminded herself, and then she stepped out into the morning sunlight, pulled out her cell phone and called Nikki for a ride home.

  HE’D BEEN WRONG ABOUT her.

  Dillon paced the floor in his room and ignored the exhaustion that tugged at his muscles. It was daylight and he needed to sleep. To rejuvenate.

  Christ, he’d been wrong. So fucking wrong.

  The truth crystallized as he stared at the tell-tale stain on his sheets from where he’d bitten her. His nostrils flared and his mouth watered. He could still taste her. Even more, he could feel her. The anguish that ate away at her. The uncertainty as she paced the front porch upstairs and waited for Nikki. The fear as she thought about going back inside to see him just one more time.

  They were linked now and as much as that should have bothered him, it didn’t.

  He loved her. He always had, even way back when he’d been too young and naive to know it. And later when he’d been too damned uncertain to act on it.

  And she loved him.

  Man or vampire or both?

  He didn’t know, and he never would because he refused to take a chance.

  That’s why he’d convinced himself that her attraction wasn’t to him, but to the sexy beast he’d become. Because deep down, beneath the confidence and charisma that came with being a vampire, he was still the same man. The same boy who’d acted on a whim so long ago and had ended up in the hospital.

  He’d been scared to death ever since.

  He’d blamed his parents for being overprotective and paranoid. But in reality, he’d been just as bad. Afraid to take chances, to live for the moment, to live, period.

  Sure, he’d been burning the candle at both ends for the past two months, enough to break Bobby’s record and go down in the history books, but that was different. Being a vampire reduced the risk. He knew no man could best him physically. And no woman could refuse him sexually.

  No woman, that is, until Meg.

  She’d held out at first and surprised the hell out of him.

  He realized then that she wasn’t just any woman.

  She was every woman.

  And she loved him even if she didn’t want to admit it.

  Right now, a voice whispered, taunting him as he collapsed on the bed and gave in to the darkness tugging and pulling at his senses. At this moment. But later when things go back to normal?

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  He didn’t know. He only knew that it was a chance he was suddenly willing to take rather than face the thought of losing her completely.

  For a lifetime.

  Forever.

  “LOOKS LIKE SOMEBODY HAD a busy night,” Terry remarked when Meg walked into the boutique several hours later, after a half-hour ride back to town with Nikki and more than one knowing glance.

  The woman hadn’t said much when she’d dropped Meg off at home to check on Babe except “Don’t worry. Everything will be okay.”

  The only trouble was, Meg couldn’t shake the feeling that from this moment on, nothing would be okay. Her life had changed tonight. He’d changed.

  And there would be no going back to the way things had been.

  She ignored the crazy thought. Everything would be okay. Dillon was stronger now. Together, he and Jake and Garret would find and defeat the Ancient One. He would reclaim his humanity, go back to being her good buddy, and all would be right with the world.

  All she had to do was keep her distance from now on until he was back to his old self—and not nearly as tempting—and everything would be okay.

  She clung to the notion and focused on Terry. “Don’t tell me—you hooked up with some hot and hunky cowboy and had wild and uncontrollable sex last night.”

  “Not me,” the woman blurted. “You.” Terry handed over the Lifestyle section from the morning’s issue of the Skull Creek Gazette. “You made Tilly’s Around the Town column!”

  Meg unfolded the paper and stared at a picture that had been taken at The Roundup last night. She and Colt stood wrapped in a heated embrace, right above the caption There’s a new sheriff in town!

  She skimmed the three paragraphs about the town’s hottest new real estate agent who seemed a shoe-in to unseat one of the regulars and make next week’s Randiest Roosters list.

  Oddly enough, Meg didn’t feel half as disappointed as she should have over the fact that she didn’t get so much as a mention. Instead, she skimmed the background faces, searching for one in particular.

  She caught a glimpse of Dillon near the bar, his gaze trained on her. A very vivid image of last night rushed at her and she remembered his blond head between her legs, his mouth drawing on her tender flesh, and the rush of pleasure she’d felt.

  He hadn’t just taken from her. Rather, as her essence had flowed into his mouth, she’d felt something flow back—a fierce current that had pulsed from his body into hers, pulling them closer, winding them tighter, connecting them.

  No.

  He’d fed and she’d eased her conscience knowing that she’d done everything possible to help him in the battle that awaited him. Now it was back to work.

  To life.

  Bye-bye Jezebel.

  Her gaze dropped to the article again. Not one mention of her. Or her sexy outfit or the fact that Colt hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her.

  Nothing.

  She waited for the rush of disappointment, the clenching in her gut, the dread in her stomach and the certainty that her tombstone would one day read:

  Here lies tough and rough Manhandler Meg,

  Who loved sports and kicked ass and could drain a keg,

  She tried shedding her image, but was still a bruiser,

  Now she’s six feet under and a perpetual loser.

  But when she drank in the page, the only thing she felt was a strange tightening in her chest. Her gaze kept going back to Dillon and the dark look on his face.

  As if he felt more for her than just a vampire’s lust.

  She remembered last night and the soft mattress at her back, the strong, purposeful lover leaning over her, the strange gleam in his eyes as he’d stared down at her.

  A look that had had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted her and everything to do with the fact that he wanted her.

  “Are you okay?” Terry’s voice drew her back to reality.

  “Fine.” Meg shook away the haunting images. She drew a deep breath and swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “Why?”

  “For a second there, you looked like you were going to cry.”

  “Cry?” She forced a laugh. “Why would I do something ridiculous like that?”

  Because you love him, stupid. You. Love. Him.

  Hardly. She liked him. A lot. They were the best of friends. But honeymoon-in-Jamaica, house-in-the-suburbs, kids-and-aminivan, ’til-death-do-us-part love?

  Love was the culmination of everything—admiration, respect, comfort, protection, rip-off-your-clothes-and-get-naked-now-desperation, trust—the entire cake so to speak, complete with a layer of filling and sprinkles on top.

  Meg was only interested in the butter-cream icing. The rich, decadent, addictive lust. She wanted to feel desired, sought after, wanted.

  All the things Dillon had made her feel last night, and then some.

  “Good,” Terry said, drawing Meg’s attention before she could dwell on the last thought. “Because one depressed woman around here is enough.”

  Meg took a good look at her assistant and noted the dark circles under the woman’s eyes. “You look terrible.”

  “The end result of zero sleep and a gallon of Rocky Road ice cream.”
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  “You ate an entire gallon?”

  “Hank called. And called. And a little after midnight, he showed up.”

  “Don’t tell me you slept with him again?”

  “If I had, I wouldn’t have needed the ice cream.” She stiffened. “I stood strong, told him to get lost and then slammed the door in his face. And then I headed for the fridge.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Nothing. He sat on my front steps for a little while and then he left. Then he came back and sat a while longer. Then he left. Then he came back. It was that way all night. I snuck out this morning as soon as he left for the eighth time.”

  “You should have called the police.”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “But I feel responsible. I’m the one who let him back into my life.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I slept with him. I mean, I know why I did it. The sex was always really great between us and I haven’t actually had sex in a really long time, and so when I saw him, I couldn’t help myself. But I knew it was the wrong thing and I did it anyway. What was I thinking?”

  The same thing Meg had been thinking when she’d offered her body and her blood to Dillon Cash—that she could handle it. That she could give herself to him and then walk away.

  Forget.

  If only she could.

  “I’m so stupid.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Meg ignored Terry’s questioning look. “There’s no use beating yourself up. Get over it. Move on. Have your phone number changed and if he shows up again, call the police.”

  Terry looked hesitant, but then she seemed to gather her courage. “Okay.” She nodded and her determination seemed to deflate just a little. “I wish I knew what it is about this guy that makes me stop thinking like a sane rational adult.”

  “He’s good in bed.”

  That was it. That was the only reason Meg Sweeney was thinking such crazy thoughts about love and marriage and happily-ever-after with a man like Dillon Cash. A vampire. He was the first to make her feel like a vibrant, sexy woman. Of course, she would feel more than friendship for him.

  More, as in gratitude. Concern. And, of course, lust. He was hot and sexy. It only made sense that she would want him more than her next breath.

  And fear. Not of him, but for him. She still couldn’t shake the tightening in her chest when she’d seen him hit the ground last night or the all-important fact that he was still in danger.

  Someone was still out there and it was just a matter of time before something happened.

  A strange melancholy wrapped around her. She set aside the newspaper. “We should get going. We’ve got a busy Saturday ahead of us.”

  Terry nodded, gathered her composure and headed into the front part of the store to unlock the front door. Meanwhile, Meg sat down at her computer, determined to get a stack of orders finished before her first fitting.

  She did her best to ignore the doom that settled in her gut and told her today was going to be the worst day of her life.

  Impossible.

  That day had already come and gone a long time ago and Meg wasn’t ready for a repeat.

  Not now. Not ever.

  18

  IT WASN’T THE WORST DAYof her life, but it was close.

  Meg came to that realization as the hours passed and things seemed to go from bad to really bad.

  First she discovered that the new seamstress she’d hired had eloped to Las Vegas. The woman had taken Chantal Mortimer’s twenty-fifth anniversary dress for a simple hem three days ago. That morning, she’d appeared in the wedding announcements section of the Skull Creek Gazette wearing said dress and a wedding ring the size of a small third world country. Chantal had been furious—and jealous because her own ring weighed in at a whopping half carat less—and had demanded her money back. Meg had given her a prompt refund, only to have the woman rant for a full hour before she’d headed over to the diner for a complimentary lunch courtesy of the boutique.

  Then Margie Westbury arrived. Margie had ripped her dress for tonight’s banquet at the Elks lodge and now needed a new one, which wouldn’t have been a problem had she not been a size twenty-eight special order. Tammy Greenburg wanted a one-of-a-kind sequined number she’d seen on CMT and couldn’t understand why Meg didn’t stock oodles of them (ahem—they call them one-of-a-kind for a reason). Sue Carrigan had gained twenty pounds and couldn’t fit into the wedding dress she was scheduled to wear in exactly one week. And Honey Harwell nixed all ten of the special order dresses Meg had had overnighted for her Saturday afternoon fitting.

  Then Terry’s ex showed up. Not once, but five times.

  And to make matters as bad as they could be, Meg couldn’t stop thinking about Dillon.

  Images played over and over in her mind. Memories. From when they’d been kids and he’d taught her to play chess and boot up her computer. Last Christmas when he’d handed over a new collar for Babe and a matching leash. The night at the motel when she’d seen him up close and personal for the first time since the turning. She’d gotten her first dose of pure, unadulterated lust then and she’d been craving it ever since.

  Add a wonderful friendship to the overwhelming emotion, and it was no wonder she felt so mixed up inside. So drawn to him. That, and the fact that they were truly linked now that he’d drunk from her.

  She could feel him, smell him, sense him.

  Sensations that grew stronger once the sun dipped below the horizon and dusk settled over the town.

  She knew the moment he opened his eyes. She felt the steady beat of his heart, the jump of his pulse and the power that lived and breathed inside of him. She even felt his determination.

  Dillon Cash was coming for her.

  Her pulse leapt and for a split second, she felt a rush of excitement. He was the first man to really and truly sweep her off her feet. The first to go nuts and ravish her. Her fantasy come to life.

  It wasn’t the man himself that made her heart beat faster.

  No, it was the idea of him.

  That’s the conclusion Meg finally came to as the day faded into evening. She fought down a wave of nerves and picked her way through the front of the store, snatching up anything even close to Honey’s size. The girl was still there, planted in a chair in the main dressing room, her iPod blaring as she waited for Meg to return with more choices.

  Meg added a crimson-colored shift to her already overflowing arms and then turned to yet another rack. Her thighs touched and rubbed. Flesh grazed the twin prickpoints and desire knifed through her, sharp and fierce. Her legs trembled and her breath caught, and the dread churned deep inside of her.

  Because the more turned on she was, the harder it would be to resist him.

  She would resist. She didn’t want to lose him as a friend.

  That’s what would happen. Romantic entanglements were fleeting. She knew that firsthand.

  If she acted on the crazy lust burning her up from the inside out, she would enjoy herself for a little while. Maybe even a long while. But eventually Dillon would move on to another woman, or morph back into his old self and lose the desire for her that he felt right now. Either way, the fire would die, and so would their friendship.

  She wasn’t going to let that happen.

  He’d been the one constant in her life over the past few years. The one person she’d always been able to count on. She didn’t want to lose that.

  She wouldn’t.

  Which was why when he showed up, if he showed up, she would simply set him straight and tell him the truth—while she really enjoyed the sex, she didn’t have any romantic feelings for him and so it was best that they stop pretending and go back to being friends.

  Her skin prickled as she retrieved the last dress and turned toward the dressing room. Awareness skittered up and down her spine.

  He was coming, all right.

  Good. The sooner she set the record straight, the sooner she could salvage their friendship.

  If only she didn’t get the sinkin
g feeling that it was already too late.

  TONIGHT WAS THE NIGHT.

  Dillon stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel.

  He was going to put it all on the line and pour out his heart. Meg would listen, throw her arms around him and everything would be okay.

  Or not.

  He ignored the doubt, pulled on his clothes and snatched up his keys. It was early in the evening and Garret was still downstairs in his own apartment. Probably getting ready to go out and feed.

  His own stomach grumbled as he bypassed the fridge—and the blood. But he’d had enough last night to last him awhile. He felt strong, his senses alert, his nerves alive. No, what he wanted now had nothing to do with the crimson heat flowing through her veins. He wanted more this time. Everything.

  He spent the next ten minutes punching his way through security codes. Meg hadn’t dealt with the same when she’d fled that morning because the alarm had been on a timer that hadn’t kicked on until 9:00 a.m. Otherwise, she would have set off a world of noise when she’d hightailed it and ran.

  She was still running, but not for long. Dillon intended to catch her and talk some sense into her. They could make it. Jake and Nikki were proof.

  But Nikki loves Jake.

  Meg loved Dillon, too. He knew it. He felt it. She was just too stubborn to admit it. But now was not the time to be ornery. Not with the rest of their lives at stake.

  Fifty or so years if his instincts were correct and the Ancient One was close.

  Forever if not.

  He didn’t know, he just knew that however long he had, he wanted to spend it with Meg Sweeney. Starting tonight.

  He climbed onto his motorcycle and gunned the engine.

  But first, he had something to take care of.

  “DROP THE MACE, MOM,” Dillon said a half-hour later as he stood in the front yard of his house and felt the woman who’d come up behind him.

  In the blink of an eye, he whirled and faced her. She wore a black bodysuit, a determined expression and enough bug spray to kill every mosquito in Texas. And in her hand, she was holding the biggest can of Mace he’d ever seen. His gaze shifted to the second figure. His dad reeked of bug spray, as well. He also wore the same black bodysuit, as well as a mask. Thick bifocals perched on his nose and covered the eyeholes of the black knit. He clasped a stun gun in one hand and a net in the other.