Drop Dead Gorgeous Page 3

  An act. That’s all it had been, or so he’d always thought up until he’d graduated high school without even making it to second base with a girl. The doubts had set in then—the notion that maybe he wasn’t really pretending. Maybe he really had morphed into a bona fide geek.

  Even now that he was a vampire there were still moments—quick bursts of thought whenever he found himself in the most unreal situations—when he knew, he just knew, he had to be dreaming and it was just a matter of time before reality intruded and he morphed back to his old, boring self.

  But he was going to change all of that and silence the doubts for good. He’d fantasized about breaking Bobby’s record—what hormone-driven teenage boy hadn’t?—but he’d never had the opportunity.

  Until now.

  Two months, an uncontrollable hunger and a nearly impossible number of women—he was now only two shy of his goal.

  Training his gaze on the tall, voluptuous blonde, he sent a rush of mental images, leaving no doubt in her mind what he wanted to do to her.

  She didn’t walk away this time. She couldn’t. She wanted him with a greedy desperation that she’d never felt for any other man.

  He read that truth in her eyes—another vampire perk—along with the fact that, despite her beauty and the prestige of being number one on Tilly’s Hottest Chicks list, she was the loneliest and most miserable of all her friends. Contrary to rumor, she hadn’t left her second husband because he’d filed bankruptcy after some bad business investments. He’d been cheating on her with a giggling twenty-one-year-old barmaid and had spent their entire savings on hair plugs, liposuction and a penis enlargement.

  “Touch me,” she begged. “Please.”

  And because Dillon needed her as much as she needed him, he did.

  “CAN ANYONE TELL ME THE key ingredient to a successful relationship?”

  Meg wiggled in her seat, craned her neck and peered between two gigantic teased and sprayed hairdos. Her gaze went to the woman who stood center stage in the small lobby of the Skull Creek Inn.

  Winona Atkins was well into her seventies. She wore a flower-print smock, white orthopedic shoes and a penis-shaped name tag that read Carnal Coach. Rolls of snow white curls covered her head and a pair of gold-rimmed cat’s eye glasses hung from a chain around her neck.

  The old woman arched a white eyebrow as she eyed her roomful of eager students. “Well, come on now.” She waved a bony hand. “I ain’t got all night. Somebody bite the bullet and take a stab at it.”

  “Honesty?” someone called out.

  “Mutual respect?” asked another.

  “Separate bank accounts?”

  Winona smiled, her face breaking into a mass of wrinkles. “Those are some fine answers, ladies. Mighty fine.” She shook her head. “But I’m afraid they ain’t even close. See—” she retrieved the hat rack standing in the far corner and hauled it front and center “—every man, no matter how upstanding or uptight he might be, likes a little hooch ever once in a while.”

  “Hooch?” one woman asked. “Is that like a floozy?”

  “Exactly. It’s a woman who can cut loose and shed her inhibitions. A woman who’s got confidence and isn’t afraid to show it. A woman who’ll strip buck naked and wrap herself around the nearest pole.” Winona gripped the hat rack and did a little shake and shimmy. “I call this move “Circling the wagons”, ladies.” She went around the cedar rack once, twice. “I know it looks complicated now, but after tonight’s lesson, you’ll all be able to do it with your eyes closed. Which is a plus if you’re like Sally, there, who’s got cataracts.” She indicated a seventy-something woman straining to see with her bifocals. “Not that you’re s’posed to close your eyes. Eye contact is a powerful thing between a woman and a man.”

  Winona’s words stirred a sudden vision of Dillon standing in the hotel doorway, his gaze hooked on Susie Wilcox, his eyes bright. Gleaming. Powerful.

  A pang of envy shot through her. A crazy reaction because no way—repeat, no way—was she even remotely attracted to Dillon Cash.

  Sure, she’d felt a few tummy tingles when they’d tried the kissing thing way back when, but what red-blooded, curious, hormonal teen girl wouldn’t after watching Mickey Rourke seduce Kim Bassinger? It hadn’t been Dillon. It had been the heat of the moment.

  Luckily, the temperature had quickly fizzled after the first disappointing attempt at a kiss. She hadn’t felt even an inkling of attraction to him since.

  Not then and certainly not now.

  Forget jealous. She was envious. He had a hot woman falling all over him, and she wanted the same. Not a hot woman, mind you, but a hot man.

  Yep, she was envious. If it was really and truly him, that is.

  She latched onto the doubts and turned her attention back to the front of the room.

  “…start with Mary.” Winona pointed to a woman seated on the front row. “I want you to get up and try circling the wagons. We’ll keep going seat by seat until everyone gets a turn. While everyone’s trying out the technique, I’ll have a look at the homework assignment from the last class.”

  Pages fluttered as everyone pulled out their notebooks.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” Mary said as she pushed to her feet. “I’m not used to working with an audience.”

  “That’s what these are for, dear.” Winona retrieved a platter of petit fours from a nearby table. “I call ’em pleasure bites. These little buggers will have you stripping off your clothes and shedding your inhibitions quicker than Arlen Wilson can chow through an apple with those new titanium dentures of his.”

  “Are those made with that wacky tobacky Mildred Pierce always puts in her brownies?” Mary asked.

  Winona frowned. “I run a reputable business here, ladies. This here’s made with Everclear,” Winona said. “Colorless, tasteless and completely legal.”

  “Well, then.” Mary grabbed one and popped it into her mouth before helping herself to a second and then a third. She drew a deep breath and eyed the hat rack.

  Meanwhile, Winona handed the platter to the next woman in line and the goodies started to circulate.

  “Billy and I had such a good time last night,” Mabel Avery told Winona as the old woman stepped toward her and confiscated her journal. “He loved watching me with that pink vibrator I ordered off the Internet.”

  “My Hank liked watching me, too,” another woman said, waving her spiral notebook. “But mine’s purple instead of pink.”

  “My Melvin said it was his fantasy come true,” said another.

  As the comments continued, Meg made a show of searching around her seat before throwing up her hands. “What do you know? I think I left my notebook in the car,” she said to the woman next to her. She pushed to her feet. “I’ll just pop out and get it.”

  Five seconds later, she closed the lobby door behind her and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Coward, a voice whispered. The entire town knows you’re unattached.

  But knowing it and hearing it, complete with written documentation to back it up, was a totally different thing. It was bad enough she’d had to try out the vibrator alone. She wasn’t going to admit it to a roomful of nosy women.

  No, she’d take her time going to the car, then slip back inside once Winona went back to her pole dancing techniques.

  She was halfway down the walkway when her gaze snagged on the door to room four.

  It was shut solid. The curtains were drawn on the window just to the left. No light spilled past the two-inch gap in the drapes.

  Make that a three inch gap.

  Not that she was looking.

  She was not going to look.

  That’s what she told herself as she started to walk past.

  For one thing, it was rude and intrusive. Two, she could care less what was going on inside. Sex or scrabble. Neither were her business.

  At the same time, if Dillon really was having sex with Susie Wilcox, it meant that not only had he changed, but the
town had let him. Somehow, someway, he’d killed a lifetime of perception in a matter of months.

  And she couldn’t help but wonder how he’d done it.

  If he’d done it.

  Curiosity burned through her and her footsteps slowed. She’d take one quick little peek and no one would be the wiser. Cupping her hands over her brow, she leaned toward the window.

  She blinked and the dimly lit room started to focus. A pair of jeans lay in a heap on the hardwood floor. A lacey bra dangled over the back of a nearby leather chair. One red high heel peeked out from under the corner of the bed. The covers bunched at the bottom of the mattress, the bedspread a tangled heap on the floor.

  A very naked Susie Wilcox lay on her stomach, her cheek nuzzling a pillow, one arm slung over her head, the other resting on the empty spot next to her—

  Wait a second. Empty?

  Just as the thought struck, she heard the deep, familiar voice. “Nice view.”

  The words slid into her ears and her heart stalled. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Awareness zipped up and down her spine, along with a rush of embarrassment.

  She was so busted.

  3

  SHE KNEW IT WAS DILLON even before she turned around.

  Before her gaze swept from the long bare feet peeking from beneath the frayed hem of a worn pair of jeans, up denim-clad legs, past a trim waist and an enticing funnel of whiskey-colored hair that bisected washboard abs, over a muscular chest, thick biceps encircled by slave-band tattoos, a corded neck, to the familiar face—

  Wait a minute.

  Tattoos?

  Her attention swiveled to one sinewy arm. Sure enough, an intricate black design snaked around the bulging muscle, making it seem larger and more powerful. Her gaze swiveled to the other arm. Ditto.

  “Nice view,” he repeated.

  The deep timbre of his voice drew her full attention and made her tummy quiver. Her thighs trembled and her nipples pebbled and—

  Girlfriend, puleeeeease. We’re talking Dillon. The guy who’d given her dry-cleaning coupons for her last birthday. Other than those few ridiculous moments in anticipation (thanks to Kim and Mickey) of their first kiss, she’d never felt anything for him other than friendship.

  Certainly not the overwhelming need to get hot and sweaty and naked.

  Then again, she’d never seen him wearing nothing but worn, faded jeans, the top button undone, a pair of dark and dangerous tattoos and a relaxed, confident, sexy-as-hell smile.

  “Yeah,” she blurted, eager to distract herself from the sudden trembling of her body. “She’s, um, really pretty.” Her throat tightened around the words as if it actually bothered her to admit as much.

  As if.

  “I wasn’t talking about the view inside.” His gaze slid from her eyes to her mouth and lingered for several seconds.

  If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn she felt a distinct pressure on her bottom lip. Like an invisible finger tracing the plump fullness, testing it…Crazy.

  She licked her lips, killing the strange sensation, and his gaze collided with hers.

  “I’m talking about the view out here,” he added. Something hot and sensual shimmered in the green depths of his eyes and her pulse jumped.

  “I’ve left over a dozen messages,” she blurted, eager to ignore the sudden butterflies that fluttered away in her stomach. She gathered her indignation and nailed him with a stare. “Did you forget how to use a phone, or have you been avoiding me on purpose?”

  The corner of his mouth crooked into the faintest hint of a smile. “I’ve been a little busy.”

  She glanced at the window. “Too busy to call your folks?” She eyed him. “I saw your mom at the hardware store last week. She’s worried about you.”

  He shrugged, his biceps flexing. The tattoos encircling his arms seemed to widen. “I haven’t been able to call.”

  “You haven’t been able to, or you haven’t wanted to?”

  “Things are different for me now. I’m different. I doubt they’d understand.”

  Meg doubted it, too. They’d freaked out when he’d stepped in an ant bed back in the fifth grade and had pulled Doc Wilmer away from a championship golf game just to apply Benadryl. Meg could only imagine what they would do if they knew Dillon was stepping into motel rooms, and every place else it seemed, with every available woman in town.

  Correction—almost every available woman. He’d been avoiding her like the plague.

  “What’s going on with you? You never miss pepperoni day.” She didn’t mean to sound so accusing. So what if he’d blown off their monthly lunch at Uncle Buck’s Pizza not once, but twice now? She would have skipped their infamous double-decker pepperoni in a heartbeat in favor of a date with a really hot guy. “You could have at least called.”

  “I meant to.” The sexy confidence faded for a split second and she glimpsed a twinkle of true regret. “Don’t be mad.”

  “Because you’re going through some major life crisis and didn’t have the decency to tell me? You really think I’d be mad at a little thing like that?”

  “You’re not mad, then.”

  “I meant that sarcastically.” He grinned and she felt her indignation melt. “Okay, spill it. What’s up?”

  He gave another shrug. “What can I say? I’m finally coming out of my shell.”

  “At thirty-one?”

  “Maybe I’m a late bloomer.”

  “And maybe I’m wearing polyester to the next VFW dance.” She shook her head. “It’s more than that. Something happened to you.”

  “You’ve found me out.” He leaned one hand on the window near her head and leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he murmured, “I’m not really Dillon. I just look like him.”

  The scent of him, so raw and masculine, slid into her nostrils and filled her head. For a split second, she had the urge to lean closer, to press her lips to the side of his neck, to taste him with her tongue, to—

  She fought the urge and leaned back.

  “I suppose you’re really a pod person and we’re about to be invaded by little green men.”

  “They’re purple, but you get the idea.”

  “You’re so full of it.” She leveled a stare at him. “I was really worried.”

  A strange gleam lit his eyes, but then it faded into a vivid green that sparkled and glittered so bright she found herself staring for the next few heartbeats until reality zapped some common sense into her and she managed to shift her attention to his mouth.

  He had really great lips. Full, but not too full. Just right for a man.

  She’d always thought so. At least for those few moments before he’d given her some of the worst kisses of her life.

  He stiffened. “I’m sorry you were worried, but I can take care of myself.” His sudden frown faded into an easygoing grin. “And most anyone else who comes along.” The words were ripe with innuendo and her tummy did a quick somersault before hollowing out.

  Dillon, she reminded herself. Dry-cleaning. Zero attraction.

  But while her brain received the crucial messages loud and clear, her body had tuned in to a different frequency.

  Warmth zipped up and down her spine, sending out blasts of heat to every erogenous zone in her body, from the arches of her feet and the sensitive skin below her belly button, to the ripened tips of her breasts and the back of each ear.

  She had the sudden urge to step forward, close the fraction of distance between them and press her body flush against his.

  So do it.

  The words, raw and sexy, rumbled through her head as if Dillon himself stood next to her and murmured the encouragement directly in her ear.

  He didn’t. He stood inches away, his mouth crooked in a sinful grin, his eyes gleaming with desire and a knowing light that said he read every lascivious thought that raced through her mind.

  Yeah. Sure.

  She’d obviously had one too many of Winona’s pleasure bites. No way would sh
e ever make the first move on a man again.

  Been there. Done that. Uh, uh.

  And she certainly wouldn’t make the first move on Dillon, of all people. He wasn’t her type. He never had been. She went for tall, sexy, aggressive.

  Okay, so maybe he was her type. All except for the aggressive part.

  There were no strong purposeful hands reaching for her, no seeking lips. Gone was the uncertainty that had always simmered so hot and bright in his greener-than-green eyes when it came to women. The fear. Rather, his gaze blazed with a newfound confidence that did crazy things to her heartbeat.

  He stood there, ready and waiting, as if he expected her to be overcome by lust and fall all over him.

  “You did it, didn’t you?” she blurted as the truth crystallized.

  He arched one blond eyebrow. “You’re the one looking through the window. You tell me.”

  His meaning sank in and her cheeks started to burn. Or maybe it was the sudden knowing gleam in his eyes that made her face heat. Either way, her body temperature climbed degree by dangerous degree with each passing second. “Not it as in sex,” she said, managing to find her voice. “Although you obviously did that, too. I’m talking about you. You’ve really changed.” Somehow, someway, Dillon Cash had managed to accomplish in a matter of months what she’d spent half her life trying to do. “You’re really and truly—” she swallowed “—sexy.”

  His mouth slanted into a grin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Not at all. It’s really good. Great, in fact.” She shook her head. “I just can’t figure out how you did it. I mean, obviously, you did the whole makeover thing—” she eyed his jeans “—with the exception of the clothes, but it’s more than that.” Her gaze met his. “I’ve read every self-help sex book known to man. I’ve taken tons of seminars at the junior college. I’ve completed several online courses. This is my eighth class with Winona since she took over for Cheryl Anne.” She shook her head. “And I’m still trying to get onto Tilly’s list.” She glanced through the handspan of window space at the beauty draped across the bed.