Revenge: The Complete Series (Erotic Rock Star Suspense Romance)

by Mimi Strong

  “Amanda?”

  She jerks her head, shaking it. She waves a hand between us like she’s clearing her thoughts.

  “I’m fine,” she says. “Just tired. And I could really use a drink.” She pulls out her phone and starts scrolling through messages.

  “He did ask,” I say. “Before he did certain… things, he did ask if it was okay.”

  She doesn’t even glance up from her phone. “Yeah, he sounds normal enough,” she says. “People get weird about the virgin thing. Like it’s a big responsibility. It’s not. Trust me, you’re better off just getting your first time over with. I’d do you myself if I had a dick.”

  I laugh. “Gee, thanks.”

  She shrugs. “That’s what roommates are for.”

  “Speaking of roommates, when do I get to meet Riley?”

  “She sent me a message. Her trip got extended. She says to say hi. And that you should give your V-card to the rock star.”

  I toss the teddy bear at Amanda. “She didn’t say that.”

  She tosses the bear back, smiling. “If she was here, she totally would.” She makes faces as she sends a text message. “You can invite him over here tonight, if you want. Looks like I’m going out.”

  My voice catches in my throat. I don’t want her to go and leave me alone all night.

  She gets up from my bed and walks out, still using her phone.

  “Have fun!” I call out after her.

  She disappears, off to her room, and I go back to my laptop. I spend a few minutes stalking my old friends back home while I pick at the duct tape holding the monitor to the keyboard.

  My friends are making inside jokes about something that happened at a party. I don’t know what they’re talking about. I don’t even know who these people are.

  Amanda stops by my room on her way out for the night. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she says.

  I have to laugh at that.

  A few minutes later, I’m all alone.

  Now I’m nervous.

  Nick hinted that something would happen tonight, but he wouldn’t say what. I want to be comfortable while I’m waiting, so I put on my pajamas.

  They’re a flannel pair Nan gave me last Christmas. They’re pink with little cat faces. If Nan sees anything with an orange cat on it, she buys it for me. My favorite barn cat was an orange tabby. He died a couple years ago, but Nan still talks about him like she just saw him yesterday. I hate when she does that. She talks that way about my mother sometimes.

  With my pajamas on, I wander around the house. What am I waiting for? Nick could have at least given me a clue. I’ve got my phone in my hand so I don’t miss anything.

  Around midnight, I climb into bed and start reading a book.

  I’m awakened by a noise.

  My mouth has a sour taste. I’ve been asleep about an hour. It’s past one o’clock.

  I listen for more noises. Is that Amanda trying to get the front door open?

  My bedroom is golden with the soft light of my bedside lamp.

  The tapping sound comes again.

  Something’s at my window.

  The glass rings out as something smacks it.

  In an instant, I know exactly what’s happening.

  Someone’s here.

  Outside my bedroom.

  Throwing stones at my window.

  Holding my breath, I cross the room to the window and look out at the inky darkness.

  Standing in the back yard is a guy with a guitar.

  Dylan.

  He waves, then picks up another handful of pebbles and tosses them at the window.

  Chapter 8

  I push open the window.

  “What are you doing?”

  He answers, “What does it look like?”

  Dylan Wolf is standing below my window, a story below me. The house is only one floor of living space, plus a basement that’s used for storage. It’s set on a hill, so the front door is only a few steps off the ground, but the back yard is way down from my window.

  I’m glad for the distance between us. Dylan looks like he might just climb right in if he could.

  “Who gave you my address?”

  He strums the guitar and sings, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel. Let down your golden hair.”

  “Did Nick send you here?”

  He stops playing. “Who’s Nick?”

  “Never mind. I’m going to pretend this isn’t creepy.”

  He strums again. “This isn’t creepy. It’s romantic.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if I came to your firehall like some crazy stalker.”

  “I was hoping you would. We were having fun and then you took off on me. I’ve been missing you.”

  He strums the guitar and starts playing a song. The lyrics are about missing a girl. I don’t think it’s an original, because it sounds too familiar. Then again, that’s how all the best songs are, right from the first time you hear them.

  His voice has that soulful grit that tugs at my emotions. As he sings, I get the urge to push the window open all the way. I could just lean forward and tumble down, down into his arms.

  I stick my head out the window far enough to look from side to side. The windows in the houses next door are all dark. It’s 1:20am and all the normal people are either out clubbing or asleep in their beds.

  He finishes the song and calls up, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  I snort. “Not likely.”

  “Are you alone?”

  The hunger in his voice sends a chill through me.

  “My roommates are here,” I say. It’s a lie, but this is the kind of situation where you should lie. I think.

  “No, they’re not. I tried the other windows first, and yours was the only one with a light on. I didn’t just throw pebbles. I threw a few clods of dirt.”

  “You’re not coming inside.”

  “There’s a ladder back there by the garden shed. I could come right up the side of the house if I wanted to.”

  I step back from the window and slide it shut. I wave to make sure he’s watching, and I point down at my hand as I fasten the lock. Now the window’s locked.

  His face is in the shadows and I can’t see his expression. He takes two steps back. The light from the street lamp glows on his face. Even at this distance, I can see the glint in his eyes.

  My legs feel weak. Those dark eyes of his work magic on me, every time.

  He starts strumming the guitar again. It’s the same one he had busking, with the worn-out varnish. If he can afford to rent such a nice apartment, why doesn’t he buy a better guitar?

  He sings the first line of the song. I know the song instantly. Even through the window glass. There’s no doubt in my mind.

  I flip open the lock and push the window open again. The cool night air washes over me. I hadn’t noticed until now, but my skin is hot. All over. The core of me is practically humming.

  He grins up at me as he sings Jessie’s Girl.

  I can’t help myself. I start singing along with him. My voice is not beautiful like his, so I try to keep it soft.

  He finishes the verse and strums the melody.

  “You know this one,” he calls up.

  “People have sung that to me my whole life. Even though I’m Jessie, and I’m not Jessie’s girl. Sometimes people change around the lyrics. It’s so cheesy.”

  “You hate it?”

  “Yeah. It’s a dumb song.”

  “Liar. I heard you singing along.” He slips the guitar strap off over his head. “I’ll go get the ladder.”

  I mutter under my breath, “No, you won’t.”

  To my shock, he gets a ladder from the shed and sets it against the house below my window.

  I pull back from the window. OMG. He’s coming up the ladder. I can hear his boots as he climbs the rungs.

  In a panic, I scramble around the room to tidy up. I’ve got some dishes and food wrappers on the bedside table. I yank open a drawer and dump everything in.


  As I’m closing the drawer, his head appears at the window.

  “Knock, knock,” he says. “Invite me in.”

  “I would have let you in the front door.”

  He blinks at me, waiting.

  “Fine, come in,” I say.

  He climbs in, groaning about his tight jeans being no good for this sort of thing.

  My hands fly around nervously. “Can I get you anything? Glass of water?”

  He dusts off his jeans and reaches down to unlace his boots. The guitar must have been left outside in the back yard. I think I understand why he plays such a beat-up old guitar—he doesn’t have to worry about it.

  He unlaces the boots and kicks them off. I feel funny getting a glimpse of his socks. They’re gray with a red stripe on the toe. They look like farmer socks. Even though my own feet are bare right now, seeing Dylan’s socks feels intimate.

  My eyes rise slowly. The room is lit only by a small bedside lamp, but that’s more than enough light to see his attractive form. Above the tight jeans, he’s wearing a simple button-up shirt. It’s dark, maybe olive green or blue.

  His dark hair looks longer than I remember. The top part is lanky and flops as he tosses his head. And then there’s his face, with his ruggedly handsome jaw, which just takes my breath away. Especially when he looks at me. Like how he is right now.

  “You’re not dressed to go out,” he says.

  His glinting eyes are making my legs feel weak. I step back and take a seat on the edge of my bed.

  I start to talk, but there’s a lump in my throat. I cough, then say, “I was sleeping. These are my pajamas.”

  “You don’t sleep in the nude?”

  I giggle. “Of course not. What if there’s a fire and you have to run outside? You should always wear something to bed.”

  He walks over to the desk and runs his fingers over the duct tape criss-crossing the top of my laptop. Seeing him touch something of mine makes me feel like he’s touching me. I shake, despite myself.

  “Nice laptop,” he says.

  “It’s like your guitar. Lots of stories to tell. Life experience.”

  His lips curl up in a smile. “That’s a good way to put it,” he says, his voice sounding scratchy like an old record. “Stories and life experience.”

  He pulls out the wooden swivel chair and takes a seat.

  I glance over at the clock radio. It’s 1:35am. What kind of guy shows up at your window at 1:35am? The kind who makes your skin feel hot and your chest ache with longing.

  “I really was sleeping,” I say.

  “You wouldn’t have those pajamas on if you were at my place. I wouldn’t want anything to slow us down.”

  My heart is pounding. He’s not even touching me, and I’m nervous as hell.

  I know Amanda gave me some advice earlier, but I can’t remember a single word of it. She said something about guys being animals. Not helpful.

  “Okay, I see it now,” he says.

  “What?” I’m still on the edge of my bed. My body doesn’t know what to do. I cross my legs, but that feels ridiculous. I uncross my legs.

  “I see the nervousness,” he says. “I’m over here on this antique chair, with some distance between us. I didn’t see it the other day. On Wednesday. I pushed you too far, and I didn’t know until it was too late.”

  My throat feels tight. Is this an apology? Waves of different emotions crash over me. I’m angry, but I’m happy. I want to scream at him that he scared me, but I also want to kiss him.

  “You told the truth that day,” he says.

  “Of course I did. And then you turned into an asshole.”

  “Ouch.” He closes his eyes, grimacing. “I guess I had that coming.”

  “Damn right, you did.”

  He opens his eyes again and locks me in his gaze. “You let me touch your pussy and I nearly lost everything.”

  My cheeks flush at the mention of that word. I pull my eyes away and look down at the carpet. I was swearing at him and calling him names, then he said one little dirty word and now I’m speechless.

  He’s really good at this. I’m in way over my head.

  “How’s that bed?” he asks.

  “You’re not going to sleep over.”

  He chuckles. “That’s not what I asked.”

  He gets up from the chair and walks the three steps to get to me. He stands in front of me, looking down. My chin is at the same level as his belt.

  Why’s he standing in front of me like this? OMG. Does he think I’m going to…

  He’s so close, I can hear him breathing.

  He reaches down and takes my hands in his. He lifts my hands slowly. I’m sure he’s going to make me undo his belt and jeans. But he doesn’t.

  He keeps pulling my hands up. He takes a step back and pulls me to my feet.

  “Let’s get you out of those pajamas,” he says.

  I swallow hard. We’re going to do this. Right now.

  I’m so nervous, I can’t move.

  “Well?” he says.

  “Shouldn’t we start with some kissing?”

  Smiling, he leans toward me and kisses me softly on the cheek. His lips are heavenly. I tilt up my chin. He kisses the other cheek, and then he tilts his head and kisses me on the lips.

  His arms close around me, pulling me into him.

  I stand on my toes to get closer. I feel weightless in his arms. My whole body hums at his touch.

  My mind lets go of its worries. I don’t care what happens next. I just want to be with Dylan. Touching him. Kissing him.

  His hands move down from my back to my buttocks. His wide palms cup my body and squeeze.

  I pull my lips back from his just as a small moan escapes my mouth.

  He growls and chases my lips with his, pressing hard. His tongue pushes into my mouth. I want him. I want him so bad.

  With a groan, he pulls away from me.

  I’m gasping, unable to catch my breath. All I want is his lips on mine.

  “Your pajamas,” he says.

  I whisper, “I’ll take them off.”

  My hands go to the top buttons. He catches my hands in his, stopping me.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he says. “Let’s get you out of these pajamas and into some clothes that are more appropriate.”

  “For what?”

  Grinning, he says, “For a concert.”

  “Dylan, it’s almost two in the morning.”

  “That’s when all the good stuff happens.”

  “Dylan…”

  He kisses me again. When he pulls away, he says, “I love it when you say my name. Say it again.”

  “Dylan.”

  He growls and comes at me like he’s going to devour me whole. I squeal, but he catches me, and his lips on mine silence me.

  After a moment, he pushes me away. Now he’s the one gasping.

  “I’ll wait outside your door while you get changed,” he says. “Wear something sexy. I want all the guys to slobber over you. And then I want them to see you walking out the door with me.”

  “I don’t own anything sexy.”

  He crosses over to my closet and pushes the bi-fold doors all the way open.

  “Interesting.” He pulls out the olive green jacket he left behind the day he met me.

  “I was going to give that back to you, I swear.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Naughty little thief. Shame on you, Jess.”

  I cough. “Excuse me? You left it on the sidewalk. You were littering. I didn’t steal your dumb jacket.”

  “No, but you stole my heart, didn’t you?”

  I can feel my face twisting up into a weird expression. I laugh nervously.

  He scrunches his forehead and shakes his head. “Sorry, that was really corny. Sometimes I say things that should be song lyrics.”

  “I like your song lyrics.”

  He pulls out a pair of jeans and a cranberry-red shirt and tosses both at me. “Here, kid. Put these on.
Don’t wear any underwear underneath.”

  “No underwear?”

  “Do you own any underwear that aren’t white cotton?”

  “Not really.”

  He nods. “Then no underwear. If I even think about that virginal white cotton, I’ll be hard all night. I can’t play guitar if I’m as hard as a rock for you.”

  My eyes bulge. Is he really saying these things? Out loud? Right in front of me?

  Chuckling, he steps toward my bedroom door and out into the hallway. “Where’s the kitchen? I need some crackers.”

  “Keep going. You’ll find it.”

  I hear him mumbling to himself as he searches around for the light switches.

  I close the door and stand for a moment with my back against it. I mutter to myself, “Jess, what the hell are you doing?”

  Shaking my head, I start to unbutton my flannel top. I pull on the red shirt, no bra. I push down my flannel bottoms, and panties.

  This is not what I pictured tonight. At the most, I thought Dylan might phone me. That’s it. I didn’t expect he’d come and stand in my back yard and serenade me.

  As I’m pulling on the jeans, I remember something. I talked to him once about living in this neighborhood. He asked where I lived, and I told him I wouldn’t say, because if I did, he’d come and serenade me. Exactly the way he really did.

  Was I the one who gave him the crazy idea in the first place? It sure seems like I did.

  I’d better watch what I say around Dylan.

  Chapter 9

  I come out of my bedroom and find Dylan in the kitchen.

  He’s munching on crackers from my cupboard.

  He points to the cupboard next to mine. “Who’s Queen Bitch?”

  “My roommate. You actually met her once. On Tuesday morning, she was with me when we saw you busking.”

  He blinks his dark, heavenly eyes. “You weren’t with anyone.”

  “She was standing right next to me.” I hold my hand up next to my head. “She’s this tall. Blonde. Her name’s Amanda.”

  He munches another cracker slowly, staring at me like I’m crazy.

  “She talked to you and shook your hand,” I say.

  He’s completely still, posed like a gorgeous statue in my kitchen.

  “All I remember is you,” he says. “All I saw that day was you, Jessica Lynn Rivera.”