The Revenge Game
by Alice Gaines
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Print Length: 156 pages
Publisher: Entangled: Indulgence
Publication Date: September 23, 2019
Adam Morrow is a self-made millionaire. But one night with her could ruin everything…
I’ve worked my ass off for what I have, and I’m damn proud of it. I started off with nothing and now I’m filthy rich. Let me tell you, there’s nothing like revenge to help you get your ass in gear. And that’s what I’m taking, with every exclusive resort I open—sweet, sweet revenge…on her.
Nicole Westmore was my first love. The poor little rich girl stole my heart with her sweet smile, hot body, and irresistible innocence. The summer I worked for her father was the best time of my life…until he drove me away. Even then, I thought Nicole would wait for me. She didn’t.
And so, I decided to get even, opening rival hotels, slowly driving them out of business. The old man is gone now, but Nicole is still running the company that’s about to collapse. All my hard work will soon pay off.
And then I catch sight of her at a wedding, and all those feelings come rushing back--for both of us. Still, she doesn’t know what I’ve done—yet—and she seems more than willing. What will one night in her bed hurt?
The sex is hotter than ever, and I can’t help wondering if I’ve made a mistake. Until I get up the next morning…and realize I’ve been kidnapped!
Adam sat at the table in their cottage on the cove and watched Nicole prepare dinner. It was exactly the sort of scene he’d fantasized about when he’d been young and in love. And for once in a very long time, he faced an inner struggle.
Did he still hate her? No. Did he still hate her father? Sure, but what was the point? The man was dead, and Adam was having sex with his daughter again. That in itself would have the bastard spinning in his grave.
Did he still want to sink Westmore Hotels? Getting rid of the competition was a good business move, revenge or not.
But the most important issue involved his own emotions. If he was having honeymoon sex, would he be able to walk away when he’d had enough? Hell, would he ever have enough of this woman? Sometime soon, he’d have to return to the office. And she’d have to go back to work. They’d leave here, and then what? Could he do without her, or was he already in too deep?
He’d tried just about everything one body could do with sex, and it had all been fantastic for him and for all his partners. But none of it compared with being with this woman, even in the most ordinary of ways. Emotion—feelings—had to account for the difference. You had honeymoon sex with someone you loved. Grant hadn’t said that, but he’d implied it. Was he falling in love with Nicole all over again? Good God in heaven.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You look pensive.”
“I was only wondering if you’ve become domesticated,” he lied.
She laughed. “Not likely. I love to cook, but I’m happy to have someone else clean up.”
“Spoiled little rich girl.”
“There are some good things about being spoiled and rich.” She picked up a colander full of greens and a bowl and approached the table.
“Here,” she said as she put both in front of him. “How good are you at tearing up lettuce for a salad?”
“I promise you, I can tear up anything you want.”
She laughed again. She seemed to do it easily, quite in contrast with the tense woman who’d confronted him at Grant’s sister’s wedding. They were getting along now…more or less. As long as she didn’t find out about Vivian.
She went back to work near the sink, shelling shrimp for a Cajun dish. An array of spices and fresh herbs stood all around her cutting board. This promised to be quite a feast.
He had to end the honeymoon before he lost control of his emotions completely. They were competitors, and he might still end up taking over Westmore Hotels. If he did, she’d hate him, and they’d end up back at square one. No. He had to get back to New York and get some distance from her so he could clear his head and figure out where to go from here.
But first, he had a little treat in store for her, if she liked that kind of thing. He’d made a detour to the resort gift shop and had liberated a few silk scarves. Long ones. Long enough to tie wrists and ankles to the posts at the corners of their bed.
She was wearing shorts that snuggled against her butt in a particularly tempting way. They weren’t super tight, allowing movement, but they still showed off her curves. He’d cupped her buttocks with his palms as he drove himself into her, so the mere act of staring at her aroused him. She might not go for the silk, but he’d definitely have sex with her. One last indulgence before he got her to agree the time had come to return to the real world.
“Why don’t you take a break and come over here?” he said.
She turned and cocked her head, staring at the lettuce she’d put in front of him. “You haven’t touched that.”
“I don’t feel like cooking right now.”
“But dinner…”
“It can wait for a while,” he said.
She put down her knife, turned, and rested her backside against the counter. “What on earth could you possibly have in mind?”
He gave her a grin—that came more easily now, too—and he turned in his chair and patted his knee. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”
She sauntered toward him. “You’re a sex fiend, you know?”
“I’ve been called worse.”
She sat on his knee and draped her arms around his shoulders. Being this close to her, he could get lost in the emerald gleam of her eyes. They definitely held a wicked twinkle.
“I had a really nasty thought as I watched you on the elliptical today,” he said.
“You were watching me?”
“You know I can’t take my eyes off you,” he said.
“That’s nice.” She pressed her lips against his, just long enough to give him a taste of her. “Really nice.”
With her butt on his thigh, her legs sat near his crotch. Her kisses and the scent of her perfume had already warmed his libido, and his sex thickened and hardened in anticipation of having her yet again. If she’d been a drug, he would have been addicted long before now. This was exactly why he needed some distance. But not quite yet.
“So, anyway…my wicked thought,” he said.
She moved her mouth to his ear and blew into it. “Do tell.”
He shuddered as a bolt of lightning slashed through him. Holy crap, she could turn him on. “A little exotic play, maybe. But only if it excites you.”
She straightened. “Exotic? How?”
“Trust. I’m going to prove to you that I trust you completely.” For now, they’d leave aside the question of whether she could trust him.
She leaned back and looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. “You’re not going to fall backward and trust me to catch you, are you?”
“Nothing quite that innocent,” he said. “I’m going to let you tie me up.”
She hooted. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Only if you want to. It’s your call.”
She stared into his eyes. “You’re serious.”
“There’s a bag from the hotel gift shop in the bedroom. It has enough silk scarves to tie me pretty securely to the bed.”
“I did see that bag.” She bit her lip. “Silk scarves, huh?”
“You wouldn’t hurt me, of course,” he said.
“But I could tie you up, and…”
“Do whatever you want to me.” The more he thought about this plan, the hotter he got. Imagine, her crawling all over him. Getting naked but not allowing him to touch her. He couldn’t do anything for his own pleasure unless she allowed it. If she toyed with him for a good, long while and then finally allowed him to climax, the orgasm would tear him apart. What a way to go.
“Would that really turn you on?” she asked.
“It already has. Touch me if you want proof.”
Alice Gaines lives in the San Francisco Bay Area in a fixer-upper house she never fixed up. Aside from writing and reading hot, hot romance, she loves cooking, knitting and crocheting, and her church. She has a pet corn snake named Casper and she's insanely passionate about the funky soul band, Tower of Power.
Advice you would give new authors?
First, two phrases that are absolutely necessary. One, we have from Nike—Just do it! I don’t know how many people I’ve met who want to be writers or authors but don’t write. That’s the single most definite way to make sure you never get anywhere. Write. No matter what, write. That’s one thing the industry can’t keep you from doing. You can always write. You have almost total control over that.
I say almost total control because, of course, most of us have other demands on our time. You can’t not feed your children (although you can figure out easy, less time-consuming ways to do it). You can’t not show up for your job. But most of us can find some time to write, even if it means missing an hour of sleep before the kids wake up.
Then, too, life can send tragedies that will suffocate the desire to write out of you. If that happens, don’t beat up on yourself. Realize you can’t write just now, but the desire will come back. Then, go back to writing.
The second phrase comes from Galaxy Quest—“Never give up. Never surrender.” Trying to become successful as an author is an enterprise designed to crush your spirit. I started in the days before self-publishing, so you had to convince an editor (and the senior editor and the marketing department) that your book could make money for the publishing house if you wanted to see it in print. I’ve met a lot of editors and agents, and they’re overwhelmingly delightful people. But when it comes to seeing the brilliance of the book you’ve slaved over for moths, they suddenly turn stupid and reject you. This happens almost all the time, so get used to feeling rejected.
Or, and this is worse believe me, you do get accepted, and your baby is published and no one buys it. Your sales suck. The publisher no longer thinks you can make money for them, and they drop you. I’ve been dropped by the same publisher twice—published, dropped, published again, dropped again. Two different publishers have done this. It’s gawd-awful.
So, you develop a thick skin. When bad things happen, and they almost always will, have some chocolate or gin. Nurse your wounds for a while and then pick yourself up, look around for something to do next, and get writing.
These days, you can publish your own books. In the beginning, lots of people made lots of money doing it. These days, that’s not likely to happen to you unless you’re a marketing genius. I’m not here to tell you not to self-publish. Just realize that the chances are good you’ll put that literary gem out there and no one will read it. If that happens, refer to the paragraph immediately above.
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