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

by Mimi Strong

  People start dancing.

  I want to dance, too, so I get up.

  The bearded guy who was singing before comes back onto the stage and joins him. They sing harmonies on the chorus. One of them doesn’t quite have the lyrics, but it’s still beautiful.

  The redheads get up and join me. We dance our way up to the stage and swoon together at Dylan’s feet.

  He’s having a hard time keeping his focus while watching me.

  I raise my arms in the air and twist my body with the music. I’m having a great time, and the best part is thinking about what happens next.

  His lips make the most beautiful shapes when he sings. With every word, I want to quiet those lips with a kiss.

  The way he’s looking at me, I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing.

  He finishes the song and takes a couple steps back. His head nods down in concentration. He strums a few chords, then stops.

  He crosses to the other guy and mumbles something in his ear. The guy grins.

  My head is spinning now. I felt so good, but now I don’t feel so hot. The redheads are on either side of me, and they’re stumbling. One of them swings her arm over my shoulders and presses her cheek to mine. She feels feverish, and I want her off me, but she’s so heavy.

  Everything’s so heavy.

  My eyelids won’t stay open.

  I just want to sleep.

  Somebody yells, and there’s a commotion. Lots of pushing.

  I’m blacking out.

  Chapter 11

  I wake up to bright light shining right through my closed eyelids.

  In a minute, the rooster will crow.

  I wait, but he doesn’t crow.

  My eyes open, which sends the light straight into my brain. My skull feels like it’s splitting open.

  I clench my eyes shut, groan, and roll over.

  I’m not alone. Someone’s breathing on my face.

  Very slowly, I open my eyes again.

  There’s a pretty girl with freckles and red hair sleeping right in front of me.

  I sit up, the room lurching and spinning with me.

  Both of the redheads are here. We’re on a huge bed with dark blue sheets. A king-sized bed. We’re all wearing our clothes, and we’re not under the covers.

  My bed is not nearly this big, so I’m definitely not at home.

  It’s the three of us girls, on a king-sized bed, and I don’t know how we got here. But where is here?

  We were at the club last night, dancing near the stage. I was having fun, dancing and making eyes at Dylan while he sang.

  And now I’m here.

  I scooch to the edge of the bed and tumble off. My left foot is asleep, which makes standing or walking an extreme challenge. I give it a minute, careful not to move while the pins and needles subside.

  There’s something right in front of me that gives me a really big hint about where I am.

  A shiny, brass fireman’s pole.

  I’m in the loft at Dylan’s rented place, and that pole goes down through a round hole in the floor, to the lower floor.

  As I’m looking down through the hole, a face appears.

  Dylan’s.

  “Good morning,” he says.

  I wave. “Hi.”

  He’s wearing gray jogging pants and no shirt.

  “Go on. You know you want to,” he says, smiling. “Wrap your arms and legs around that pole and slide down. It’s much quicker than the stairs.”

  “Where are the stairs?”

  “I won’t tell you. Come on, Jess. Have some fun.”

  I look over at the sisters on the bed. They don’t look like they’ll be waking up any time soon. They shouldn’t mind if I just slide down this fireman’s pole and leave them sleeping.

  I reach out and wrap my arms around the pole. Nothing happens.

  Right. I have to jump off the floor.

  Trying not to scream like a little girl, I wrap one leg around the pole, and then the other. But I’m gripping the pole so tightly, I don’t budge.

  I look down, expecting to see Dylan laughing at me, but he’s just carrying on with whatever he’s doing. I hear the refrigerator open and close.

  I loosen my grip enough to slide down. My damp palms make a squealing sound against the brass surface. When I touch down on solid ground again, I straighten my clothes and try to look tough.

  Why has this brass pole got me feeling so shy and awkward? I grew up around barns and plenty of big farm equipment. I was always jumping off something onto a pile of hay, or sliding down some machinery. I wasn’t scared of anything. And now I’m squeamish about a one-story pole?

  I don’t like this particular effect Dylan has on me. I don’t like how nervous I get.

  But he does look like a magazine model, beating eggs with no shirt on. My eyes graze over his lean, hard chest and firm stomach muscles. He’s utter perfection. One of those museum statues come to life.

  “Cat got your tongue?” he asks me. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’re wondering if I always go out clubbing and bring home three girls. The answer is… not always.”

  “Really? Are you going to tell me that sometimes it’s as many as four?”

  He chuckles. “Are my bad jokes really that predictable?”

  “Enough being cute. What the hell happened last night? I didn’t drink that much, did I?”

  He pours the bowl of beaten eggs into a hot frying pan, then starts slicing a loaf of bread.

  “You’re a magnet for trouble,” he says.

  “Excuse me?” I grab a glass from one of the open shelves and fill it with water from the tap.

  “First you get mugged, and then you get yourself and your new friends all drunk, or maybe drugged.”

  I nearly choke on the water I’m drinking. “Drugged?”

  He looks up at me, the knife in his hand raised. His eyes are dark and dangerous, his expression murderous. “By the way you three were stumbling around and incoherent, I’d say yes. I’m just glad you were up where I could see you. Me and the other guys grabbed you before anything bad could happen.”

  I finish the water and set the glass down.

  Maybe I’ve still got some of the drugs in my system, because I feel calm. My emotions aren’t raging. I feel like they’re on vacation somewhere, and maybe I’ll be really pissed about it tomorrow, but right now I’m okay. Numb.

  He brings the knife back down to the bread and cuts more slices. “I was going to drive the girls back to wherever they’re staying, but neither of them could give me an address.” He glances up at me, his brown eyes still intense. “I hope you’re not mad.”

  I force myself to say the polite thing. “Of course not. That was nice of you to look out for those other girls.”

  He keeps slicing the bread, grinning. “Admit it. You wanted to wake up next to me, not two girls.”

  “You’re really full of yourself.”

  “That’s not what you said last night. You said I’m dreamy.”

  Dreamy?

  He is dreamy, but I’d never say that to a guy. I’m an adult woman. I do have some dignity.

  “You don’t remember,” he says. “The redheads were passed out in the back of my car, but you were a chatty one. Talk, talk, talk. You told me about the prize steer you raised from a calf.”

  “No, I didn’t.” I can feel my cheeks flushing.

  “Does the name Henry ring a bell?”

  Henry was the name of the steer I raised. My stomach hurts now, and I’m so mad at myself for blabbing last night.

  I back away from the kitchen, needing some space. I mutter that I’d like to find the washroom.

  Dylan points the way. “There are a bunch of new toothbrushes in the drawer. Go ahead and pick one for yourself to keep here.” He chuckles. “For future sleepovers.”

  I get into the bathroom and lock the door behind me.

  What’s going on with me? My heart is racing and I’m thirsty again, but I might throw up. I sit on the edge
of the tub for a minute with my face in my hands. I was numb when I woke up, but now I’m in a panic.

  I can tell him I have to work today, or that I have plans with my roommate.

  What am I doing? Dylan’s being so sweet today. If he’s such a great guy, why am I thinking up a million excuses to get out of his place?

  Maybe it’s whatever knocked me out last night. My nerves are on edge and I don’t feel like myself. It’s no fun to kiss a guy if you’re worried you might get sick on him.

  I take a few minutes to use the washroom, wash my face, and brush my teeth. He’s right about the drawer full of toothbrushes, still in their packages.

  For an instant, seeing the toothbrushes fills me with rage. He must bring girls here all the time. He’s a total player. I could punch him right in his smug face.

  Then I have some more reasonable thoughts and calm down. He’s renting this place, so it’s probably the owner who stocked up on the things people always need. It was Nick who put these things in here. My friend, Nick.

  I shake my head, which makes me see stars. My body is a wreck. My brain is broken. How did I get myself into this mess?

  There’s a knock on the door.

  I open it, expecting to see Dylan.

  It’s one of the redheads. I’ve completely forgotten their names.

  She’s rubbing her eyes, a big grin on her face. “Awesome night,” she says. “You know you had a good time when you can’t remember. I hope nobody took pictures.”

  I leave the bathroom to her, and her sister follows her in. I guess those two do everything together.

  In a daze, I walk back over to where Dylan is. He picks me up and sits me on the kitchen counter.

  “I forgot to say good morning.” He reaches his arms around behind my back to hold on and he kisses me.

  His lips are hot and urgent against mine.

  My eyes flutter closed and I surrender to his touch.

  He kisses me slowly and thoroughly.

  All my thoughts slip away and there is only the now, only this moment of contact. Lips touching. Hands caressing. Hearts beating.

  He pulls away. His eyelids are droopy, like he’s suddenly drunk. I smile. He’s drunk on me. Drunk on this bliss we share.

  “We’re not alone,” he whispers.

  “That’s too bad.”

  He cups the side of my jaw with his palm and runs his thumb across my lips. I could die, this feels so sexy.

  “I’m glad they’re here,” he whispers.

  I raise my eyebrows. I can hear the muffled sounds of the redhead girls talking to each other and laughing inside the bathroom. He’d better not say something rude, or I don’t know what I’ll do.

  “This way I have to take my time,” he says.

  I reach up with my hands and timidly touch his bare chest. I can’t believe he’s right in front of me and I’m touching him. His tanned skin is smooth and warm under my fingers.

  My hands move down to his nipples and gently rub over the hard bumps. His nipples are so small and hard. I feel the urge to lick them, right now, but I can’t do that.

  “Take your time,” I say. “But don’t make me wait forever.”

  “Don’t you worry,” he says. His voice is so deep, it’s a growl, rumbling in his chest.

  The whole world has fallen away, and there’s only us. My fingers on his bare chest.

  I stroke down the center of his stomach, along the groove between the muscles. His six-pack muscles pop out, becoming more defined. He’s probably flexing for me. Knowing this sends a flutter through my chest.

  My fingers move down, circling his navel. He has the perfect belly button. It’s not like mine, with that pudge of girl fat around it. His navel is shallow, his stomach taut and flat.

  My finger keeps going. Dylan is quiet, his head nodded down so he can watch. He grabs my knees and pulls them apart so he can take another step closer.

  I arch my back, thrusting my chest up. The counter top feels hard under my butt. My back arches even more, my hipbones swiveling forward like they have a mind of their own.

  My fingers find some fine, dark hairs just below Dylan’s navel. There’s a line of hair, leading down, beyond the waistband of his gray jogging pants. He’s standing so close to me, I can feel his breath on my face.

  As my fingers play in the dark hairs, he gives me one soft kiss on the side of my forehead.

  I can’t take my eyes off his taut stomach.

  There’s heat coming off his body in waves. My fingers inch lower, reaching the boundary of the sweatpants. I push at the fabric.

  I hear Dylan’s breath catch in his throat. He wants me to go further.

  Slowly, I push the fabric down. The hair continues in a line. His skin is so hot.

  My nostrils flare as I inhale deeply. He’s got coffee brewing near us, and I’ve been smelling that, but now there’s something else. The musky scent of his skin reaches my nose and fills me. I inhale him, the sensation divine.

  Curious, I push my hand further down, reaching into the waistband of his pants. My palm connects with something. Hot flesh. Is that…?

  I jerk my hand away quickly. A whoosh of heat floods up into my face from my neck.

  A nervous giggle escapes my throat.

  I know what men look like, but I’ve never had any experience. The outline is there in his sweatpants, but I hadn’t realized he was completely hard, just from us kissing. My palm landed right on the top of his dick, and I’m so embarrassed now.

  He grabs my hand and uses his other hand to tilt up my chin. We lock eyes.

  His face gets closer to mine, and I think he’s going to kiss me again, but he holds back.

  With his hand on my wrist, he guides my hand back to where it was. In his pants. My hand is down, where it’s hot, inside his loose waistband. He guides my fingers, wrapping my hand around him.

  I’m frozen now. He’s right in my hand. It’s hard. Harder than I thought it would be. He’s like steel under a cloak of velvet.

  Now what do I do? My mind goes blank. Am I even breathing?

  His dark eyes glitter, daring me to look away from his face. I can’t turn my head. I’m captive.

  I give him a gentle squeeze, just to see what will happen.

  He lets out a soft groan that sends electricity through my whole body. His hips tilt, and he thrusts into my hand. My fingertips slip deeper into his pants, still around his hard shaft. He thrusts again, smooth in my hand.

  His eyes are so dark, and they get darker. His pupils expand, turning his brown eyes to black. His jaw line is dotted with speckles of hair, his morning shadow.

  Something strange is happening in my body. I feel like my nipples are being pinched, shockwaves running all through me. He’s not even touching my breasts. But I want him to.

  He groans again, and his hands aren’t guiding my hand anymore. This is all me. His hands travel up the sides of my legs and stop on my buttocks.

  His eyes are too intense, and I finally look away. I turn my head to the side and focus on the stone speckles of the counter’s surface.

  Down inside his sweatpants, I loosen my grip, slipping my hand up and down on the velvet smooth skin.

  He’s so hot and hard. My body arches forward, like I’m trying to burst out of my clothes.

  He squeezes my buttocks and slides me toward him. My body jerks forward, my chest touching his.

  There’s a rattling sound, and then the door to the washroom opens. The girls are laughing and talking about all the toothbrushes.

  A strangled sound escapes my throat. I jerk my hand out of his pants quickly, and scramble to move backward on the counter.

  With a quick smirk at me, he turns quickly so his back is to us girls.

  “Excuse me, ladies,” he says, his voice low and thick-sounding. “My clothes are upstairs, so I’ll just get up there and make myself decent.”

  “You look decent enough to me,” says one of the girls.

  She’s got a flirty tone, and I tur
n around to look at her. I must look like I’m going to rip her face off, because she stops giggling right away.

  Dylan disappears upstairs, using a set of spiral stairs that I hadn’t noticed before.

  I stay seated on the counter, because I feel too dizzy to stand.

  That was really intense.

  Part of me wants to gush to the girls and tell them all the confusing feelings I’m having, but I hardly know them. And Dylan’s right upstairs. He’s probably having a good laugh at me for acting like a total virgin.

  The girls are quiet, like they’re waiting for something.

  I give them a friendly smile. “Hey, want some coffee?” I ask. “Cups are over there. Help yourself.”

  They relax and start poking around.

  We talk a little about the food Dylan has laid out for us. There’s eggs and toast and a dozen kinds of jam.

  I try to be nice, but I don’t want to be nice. I want these two girls to get the hell out of here.

  Chapter 12

  Breakfast is uncomfortable.

  I keep waiting for the redheads to take a hint and leave, but they’re in no rush to leave Dylan’s place.

  We do introductions again, along with plenty of jokes about the three of us having “slept together.”

  After finishing the eggs and toast, I expect them to get going, but they don’t.

  The shy one, Bianca, gets comfortable on one of the leather chairs, still picking at toast on a plate.

  The cool, outgoing one, Marley, grabs Dylan’s guitar without asking and starts playing songs. She plays a few classics, and the girls get Dylan to sing along with them.

  I sit cross-legged on the couch and try to enjoy the concert.

  If I’m dating a musician, I guess this is part of the whole package.

  Dylan is wearing more clothes than this morning. He’s looking hot as usual, in a striped T-shirt and jeans. The shirt looks gray at a distance, but actually has narrow black and white stripes.

  Marley teases him about the shirt, saying, “You look like you’re French. That shirt totally says Paris to me.”

  He’s been pacing around, not sitting, and now he crosses over to where I am. He drops heavily onto the couch next to me and drapes his arm across my shoulders.