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

by Mimi Strong

I tell myself none of this corporate stuff matters, compared to how I feel when I’m with Dylan.

  And I’ll be with him tomorrow.

  Chapter 5

  Friday night, I’m home alone.

  Riley and Amanda went out with Bryce, to go clubbing.

  None of us can figure out if Riley is officially dating Bryce, or just part of his entourage. She doesn’t seem to care.

  I wish I could be more easygoing like her.

  Instead, I’m huddled over my laptop in my bedroom. Like a crazy stalker. I’m poring over every blog post and comment about Dylan.

  The music bloggers and reporters have dug up his past as Brandon. There are tons of sensational headlines about what happened to him. I can’t stop myself from clicking. Neither can other people, either. Dylan is a trending topic on many sites.

  The headlines say things like:

  You Won’t Believe this Viral Singer’s Shocking Brush with Violence!

  Blue Shoes Crooner was Victim in Bizarre Murder Plot!

  Lone Wolf Survives Knife Attack at Hands of Psychotic Stalker!

  A few people are actually talking about his songs. The single of his most popular song, Blue Shoes, is selling, but it’s not topping the charts. Morris took Dylan’s live recording and re-released it with a little digital remastering. The company can move quickly when there’s money on the table and the public is interested in an artist.

  Still, someone on the executive floors has got to be worried.

  I know enough about chart ranks and their relation to sales to be worried. These are not the kind of sales that make a record label happy.

  He’s uploaded some new songs to YouTube, but they all sound the same. Every one of them is good, but there’s no standout hit yet.

  I’m starting to understand what Nick meant about Dylan’s current inspiration. His songs are happy. I feel guilty, knowing that I might personally be responsibility for that happiness.

  The reporters haven’t figured out much about me yet.

  I’m just the Blue Shoes Girl, with no name.

  Maybe that’s for the best.

  I’m deeply focused on my laptop screen when a tap on the window startles me.

  I glance up to see a face in the darkness. Dylan has climbed the ladder and is at my window again.

  My body goes through shock and terror, but just a short blast. My heart rate is elevated as I open the window.

  I smack his shoulders and give him hell, but I’m mostly excited to see him.

  “This is the last time I’ll do the window thing,” he says, laughing.

  “I thought you weren’t flying in until tomorrow morning?”

  “Surprise.” Grinning, he steps in through the window and starts unlacing his boots.

  “And what do you mean, this is the last time? You’ll start using the front door, like a normal person?”

  “I won’t need to climb in the window when you’re living with me. Not unless you put in a special request.” He looks up from his boots with a wickedly sexy expression. His dark hair is falling across one eye.

  “Where is this place where I’m living with you? The firehall?”

  “No, that’s just a rental. I flew in early today so I could put an offer on a house here in LA.”

  My jaw drops. “You’re buying a house? Shouldn’t you wait?”

  “My life is here, Jess. Aren’t you happy? There’s a pool. I could picture you lounging by the pool, and I had to have it.”

  “Have it?”

  “Have everything. You. The pool. Everything. When I was depressed, I didn’t want anything. Right now, I feel the opposite way.”

  He stands and pulls his shirt off over his head. His chest and stomach muscles ripple, drawing my eyes.

  Now I’m imagining us lounging by a pool.

  “Everything,” I murmur.

  He steps toward me and takes me in his arms. His smell is different tonight, like he’s been touched by perfume. I don’t like this scent. My stomach pitches like I’m about to be sick.

  He pulls me to him, hugging me tightly and stroking my hair.

  “You’ll love the pool.” His voice so gritty, it sends shivers everywhere.

  I kiss his shoulder and smell his neck and hair, inhaling deeply.

  “You smell different,” I whisper.

  His hands move down my back slowly, toward my hips.

  “I’ve been using hotel soaps and shampoo,” he says. “I really need a haircut. Hey, stop smelling my hair. You’re making me feel like a girl.”

  I let out a laugh of relief. His new scent is probably from shampoo or hair product. Not perfume from another girl.

  He pulls away from me and studies my face. His dark brown eyes are playful. His face is familiar, but changed. I’ve seen him on TV now. He’s different on TV from how he is in real life. Still charming, but not as real.

  Now I’m seeing him through this other layer. His public face.

  “There’s something going on with you,” he says.

  “Me? There’s absolutely nothing going on with me. I’ve been working in the archives all week. You’re the one who was in New York with Marley and Bianca, living it up like a superstar.”

  “Is this how it’s going to be? I go out and work, and you get all moody?”

  I cross my arms and step back. “I’m not moody.”

  He makes a face and picks up his shirt from the floor. He pulls the shirt back on.

  I’m not sure what’s happening here, but putting his shirt back on feels aggressive. Like he wants to hurt me.

  “I’m not moody,” I say again. “I’m sorry I’m not however you want me to be. You climb in my window at midnight, with no warning, and you get what you get.”

  He points his finger at me. “Moody. Bordering on bitchy.”

  “Oh, go fuck yourself, Dylan Wolf.”

  He raises his eyebrows and recoils.

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  After a silent moment, he says, “Yes, you did. But I suppose I had that coming.”

  “Maybe I am moody. I don’t know.”

  I look down at the ugly sweatpants I’m wearing. These gray sweats have stains and holes all over them. My shirt isn’t much better.

  With a sigh, I hike up the sweats so the crotch isn’t hanging down to my knees. “You should have let me know you were coming,” I say softly. “I look hideous.”

  “Let’s start tonight all over again,” he says, with equal softness.

  “It’s midnight.”

  He walks over to my laptop and takes a look at the article on the screen. His face contorts, like he’s in pain.

  “I can see why you’re moody,” he says. “You shouldn’t be reading all these lies. If you want to know what I’m thinking or doing, just ask me. Don’t read this stuff.”

  “I was bored.”

  He closes the laptop. Frowning at the crappy old thing, he picks at the silver duct tape holding the hinge together.

  “I bought you the wrong thing in New York,” he says. “I should get you a new laptop. I’ll get something custom-made, so it blocks out all Dylan Wolf content from the internet.”

  “That… would probably be a good thing.”

  He turns to me, his dark eyes twinkling.

  “Jessica Rivera, I’m going to kiss you. If you have any moodiness, let’s get it out of the way now. Because once I kiss you, this night starts all over again.”

  The words burst out of me. “You shouldn’t have bought a house. People are getting laid off at Morris.”

  He takes a step closer to me and grabs my hands in his.

  “And?”

  “And you shouldn’t do crazy things like buy a house in LA until things are more stable.”

  He squeezes my hands and looks deeply into my eyes.

  “It’s your house, too, Jess.”

  I turn away. “No, it’s not. It’s yours, and you bought it without me.”

  “What’s mine is yours.”

  “Sure, it
is,” I say, my tone cold and dead. “Until you get tired of me, then I’m out on my butt.”

  “Are you saying you want to get married? In case you don’t remember, it didn’t work out so great for my last wife.”

  I can hear by his tone that he’s joking. I’m in no mood to joke around, though.

  “That’s not funny,” I tell him.

  “I’m a rich rock star. Everything’s funny from up here.”

  “Sure, you’re on top of the world. Meanwhile, I have about twenty dollars to last me until pay day. And the way things are going at work, I can’t even count on that. I could be laid off on Monday. The only reason they haven’t canned me yet is because I’m so small they forgot about me.”

  “You’re broke? But you’re always buying new dresses and underwear.”

  “I never said I was perfect with money,” I grumble.

  “How much do you need? We’ll go hit a cash machine right now. I’ll give you my daily limit, whatever that is. Then we can get more tomorrow.”

  My hands feel hot and sweaty in his hands. I yank them away and cross my arms.

  “I don’t want your daily spend limit.”

  He gives me a bewildered look. “Exactly how much do you want, Jess?”

  “None of it!”

  He turns his head to the side. “Are you sure?”

  I let out a few curse words in exasperation. I walk over to my closet and grab some decent clothes. I yank off my ugly shirt and sweat pants and get changed into something with more dignity.

  Once I’m changed into regular clothes, I feel a little more calm. I take a moment to figure out what I want to say.

  “Dylan, I’m happy for you, and for everything that’s happening with your career. I want nothing but the best for you. I missed you so bad this week, and things have been stressful at Morris. You caught me off guard when you came in my window at midnight.”

  “Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  I take a deep breath and return to standing before him. I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck. “Kiss me now, and I’ll stop being moody.”

  His eyes crinkle at the edges as he smirks.

  “Do you think one kiss will be enough?”

  I can’t help but smile up at him.

  “Let’s try, and see.”

  He lowers his gaze to my mouth and leans down slowly. His hands go to my waist. He slowly lowers his lips to mine.

  The kiss takes away a week’s worth of loneliness.

  It’s just me and Dylan here in my bedroom.

  Whatever he said or did on TV doesn’t matter. Whatever people are saying on the internet doesn’t have anything to do with his lips on mine, his tongue against mine.

  My arms circle his neck tighter. He kisses me deeply, thoroughly.

  He starts walking, nudging me with his knees. I step backward, moving toward the bed. The seal on our lips breaks because I’m grinning.

  He mumbles something against my lips and changes direction, moving us toward my bedroom door. He opens the door and walks me out to the hallway, still kissing me.

  We kiss all through the hallway, then the kitchen, and all the way to the front door.

  Laughing, I pull away. “Where are you taking me?”

  “For a swim in my new pool.” He looks down at his feet. He’s in socks, because he took his boots off in my room. “You stay right here and I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He runs to my bedroom and comes back again, breathless. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks excited. His enthusiasm is just like his grin—contagious.

  “Should I bring a swimsuit?” I ask.

  His eyes sparkle. “What do you think?”

  Chapter 6

  The beautiful house in front of us isn’t exactly Dylan’s.

  He put in an offer today, but the sellers haven’t agreed to a price yet.

  The house is perfect, though.

  I can feel in every part of me that this house will be his.

  The house is big, but not pretentious. I don’t know how it looks during the day, but at night it looks downright sexy.

  The exterior is lit by lights in the landscaping, but the windows are dark.

  The sellers are overseas now, and the house is vacant. Dylan’s real estate agent gave him a copy of the keys. I’m sure it’s completely against the rules, but this is a multi-million-dollar house. I’m sure that at this level, people do plenty of things that are against the rules.

  He unlocks the front door and points out some of the structural details.

  “Sexy,” I keep saying, cooing with admiration.

  As we tour around, he talks about the beams and structure of the home. Looking at him, I see another layer of Dylan. This is the other part of his past, his construction knowledge.

  If I squint, I can see him in a hard hat, talking to carpenters or investors.

  He leads me through the great room.

  “That wall needs a bar,” he says.

  “Yes,” I murmur in agreement.

  As he waves his hand, I can almost see the place full of fabulous people.

  He leads me into the kitchen. It looks like a restaurant kitchen, with industrial fridges and an enormous gas stove. I take a minute to open some cupboards and gasp at all the space.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “You’ve seen how I live. I keep all my food in one cupboard, smaller than this. And my supply is constantly raided by Amanda and Riley.”

  He chuckles. “I can’t wait to see them go nuts in here. I don’t know if it will be the same, not eating around that card table you guys have crammed into your kitchen, but I think we’ll have some good parties.”

  I look across the kitchen, and I actually see it. I can see Riley with a half-dozen bubbling pots all over the gas stove. I can see Amanda pouring tequila shots.

  “This is a party house,” he says, waving to the back yard beyond the glass doors.

  I look out at the patio, softly lit by landscaping lights. Again, I can see other people. Music industry people and famous musicians and actors.

  Dylan’s sweet to talk about entertaining my friends. But I know he’s getting this house so he can party like a rock star.

  “What do you think?” he asks. “How would you describe this house?”

  “Sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll.”

  He winces. “I’m not into drugs.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “How about swimming?”

  Dylan pushes open the doors to the patio. He steps out into the night air. I follow him.

  He doesn’t stop walking. He strips his clothes off on his way to the pool. The underwear comes off last. He doesn’t even look back at me. Without a word, he dives into the pool.

  I follow him, and start undressing.

  I glance around as I slip out of my clothes.

  It must be two o’clock in the morning by now. Dylan got to my place after midnight, then we drove here.

  This house is a distance from my neighborhood, plus Dylan got lost a few times getting us here. The roads are winding and unpredictable in this neighborhood.

  The air smells better here. The landscaping is lush and beautiful. It’s quiet. Paradise.

  Dylan steps out of the pool. He whoops happily and jumps in again from the diving board.

  I’m down to my underwear. I look around again, feeling exposed. There are other houses nearby, but their lights are off. A tall fence runs along either side of the yard. The neighbors up the hill are far enough away that we should have privacy, unless one of them has a telescope or camera with a zoom lens.

  “Come on in,” Dylan calls.

  “I’m going to wear my underwear.”

  “You didn’t bring a change of clothes,” Dylan says. “You’d better take everything off, or it’ll be a soggy ride home.”

  I glance over my shoulder at his new house.

  If you’re going to party with a rock star, you have to keep up.

  I slip off my underwe
ar.

  “Wait,” Dylan says, just as I dip one toe into the pool.

  I cross my arms over my bare chest. “Now what?”

  “Nothing.” He grins and treads water. “Just enjoying the sight of my angel on the edge of a cliff, about to fly.”

  With a shiver, I recognize what he’s saying. Those words are lyrics from one of his new songs. All his new work is about me.

  I look at my pile of clothes on the tiles next to the pool.

  I’m not sure if I can handle the pressure of being Dylan’s inspiration.

  He thinks I’m going to fly, but I’m not sure.

  I feel like I might fall.

  He splashes water to get my attention.

  I look over at him. “Dylan, I’m scared.”

  “I’m right here, Jess. Just listen to my voice, and let it guide you to me. Come to me, my angel. Step into this beautiful pool, and swim to me.”

  I walk in slowly, using the steps. The water is the perfect temperature.

  “There you go,” he says.

  “I can’t believe this pool. I can’t believe I know someone who owns this pool.”

  He starts singing as I wade toward him. “Blue shoes for your blue heart.” His voice is gritty, yet gentle.

  My heart swells, and I’m on the verge of tears. When I first met Dylan on the street busking, I couldn’t have known his voice would lead us here. But now here I am. And here he is.

  I dip my head back to wet my hair, then smooth my wet hands over my face. If I start crying, Dylan won’t see the tears if my face is wet.

  He keeps singing, “Blue shoes to keep you cold at night.”

  He waits for my response. I know these words by heart, from the video, and from memory.

  “My heart isn’t blue,” I say, just like I did when we first met.

  “Are you sure? Have you seen it?”

  He moves toward me in the water. We meet each other at the point where my toes just barely touch the bottom.

  I whisper a new line, “My heart’s not blue anymore.”

  He reaches down in the water to grab my hips. He lifts me up and to him. I wrap my bare legs around his waist. His skin feels hot against mine, which makes the water suddenly seem cool.

  I shiver and wrap my arms around him.

  He kisses my neck and shoulder. “How’s your heart now?” he asks.