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

by Mimi Strong

  He held me.

  He held me like I belonged to him, and he didn’t want to let me go.

  I stared into his gorgeous green eyes, wondering if I was dreaming. The light from the window made his dark brown hair glow like amber, a honey-hued halo around the face of my angel.

  And then, he opened his mouth and said the most captivating thing: “What kind of an idiot stands on a stool when there’s a perfectly good ladder available?”

  “Ladders are overrated. And it’s good to challenge yourself.”

  He grinned, still holding me in those amazingly strong arms. “You’ve got a lot of opinions.”

  “And you’ve got a lot of... biceps.”

  He chuckled at my compliment. He cradled me tenderly, like I was a lost kitten who’d fallen from a tree, and not a curvy twenty-two-year old in a bridesmaid dress.

  The smell of his skin reached my nose. Oh, mercy, he smelled as good as he looked. Better than the wicked cupcakes from next door. Better than anything or anyone I’d ever smelled.

  I glanced around, glad the two of us were alone in the little shop. My employee was due to show up at any moment, and it would ruin my authority as Boss to be seen getting held like a kitten.

  “You can set me down anywhere,” I said, even though I didn’t want to be set down.

  “Anywhere?”

  “Yeah. Any time.” I stared at his lips. Please don’t stop cradling me like a kitten.

  “I’ll set you down,” he said, “but no more standing on chairs. Promise?”

  “I’ll use the ladder.”

  “There’s my girl.” He set me down gently, but didn’t step away. We were so close, we could kiss.

  I couldn’t stop staring at his lips. And his square jaw. And those green eyes. If he wasn’t from Beaverdale, why did he look so familiar?

  He said, “Do you have a storage room where I could hide out for a few minutes?”

  “We have a washroom, but it’s for customers only.”

  He glanced over the New Arrivals table and grabbed a book at random.

  “I’m buying this,” he said.

  It was a book for ladies with bladder control issues.

  “Excellent choice,” I said with a straight face. “The washroom’s at the back, through the bead curtain. The light switch is in the last place you’d expect it to be.”

  He raised one sexy, dark eyebrow. “Should I take a flashlight?”

  “Just grope around in the dark until you get lucky.”

  He raised his eyebrow even higher. “It’s been a while since a beautiful girl’s said that to me.”

  I resisted the urge to melt into a puddle of giggles. I just smiled, playing it cool.

  He glanced over to the front windows, where I could see a bunch of people approaching.

  “I’m trying to shake someone who’s pure evil,” he explained as he turned back to me. “If anyone asks, I’m not here.” He held my eyes with his hypnotic gaze. “We can trust each other.”

  “Um, can we?”

  There was a ruckus outside the front door, and people running back and forth. A big guy whizzed by with a video camera on his shoulder.

  I stepped out from behind the counter to look out the window. When I turned back, the hot guy was already gone.

  “That was odd,” I muttered to myself. I picked up the fallen stool and returned it to behind the counter.

  The front door crashed open, and suddenly a whole TV news crew came rushing into Peachtree Books.

  At the front was a woman with bright red hair and way too much makeup. She gave me a disappointed, disgusted look.

  “It’s just some boring girl,” she said, sneering.

  I put on my professional retail smile and said sweetly, “Anything I can help you with?”

  The woman turned and asked her crew, “He wouldn’t come in here, would he? I doubt he’s ever read a book.”

  The cameraman chuckled. “Meat puppets can barely read their cue cards.”

  A guy with a boom mike said to the cameraman, “You’re just jealous because you’re not a pretty boy with screaming fans.”

  The rude redhead was now looking around Peachtree Books. The store was my pride and joy, and she had her upper lip curved up in a sneer. “I thought all the bookstores were closed,” she said.

  Even though I knew not to argue with people of apparent low intelligence, I said, “You’re standing inside a bookstore now, so unless this is a dream, we can deduce that not all the bookstores are closed.”

  “Huh?”

  “Simple logic.” I flashed her my biggest grin.

  She snorted, as if I was the stupid one, not her.

  I continued patiently, “You see, we have all these shelves full of books because this is a bookstore.”

  The woman wrinkled her nose and sniffed the air contemptuously. “Thanks for nothing. Good luck with the, uh, books.”

  “Good luck with your attitude.”

  She sneered again. “Good luck with whatever that dress is supposed to be.”

  I looked down at the bridesmaid dress I was wearing. What did she mean by that? My curves were rocking in that dress. Was I going to have to punch her in the neck? She wasn’t a customer, so, technically, neck-punching wasn’t against store policy.

  By the time I looked up, the crew and the woman were already leaving. The front door closed, and it was just me again. Alone. Just like I would be in an hour, at my cousin’s wedding.

  Something made a noise at the back of the shop, and I jumped in alarm.

  The cute guy came walking up, weaving his way around tall shelves crammed with books.

  I held my hand to my chest, the fabric of my bridesmaid dress crinkly. “You scared me.”

  His voice was even deeper and sexier now. “Did you already forget about me?”

  “I thought you left out the back. Plus I was distracted by Lady Satan, with her film crew.”

  He held up the book. “This is very informative. What do I owe you?”

  I felt myself blushing under his sexy stare, so I started doing busy-work with my hands on the store’s counter, stacking the Post-It notepads, putting away the passport stamp, and straightening the pens.

  “You don’t have to buy that book,” I said. “Men don’t even have kegel muscles.”

  “They don’t? That’s not fair.”

  I stared up at his beautiful green eyes, which crinkled at the sides with a smile. My own eyes are blue, and they disappear more than they crinkle. I got my blond hair and blue eyes from my mother, but neither of us is the perfect cheerleader type.

  Casually, I asked, “So, are you a criminal, or a celebrity?”

  “Depends on who you ask.”

  “You look familiar.”

  “So do you,” he said.

  His eyes traveled down my body, and I tried to suck in my middle even more, but I was already strapped into two pairs of Spanx, and my organs had nowhere left to go.

  With a sexy growl to his voice, he said, “Do you always dress so fancy at work?”

  “I’m going to a wedding any minute now.”

  “A wedding.” He took two steps back and gave me an appraising look, his arms crossed.

  He looked dressy himself, in sharply-creased gray trousers and a button-down shirt, rolled up at the cuffs to reveal muscular arms with a smattering of dark hairs. Even his forearms looked familiar, like I’d already spent countless hours staring at them.

  He said, “That’s a shame you’re getting married, because I would have asked you for a date.”

  This caused me to laugh and gasp for air. “I’m not getting married. I’m just a bridesmaid.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “And this is all happening shortly, so I should be getting on my way.”

  I glanced at the door while mentally willing him to stay. Stay for a few more minutes! Just kidding. Stay forever?

  “No rush,” I said. “I’m waiting for my employee, and then I’ll call for a cab.”

  “My driv
er’s nearby. I could give you a lift, as a thank you for hiding me from Lady Satan.”

  “That reporter was nasty. I don’t blame you for hiding.”

  My eyes were starting to hurt from looking at him. I’d probably forgotten how to blink.

  I glanced down and shook the pens out of the tin can, and along with the pens, out slid an eraser, three gummy bears, and a square item that was unmistakably a condom packet.

  There it was, right between us.

  A condom, screaming SEX, SEX, SEX!

  Naturally, I shrieked.

  “Are they back?” He turned to the window, on the alert for reporters.

  I snatched the condom packet and stuffed it into my purse, which was just under the counter top.

  He turned back. “Nope. They’re gone.”

  “Long gone.”

  He blinked at me, and I remembered how to blink.

  Neither of us said anything.

  We had a long, awkward pause.

  I sensed this interaction was over, and it was time for him to leave, unless I did something.

  “My name is Petra Monroe,” I said, offering him my hand. “Everyone calls me Peaches. Peaches Monroe.”

  “That’s the perfect name for you. I’m Dalton Deangelo.”

  I chuckled. “Sure, you are.”

  “I am.”

  My heart began to pound in my chest. He wasn’t joking.

  He was...

  DALTON.

  FREAKING.

  DEANGELO.

  We shook hands, and something strange happened.

  A life flash before my eyes.

  Only it wasn’t my life.

  The man standing before me was a famous actor who played a bad-boy vampire in a TV series.

  Drake Cheshire, two hundred years old and forever young.

  How could I be so oblivious? Why was he in Washington state?

  I hadn’t recognized him without the pale makeup and contact lenses that made his eyes darker, but it was him.

  I was shaking hands with the man Shayla referred to as our TV boyfriend. She’d named her vibrator after his character, Drake.

  “You’ve heard of me?” he asked.

  “Kinda,” I lied.

  He gave me a sly, sexy smile. He knew damn well that I knew who he was.

  “I play Drake Cheshire.”

  I frowned. “Sounds familiar.”

  He grinned.

  Oh, that sexy grin! That face! That body. I couldn’t see his chest and abs through his shirt, but I’d seen them on TV a hundred times. The writers always found an excuse for Drake to be shirtless and emotional.

  Shirtless and emotional.

  Now I was picturing him standing in the rain, water trickling down his gorgeous chest as he professed his love for...

  Me. In my wildest dreams.

  With an air of casual ease, he picked up our previous conversation. “You need a taxi? Why isn’t your date picking you up for the wedding?”

  “I don’t have a date. Or a boyfriend.”

  “I have an idea.” He grabbed the pens strewn about the counter between us and stacked them into the pen holder. “You won’t have to go alone, because I’ll arrange for a date for you.”

  “Oh, Drake—um, Mr. Deangelo, I couldn’t ask you to do that. You probably have a very busy life and lots of things to do tonight.”

  He raised his eyebrows, looking more like devious Drake by the minute. “Me? Oh, no. I was going to send my butler.”

  I crossed my arms. “Your butler?” What the Fudgeeo cookies was this?

  He laughed. “I knew it! You’re even more adorable when you’re annoyed.”

  I scowled at him. “Thanks for the offer of your butler, but no.”

  “How about me? Would you be seen in public with this face? Probably not. Let me down easy.”

  “You’re not that bad,” I said, calling his bluff.

  “So, it’s a date.”

  I started laughing hysterically. How far was he going to take this joke?

  Just then, the door jingled open and my employee, Amy, came running in, apologizing for being late. Without looking at Dalton, she ran around the counter and tossed her purse next to mine.

  “Go,” Amy said. “I slept in and—”

  Amy looked up at Dalton Deangelo.

  The tiniest whimper came from her mouth before she fainted into my arms. I slowly eased her down to the floor.

  “I’ve seen this before,” Dalton said.

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “Be right back.” Dalton ran to the washroom, then returned with a glass of water.

  He handed me the water.

  I tossed the water on Amy’s face.

  Amy gasped and opened her eyes.

  Dalton started to laugh. “That was for her to drink.”

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

  “Don’t hit me, Boss,” Amy said, a strand of her blue hair stuck to her wet face.

  Dalton reached down and helped Amy to her feet, grinning madly. I couldn’t guess what the life of a famous actor was like normally, but he seemed to be having the time of his life.

  Laughing, he asked Amy, “Is your boss always so abusive?”

  Her eyes bugging out, Amy gawked at Dalton, then me, then Dalton, then me again. “Is this really happening? Is Drake the vampire in our bookstore?”

  “Not for long,” he said. “I’m taking Peaches to the wedding. I trust you’ll be able to manage without her? We straightened out all the pens in the tin can already, so you should be set.”

  Amy gave me a quizzical look. With one hand along the side of her dripping-wet face, she whispered to me, “Do you two know each other?”

  “Not really—”

  Dalton interrupted. “We’re future old friends.”

  Amy said to me, “He’s very pushy. I’ve read that in interviews. This is just how he is.” She turned to Dalton and smiled. “I follow you online.”

  He pulled an old-fashioned handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the water drops on her face.

  “You follow my publicist,” he said, giving her a sly wink.

  Amy, who was sixteen, but texted and tweeted like she was thirteen, gasped in horror.

  I said, “Ah, the sweet sound of scales falling from a young person’s eyes.”

  Dalton tilted his head and asked me, “Young person? How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two. But I’ve seen things.”

  “Sure you have. But have you done things?”

  “A couple things.”

  “Good!” He tucked away the handkerchief and offered me his elbow. “I’m only dating girls who’ve done a couple things.”

  “Dating? I thought we were future old friends.”

  “This is how we get there,” he said as he led me toward the front door.

  I hesitated, looking back at a damp Amy, standing in my favorite comfortable spot behind the counter, near the yellow vintage phone. Behind her stood piles of special order books with customer tags sticking out like multi-colored paper tongues.

  I turned my head to the left and looked over all my shelves, set far enough apart that one customer could walk past another without bumping butts, yet close enough to encourage friendly conversation.

  The bookstore was my whole life. Sometimes in the evening, after we were closed, I’d stay behind and watch the traffic on the rainy street outside, as people walked back and forth, unaware of me, sitting in the dark.

  Dalton pulled open the front door, and the sounds of the world came in.

  How far would he take this little joke of his?

  He’d probably get a phone call and make some excuse before we were half-way there. I’d had other men make big promises before, and it always started like this: the grand, spontaneous gesture. The excuses kicked in later.

  We walked outside, and he said, “What is it about bridesmaids? There’s something about those matching dresses you all wear that gives me ideas. Ideas about getting those dresses off
.”

  “Wow. You don’t waste any time. You just say whatever you want, don’t you?”

  He grinned. “And you don’t?”

  “My mouth does have a mind of its own.”

  “I like your mouth. You’re not phoney.”

  “There are a lot of things I’m not. Not rich. Not famous. Not perfect.”

  He stopped walking and turned to look at me.

  “Who said you’re not perfect?” he asked.

  For a moment, I was speechless, which isn’t something that happens often.

  Who said I wasn’t perfect? Mostly me, actually.

  But as Dalton Deangelo looked down my body with a wolfish hunger for my curves, I realized how wrong I’d been.

  I was perfect.

  Perfectly fine with myself, exactly how I was.

  And perfectly ready for whatever happened next.

  ...as long as what happened next was not Dalton Deangelo kissing me. Or spending more time with me. Because that would make my entire life implode.

  Plus it would be weird.

  Dalton/Drake was the sexy stud I objectified on TV, with a pane of glass between us.

  They say if you ever meet your idols, walk away before you’re disappointed. They also say if you meet the Buddha, kill him. (I don’t understand that one at all.)

  I stared into Dalton Deangelo’s heavenly green eyes and told myself to walk away. My body wouldn’t obey. My body wanted to be back in his arms again.

  We were still standing in the middle of the sidewalk. People passed by without giving us a second look.

  “This is weird,” I said.

  “Good weird or bad weird?”

  “Usually there’s a plane of glass between us.”

  He got a crooked grin. “So, you do watch my show.”

  “It’s the best show on TV, but I hate the cliffhangers.”

  “You love the cliffhangers.”

  “I love Drake Cheshire.” Oops. I pressed my lips together.

  He laughed. “I get that a lot.”

  “I bet you do.”

  “Peaches, you do know I’m a real person, right? I’m not an ancient vampire with a bunch of gypsy curses on me.”

  “Of course I know that. I’m not completely crazy.”

  His gaze slid over my curves again. “That dress is crazy. Good crazy, not bad crazy.”

  “Thanks. Lady Satan with the film crew didn’t like it.”

  “She’s bad crazy. Was she rude to you? I’ll make her pay.”