Tempting Her Best Friend (5 page)

The poor girl was oblivious to the torture she’d inflicted on her audience and then some, but if the dozen or so cell phones being held up were any indication, she’d probably know tomorrow via YouTube.

A year later, he finally reached the second floor and possibly another dimension. It was like stepping outside of a black and white farmhouse into the Technicolor crazy Land of Oz.

Ninety-nine percent of the people on this level lacked a Y chromosome and came in all different shapes, sizes, ages, and colors. Like a gigantic box of assorted candy.

A group of women walked by wearing strange outfits that looked like they couldn’t decide if they should attend a ball, work on a railroad, or challenge someone to a duel with pistols.

Hell, maybe a bag of mixed nuts would be a better analogy.

A closer look revealed many of the women wore costumes, but he couldn’t see any sort of theme or pattern. Did romance readers dress up as their favorite characters like the people who went to comic cons did? If Alyssa was made up as some fictitious character, it would take him even longer to find her. By then, she could be itch-free, courtesy of some asshole with strong aversions to wearing shirts or even his own body hair. His heart picked up a beat and so did his legs. He needed to find her fast.

Every time he saw the back of a blonde with long hair, he expected to find Alyssa. But each time he tapped someone on the shoulder, he’d been disappointed when they turned to him. One time, it had actually been one of the cover models, which made Dillon literally jump back. The guy tossed his hair behind his shoulder and winked suggestively. Dillon mumbled an apology and made a hasty retreat.

Finally, he noticed a commanding woman in her seventies, her gray hair smoothed back into a perfect roll, pointing and handing out orders to staff members as easily as he did on his jobsites. Maybe she could tell him where the night’s big event was being held so he could look for Alyssa as people walked in and out. He’d probably have better luck that way than walking around playing a real life version of
Where’s Waldo?

“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m trying to find the big event for tonight’s conference.”

“You must mean the Welcome Party, but I don’t see your registration badge.”

That must be the name tag pouches hanging around everyone’s neck. “I’m sorry, I just got in so I’m not exactly sure—”

“Oh! No,
I’m
sorry. I completely forgot that my assistant told me one of the models had a delayed flight. I’m Patricia, the hostess. Come along, I’ll show you where the dressing room is.”

Patricia slipped her arm through his and led him through the crowd as she glanced at her watch. “Nine thirty. Well, the party started at eight, but better late than never.”

Dillon knew he should say something. He should come clean about his identity because somewhere out there was the actual model arriving on a delayed flight and then Dillon would be discovered as a fraud. But what if this was the only way he could get access to the convention? He supposed he could wait until the next day when registration opened again. Then he’d have one of those badge thingys and be allowed in anywhere.

But by then Alyssa could be having breakfast in bed with Fabio Junior.

Fuck. That.

Patricia opened a door to a small conference room that had been turned into a pseudo-dressing room. Men’s clothes and gym bags were scattered across various chairs. A full-length mirror was turned on its side and propped on a long table against the wall. Hair products and makeup were lined up in groups on the table in front of chairs.

Dillon was lost. “Now what, ma’am?”

“Oh, sorry. Your costume is hanging on the rack over there, and you can use the mirror to get yourself all gussied up.” She pinched his cheek like his grandmother often did, then spun on her heel and clipped over to the door. “Once you’re ready, just go through that other door and you can slip into the party with no one the wiser.”

In the next moment, Patricia breezed out of the room and left him isolated in a room with man makeup and… Dillon crossed the room to the rack with the costume.
Oh, hell no.
A Tarzan costume? He might as well cut his balls off now because there was no way his dignity or male pride would survive wearing
that
in public.

Suddenly, a woman’s squeal cut through the din of muffled voices near the door that led to the ballroom. The murmurings of a man and their joint laughter followed. An image of Alyssa on the other side of the flimsy partition being fondled and cajoled into another man’s bed set his teeth on edge.

To hell with his pride. He’d be the best goddamn Tarzan this conference had ever seen until he found his “Jane” and cut her night—and her quest—short. Then, in the privacy of her room, he’d give her
exactly
what she wanted: excitement, passion, and multiple orgasms. Batteries not included.

…

Dillon?
Alyssa’s heart skipped a beat as she glimpsed a familiar head of sandy hair over Mark the Booty Call’s shoulder before he darted out of her line of sight. She scanned the crowd as Mark droned on about his latest photo shoot in Maui, desperately searching for her best friend. Coming up empty, she realized how ludicrous the idea was that Dillon would be there. Her eyes—or the lemon drops—were playing nasty tricks on her. The
last
place she’d ever find Dillon Alexander was at a romance convention.

“Well, Blondie,” Mark said, “what do you say we get out of here, and I show you the view from my suite?”

They’d been talking for about twenty minutes. Mostly about how he got his job as a model. And the different places he’d traveled to as a model. And the famous people he’d met as a model. It was amazing how narcissism could take a guy from a ten down to a solid three.

Despite his cover-worthy body and good looks, Alyssa was no longer interested in spending the night with Pirate Mark.

“The hell she will,” came from a familiar deep voice behind her.

Dillon!
Excitement rushed through her. She spun around, but her gasp choked off her greeting as her hands flew to her mouth. For several seconds, her gaze roamed over him like the light beneath the copy machine glass. Down…and up…then down again to make sure the image had time to process.

A leopard print tunic draped across his body from one shoulder and ended mid-thigh in a jagged, asymmetrical line. To further authenticate the Tarzan look, he wore a short necklace made of rawhide and several teeth from something like a gigantic cat, and thick strips of brown leather knotted around his biceps.

Despite the ridiculous costume, Dillon stood in all his six-foot-two glory like a proud warrior: shoulders back, chest out, and fists clenched by his sides. His hazel eyes appeared closer to stone gray and just as hard.

Her immediate thoughts splintered in different directions. Part of her wondered why he’d come to the convention. Part of her wondered why his usual laid-back disposition had turned all
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
.

But mostly, she wondered why on earth he looked like he’d entered via swinging vine while yodeling to his jungle friends.

“What,” she began and pointed at the outrageous outfit, “is
that
?”

“It’s a Tarzan costume.” His tone was flat, but his eyes dared her to make fun of him.

Alyssa bit the insides of her cheeks in an effort to tamp down the smile working hard to break through her resolve. Clearing her throat to compose herself better, she said, “Yes, I can see that. I meant, why are you
wearing
it?”

Mark, who apparently wasn’t fazed by Dillon’s death stare, stepped up beside her. “The newbie models always get last pick of the costumes. Plus, he was late, so that’s two strikes against him.” An unfriendly twist of Mark’s lips ripped away what little he had left of his sex appeal quicker than a stripper yanking off his Velcro pants. “Maybe you’ll score something cooler next year, bro.”

“Wait,” Alyssa said, “you think
he’s
a—”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t take fashion advice from a guy wearing a puffy-sleeved shirt, hoop earrings, and more eyeliner than the woman he’s trying to pick up. Besides,” Dillon said, nodding at Alyssa, “I think the lady’s proved you’ve got no business giving advice on scoring anyway, Captain Hooker.”

Alyssa’s jaw fell slack. She’d never seen Dillon behave this way. Like,
ever
. He sounded like a jealous lover, but that didn’t make any sense. Jealousy implied he had romantic feelings for her, and she’d proven last night she couldn’t even manipulate him into those. If he thought of her as anything, it was probably closer to a little sis—

Sister.
She mentally slapped a palm to her forehead. Of course. His brotherly sense of duty must have kicked in when she told him her plan to dabble in the ancient art of one-night stands.
That
was why he was here looking like he wanted to bury a cover model in the desert for flirting with her.

Of all the high-handed, overbearing—

“What the hell’d you just call me?”

Oh, God, the last thing she needed was to be the cause for the first throwdown in romance-convention history. Temporarily abandoning her frustration with Dillon, she interjected before the good-looking got ugly.

“Mark, I’m so sorry. You’ll have to excuse us. I mean, him. Well, actually both. Him for being rude and us because we need to go. He gets cranky when his blood sugar’s low.” She arched her brows at her friend, encouraging him to play along. “Isn’t that right, Dillon?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “No.”

Pretending he hadn’t just negated her last statement, she clapped her hands together and said, “Okay then, let’s go find you some juice. Or a Snickers. I hear those really satisfy. Then again, your issue isn’t hunger so—
eep.
”

The squeak escaped her throat when Dillon grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in the opposite direction of her suitor. Her cheeks warmed as the people they wove through stared after them. She hated being the center of attention, and if Dillon kept this up, they’d be the entertainment portion of the evening.

At last, they reached the corner of the ballroom, where Dillon promptly placed her. With his feet planted apart and arms crossed, his wide shoulders effectively hid her from curious eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was the skimpy costume or the way he was standing that made him seem so…so
big
.

Alyssa rarely ever saw him in anything less than jeans and a T-shirt. He’d been overweight as a child until he’d shot up two feet and started playing football in high school and shed most of it. It wasn’t until college when he found a love for kickboxing that all of his squishiness was replaced with solid muscle.

No one would ever guess he’d struggled with his weight, but he still seemed to have insecurities about his body. He wasn’t one to walk around shirtless, even in the summer. So although Alyssa knew he was muscular from the way he felt when she hugged him, she only ever saw his arms and, on the rare occasion he wore a tank, his shoulders. Only now she wondered if she’d ever
truly
looked at them, because she didn’t remember them being so…well,
big
.

She rolled her eyes at her own inability to come up with better adjectives than a preschooler. Apparently noticing well-defined muscles made her as intelligent as a teenager noticing a set of double D’s.
How very primitive of me. Maybe I should be the one wearing a caveman costume.

“Tell me you were not about to go up to that douche’s room.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at him. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business. What the hell are you doing here, Dillon? And
why
are you in that ridiculous costume pretending to be a cover model?”

“It was the only way I could get in to stop you from making a huge mistake.”

“What kind of mistake?”

“The kind where you sleep with a total stranger,” he said between clenched teeth.

“It’s not like I’m picking up some guy at a dive bar in a seedy part of town,” she hissed. “Come on, Dillon, you know me better than that. I’m not one to throw caution to the wind. I don’t even
jaywalk
, for chrissake.”

His rigid stance finally broke. He braced one hand on the wall next to her head and leaned in, his eyes intense. “I know, but I still don’t like the idea of you throwing yourself at some guy just because you have certain…
needs
.”

The heat of indignation spread from her toes to the roots of her hair faster than a brush fire. Digging her nails into her palms, she forced herself to remain calm. “Oh, I see,” she bit off. “And just who do you suggest I get to attend to my ‘needs,’ hmm?
You
?”

“Yes.”

“See, even you won’t—” His response hurtled into her brain a little late but still hit her with the force of a cannonball to the chest. She shook her head. No way. She’d heard him wrong. Her subconscious was projecting answers that would quell her out-of-control, starved-for-action libido. “You said ‘no,’ right?”

“No.”

“No you said yes? Or no as in—”

“
Alyssa
.” Dillon gripped her shoulders and stepped in close. She tried to retreat, at least a little to increase her oxygen intake, as he seemed to be stealing every last molecule between them, but her body was already wedged into the corner.

There was nothing to do but wait for him to confirm whether or not he’d propositioned they have sex, although something told her she’d heard him right the first time. Which begged the question, what did she plan to do about it?

Chapter Four

“Yes,” Dillon repeated. “I think I should be the one to help you.”

Christ, he felt so dumb saying that. Like having sex with her was some huge altruistic favor as her friend. What she didn’t know was that she’d be bringing his years-long fantasy to life. Hell, the moment he laid eyes on her in that red dress and black boots, several fantasies came to mind. None of them compared to the real thing, though. The silky material clung to her body like a second skin and displayed the whole of her back. His fingers itched to trace the line of her spine and continue over the crease of her ass until he reached the hot flesh between her legs.

She shook her head, disbelief evident in the furrow of her brow. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“Why?”

“It’s not like I’m suggesting something that outrageous here. Last I checked, sex between consenting adults was all the rage. And friends with benefits isn’t exactly a new concept.”

“Dillon, think about what you’re saying. We’ve been friends for
eighteen years
. You’re like— Like…”

“Like what, Aly?”
Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say—

“Like my brother.”

That.
Ouch. No guy ever wanted to hear the “I love you as a friend” speech. But the “you’re like my brother” speech was even worse. Friends could at least fool around if they got drunk enough. But unless they grew up in Arkansas, no one fooled around with their sibling.

Only, the more Dillon studied her, the more he saw signs that she might not be telling the whole truth. Things like the hitch of her breath when he leaned in the slightest bit. How her pupils ate up the blue of her eyes. That her cheeks looked like they’d been kissed by pink rose petals.

Or maybe she was nervous. Or embarrassed, for that matter. It’s not like he’d announced his presence or the subject of being friends with bennies in a civilized manner. But damn if he hadn’t almost thrown a punch as soon as he’d heard that pirate-ass invite Alyssa up to his room. The fact that Dillon merely traded insults with the guy should earn him a trophy for immense restraint.

And then it happened. Her eyes settled on his mouth, and her tongue flicked over her lips. It happened faster than the blast of an air hammer, but his brain played it back in super slo-mo. She probably had no idea the things she’d just revealed.

If there was any place to go all-in and hope he played his cards right, Vegas was it. So he’d call her bluff and hope she folded.

Bracing his other hand on the wall, he caged her in completely. Dillon needed to take the upper hand where he could. He wanted to overwhelm her, get her off her game. So all she saw, heard, smelled, and felt was him in front of her, and to hell with the rest of the world around them.

“Kiss me.”

Her eyes grew wide. “What?”

“Kiss me. I think you owe it to yourself to make sure I don’t do anything for you before you go to some stranger.”

Alyssa sucked the corner of her lip between her teeth. Her tell. He had her on the run. All he needed was to up the ante one more time to drive his point home.

“Besides,” he said. “Here you’ll get two nights at the most before you go home to the same problem you started with. I’m right next door. You’ve always had free rein in my kitchen. I have no problems giving you free rein in my bedroom, Aly.”

“This is crazy.” Her words lacked conviction.

“All you have to do is kiss me. If you can honestly tell me it feels like kissing your brother, that’ll be the end of it.”

“You’ll drop this whole thing? And go home?”

Hope sparked in her eyes and burned his pride. He hated thinking the idea of him leaving made her relieved on any level. “Promise.”

This time, when she dropped her eyes to his mouth, she let them linger. The weight of her gaze traveled through his body and settled in his balls, making them heavy with years of anticipation for this moment. Years of longing, of waiting, was finally coming to an end. He balanced on the knife’s edge between letting her make the first move and taking what he wanted. What he’d demanded.

Her pulse beat a rapid tattoo at her throat, and he made a mental note to kiss her there later so he could feel her excitement against his lips, his tongue. The thought had him biting back a groan that had been building for over a decade.

But he couldn’t let himself have that luxury. Not yet. Not until Alyssa admitted to herself and to him that she wanted this. He had to remain in control for a little while longer or risk scaring her away.

Dillon used every last bit of restraint he could summon to hold still. He dug his fingertips into the wall until he had plaster under his nails. She placed her hands on his chest to steady herself as she rose up, slowly closing the gap that had always kept them separated, even as they’d been inseparable.

This was the point of no return. The moment when things would change, for the better, or worse. No matter what happened after, things could never go back to the way they were before. This one kiss would be a defining moment.

Her thick lashes lowered as her breath whispered over his face…and his control slipped. Cupping the sides of her face, Dillon obliterated the last inch that lay between their past and their future.

Supple lips molded to his in a way that could only be described as perfect. She made a tiny sound that vibrated through their fused mouths, growing his confidence along with his cock. Though his mind raged for him to plunder and take what he so desperately wanted, and what he now knew she would eagerly give, he kept his pressure gentle and enjoyed her like she did her fine wines.

He sipped at her lips, tested their softness, reveled in their taste. Every second was beyond what he’d ever imagined, and yet there was still so much left to discover. Hundreds of inches to kiss, taste, explore. Dozens of ways to bring her more pleasure than she could ever need in a lifetime, so she’d never have any reason to go looking for it anywhere else ever again.

Finally, he forced himself to break the kiss and take a step back. Her blue eyes were bright, her pupils blown with hunger. Dillon had to gently remove her fisted hands from his chest to give them both the space they needed to catch their breaths. When she realized what he was doing, she did her best to compose herself by schooling her features and tucking her hands under her arms.

Despite the noise of the party going on behind them, it was her silence that was deafening. “Well?” he prodded.

“Sorry,” she said with a half shrug. “Nothing. Have a safe trip back, and I’ll see you when I get home.”

…

Please go home please go home please go home…

“I’m not going home, Aly.”

Damn it!
“But you said you would.”

“Yeah, on the condition you could tell me
honestly
that you felt nothing. But you’re full of shit, so I’m not going anywhere.”

Shit!
She didn’t know how to process what she’d felt when Dillon kissed her. The care in which his hands held her face like she was a flower with fragile petals. How his lips, full and strong, had fit so perfectly to hers that her mouth now felt incomplete without them. And the swirling heat deep in her belly that urged her to let go and be consumed by its lascivious flames.

Because while the idea of finally getting to feel Dillon against her—
inside
her—was like every fantasy she’d ever had rolled into one, the fact was, he was still only offering her a fraction of what she wanted. His body. Could she go back to being just friends when he grew tired of her benefits? Would she be even more in love with him after lying in his arms? Even worse though was the thought of never being able to get the feel of him out of her mind, out of her soul.

For the first time ever, she had sympathy for her mother…

Alyssa willed her pulse to slow down and her control to return. She needed time and space to think things through. To crunch the numbers and make a logical and objective decision on his—at the moment, seemingly ludicrous—proposal. If he wouldn’t go home, then she had no choice but to avoid him until she worked everything out.

Throwing her hands up, she said, “Fine, then. Stay. I hope you have a good time.”

An eavesdropping flock of romance reading vultures started moving in to collect what she’d left behind. As she sidestepped around him, she assured herself she didn’t care that several made blatant plays for her best friend. She hoped they didn’t try their hands at gambling because not one of them had a poker face. They practically showed him their cards, their sugary-sweet voices marking them as sure bets if he was so inclined to throw his chips into the pot.

“Aly, wait,” he said, grasping her arm.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Alyssa shook free and shot past him, practically diving into the sea of women that had crowded around him. Behind her, she heard female pleas for him to stay and then the sound of fabric ripping, followed by squeals of delight.

Glancing back, her jaw dropped to find a shirtless Dillon in the middle of an eye orgy. She told herself to stop gawking and walk away, but her eyes had taken over and rooted her in place so they could look their fill. It was as if she’d had blurry vision all these years and someone finally gave her corrective lenses, pulling all the delicious details into sharp focus.

His arms, which she’d seen daily, somehow looked bigger framing well-defined pecs, a six-pack of abs, and cut obliques that lined his narrow waist. And the only scrap of clothing left on him was a pair of barely visible leopard-print briefs beneath the matching low-slung loincloth covering him like ragged mud flaps in the back and front.

Alyssa’s throat suddenly felt drier than the Nevada desert. For the first time, she saw Dillon, not only as her handsome best friend, but as the rest of the female population must see him: a sexy, modern Adonis. She felt her nipples grow stiff and warmth bloomed between her legs as images of him pressing that godlike body of his against her flooded her mind.

Holy hell. I’m in trouble.

When a woman reached out and slid her fingertips down his arm, he jumped like she’d shocked him with a jolt of electricity. “Easy, ladies, let’s not get carried away,” he said, holding his hands up in front of him. Unlike the real models who were probably just as comfortable in their birthday suits as they were business suits, Dillon wasn’t relishing the shameless attention the women wanted to shower him with.

And neither was Alyssa.

“Hey,” she called out. Something primal and unrecognizable drove her to push her way through the wall of women and plant herself in front of Dillon. “I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourselves. He’s eye candy, not a boy toy. Now, shoo, all of you.”

Most of the group started to disband, but a lady old enough to be Alyssa’s grandmother winked at her and said, “He sure looks like he wants to be
your
boy toy.”

Unable to stop herself, she huffed. “Yeah, well, people in hell want ice water, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to get it.”

“That’s it.”

Alyssa almost hadn’t heard the growled phrase before she was spun around and hoisted into the air. Her squeal of surprise was cut short as her body folded over Dillon’s shoulder like one of the sandbags he hauled around his sites.

She braced her hands on him to try and push herself off, but when she looked up—which was actually down—she realized she was palming the rounded muscles of his firm backside. Alyssa snatched them back like she’d been burned, effectively causing her upper body to crash into his again. It all happened so fast that Dillon had taken a good five strides before her brain caught up with the action.

“Put me down. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She tried to ignore the hint of panic in her voice and the sea of people staring after them and whispering in their wake.

Dillon tightened his arms around her thighs and turned his head just long enough to answer. “Getting the hell out of here. We need to talk.”

“We could talk just as easily there, Dillon. Now put me down.
You’re causing a scene
.”

“Not half the scene I’ll cause if we stay, Aly. Now stop squirming, or you’ll end up flashing everyone we pass.” That thought halted all efforts of escape. She felt him tug the hem of her dress down as far as it would go, which wasn’t more than a couple inches. “This isn’t a fucking dress. It’s a long
shirt
.”

Alyssa didn’t see the point in arguing over her wardrobe choice, but as soon as he pushed through a door that led to a dressing room, she got all fired up again.

“Great, we’re out. Put me down, Dillon.”

“Not yet.”

He swiped his gym bag from a table without even breaking his stride, then continued out into the lobby area of the second floor and over to the elevators. Every plea, every demand she made, went unanswered. Alyssa could only imagine what they must look like: gorgeous, near-naked Tarzan carrying off a surly blonde in a skimpy dress and fuck-me boots.

Classic Vegas.

“What floor is your room?”

She told him, but only because she planned on going in and locking his ass out. The whole night—the whole
weekend
—was now completely messed up. She didn’t get mad very often, but as they waited for the elevator door to open, she felt her blood start to boil. It wasn’t hard considering it had all drained into her head. She probably had steam coming out of her ears by now.

The elevator dinged its arrival, and Dillon stepped inside and swung her around as he faced the doors. Other people must have tried to get on because he said, “Sorry, this one’s full. You’ll have to catch the next one,” and stabbed the button to her floor.

As soon as the doors sealed shut and they began their ascent, he finally set her down. The blood rushed back into her body and made her dizzy, and Dillon reached out to catch her around the waist, steadying her against his bare chest. She stared up into his hazel eyes, hoping to read his thoughts, understand this new side of him she’d never seen.

In the back of her mind, a small voice told her she should be stepping out of his arms. Reestablish the boundaries that existed between friends, instead of flirting with the intimate embrace between lovers. The only reason she didn’t was because of the light-headedness.