Sweet Revenge

57 Pages·2016·0.32 MB·English

by  Aidan Nadia

Sweet Revenge
Book One of the Friends and Lovers series
Nadia Aidan
(c) 2008
Sweet Revenge
Book One of the Friends and Lovers series
Nadia Aidan
Published 2008
ISBN 978-1-59578-425-4
Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509
Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2008, Nadia Aidan. All rights
reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise,
without the prior written permission of the author.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Liquid Silver Books
http://LSbooks.com
Email:
[email protected]
Editor
Devin Govaere
Cover Artist
April Martinez
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of
the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual
events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Dedication
To my mom
Chapter One
Teresa hated this feeling of dread. She knew it was excessive, silly even, but she just
couldn't seem to shake it. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest and her hands shook with
nervousness.
She was supposed to meet the director of Nemesis for lunch in less than half an hour,
and as if she weren't already a nervous wreck, the L.A. traffic was even more of a mess
than usual! Damn traffic, she grumbled to herself. As much as she loved L.A., the traffic
she could live without.
She had never been to The Zanzibar, the chic, upscale restaurant in the heart of
Hollywood where she was supposed to have lunch with this mysterious director, and to
make matters worse, she had somehow gotten lost. She gritted her teeth together. Even
more than traffic, she hated getting lost!
“I'm going to kill Marty for this,” she said aloud. It was Marty, her agent and
manager, who had talked her into this. Everything she knew about the film came solely
from the script Marty had sent her, which was admittedly impressive. A romantic comedy
about a ballsy businesswoman, the story followed two childhood rivals who later become
rivals in business and, by movie's end, fall in love; and though it was essentially a
comedy, and a hilarious one at that, the movie had plenty of high drama, too.
What Teresa had found most intriguing about Nemesis, however, was that the
romantic comedy was liberally laced with scenes that were provocative and sensual, too.
Reading it, Teresa couldn’t help being drawn into the erotic and deceitful world of Ms.
Casey Lane and Mr. Ashton Williams. The screenplay was mesmerizing and the
characters burned a hole through the pages with their sexual intensity. She had found the
entire concept irresistible.
What bothered her about the project, though, was that the script told her nothing
about the enigmatic man who wrote it, who also happened to be the director.
“For God’s sake, Marty, he could be a murderer.” Teresa had reasoned when Marty
insisted that she meet Mr. Mysterious later that afternoon.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic, Teresa. This could be the role of a lifetime,” Marty had
said dismissively, and then she had practically gushed over the phone line, “I smell Oscar
here!”
Teresa wanted to say all she smelled were big, fat dollar signs, but she kept that
thought to herself. Since Teresa had moved to L.A. three years ago, the fussy and
overprotective Marty had become more like a mother to her than merely an agent, and
she was grateful for Marty’s guidance with her acting career. Which meant that, despite
her apprehension, Teresa had finally given in to Marty’s request and agreed to the lunch
date. Which was why she was now fighting the damned Los Angeles traffic and trying to
find a restaurant that seemingly had decided to hide itself from her.
She let out a sigh of relief when at last she spotted the modest letters emblazoned on
the building. “Finally!” she exclaimed. She pulled alongside the curb and chanced a
quick glance at her disheveled reflection.
A valet appeared as if by magic to open the car door for her. She handed him her
keys, pretending not to notice the Mercedes and the Jaguars looking down their hood
ornaments at her Honda, and took a moment to drink in the red carpet that led to the
trendy looking entrance to The Zanzibar.
Once again, her stomach tightened with apprehension. Invariably described in the
trades as the “restaurant for the stars,” The Zanzibar was known for its exclusivity and
the fact that celebrities like Julia Roberts and Denzel Washington dined there religiously.
Teresa blew out a breath and placed one high-heeled foot on the red carpet, smiling at the
impassive valet as if she honestly thought she belonged there.
I will not be intimidated, she told herself, I will not be intimidated, I will not… If she
kept telling herself that over and over, at some point she would be able to believe it,
right?
“‘Mr. Mysterious’ must be something,” she muttered under her breath. You had to be
a major power player in Los Angeles to even dine at The Zanzibar. Never mind that
Wednesday afternoons were the worst time to even attempt to make lunch reservations
anywhere within a five mile radius of downtown L.A. Yet Mr. Mysterious had somehow
managed it. Despite her nervousness, Teresa was definitely intrigued and a little
impressed.
She stuck her chin forward, tucked her shoulders back like an Army general's, and
strode purposefully through the doors of The Zanzibar.
* * * *
He noticed her the moment she stepped through the doorway, the sun peeking in
behind her to illuminate her voluptuous figure. Five foot four of the most gorgeous
woman he had ever seen, the sunlight radiating off of her caramel complexion and
sparking little nuggets of gold in her shoulder length, brown hair.
Exactly how Ryan Dumont remembered Teresa Montague from high school. At
thirty-four, he had spent the last sixteen years waiting for this moment, the moment when
he would finally bring the Ms. Haughty Teresa Montague to her knees…literally. He
couldn’t wait to have her right there with her face in his crotch and her full lips wrapped
around his cock, sucking him dry as he spurted his seed down her lovely and elegant
throat. The mere thought of it made him painfully hard, so hard he had to adjust himself
under the table. The Zanzibar wasn't the sort of place where gentlemen were expected to
sport boners, no matter how beautiful the woman they were meeting for lunch.
In high school Teresa had been “Miss Perfect.” A brilliant student, she had skipped
two grades by the time she was fourteen. Teresa was not just an honor student, either, nor
just an exotic beauty, although she certainly was that. She seemed to excel at everything
she did. She was an accomplished varsity volleyball star. She starred in practically every
school play, and by her senior year, she had been accepted into the top colleges in the
country. On top of it all, she was a sweet and genuine girl. Although she had definitely
been no one's pushover, she was adored by everyone who had the pleasure of knowing
her.
Ryan would readily admit to himself that he had always been one of her many
adoring fans—probably her most adoring one—but that was something he had never
admitted to her. For some reason she had never been able to get along with him—except
that one time. That time was emblazoned on his memory, and had been for sixteen years.
Things were about to change now, though, and very soon, because he had something
that she badly wanted, something every struggling actress searches for…the part of a
lifetime. And he was going to make sure she gave him everything he wanted in order to
get it.
* * * *
While the stylish hostess escorted her to the table, Teresa discretely took in her
surroundings, trying to look blasé about them at the same time. She was still wondering
who this “Mr. Mysterious” was.
The hostess was leading her to a corner table, slightly hidden behind a large potted
palm, so that the man seated there could see much of the room without being much seen
himself. A power table, clearly.
Finally, Teresa saw him for the first time and came to such an abrupt halt that a
waiter passing behind her nearly clipped her with a tray full of drinks. He shot a dirty
look at the back of her head as he ducked around her. Oh, my God she thought, it can’t
be! Her mind began to race and her stomach twisted into tighter knots. The one man she
had tried to forget for the last sixteen years was sitting about ten feet from where she was
standing, and it seemed as if that was exactly where the hostess was headed.
Dear God, please don’t do this to me, Teresa silently prayed, but to no avail. The
moment he stood to acknowledge her presence, grinning broadly at her, she knew this
was “Mr. Mysterious.”
Ryan “fucking” Dumont! What the hell is he doing here? He’d made high school hell
for her!
Okay. So that wasn’t entirely true. Her secret love—oh, hell, Teresa, she told herself,
tell it like it was—her secret lust for him had made high school hell. She could remember
many mornings waking up hot and wet from a steamy dream about Ryan Dumont. She
hated herself and her traitorous body for the sticky wetness that always seemed to
materialize whenever she even thought of him. Even now, all these years later, she still
sometimes masturbated to the sexual fantasies of him fucking her.
He was a six foot five inch yummy example of masculine perfection, that much she
would admit. Ryan had the fullest, most kissable lips she had ever seen on a man. Any
woman could appreciate his smooth sun-kissed skin, the high cheekbones and chiseled
jaw line that gave him the look of a Persian prince from some adolescent fairy tale. In
striking contrast to his light olive complexion, his eyes were black as midnight, framed
by lashes so long and sexy that on another man they might have looked less than
masculine, but on Ryan only enhanced his sex appeal. His best feature, though, was
undoubtedly his hair. Ryan's jet black hair was fastened now at the nape of his neck. In
high school, he'd always worn it long. Teresa knew his parents had hated it but she had
always thought it was incredibly sexy. She also knew that it was silky to the touch. Even
now, she recalled running her fingers through it.
No doubt about it, the man was physical perfection, a god. An Arabian god! That is
how Teresa always thought of him. He reminded her of the desert sheiks that she read
about in her romance novels. It should be a sin for a man to be that damn perfect.
Get a hold of yourself, girl, Teresa warned herself. You are not good enough for him.
You never were, she added bitterly. Remembering why she hated him so much brought
back a flood of pain, but it also strengthened her resolve. Compared to Ryan, she was
nothing—a nobody. She knew this wasn’t literally true, but what she thought didn't
matter to people like Fatima Dumont.
The day she and Ryan were both inducted into the National Honor Society had also
been their first meeting and it had left a lasting impression on her. She would never forget
the words said by the hateful woman, with that cultured, exotic accent possessed by many
wealthy Kuwaitis who grew up among the British.
“I see the way my son looks at you,” Fatima Dumont had said, with a smile that was
anything but warming. “One might think you had bewitched him, the way his eyes never
leave you. I can’t blame him, of course, you are a beautiful girl, I'm sure there are many
men who look at you that way. And I am sure you could make many of them very happy.
Unfortunately, however, you are not the kind of girl Ryan needs in his life.”
Teresa’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped, “But, Mrs. Dumont, you don’t
understand, Ryan and I are just…”
The woman’s beautiful face twisted into an ugly sneer. “Just friends? Is that what
you were going to say? Well, let’s just make sure that it stays that way, why don't we? No
matter what you think, Ryan is from a different world than you and he deserves better.”
Mrs. Dumont’s dark eyes turned cold. “You must think I am blind, or stupid, and I
assure you, I am neither. I see the way my son stares at you, and I see the way you stare
at him as well. I tell you once again, you are not for him. Stay away from him before you
get your little heart broken. Or worse.” With that, Mrs. Fatima Dumont had spun on her
heel, her back rigid with disdain, and strode imperiously away.
Teresa had never forgotten that moment. She had been left standing there feeling
foolish and hurt, knowing that while Fatima was wrong for saying it, what she had said
was definitely right.
She would never be good enough for Ryan. Ryan was the product of two royal
dynasties merging together, literally. Ryan’s father, Allen Dumont, was a descendent of
the gens de couleur libre. He hailed from one of the oldest and wealthiest Creole political
families from Louisiana, while Fatima Dumont’s harpy ass had come down from a
wealthy Kuwaiti sultan who owned and operated over ten percent of the oil fields in
Kuwait.
What had she been thinking, even dreaming about him? Ryan was so far out of her
league. She had a better chance with the man on the moon than Ryan Dumont!
From that day on, Teresa made sure that she kept Ryan at arm’s length. It had been
fairly easy, too, until the night of their senior prom…
* * * *
Teresa had fumed for weeks when she learned that Ryan was taking Tracy Li, the
pretty brunette captain of the cheerleading squad, to their senior prom. She had been
jealous, although she knew she had no logical right to be. It wasn’t like she was his
girlfriend.
Still, goaded by her jealousy, she had stubbornly ignored Ryan when he had taken
her aside one day in the hall at school and warned her against going to the prom with his
football teammate, Bruno Gates. Not only had Ryan warned her, he had practically
forbidden her to go with Bruno.
Well, Ryan was an idiot, she told herself, if he thought he had the right to tell her
who she could and couldn’t attend her prom with. Against Ryan's ridiculous advice, she
took Bruno, the big, blond star linebacker of the football team, as her date.
As things turned out, however, Ryan’s advice hadn’t been so ridiculous after all. She
learned that painful lesson when she foolishly found herself in the back seat of Bruno's
red Ford Mustang.
Teresa was athletic herself but she was only so strong and certainly no match for the
two hundred and eighty pound linebacker. Tears streamed down her face as she pushed
and clawed ineffectually at Bruno’s massive chest. His hands were everywhere, pawing
at her bra, grasping for her panties through her gown.
“No, Bruno, don't,” she sobbed, but he might not have heard her at all.
Finally he tired of trying to get at her through her gown and, grabbing it at the slit
that ran down her thigh, ripped it open as if it were tissue paper.
“Stop it! Please, Bruno!” She struggled to no avail to push him off of her and winced
with pain as his huge body crushed hers into the car seat. Worse, she knew that she was
growing weaker by the minute, each breath a struggle now.
“Shut up, bitch! Stop being a tease!” Bruno grunted and clasped both of her wrists in
one of his meaty hands.
His breath stunk of alcohol and he was dripping with sweat from the exertion of
trying to restrain her. Teresa wasn’t going to give in without a fight but she didn’t know
how much longer she could hold him back. Unless some miracle intervened, he was
going to rape her in the back seat of his car and she was powerless to stop him. He was
just too strong, and too heavy, so heavy she could hardly catch her breath. She was
growing lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, her eyes beginning to lose focus, her body
growing limp with exhaustion. She was vaguely aware of her panties being torn from her
hips, and felt Bruno's hands pawing at her down there.
All of a sudden a thunderous crash penetrated the hazy fog of her semi-
consciousness and a shower of tiny chips of glass fell across her face. Bruno's weight was
somehow miraculously gone and she hungrily gulped in deep breaths of oxygen.
She heard grunts and shouts and realized that there was a struggle going on just
outside the car—more grunts, and the sounds of fists pummeling flesh. It sounded very
much as if someone was getting his ass beat and she hoped like hell it was that ape,
Bruno!
She scrambled to a sitting position and looked around. Someone had busted the rear
driver side window. Whoever it was had apparently dragged Bruno out of the car as well.
It seemed her rescuer had beaten the living shit out of Bruno by this time, too, because
there he was, about ten feet away, laid out flat on the ground. His tuxedo collar was
ripped and he sported a busted lip and signs of what was almost certainly going to
become a nasty black eye.
Teresa sensed movement to the left of Bruno. That was when she saw him—Ryan
Dumont. His jet black hair was strewn about his face in a wild tangle and his rage had
turned his dark eyes coal black. Incongruously, Teresa found herself thinking he had
never looked sexier in his life.
He stalked towards her and Teresa was sure he was going to unleash his savage fury
on her next, but when he got to her, he was suddenly incredibly gentle. Dragging her into
his arms, he cradled her against him and stroked her hair.
“Teresa,” he whispered her name tenderly, and in that moment something inside
Teresa shattered and her tears began to fall in earnest. For several minutes, she simply let
Ryan hold her as she sobbed. Gradually, her pain and fear faded in the warmth of his
embrace.
When she was spent, Ryan gently pulled back from her, steadily holding her gaze
with anxious eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked. His face was still contorted in a mask of fury but his eyes
were gentle with concern. There was something else there, too, but Teresa couldn’t put
her finger on it. Not trusting herself to speak, she simply nodded. Helping her to her feet,
Ryan walked her to his black Mercedes that he had haphazardly parked in his mad rush to
get to Teresa, and gently helped her into the passenger seat.
For several minutes, Teresa simply stared out of the passenger window as Ryan
drove them out of the park. Her body shook slightly and her hands trembled. She was still
dazed. Sneaking a quick glance at Ryan, Teresa’s breath caught in her throat. Ryan’s face
was contorted with anger and his hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles
turned white.
Teresa frowned, puzzled. She could clearly understand the violence of his emotions,
but the rage that had gripped Ryan hinted at something deeper.
* * * *
Ryan silently fumed as he maneuvered out of the rocky park. He wanted to speak but
he didn’t trust the words that would surely slip out of his mouth. He was still seething,
too, and he was afraid if he did speak he might unleash his anger on her. He had told her
not to go to prom with that thug! She had almost been raped and Ryan had wanted to kill
Bruno for hurting her, but he was angry with her, too, for stubbornly refusing to heed the
advice he had given her.
When Ryan had walked into the bathroom earlier at the prom to take a “dance”
break, he’d simply been trying to get away from Tracy's bold, clawing hands. She had
proven to be a voracious date, who seemed convinced that it was Ryan's duty to calm her
surging hormones. Ryan had the feeling that if he didn't stay on guard, Tracy could strip
him naked in a matter of minutes, right there at the dance.
He was in the restroom when he overheard two of his football team mates joking
about how Bruno had bragged that he was going to “bang” Teresa later that night out at
Rock Creek Point whether she was willing or not.
“I'm getting a piece of that tonight,” he'd promised his buddies, “one way or the
other.”
Ryan had nearly gone insane. In a matter of minutes, he was peeling out of the
Eastern Ridge High School parking lot and racing to the popular make-out point where he
knew he would find Teresa and Bruno. His own date, Tracy, was forgotten entirely. He'd
had this feeling all day, a sense of foreboding that had nagged him and had gotten worse
as the evening progressed. Now it drove him nearly insane as he raced to Rock Creek
Point.
When Ryan saw Bruno’s red Mustang in the parking area there, he feared the worst.
What if he was too late? What if it had already happened? Bruno was a bastard, one of
those guys who think of nothing but themselves, and he was massive. If he decided to
force himself on Teresa, she wouldn't have a chance.
He parked his car haphazardly and jumped out, snatching up a tire iron without a
thought of what he meant to do with it, but he approached Bruno's car more cautiously,
his empty hand clenching and unclenching into a tight fist. Despite his anger, he didn't
want to make a fool of himself. It was entirely possible that nothing was going on—or, if
it was, that Teresa was a willing partner to it. He'd look like a fool if he showed up in the
midst of a serious romantic session between the two of them.
When he got close enough, however, to see through the windows into the back seat
of Bruno's car, rage roared through him like a wildfire.
He could clearly see Teresa lying beneath Bruno and crying and struggling against
the big brute. That scene alone would be forever imprinted in his brain. In that moment,
his rage had bubbled over and Ryan had lost it. He swung the tire iron, breaking the back
window with a single punch, and threw the iron aside. He didn't need it for what he
intended to do. Ryan dragged the hulking Goliath out by his tuxedo jacket and proceeded
to beat the shit out of him.
Now as he sped through the city along Pennsylvania Avenue, Ryan still barely
trusted himself to speak, but he didn't actually know where he was going. He needed
directions from Teresa.
“Where do you live?” he asked quickly, glancing sideways at her. What he saw when
he looked into her eyes startled him. He had never known Teresa to be afraid of anything.
Yet as she stared at him, her eyes were wide with fear, pleading silently with him. The
knowledge that he had nearly been too late to save her almost sent him into another rage.
He summoned every shred of self-discipline he had within himself to manage his temper.
The last thing he wanted was for her to fear him too.
“I—I don’t want to go home yet,” Teresa said, stammering. “I mean, my mom has to
work tonight and she won’t be home until nine in the morning.” She paused for a moment
while she worriedly nibbled on her bottom lip. “Please, Ryan, I don’t want to be at the
house by myself, after… after what happened,” she whispered, her hands still slightly
shaking as her eyes pleaded with him.
“Um, I don’t think…”
“Please, Ryan,” Teresa whispered again, her eyes silently begging him to say yes.
Groaning inwardly, Ryan sighed. He gripped the steering wheel even tighter and
silently nodded.
Twice in one night he didn’t trust himself to speak. His cock had grown painfully
hard when she whispered his name. God! What he wouldn’t do to have her beneath him
with her legs wrapped around his waist as he slammed into her over and over again while
she whispered his name in that husky voice that sent tingles down his spine.
Squeezing his eyes shut for just a second, Ryan struggled to clear his head. He
couldn’t be alone with Teresa right now. He was feeling way too possessive and he knew
Teresa was vulnerable from her ordeal. The last thing she needed was for him to stay
with her. How could he possibly be alone with her without touching her? He couldn't, he
was as certain of that as he had ever been of anything in his life. And he couldn't even
explain it to her, either. He knew in her current state she would agree to anything he
wanted. And afterward, she would think he was no better than that ape, Bruno. He
couldn't bear to think of that.
* * * *
“Good afternoon, Teresa. It’s a pleasure to see you again after all these years.” Ryan
nodded as he smiled slightly. At least, the corners of his mouth tilted upward slightly, but
the smile did not quite reach his eyes.
“I wish I could say the same,” Teresa replied in an icy voice.