Riske and Revenge: A Second Chance, Enemies Romance (Revenge series Book 1) Read online

  NATALIE E. WRYE

  Copyright © 2017 by Natalie E. Wrye.

  This novel is an original work. It is a fictional writing, a work entirely derived from the author’s imagination. All characters and events are entirely fictional and not based in fact, nor based on any real person(s) living or deceased. Any resemblance or similarity to any real person(s), alive or dead, or event is purely and clearly coincidental. This book contains adult language and in some instances coarse language and, due to its content, should not be viewed by children.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without the written permission of the author (except for the use of brief quotations in a book review).

  Cover Design:

  Nicole Williams, Vivid Dreams Book Design

  http://www.vividdreamsbookdesign.com

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  ABOUT

  Love is the strongest emotion in the world…next to hate.

  I knew hate. Had known it since I was seventeen. For me, it was love turned on its head, a product of hurt and fear—twisted, tied up…and placed on the sculpted shoulders of Ethan Riske.

  ***

  Dayton, Tennessee.

  Home to the best cow-tipping in the world, the biggest hot dogs, and the lousiest sex.

  Or so I'd heard...

  They were right about the first two. Ethan Riske proved them wrong about the third and at seventeen, he and I spent a summer under the stars, squeezing our way out of trouble, sweating and panting among the haystacks.

  Until he left.

  Nine years later, when a huge publishing house tries to buy my small press, I storm into the office of the CEO to find him.

  Same cocky grin. Different name.

  And suddenly all I can think about is exacting revenge on Ethan Riske for breaking his contract...and my heart.

  But there's someone who wants revenge even more than I do. As I begin to fall for the new Ethan, will the sins of the old one come back to haunt us?

  Table of Contents

  Contact Me

  About

  Prologue

  Crazy, Stupid, Love

  You’ve Got Mail

  Lost in Translation

  Silver Linings Playbook

  10 Things I Hate about You

  Say Anything

  Twilight

  Before Sunrise

  Blue is the Warmest Color

  Gone with the Wind

  Before Midnight

  Her

  Beauty and the Beast

  The Spectacular Now

  About a Boy

  Only Yesterday

  Only in my Dreams

  Last Resort

  Crazy Heart

  Moonstruck

  Heavenly Creatures

  Wings of Desire

  Up in the Air

  Enough Said

  Out of Sight

  From Here to Eternity

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of “Perfect Revenge”

  * * *

  AN ADDITIONAL NOTE

  Prologue

  There is no present or future, only the past, happening over and over again, now.

  - Eugene O’Neill

  RISKE

  “I hope you taste as good as you smell.”

  The sound drifted through the air. A slow, sensuous melody floated with it, and as both made their way through the room, the beat of the song and the quiet statement I just heard rattled the bourbon in my hand, making the ice cubes shake.

  Or maybe I was the one shaking.

  I couldn’t help it.

  Griff was poking a hole in my ribs with his elbow, and as the lips that had just whispered in my ear withdrew, I could see the look on my “best man’s” face. He was essentially salivating, his tongue practically swinging as he took in the vision of the woman who was speaking in my ear… and laying a seductive path in my open lap.

  She stood, her long legs stretching, her bare torso twisting as she rolled the shape of an “S” in the air with her body, swaying seductively to the music. She was toned… that was obvious. A tight package with tits too big to be real, the buxom blonde in front of me was the object of every man’s wet-dream, star of every cock-swinger’s fantasy…

  Except mine.

  But she was doing her best. Clad in a piece of cloth that barely covered her clearly cleanly-waxed pussy, she ground her pretty ass two inches from my face while every other man in the room fought the urge to put their fingers all over her. My best friend, included. He nudged my side for the ninetieth time.

  “Fuck me, man,” he slurred. “If she was doing that to me, I’d be two seconds from putting my finger in her ass.” He smirked widely and wildly.

  “Good thing you aren’t me,” I shot back quietly, leaning over to look into his face. “That’d be a felony, you crazy ass.” I finally smiled. “And the last time I checked you didn’t fuck strippers because ‘and I quote… ‘Who knows how many other items have been in those goddamned holes?”

  I threw Griff’s own words back at him with a silent grin.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he declared, staring at the stripper in front of me for the thousandth time. “For her?” He swallowed another mouthful of scotch. “I’d make an exception.”

  I glared at the beautiful blonde again. Because Griff was right. The exotic dancer… She might have been one of the best looking I’d ever seen. Maybe the best. She was tall, long-legged. Gorgeous… in the porn star sense, of course, with a wide, luscious mouth made for licking and sucking in only the most erotic of ways.

  She licked her lips at me as if she wanted to make good on the promise she’d just whispered, and I had no doubt when she looked at me, her brown doe-like eyes wide, that—if she could, she would devour me until nothing was left. Until she drained every drop.

  Unfortunately, for her, I wasn’t interested.

  She tried to drag me to my feet, her tiny fingers wrapping around my own, pulling as she walked backwards in the direction of the edge of the room. The overhead maroon lights illuminating the space in our black-curtain closed boudoir made her look as naughty as every word dripping from her blood-red mouth, and Blondie the Bimbo was putting on her best pout to entice me into joining her towards whatever dirty fun lay in the dark room beyond this one.

  All of the men—friend and foe—whooped as I slowly dragged myself to my feet, stumbling and fumbling over the discarded decorations that littered the floor. Streamers and “Congratulations” ribbons ran the length of the room, taking up space between the cloth-covered tables, and I staggered past them, barely holding onto my Bourbon as I followed stolidly behind the too-excited dancer who nearly bounced on her platform-covered toes.

  With the push of another curtain, we fell into another room, and I let my body flounce on the dark-colored couches beyond it, slumping into the padded cushions. I took a healthy swig of my drink and sank my fingers into the seat beneath me, wondering how many stains the
se comfortable sofas had really seen.

  The drunker I got, the more it didn’t matter. Ignorance truly was bliss.

  And so was the sensation making its way down my crotch—a gentle rubbing that circled the length of my cock through the fabric of my suit pants. From the tip to the very base. I groaned, closing my eyes as I saw a vision in my mind. A vision too good to be true.

  A vision almost ten years old.

  Waves of dark hair fell to a waist too tiny to be anything but touched. Shiny and soft, the beautiful brown mane swept across my chest, against my shirt, as two eyes, a crystal-clear blue, peeked from beneath the strands, as round and as large as saucers. In my mind, they met mine, saying things that couldn’t be vocalized, voicing words that need not be said.

  They seduced in the most innocent of ways, waylaying me, pulling at a possessiveness in me I didn’t know existed. The blue eyes smiled. The smile beneath them was even better—wicked, as it dipped to my abdomen and pressed there, making me ache, causing my cock to strain against the inconvenient zipper located there.

  How many times had I imagined those lips doing exactly that? That tongue licking out beneath those straight white teeth to lap at my skin, the edge of her mouth nipping at the most sensitive parts of me? It was torture—letting her tease me, taking me to the brink and back again as she swept that sheet of auburn locks over my body as she bent to her knees. I sucked in a breath soaked in desire as I waited for her to place her mouth where it mattered most.

  And then it stopped. The teasing. She stopped.

  And before I knew it, she was pulling—no, ripping—at my pants. The top button popped, and suddenly my cock was between her hands, her lips. She sank her mouth around it with a sigh, sucking with delight. The sexiest slurp ever made to man escaped from between her teeth, and I nearly lost it, grinding my own teeth as I gripped the back of her head, my eyelids squeezing tight enough to ache.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” I muttered. Over and over and over again.

  It was fucking amazing. Something so simple—someone so simple, sweet and secretly naughty could bring a stubborn fucker like me—CEO and all—to his Giorgio Armani-covered knees.

  I came… with my cock in her mouth and her name on my mind. I leaned back even further, letting my head fall into the cushions.

  “Fuck, Kat…” I mumbled, feeling way too fucked up to move, the liquor coursing through my veins as I came down from my high, my fingers reaching out to touch her once more.

  But she backed away.

  “Kat?” she said, rising to her feet. “Who the fuck is Kat?”

  I opened my eyes, staring at the figure fumbling around in front of me. It was the blonde vixen—the stripper. Standing on shaky legs, she wobbled between my legs, locking me with a stare, her eyes hard and unblinking. She placed her hands on her tiny hips.

  “Who the hell is Kat?”

  As if she was outraged. As if she had any right to question whatever the fuck I was doing anyway. I ignored her with a shrug, stowing my dick back in my pants with a loud zip! I finished my drink and sat it down.

  “Ohhhh… I get it,” the blonde blower hissed. “She must be your fiancée. Well… I guarantee you that she’s never made you come like that. That was epic, baby,” she sighed, trying to straddle me. Her pussy was peeking completely out of her barely-there panties this time, and she tried to rub it across me, sliding her pink slit across the front of my pants with a slow grind.

  I almost pushed her off. I stood.

  “There is no fiancée,” I rumbled.

  “But I thought…”

  “My friends,” I interrupted, “thought it’d be funny to celebrate my new position. They said it was fitting… seeing as how I’m now married to my job. This isn’t a real bachelor party. And that wasn’t a real blow-job…”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Certainly felt real to me.”

  I pulled out my wallet, taking out a couple hundred dollar bills and putting them in the palm of her hand. I folded her fingers around them, looking into her eyes.

  “Can’t be real… Not when you’re thinking about someone else the entire time.”

  I turned just as the fair-haired, breathing blow-up doll gaped. I pulled the black curtain aside, exiting, attempting to avoid the curious gaze of every onlooking employee that came to the party to usher me into my new executive role.

  My smile was weak, as I tried to shake off what just happened to me in the other room… and who I was imagining it happening with. Somehow, it was the brunette in my head, and not the blonde on my lap, that felt as if she were still on my skin.

  I was in so much fucking trouble.

  Crazy, Stupid Love

  You don't just have a story - you're a story in the making, and you never know what the next chapter's going to be. That's what makes it exciting.

  - Dan Millman

  KAT

  Dayton, Tennessee

  Nine years ago

  I was in so much fucking trouble.

  This day was definitely going in my diary, and the longer I sat there, the more I realized that years in the future, when I read this part of my life, I knew that a piece of me still wouldn’t believe it. The sheriff stared at the shiny steel bracelets binding my tiny wrists. His hat sat low. The sun was high. Dust and dirt filled my lungs as I leaned against the squad car, breathing in the humid mid-day air, my hair sticking to the nape of my neck from sweat.

  I had been over this story a million times. I wasn’t going to make it a million and one. Not even for the highest ranking officer in this po-dunk town. I sighed, slumping back against the passenger window as I slid against it.

  “We’ve gone through this already,” I huffed, hanging my head. “I didn’t spray paint all of Mrs. Wentworth’s wigs.”

  The sheriff, bulky and large-backed, crossed and uncrossed his arms as if he were somehow important. As if he were capable of forcing a faulty confession. As if I gave a fuck…

  I was doing everything to show him that I didn’t. No matter who he was. It wasn’t like I was going to stay in this town past the summer. I mean, really. How long could he really hold me here?

  “I can’t hold you forever, Kat,” the fleshy-faced officer said, practically reading my thoughts. “But I can hold you here for a while, and in the meantime, we’ll sit here and talk about how you and Mrs. Wentworth got into an argument last Tuesday.”

  “A dozen people got into an argument with Mrs. Wentworth last Tuesday. She blocked a mile of traffic when her car stalled in the road and she refused to have it towed out of the way.”

  “You argued with her the Sunday before, too.”

  “So?”

  “You threatened to throw one of the wigs she wears in the lake.”

  “And?”

  “With her still wearing it.”

  I looked away.

  “Now, I know this town hasn’t exactly won you over just yet, Katarina…”

  I snorted, clinking the cuffs. “Just yet?”

  “But vandalizing isn’t the answer,” the sheriff finished. “And if you have a problem with a fellow resident in Dayton, I suggest you find a more amicable way to resolve it than spray-painting every single wig in the local beauty shop in rainbow hues.”

  I exhaled loudly, shrugging my dark hair over my shoulder. “How many times do I have to tell you that I…?”

  Another cruiser pulled up, sidling into the dirt parking lot. Gravel and soot went flying everywhere as the black-and-white painted car whipped its way into the parking space beside the sheriff’s. Barely in Park, a young officer I often referred to as Deputy Dildo hopped out, his hat in hand, his aviators shining under the bright noon sun as he walked without hesitation over to the sheriff, pointing a thumb over his uniform-padded shoulder. He checked me out, his grimy gaze sliding over my figure before he smiled wide, his clean-shaven face breaking out into a shit-eating grin.

  “Got your perp here, sheriff.”

  The sheriff’s dark eyebrows pulled low. “My what?�
��

  “The guy who spray painted all of the wigs in Mrs. Wentworth’s shop,” the amateur cop responded, pulling on his belt. “We caught him in the act of spray-painting Dudley Duncan’s stable horses. Bunch of damned things, running around like unicorns out there, sheriff. It’s a mess.”

  I heard the scoff from his back seat before I saw anything. A mass of blond curls was leaning against the slightly opened window and the wrists directly beneath it glinted in the sun. The silver jewelry reflected the hot-as-Hell Tennessee rays beaming down on all of us, and I had to look away. The light was bright. Probably much brighter than the dim-witted deputy, who was acting like he caught the “Fugitive of the Century.”

  They made an interesting pair—the life-worn superior and his dopey understudy. Truth was… I never liked Deputy Moines much. He thought he was smarter than he was. His pants were always too tight, his wits too slow, and, not for the first time, did I suspect that maybe the flow of oxygen was getting cut off from his balls to his brain.

  Plus, he never seemed to like me… apart from ogling me when he got the chance. I wondered about the man he’d arrested for the same crime, the man in the backseat who seemed entirely too much like me. Unbothered by his circumstances. His posture told a bit of his backstory; he obviously didn’t care about being arrested. But unlike me, Blondie in the back didn’t seem all that slick…or, hell, even smart.

  If I actually had done it… I never would have been caught. Not by Sheriff Small Town here… and definitely not by Deputy Tight-Ass, a wanna-be Big Wig so uptight he could pick up a quarter just by squatting. Suddenly, curiosity got the best of me, and I glanced quickly in the rear seat, searching for a face and found nothing. The man’s voice followed soon after.