One-Click Buy: April Harlequin Blaze

by Kathleen O'Reilly

  With a swift thrust of his hips, he impaled her on his rigid length and all worry faded as heat drenched her. Sensation overwhelmed her at first. The feel of him so hot and thick pulsing inside her nearly made her come without any warning.

  She anchored her arms around his neck and her muscles clamped down around his erection. She didn’t want to let him go, but he had other ideas.

  He withdrew and slid back in for the second time. His hard length rasped her tender insides, creating a delicious friction that sent a dizzying rush straight to her brain. He pulled out again, and went back for a third time. A fourth.

  His body pumped into hers over and over, pushing her higher with each delicious plunge. She lifted her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, eager to feel more of him. Harder. Deeper. Faster.

  Look at me.

  She opened her eyes and stared up at him as he poised over her. He pushed into her, his penis hot and twitching, and she knew it was his last and final time. He was going over the edge before her.

  It’s not about my own pleasure. It’s about pleasuring someone else.

  Yet here he was, mindless with pleasure, lost in his own orgasm.

  His arms braced on either side of her, his muscles bulging and tight as he held himself. The tendons in his neck stood out. His eyes blazed a bright, vivid purple. His jaw clenched and his lips parted. His fangs gleamed as he let loose a loud hiss that faded into a long moan as Meg arched her pelvis.

  His penis twitched and throbbed, and she felt a spurt of warmth. He bucked once, twice and she followed him over the edge. Convulsions gripped her body and suddenly she was floating again on a cloud of pure satisfaction.

  Several breathless moments passed as she lay there, trying to come to grips with what had just happened.

  He’d climaxed first.

  This time, she reminded herself. But she’d come plenty of times before, when he’d had her pinned against the wall. He’d already drank his fill. Of her blood and her energy.

  That’s what she told herself because she certainly wasn’t going to consider the alternative—that he might feel something more for her. Something that had nothing to do with being a vampire and everything to do with being a man.

  A man in love.

  Right.

  Dillon Cash didn’t love her. He couldn’t love her. Because regardless of what had just happened—a fluke, of course—he was a vampire.

  One who’d slept with a ridiculous number of women.

  One who would sleep with even more.

  He had to in order to survive. She wanted him to. That’s why she’d offered herself to him tonight. Because he needed her.

  Friends, she reminded herself.

  But when Dillon rolled onto his back and pulled her flush on top of him, she felt like anything but his friend. His hands stroked her back, her buttocks, holding her close, touching her intimately. A lover’s touch rather than a friend’s.

  The notion sent her scrambling from the bed.

  “Meg?” His voice followed her as she snatched up her clothes. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s late,” she blurted the first thing that popped into her head. “I need to get home.” Dread welled inside of her and panic beat at her temples as she jerked on her vest and pants, her movements frantic and hurried. She needed to get out of here. Now. Before she did something she would surely regret.

  Like climb back into bed with him and stay there forever.

  “Wait!” His frantic voice followed her, his footsteps dogging her up the stairs to the ground floor. “Would you just wait a second?”

  She rushed through the house, snatching up her purse as she headed for the front door.

  “Dammit, woman!” He caught one hand while the other reached for the doorknob.

  His fingers burned into hers and she yanked open the door. Early-morning light spilled through the open doorway. His hand fell away and a loud hiss sizzled in her ears. He murmured a fierce shit as he stumbled backward.

  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-a-minivan, ’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.”

  “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 DAY of 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 rippe
d 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.