Читать книгу Drop Dead Gorgeous - Kimberly Raye - Страница 10

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.