with his. “I want the female equivalent. I want to know your secret.” A secret that would surely land her on Tilly’s newest Hot Chicks list. If Meg could make the list, she had no doubt that the men in town would view her differently.
Bye, bye Manhandler Meg, hello irresistible sex object.
“You owe me,” she told Dillon, “so pay up.” When he gave her a questioning look, she added, “For your half of the pizza, plus the tip. Add in pain and suffering because I had to sit there alone, and punitive damages to my hips because of all the extra calories I consumed since I don’t believe in wasting, and I’d say you owe me big-time.”
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
