Revenge #4

by JJ Knight

  He reaches out and grabs me by the ankle. Through clenched teeth, he says, “Simple, not simple-minded.” He yanks my leg, pulling me toward him across the bed. “Mmm. Naked.”

  “What the hell, Dylan? I’m simple?” My voice is high-pitched.

  He licks his lips, his eyes roving up and down my body.

  He growls, “Don’t pick a fight with me now. We’re spending the weekend together, just me and you. Save the drama for your girlfriends.”

  My eyes are wide, and I’m speechless.

  “What?” he says. “What now?”

  “Drama? You’re the one who climbs in through windows and drives like a criminal on the run. We only met when your hired bodyguard mugged me. I got a black eye!”

  His eyes twinkle, and the corner of his mouth edges up. “Your eye wasn’t that black. More like a little red and puffy.”

  “Dylan Wolf, I don’t know whether to slap that smirk off your face, or kiss you.”

  He lowers his eyelids part-ways and gives me a sly look. “Why don’t you do both, and then fuck some sense into me?”

  He shifts his body, drawing my attention downward. My eyebrows raise in surprise when I reach his lap. He’s already recovered, and he’s bigger and harder than ever.

  I jump forward, my hand raised like I’m about to slap him.

  He doesn’t flinch.

  I slow my hand, just tapping his cheek lightly.

  His nostrils flare.

  We glare at each other in a staring contest. I break first, and then we move in unison, grasping each other. Our lips mash together and our bodies collide.

  For the next hour, we tangle the bedsheets in every position.

  He tells me to say the word if he goes too far. I won’t say no, daring him instead to take me harder and faster.

  We finish with him holding me against the wall, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

  He might just be starting his career, but Dylan Wolf fucks like a rock star.

  Chapter 15

  By late afternoon Saturday, I finally drag Dylan out of the hotel room.

  He’s going to wear me out, or one of us is going to break something if we don’t take a breather.

  We go for a walk in the area around the hotel.

  We’re in a high-end part of LA, with fancy designer shops. I’m wearing the black dress from last night, and high heels.

  Dylan forces me to “downgrade” my look. He drags me into a boutique and buys me designer jeans, a cool shirt with tattoo-style designs, and tennis shoes. I change into the new clothes at the store and tuck my rolled-up dress into a shopping bag.

  As we walk around the city, I notice a few people glancing our way. They’re playing it cool, pretending not to be star-struck, but there’s this energy around Dylan that can’t be ignored.

  Even I catch myself staring. From the way he parks his sunglasses on top of his head, to the way he points out clothes he wants me to try on, he has this rock star aura that infuses every gesture.

  “What are you looking at?” he asks me across a rack of clothing.

  “You look like someone famous.”

  “Is it someone good?” He grins.

  “It’s you.”

  He chortles. “You are so weird.”

  The girl working in the store comes up to us. Dylan tells her we’re just looking, but she shyly hands him a fat felt marker.

  “Would you sign our wall?” she asks.

  He takes the marker and looks over her shoulder. There’s a wall behind the cash register that’s covered in Polaroids and signatures.

  “I’m not an actor,” he says. “I’m very flattered, but I can’t sign your wall, because you don’t even know my name.”

  “Dylan Wolf,” she says.

  The sight and sound of her saying his name sends a chill through me. Not a good chill.

  It’s already starting.

  He walks over to the wall, finds a bare spot, and starts writing. He writes the letter B, and stops.

  The girl asks him what’s wrong.

  He just stares at the B for a moment. The B is for Brandon, his old name, and his old life. The look on his face is heartbreaking. I have to look away.

  When I turn back, I see that he has saved the signature by writing: Badass shop! Dylan Wolf

  We leave the store quickly.

  Outside on the sidewalk, he reaches for my hand and squeezes it extra hard.

  “That was awkward,” I say.

  He lifts my hand to kiss my knuckles. “Not as awkward as if I didn’t have you. Things are going to get crazy now. You’re my lifeline, my connection to reality.”

  “That’s a lot of responsibility,” I joke. “What’s the pay?”

  “How much do you want?”

  I squeeze his hand, looking down at the sidewalk while my cheeks flush.

  “Just joking,” I say. “Thanks for buying me the clothes today, but don’t spoil me. I’m not one of those girls.”

  “You mean the kind to murder me for my fortune, plus whatever you have me insured for?”

  My cheeks are burning. “Dylan.”

  He stops walking and pulls me to face him. His expression is light, lighter than his voice. “I was joking, too. Listen, Jess, everything that happened to me really happened. I can try to change my name, but that guy is still me.”

  “And that guy never did anything wrong.”

  “He was no angel. But now I have you, so I don’t even care. In the few weeks I’ve known you, everything has changed.”

  “You’re not going to run away from me and hide in a cabin for a year?” I playfully punch him in the upper arm. “Another joke.”

  He returns the gesture, softly punching my upper arm. “Good one.”

  Some people walking by on the sidewalk give us funny looks.

  “You’re good for me,” he says. “I wish I wasn’t so bad for you. It’s not fair.”

  His eyes get sad, and I can tell we’re not joking around anymore.

  “You’re not bad for me.” How can I convince Dylan that nothing bad is going to happen to me because of him? How can I promise he’ll never hurt me?

  He pulls me to him and kisses me.

  I drop my shopping bags and wrap my arms around him.

  Maybe if I hold on really tight, he won’t be able to shake me loose for my own good.

  His kisses are so perfect, drawing me into a world of just us.

  When he pulls away, I’m reeling.

  He strokes my cheek with his fingers. “I like how your face get rosy around me.”

  I stare up into his eyes. I feel like I’m drifting away.

  “I really care about you,” I say. “But I don’t want to be selfish. You will have to do what’s best for you. Cut me loose when it’s time. Just do it fast.”

  He frowns, looking confused. “Why are you talking crazy?”

  I rest my hands on his chest, gently pushing him away. “Whatever happens, I’m going to be okay. I’m tougher than I look, remember? Don’t sugar coat it.”

  He shakes his head. “Sugar coat what? You think I’m planning to dump you? I just told you, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Do you think I’m that big of an idiot?”

  I look down at my new tennis shoes. “No.”

  He kneels down in front of me.

  My eyes widen in horror. What’s he doing?

  He grabs me and throws me over his shoulder. He gathers the shopping bags, straightens up, and starts walking down the sidewalk. Whistling. He’s got me on his shoulder like I’m a cavegirl, and he’s whistling.

  “What are you doing?” I wail.

  “You must have low blood sugar. You’re saying crazy things. I’m taking you out for dinner. Hmm. Steaks? I don’t even know if that’s a restaurant.” He keeps walking, muttering about the small signs on all the restaurants.

  At the end of the block, he calls back to me, “Doing okay back there? Hey, what are the plans for Sunday night? Dinner with your roommates a
gain?”

  “Sure.” My voice sounds compressed, since I am draped on my stomach over a man’s shoulder. “Sure, dinner Sunday would be good. I guess I’ll check with them.”

  “Here we go.” He sets me down and waves to the door of a restaurant.

  I’m a little dizzy from being carried. I tell him the restaurant looks good, and we go in.

  This is what it’s like to hang out with Dylan. I guess I should get used to it.

  Chapter 16

  After dinner, we spend Saturday night in the hotel again.

  He does everything and more to me. I’ve gotten a little braver about what I’ll do, too.

  By Sunday afternoon, I feel like I know his body better than my own.

  Everything until this weekend has felt hectic. He was always coming in my window, or shooing me away so he could work. Now that his contract is signed, his focus is on me.

  I’m showered in his attention, and I still can’t get enough.

  I probably look like a love-sick teenager, watching him play guitar and hanging on every note he sings.

  Sunday is all about the music. His new songs aren’t as bad as Nick said. They’re wonderful to me.

  “Play one more,” I beg when he tries to set down the guitar.

  “Tell me again about your prize shorthorn,” he says. “Howard?”

  “Henry. And don’t make fun of me. Farm kids are very sensitive about being made fun of.”

  “You know I’ll do anything to see your cheeks get rosy.”

  “Anything?”

  He sets down the guitar and hauls me over to the bed again.

  By the time we’re dressed again, it’s time for dinner at my house.

  As we gather up our things to check out of the hotel room, a heavy anxiety settles in my chest.

  I can’t shake the feeling that this weekend has been too perfect. Like a dream. And soon I’m going to wake up.

  We’ve spent two days and nights in constant contact. He’ll be with me at my house, but it won’t be the same with other people around.

  We walk out of the room together, then I make an excuse about forgetting something in the bathroom.

  The truth is, I just want to look at the hotel room one last time. I pull out my phone and take a picture of the bed, with its rumpled sheets. It’s a silly thing to do, but I don’t want to forget this weekend.

  Dylan’s waiting in the hall, browsing messages on his phone.

  “Anything from Q?” I ask.

  “Just a note congratulating me.”

  “Dylan, don’t take this the wrong way, but is Q real?”

  He tilts the phone to show me the text message. The number is blocked, but there’s a real text.

  A housekeeper comes out of the adjoining room and asks if we’re finished with our room.

  We tell her to go ahead, and we walk down to the elevator.

  I open my bag, dig through the photos, and hold up the print of the former Morris Music employee, David Ambler.

  “Is this Q?”

  “Where’d you get this?” He eyes me suspiciously. “Yes, that’s him.”

  We get into the elevator, and I show him the other pictures, with the other people. I tell him how I figured it out. His expression turns from suspicion to admiration.

  “That’s where he got his industry experience,” Dylan says. “Makes sense to me.”

  We get into his car and start the drive back to my house. Dylan starts to talk about how he’d love to travel across the country by train sometime.

  I go along with his train talk, but once there’s a lull, I bring the topic back to Q. “Don’t you think it’s kind of a big coincidence he got you a deal with his own former employer?”

  “He knows how they work.”

  “Do you ever get the feeling there’s a lot more going on?”

  “All the time.” He grins. “I just go with the flow. You should try it sometime. Hey, do you think the sleeper cars on the trains ever have king-sized beds? I don’t know if there’s enough room.”

  “Did you know that Q, or should I say David Ambler, was the one who hired me as an intern?”

  Dylan shrugs. “The guy’s got good taste! Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Don’t they say that on the farm, where you’re from?”

  “Okay.” I turn and look out the window at the LA traffic.

  For the next few minutes, I try to enjoy the late afternoon sunshine.

  I’ve stopped myself short of telling Dylan about Maggie Clark trying to take over Morris Music. I’m not sure why, because I should feel more loyal to Dylan than to my employers. Morris has done nothing but dick me around from day one.

  I’d like to quit on Monday, then tell Dylan everything. I can show him the cameras at his place as proof.

  Except… if I quit now, he might think it’s because he’s rich, and I’m planning to mooch off him.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” he says after a few minutes of driving.

  “Lots to think about.”

  “I’m glad we had this weekend together.”

  He turns to me. He’s wearing new sunglasses he bought this weekend, so I can’t see his eyes. In the reflection, I see only my face—my big eyes.

  “Do you think I look like her?” I ask. We haven’t talked about his dead wife since Saturday afternoon, so I haven’t asked.

  The sunglasses can’t hide his frown.

  He sighs. “You’re nothing like her. But once the press catches sight of you, and figures out my past, people will talk. And you’ll be hurt. And for that, I am so very sorry.”

  “Is that what you meant about me getting hurt if I’m near you?”

  “Mostly.” He faces straight ahead, at the road. Someone in a convertible cuts in front of us, and he shakes his hand at the driver. “Not to mention I can be an asshole sometimes.”

  “Like with your temper?”

  He doesn’t answer, because he’s rolling down his window to yell at the other driver.

  For a few minutes, it looks like he’s going to jump out of the car and fight with someone. I sink down in my seat and cover my face with my hand.

  Luckily, the light changes and the whole thing blows over.

  We get to my house, and walk into a frenzy of dinner activity.

  Riley is on her best behavior and very friendly toward me. I think inviting her out to party with Bryce was exactly the kind of peace offering Amanda suggested.

  Dylan gets to work in the kitchen, insisting that he help out.

  After the luxury of the hotel all weekend, the house seems run-down, yet cozy. I like that it takes ten minutes to excavate all the junk mail and stuff off the table so we can eat.

  Both Amanda and Riley are excited to hear about Dylan’s recording deal. They’re interested, but not in a greedy way. Neither one asks about getting tickets to shows, but Dylan offers them anyway.

  Our dinner isn’t as elaborate and chaotic as the one last Sunday, but it’s nice.

  When Dylan rubs his knee against mine under the table, I’m excited, but in a different way.

  Our relationship is changing, becoming more comfortable. This morning, I watched him pick all the mushrooms out of his omelet. He complained bitterly the whole time, like the mushrooms offended him on some deep level.

  After all he’s been through in his life, you’d think he wouldn’t get upset over mushrooms, or people cutting him off in traffic. Plus he’s rich. Compared to me, he’s got nothing to worry about.

  We finish eating dinner, and Amanda suggests we all play XBox in the living room.

  Dylan turns to me, his expression pleading. “Can I?” he jokes, like he needs my permission.

  “Of course you can,” I say, laughing.

  The four of us play games, sharing around the two controllers. Dylan’s really competitive, and wins almost everything. I can’t even cuddle up and share the chair with him, or he elbows me in the face.

  Eventually, I leave the room to get ready for bed. After brushing my teet
h and washing up, I go into my bedroom to grab a book.

  Dylan’s in my bed, his clothes over the wooden chair.

  “There you are,” he growls. “Strip for me.”

  The room is dark, except for the glow of my lamp. His bare shoulders are gold in the light.

  “I thought you were playing games.”

  “Maybe I still am.”

  “Good one.”

  “Strip for me,” he says again.

  “Like a real stripper? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s no brass pole in here. Just at your place.”

  “We can’t go there. I can’t wait that long. Just take your clothes off. Slowly.”

  “Are you sleeping over?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “I have to work in the morning.”

  “I’ll drive you to work.” He rolls onto his side and rests his head on his palm. “I’ll drive you to work like a normal boyfriend. And you’ll kiss me goodbye like a normal girlfriend.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “So, we’re official? If I’m asked by reporters, I could say you’re just a friend.”

  “I’m more than a friend.”

  He licks his lips. “You sure are.”

  I start undressing, feeling his eyes on me.

  I go slowly. For him.

  I’m tingling all over. I strip off all my clothes, bathed in his lust and getting more turned on by the second. He’s all I want. All I need.

  Naked, I slide into my bed and into his arms.

  Every touch ignites me, from his feather-light strokes to the way he grabs me to drag me under him.

  Using his hot mouth, he claims my neck, my breasts, my stomach. He moves lower and claims everything. I’m his. Every part of me.

  We tease each other and share breath as we moan in pleasure.

  He calls me his angel, and lifts me up, up, until I feel like I’m flying.

  Now he’s deep inside me, his eyes locked on mine, like he’s waiting for something.

  Tomorrow, everything may fly apart, but for the moment, we’re together. This beautiful moment will end. Everything ends. I feel the urgency in his body, like he knows it, too.

  He thrusts deeper and deeper, his fingers digging in to my thighs and hips like he’s frustrated. He wants more.

  I gaze up into his eyes and tell him what I feel. “I love you.”