Drop Dead Gorgeous. Kimberly Raye
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 aworn pair of jeans, up denim-clad legs, past a trimwaist and an enticing funnel of whiskey-colored hair that bisectedwashboard 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.