Drop Dead Gorgeous. Kimberly Raye

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.”

      “Andmaybe I’m wearing polyester to the nextVFWdance.” 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.

      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