Kitabı oku: «Drop Dead Gorgeous», sayfa 3
His gaze dropped. “Your hips look pretty good to me.”
The butterflies started again. An insane reaction because the old Dillon had never acknowledged anything about her. Not her hips. Or her trim waist. Or even the decent rack she’d been showing off with a Wonderbra since senior year.
This Dillon seemed to notice everything.
And made her want to offer herself up as the second willing sacrifice of the night.
She shook away the sudden visual—Dillon naked and panting above her—that popped into her head and focused on her grumbling stomach. She hadn’t eaten yet, so it was no wonder she was feeling so deprived.
She wanted food, not Dillon. Not really.
She swallowed and did a mental recitation of the menu at her favorite restaurant. “Good try, but you’re not changing the subject. Give,” she persisted.
“Since when did you get so bossy?”
“Since birth. Seriously, I want to know.” Desperation bubbled inside of her, along with the deprivation niggling at her gut. “I need to know.”
He eyed her for a long, drawn-out moment and she had the feeling that he faced some internal struggle.
“You’re sure? You really want to know?” he finally asked.
Excitement rushed through her and she nodded. “Tell me everything.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” His gaze gleamed with a hidden knowledge. His fingers flexed on the glass next to her as he leaned forward. His stubbled jaw rasped her cheekbone. His lips grazed her ear. “Why don’t I show you instead?”
4
WHAT THE HELL WAS HE thinking?
The thought pushed its way past the ferocious hunger that gripped Dillon’s insides and sent a burst of reality straight to his brain.
This was Meg. His buddy. His pal. His friend.
Meg was the one woman he could actually talk to.
The only woman who’d ever cared what he had to say.
No way was he thinking about pushing her up against the nearest wall, sinking himself into her hot body and soaking up her delicious energy while he pumped in and out and drove her to a screaming climax.
And there was no way he was thinking about sinking his fangs into her sweet neck and drinking in her essence while he pumped in and out and drove her to a screaming climax.
While he fed off blood and sex, he never indulged in both at the same time. That was the first rule Garret, his other vampire mentor, had taught him. The big no-no because it forged a bond that was unbreakable. Forever.
The last thing Dillon wanted was to tie himself to one woman for the rest of eternity. Not when he was this close to breaking Bobby’s record.
That’s what he told himself, but with Meg’s scent filling his nostrils and her frantic heartbeat echoing in his ears, forever didn’t seem like such a long time. His muscles tightened and his gut ached and he had the sudden thought that he wanted her more than he wanted to break Bobby’s record.
And she wanted a double pepperoni pizza with extra cheese.
The thought slid into his head and he pulled back. His gaze drilled into hers. Sure enough, he saw an image of Uncle Buck’s Pizza Joint, a table, an extra large pie, and Meg scarfing it down to her heart’s content.
She didn’t want him.
Or at least, she didn’t want to want him. She responded to him. All women did. But she wasn’t falling all over him like every other woman he’d come into contact with in the past few months—with the exception of Nikki, the owner of the local beauty salon.
Nikki was totally enamored of Jake and so her lack of interest didn’t bother Dillon.
But Meg…She was a single, red-blooded female. She should be out of her mind with lust.
Or at least a little overwhelmed.
He drank in the sight of her. No inviting smile. No come-and-get-me-now gaze. No pleading or begging.
“Please.”
All right, so she was begging. A little. But not in the way he’d become accustomed to since stepping over to the vamp side. She wanted his help. His guidance. His advice.
What she didn’t want was to jump into the sack with him.
Correction, she didn’t want to want to jump into the sack with him. He stared into her bright gaze and read the truth as if it were spelled out in neon. Shewas determined to resist temptation, towait for aman—anyman—to make the first move when it came to sex. Shewas even more determined to resist Dillon. They had too much history. Even more, she knewfor a fact—makeover aside—that he couldn’t kiss worth a flip and she was in no hurry to try it again.
He fought down the urge to press his lips to hers and prove her wrong right then and there. He would have, if he hadn’t been so determined to break Bobby’s record.
Bobby hadn’t put the moves on any woman. Rather, they’d come to him, eager and willing.
Ditto for every woman in Dillon’s recent past. He was on a mission and he wasn’t about to get distracted now.
“I’ve been trying to make Tilly’s list forever,” Meg continued. “If I can beef up my sex appeal, I’ll be a shoe-in. You have to give me some pointers.”
“And what will you give me?” He waited for a long list of seductive suggestions starting with “I’ll strip naked and give you a lap dance.”
“New clothes.”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“While you’ve made a decent transformation physically and, obviously, mentally, what with overcoming your shyness and everything, you haven’t come anywhere close to finding a sense of style.” She eyed his jeans. “Designer?”
“Who cares?”
“The majority of women the world over, every homosexual on the face of the planet, and let’s not forget the metrosexuals, bless their stylish little souls.”
“When I look at awoman, I seriously doubt she cares what sort of jeans I’m wearing.” He gave her an intense look and grinned at theway her pulse suddenly leapt at the base of her throat. But while the reaction was immediate and intense, it quickly faded and once again shewas fantasizing about the pizza. “Myjeans are irrelevant.”
“Maybe. But if you’re going to do something, you might as well do it right. Namely, if you want to make a complete transformation, it means looking the part right down to your skivvies.” She arched an eyebrow. “You still doing the Spider-man boxers?”
“Not since the third grade.” Her dad had gone out of town and she’d slept over at his house. She’d worn an oversize Green Bay Packers T-shirt that night, while he’d been in his webbed boxers and a plain white T-shirt. She’d brought her army men and a flashlight, and they’d snuck into his closet after bedtime and played until dawn. While she’d looked and acted like one of the boys back then, she’d smelled a hundred times better. He could still remember the scent of her strawberry shampoo.
His nostrils flared. Beneath the perfume and hair products, he caught a whiff of the familiar scent.
“Whites?” she persisted. “Solids?”
“Neither.” He inhaled again and electricity spiraled straight to his groin. He fought against the hunger and focused on giving her another grin. “I’m in commando mode.”
“Oh.” Her gaze shifted nervously and he knew she was racing to think of something else to say to distract herself from the sudden mental image he’d stirred. She shrugged. “Okay, so you don’t really need any advice when it comes to undergarments. But these jeans…” She shook her head and wrinkled her nose.
“There’s nothing wrong with them.”
“They’re from last year’s bargain bin at the Shop-’til-you-drop, aren’t they?”
“So?”
“So you need a pair that are a little more updated, not to mention a shirt to go with them. An outfit that says cool, classy, sexy, which I can certainly provide.” She leveled a blazing blue stare at him and made her proposition. “You educate me in the finer points of being a convincing sex object, and I’ll help you find a look that does your new image some justice.”
He seriously doubted she could come up with anything that could do more for his sex appeal than the vamp blood flowing through his veins, but the thought of letting her try definitely snagged his attention.
Resisting him during a brief run-in like this might be easy. But no way could she hold back if they spent more than five minutes together. The thought struck and suddenly he knew exactly what he needed to do—seduce Meg Sweeney to the point that she stopped holding back and offered herself to him like the countless other females in Skull Creek.
Not only would he break Bobby’s record, but he would disprove beyond a doubt what he’d started to suspect—that he was, indeed, as geeky as everyone thought.
Tempting a woman determined not to be tempted would be the ultimate proof, not to mention he’d spent a lot of years wishing he could go back and re-do that first horrific kiss.
His memory stirred and he saw the disappointment in her eyes, the reluctance to try it again.
The image fueled his determination and he gave her his most seductive smile. “You’ve got yourself a deal, darlin’.”
DARLIN’? SINCE WHEN DID Dillon Cash use the term darlin’?
Since he’s morphed into a megalicious stud-muffin who makes you want to rip off your panties and do the happy dance all over him.
Not that she would.
Shewas through taking the lead. Shewanted a man towant her so badly that he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. A man who would gladly rip off his boxers and do the happy dance all over her.
Holding tight to her resolve, she drew a deep breath and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as she walked back toward the motel lobby.
She could feel his gaze on her and awareness zipped through her. Her nipples pebbled and she became painfully aware of the way the lace cups of her bra rubbed back and forth with the slight swinging motion of her arms. Her blue jean skirt tugged and pulled and her thighs actually trembled.
Thanks to Dillon and his suddenly overwhelming sex appeal.
As tempting as he was, she couldn’t deny her good fortune. She’d definitely found the key to her future success. Once they started lessons—
Her thoughts slammed to a halt. She’d been so anxious to escape her traitorous thoughts that she hadn’t proposed a time and date for their first session.
“What about tomorrow morning—” she said, but the words died as she turned and found the walkway empty.
June bugs bumped against the single bulb that lit the concrete path. Her gaze traveled back to the spot where he’d stood and she eyed the closed door.
No rustle of denim as he’d turned. No creak of metal as he’d opened the door…No thud as the door had shut behind him. Nothing.
One minute, she’d felt his gaze and the next…poof. He’d disappeared.
Right.
She ignored the strange tingling that worked its way up her spine. He wasn’t actually gone. He was inside and she’d obviously been too wound up in her thoughts and her body’s traitorous response to notice the details.
Grasping at the explanation, she fought down the notion that something wasn’t quite right and turned back toward the lobby.
She would give him a call in the morning and set up a meeting. Maybe midmorning. While she didn’t have any men’s clothes in her shop, she could take his measurements and then do some online shopping later. He would tell her what books he’d been reading, give her some pointers, and then they could head over to Uncle Buck’s for a makeup lunch.
Thanks to her lustful thoughts and her desperate attempt for a diversion, she had a sudden craving for double pepperoni that even a dozen pleasure bites couldn’t touch.
A craving that haunted her for the next hour as she turned in her homework, finished her class and headed home. A craving that drove her straight to her kitchen in search of satisfaction, aka junk food.
In massive quantities if possible.
Since it was the end of the week and she hadn’t yet made it to the grocery store, she quickly ruled out massive and settled for Babe’s three remaining Twinkies. She also snatched up what was left of a bottle of wine she’d received from one of her customers the Christmas before last.
Bottle in one hand and sponge cake in the other, she headed upstairs and tried not to think about Dillon and whether or not he’d improved in the kissing department.
Obviously, he had. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have every woman in town falling all over him.
Most of the women in town, that is.
They were just friends, she told herself as she peeled off her clothes and crawled into bed.
Just like she saw the real Dillon, he saw the real Meg. The one who hadn’t managed to cancel her subscription to Sports Illustrated. The one who still tossed around a baseball in the back-yard every now and then when she was sure her neighbors weren’t looking.
Which explained why he’d done little more than flirt with her tonight. Not that she’d wanted him to do more.
It was the principle that mattered.
Obviously, like everyone else in town, he just couldn’t see the Hot Chick that Meg had become.
Not yet.
Not ever a voice whispered. One she quickly ignored as she devoured two of the three cakes, downed a long sip of wine and snuggled under the sheets.
If Dillon could convince an entire town full of people he’d known since birth, so could she. Even more, she could be convincing enough to get herself into Tilly’s top ten.
All she had to do was buckle down, learn everything she could from Dillon, and not jump his bones in the process.
No problem. Manhandler Meg was ancient history.
At least that’s what she told herself.
5
SHE NEEDED HIM TO SEX her up.
Even more, she wanted him to sex her up.
Dillon sat in the small office that housed the administrative portion—aka a desk, a file cabinet and a state-of-the-art computer system—of Skull Creek Choppers and tried to push Meg and her proposition completely out of his head.
The truth echoed through his head, tightening his groin and stirring the damned need that twisted his gut. He fought against the sensations and tried to focus. He had work to do. He was smack-dab in the middle of developing custom-design software for a new line of choppers being introduced in the Fall.
He’d spent the past hour since leaving the motel hard at work on the templates that would be the starter point for each bike. At the moment, Jake and Garret were working from a sketch only, crafting the cycles from the ground up and dealing with problems as they arose during the building process. The computer program Dillon was developing would simplify everything and allow them to foresee any structural and/or mechanical problems before they encountered them. They would be able to enter in the measurements and must-haves for each bike. The computer would process the information and put together a cyber model, pinpointing errors and “fixing” them before any actual fabrication. Dillon was just days away from putting the final touches on the program, which meant he didn’t need a distraction right now.
He stared at a particular line of code, but instead of seeing the sequence of numbers and letters, he saw Meg, her lips so full and kissable, her blue eyes filled with determination.
A sliver of excitement went through him, followed by a wave of disbelief. He still couldn’t grasp the fact that she’d asked for his help. Thanks to his ability to read minds, he now knew she never asked a man for anything.
Never demanded or pushed or manhandled.
Not anymore.
She’d sworn off any and all aggressive behavior when it came to sex. She wanted a man to lust after her. She wanted to feel desirable and sexy and confident that her own transformation—from pudgy tomboy to curvaceous woman—had been successful.
Deep down, she wasn’t so sure.
He’d seen the truth in her gaze, the way he saw everything else about her—she was up to her neck in mortgage payments on her dream house, she had a dog addicted to Twinkies, she loved her job even if it did mean being cooped up most of the day and, thanks to the upcoming prom season, she was certain she would double her profits this year.
Yes, he saw it all. Her hopes. Her dreams. Her fears—the biggest being that she was doomed to a lifetime of being Manhandler Meg, regardless of how much she tried to change things.
Which was why she’d asked for help. She needed him.
Him, of all people.
The sudden burst of skepticism made him all the more confident in his own decision. He would help her, all right, and teach her his “secret.”
Not that he was going to sink his fangs into her sweet neck and bring her over to the dark side, not when he had zero intention of staying there himself. He would never do that. He wasn’t sure he even could. He was still learning the ropes from Garret and that wasn’t something the older vampire had ever addressed.
But while he wouldn’t turn her, he would teach her what he’d learned about seduction since his own turning.
One of the key factors that made vamps such sensual creatures was that they were fine-tuned to everything. They saw things more vividly, smelled them more intensely. They were aware of even the smallest sound, the briefest touch. While Meg’s senses weren’t supercharged like his, she still had them. If she learned to tap into them more, to use them, trust them, he had no doubt it would boost her sex appeal tenfold.
Enough to make her irresistible to every man in town.
The notion stirred a rush of jealousy. Understandable, of course. They were friends. It only made sense that he would feel protective of her. That, and he felt even more aroused than usual because she wasn’t throwing herself at him like every other woman he met. She knew the real Dillon, which made her all the more determined not to sleep with him. Which made him all the more determined to sleep with her.
Thanks to free will, humans were much more powerful than they realized. While a vampire could, indeed, mesmerize and hypnotize, such supernatural persuasion meant a hill of beans if the subject wasn’t willing.
Most women wanted to be swept away by passion. Deep down, they longed to experience wild, earth-shattering sex with a charismatic stranger, and so they were wide-open and vulnerable to his seduction.
Meg wasn’t much different from every woman in that respect, and that was the problem in a nutshell. Dillon wasn’t a stranger and so the last thing, the very last thing she wanted was wild, earth-shattering sex with him.
If he could seduce her to the point that she saw past the geek he used to be and embraced the hunk he’d become, he would know deep down inside that he truly had been acting all these years. That he wasn’t a loser when it came to women.
That he wasn’t a loser, period.
Seducing her would be the ultimate validation.
Excitement rippled through him. The scent of her strawberry shampoo spiraled through his head and hunger gnawed in his gut. His mouth watered and his muscles tightened and it was all he could do to keep his ass in the chair.
He had to get a grip and take things slowly. One lesson at a time. Until she reached the point of no return. It might take a day. It might take a week. But eventually she would offer herself to him. Of that he felt certain.
In the meantime, it was business as usual.
He spent another fifteen minutes working on the code before closing the design screen and moving on to his second order of business—keeping his promise to Jake and Garret.
He stared through the wall of windows that separated the office from the fabrication shop. Jake McCann stood near a large metal table that held the skeleton of what would soon be the next custom chopper to roll through the doors of the motorcycle shop. Unlike most of the bikes they’d been doing, this one wasn’t headed for a specific individual. Rather, it was a spec model being sent up north to advertise Skull Creek Choppers to the rest of the country. Jake took a few measurements before walking back over to another table that held a sheet of metal that would soon be the gas tank. He reached for a special tool and started tracing out the measurements.
Like most every other man in the small Texas town, Jake wore cowboy boots, jeans, a faded Resistol and an easygoing grin. But unlikemost every other man in town, Jakewas the real deal.Abona fide cowboy who’d been turned back in the eighteen hundreds. He’d spent his human life and a good chunk of his afterlife riding andworking horses for a living. In the past decade or so, he’d traded in his horse for a hog. He was now one of the best cut-and-design guys in the chopper business. Hewas also deeply in love with Nikki Braxton, owner of the town’s most popular beauty salon. Nikkiwas nice and beautiful and still very human. And she was staying that way as far as Jake was concerned.
As long as therewas hope of finding and destroying Garret’s sire.
Dillon’s gaze shifted to the second man clad in jeans, a white T-shirt with a skull and cross bones on the front, and biker boots. He stood in the far corner near a large welding unit. He had a red, white and blue bandana tied around his head, a worn straw Resistol perched on top, and a pair of goggles secured over his eyes. Gloved hands reached for a long strip of metal. He powered on the ARC Unit and worked at the piece, firing and shaping until it started to resemble a rear fender.
Despite the hat, Garret wasn’t anywhere close to a real cowboy. When he’d been turned back in the seventeen hundreds, he’d been a Texas patriot. A bona fide hero, and one of the founding fathers of Skull Creek. Not that anyone in town knew his identity. No, they thought he was just another leather-clad biker who’d invaded their small town to set up a manufacturing shop for his business. He liked fast motorcycles and even faster women, and he’d become somewhat of a role model for Dillon. The older vampire had been teaching him about his new vampness, showing him the ropes and outlining the vampire equivalent of the Ten Commandments.
Number one? No entering a home unless invited by the host. Public buildings were fair game, from the PigglyWiggly to the local VFW Hall, but no personal dwellings unless specifically asked.
Number two—no direct sunlight.
Number three—no sharp objects, including knives, stakes and giant toothpicks like the ones used over at the Pig in the Poke Barbecue Joint.
Number four—no Italian restaurants. The old legend about garlic warding off vampires had turned out to be true. While it couldn’t kill one of Dillon’s kind, it could cause a lot of pain.
Number five—no solid food.
Number six—no changing eye colors. A vampire tended to reflect his emotions with his eyes and so they changed color frequently depending on his mood. Most vampires could control this. Since Dillon was young (in vamp years), he wasn’t able to leash his feelings as easily as his older vamp buddies, but hewas learning.
Number seven—no changing into a bat. Such a change took its toll and made the vampire weak and vulnerable. Which meant it was usually avoided.
Number eight—no indulging in blood and sex at the same time. Unless he wanted to tie himself to one woman for the rest of eternity. Talk about a snowball’s chance in hell. Dillon had waited too long to unleash the wildness inside. Hewasn’t screwing things up by landing himself in a permanent relationship.
Number nine—no spending more than one night with any one woman. The more sex a vampire had with a woman, the more she wanted him. The last thing any vampire needed was a Fatal Attraction chasing him all over town.
Which led to number ten—keeping a low profile. A vampire’s survival hinged on blending in with mainstream society, laying low and playing it cool.
Hence Garret’s cowboy hat. The vamp was now living in a small Texas town, and When in Rome, as the saying went.
While Garret taught the importance of blending and urged Dillon to accept what he’d become, the vampire didn’t seem all that content in his own skin.
Rather, he seemed restless.
Anxious.
Hungry.
But not for sex and blood. No, Garret wanted what Jake wanted—his humanity.
Dillon turned his attention back to the computer and clicked on his Internet Explorer. A few seconds later, he logged in at MeetVamps.com and scrolled down the screen to the first comment posted on his page yesterday.
Lovrgrlvamp: Hey, there, Skull Creek. I’m not wearing any panties and it’s soooo hot. I’m here waiting for u, baby.
O-kay. It wasn’t exactly what he had had in mind when he’d signed up and started blogging a few weeks ago—to get some sort of lead on the Ancient One—but at least he had visitors. Not that he really thought the father of all vamps would be chatting online, but it was all he’d been able to think of to track down the vampire who’d sired Garret.
The same vampire who held the key to humanity for all three of them.
Destroying the source would reverse the curse for Garret and anyone that he’d turned, which meant Jake and Dillon would be free, as well.
As much as Dillon liked being a vampire, he knew he couldn’t stay that way. He’d caused his parents enough grief, which was why he’d yet to break the news about his new fanged status. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to. The blogging had given him a few leads so far—a couple of names and locations that he was busy following up on. With any luck, he would gather even more information and, eventually, hit the jackpot. Once he located the Ancient One, Dillon would help the other two vamps destroy him. Then he would embrace his humanity once again and go back to playing the town geek.
The notion sent a wave of anxiety through him and made him all the more eager to break Bobby’s record. Because he knew that this was it. His one chance to prove the truth to himself and build enough memories to last him through all the long, lonely human nights that lay ahead.
It was now or never.
He tensed, raking stiff fingers through his hair. His groin throbbed and he shifted in the leather seat. He was wound tight. Hungry. Starving even.
You should have gone for round two with Miss Hot Chick.
That’s what he usually did. What he’d been doing since he’d come to understand what he’d become and learned the all-important fact that sex was as crucial a sustenance as blood. More so because feeding off sexual energy curbed the need for blood. Sure, he still had to feed in the traditional sense, but not nearly as often.
All the more reason he should have gone for an all-nighter.
He’d meant to, but when he’dwalked back into the motel room after Meg and her proposition, he hadn’t been able to push either out of his head.And while he’d turned into an oversexed, greedy vampire, he wasn’t a two-timing, oversexed greedy vampire.
He hadn’t been able to make himself get busy with one woman while thinking about another.
Which meant he wasn’t anywhere close to being satisfied.
He raked another hand through his hair and took a long sip of the ice-cold beer sitting on the desk next to him. It did little to relieve the heat burning him up from the inside out.
He forced his attention back to the screen and read his own post. He’d been trying to spark somebody’s memory.
SkullCreekVamp: I had the dream again. The details were so clear that I’m starting to think that it’s not a dream at all, but the real deal. I’m remembering what happened to me. The pain. The hunger. The presence. Anybody else remember details? I want to remember a face, but I can’t. Not yet.
Of course, that wasn’t true. Dillon knew exactly who was responsible for his current state—Jake. The older vamp had turned him in a desperate attempt to give him back the life that had been ripped away when Garret had inadvertently attacked him. It had been the anniversary of Garret’s turning and he’d been instinctively called back to the place of his death to relive those few moments when his humanity had slipped away. Like any vampire going through the turning, he’d been out of control. Mindless. Dillon had gotten in his way. He’d be six feet under right now if Jake hadn’t intervened and turned him before it was too late.
Dillon would never forget that moment. The anguish at feeling his life slipping away, the excitement when he’d drank from Jake and new life had rushed back through him, strong and more potent than anything he’d ever felt before.
Likewise, Jake remembered his own sire—Garret.
Garret was the only member of the vamp trio who couldn’t remember. Sure, he had a few images and impressions that had lingered in the two hundred years since he’d been turned in what was now the town square, but nothing clear when it came to the vamp responsible. One minute he’d been heading home after fighting for Texas independence, and the next he’d been attacked by a band of Mexican bandits. They’d robbed and killed him, or so the history books said. But someone—something—had happened along and changed all of that. One of the bandits? Maybe. Maybe not. He didn’t know. There’d been no formal “Hi, I’m so-and-so, the ancient vampire who’s going to turn you instead of leaving your dying carcass to rot.” Rather, one minute he’d been following the light into the hereafter, and the next that light had been obliterated by a shadow looming over him. He remembered the pain ripping through his body, the smell—sweet, intense, intoxicating—that had filled his head, and a gold medallion.
Dillon glanced at the small sketch Garret had made of the piece of jewelry. He was hoping to gather a little info on some recent turnings to see if he could find a newly turned vampire who remembered the same gold pendant. If so, maybe the new vamp would remember even more—a physical description, maybe even a name.
He scrolled down the screen, his gaze drinking in the various posts.
Ücretsiz ön izlemeyi tamamladınız.
