Drop Dead Gorgeous

“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.

Hehad really great lips. Full, but not too full. Just right for aman.

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 she 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.

He’d done it, all right. He’d finally uncovered the secret she’d been searching for all these years—he’d found a way to make himself ultra attractive to the opposite sex.

Women ogled him. Fantasized about him. Stripped off their clothes and hopped into bed without a thought.

Skull Creek’s biggest geek had become a bona fide sex object.

To every other woman, that is, except Meg.

She knew firsthand that people couldn’t just change. Not deep down inside. Not overnight. It had taken her years to complete the process. Therewas noway he’d managed it in a matter of months.

No, he was still the same Dillon beneath the silky hair and toned muscles. Still the same guy who’d thrown up after Darla Sue Alcott had turned him down for the Homecoming dance.

She knew that, even if it was getting more difficult with each passing second to remember it.

A strange look crossed his face, as if he’d peeked into her head and glimpsed her thoughts. But then the expression faded into an easy grin and her heart gave a double thump.

“Six months ago, you couldn’t even talk to a girl,” she pointed out, her own desperation getting the better of her. “And now you’ve got Susie Wilcox offering herself to you like some pagan sacrifice.”

“Talking’s overrated,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through her. “There are much more interesting ways to communicate.”

“And you learned this how? Book? Seminar? Gene therapy that replaces geek DNA with a hung-like-a-horse chromosome?” The last comment drew a full-blown smile from him. “Because whatever it is, I want some.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You want to be hung like a horse?”

“You know what I mean.” Her gaze locked 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.”