Unforgettable 2 (Hollywood Love Story #2) (24 page)

“I’m yours,” I pant out.

“I so needed to hear that. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

He called me beautiful again. The word makes me unravel as I moan with tortured ecstasy.

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

There are so many things I want. I want this night to never end. I want him to never leave me. I want his mouth on mine…all over me. I want, I want, I want…Fuck. I can’t think straight anymore.

“Do you want to come?”

Oh God, yes. The Mediterranean may be calm, but a tidal wave of epic proportions is sweeping through me, taking every cell in its midst.

“Zoey, I need words.”

“Yes! Please make me come.”

“Baby, don’t hold back. I want you to fall apart into a million pieces so I can put you back together and then make you fall apart again.”

“Oh, Brandon!” My body convulses and a sea of love meets his own volcanic eruption head on. He roars out my name yet again and collapses on top of me, taking my legs with him. For the first time, I feel his nakedness all over mine. Blanketing me with his warmth. I’ve never felt so comfortable—or beautiful—in my own skin.

After collapsing on me and staying there for a while, Brandon rolls over and repositions us so that we’re both on our backs. My head is on his chest. One of his arms cradles me while the hand of the other draws lazy circles around my nipples and then my navel. It’s ticklish and delicious. We both gaze up at the starry sky while the Mediterranean softly serenades us. It’s as if no one else exists except the two of us.

“How do you feel?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Fucked.”

“In a good way or bad way?”

“In the best way. But I’m sore. Very sore.”

“Where?”

“All over.” And that’s the truth. My back smarts from grinding against the rough stucco, my ass throbs from the belting, my legs ache from running away from him and from being stretched, and my face stings from the coarseness of his stubble. But where I feel it the most is between my inner thighs. My pussy’s on fire.

“Show me where it hurts the most.”

I take his hand and put it on my pussy. He caresses it, the rawness giving way to arousal against the gentle friction of his fingertips.

“I gave it to you good, huh?” His voice is laced with smug victory. “Was it too hard for you?”

“I don’t think I can walk.”
I loved every fucking minute
.

“Do you think you’ll be able to walk down the red carpet with me tomorrow night?”

Of course, I will and can’t wait, but the actress in me says: “Not sure.”

On my next heartbeat, he stands and scoops me up in his strong, loving arms.

“What are you doing?”

He shoots me a cocky smile. “I’m going to heal you. I can’t afford to have you out of commission tomorrow night…or tonight for that matter.”

Two minutes later, to my utter shock, we’re deep in the Mediterranean. He’s still holding me, but now I’m facing him, my arms and legs wrapped tightly around him. The water is surprisingly warm and while the saltiness initially stung my soreness, now it’s soothing. I cling to him like a life preserver, and while I know this is a gentle sea, my fear of the ocean has crept back into me.

“How do you feel?” he breathes in my ear between delicious kisses.

“Better. But I’m anxious.” Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m afraid of. There are no waves and the current isn’t strong. And he’s holding me.

“Are there sharks?”

“Yup.”

I gasp.

He smiles smugly. “Just one…me. I want to eat you up alive, my sexy little beast.”

Before I can punch him, he latches his lips on to mine, consuming me with another tongue-driven, passionate kiss. He cups the back of my head while I fist his hair, deepening and prolonging it. As our tongues glide together in some kind of synchronized swim, waves of bliss roll through me. I don’t want to let him go. My fear of the ocean is abruptly replaced by my fear of losing him. And the reality is he’s not mine to be lost. He belongs to another. Katrina. For the first time since leaving the restaurant, her name sears my mind, my heart, and my soul. Why didn’t he break up with her before this trip? He hasn’t told me and I’m too afraid to ask him. Apprehension ripping through me, I pull away.

“Brandon, fuck me!” A desperate plea. A defense mechanism? I’m suddenly treading water in a sea of doubt.

He smooths my unruly damp hair. “No, baby. As much I’d like to, and believe me, I’m hard as nails, I need you whole tomorrow. You’ve had enough of me tonight.”

I
can’t
get enough of him. I want him in the worst way. With all my heart. Tears, as salty as the sea, fill my eyes. I blink them back.

“Please.” Mama’s magic word.

“Baby, what’s the matter? Why do you look like you’re about to cry again? Seriously, I’m not good with tears I can’t control. They drive me crazy.”

“Good crazy?”

“No, bad crazy with you.” His violet eyes, dark with night, pierce mine.

“What do you mean?”

“Because I care about you.” He traces my lips with a finger. “And have this all-consuming need to protect you. So, when you cry tears I don’t understand that have nothing to do with me fucking you hard, I think I’m failing.”

His words eat away at me. I’m fraught with emotion.
He cares about me.
This is not the first time he’s said that, and I flashback to the time he told me this while I was convalescing from my concussion. Somehow, those words directed at me tonight strike an especially deep chord. A traitor tear escapes.

He kisses it away. “Zoey, please don’t do this to me. Stop crying. And that’s an order.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

A grateful sexy smile lights up his face. “C’mon, let’s go for a swim before we head back. There’s nothing like swimming in the sea at night. I’ll stay close to you.”

Knowing he’ll be there for me, all my inhibitions and fears melt away. A renewed sense of security and strength washes over me. On my next breath, I’m under the water with Brandon by my side. Other than the shadow of his chiseled body and the bubbles we make, all I see is blackness. The blackness envelops me and is magical, instilling me with peacefulness and a passion for survival. Making me brave the precarious unknown that awaits me.
Lead your dreams and land them
…then live them. Right now, Brandon Taylor is mine and I’m his. The swim is sublime. And so is his kiss under the water.

I love you, I love you, I love you
, I say to myself silently. For as long as my breath allows. I may be swimming in the sea, but I’m drowning in love.

Zoey

B
randon insists on me wearing his linen shirt over my dress after our swim to keep warm as well as on carrying me back to the Ducati. And when we get to The Carlton after leaving the banged up bike and our helmets with the valet, he insists on carrying me through the lobby to the elevator. Not only doesn’t he want me to walk because of my fragile condition, I’m shoeless. I tossed my heels into a trash can in The Old City when I ran away from him. Barefoot, I could step on something nasty and get hurt. He’s so overprotective, but I give in to him. And besides, it’s fun. I’m riding him piggyback-style—something I used to love doing with Pops when I was a little girl. I haven’t done it in years.

“Hold on,” he says as he bounces me toward the elevator.

“I am.” I start giggling at the double meaning of my words. My legs are wrapped around him, his arms hooked under my knees, and my arms draped over his broad shoulders. The ride is stimulating my nipples, the friction of his bare skin against them arousing me. I swear there must be a power cord that plugs into my pussy. And it’s sparking. I could easily come again.

The Carlton is buzzing. International movers and shakers occupy the bar, already making strategic partnerships and distribution deals for the year ahead. I spot Blake Burns in an animated conversation with two Japanese broadcasters. I hope he doesn’t see me. And then again, I don’t care. Thanks to tight security, paparazzi are nowhere in sight.

When we get to the elevator, Brandon punches the UP button. To my relief, a car comes quickly and the doors part instantly. Mortification races through me. Standing before us is Blake Burns’s lovely wife, Jennifer, wearing a sexy red cocktail dress I recognize from Chaz’s collection. Gah! What is she going to think? Brandon’s bare-chested; I’m wearing his shirt and have a tangle of wet hair, and we’re both sprinkled with a fine layer of sand. I smile sheepishly and squeak, “Hi.”

She steps out of the car and the doors close behind her before we can get in.

She gives us the once over and then flashes a big smile. “Looks like you guys had fun.”

“We went for a swim,” Brandon says without reservation.

And that’s not all we did
. It’s hard to tell if Jennifer knows we fucked our brains out. No fan of Katrina’s, she’s not passing judgment.

“After you wash up, why don’t you both join Blake and me for drinks?”

Unwavering, Brandon replies, “Thanks, but we’re going to pass with MIP starting tomorrow and the big
Kurt Kussler
event in the evening. Plus, I have some work to do with Zoey.”

“Totally understand. Don’t work her
too
hard.” Jennifer winks at him. Oh yeah, she so knows. “I’ll see you both tomorrow at The Palais. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“You too,” says Brandon before she heads toward the bar area. He slaps the UP button again and the elevator doors immediately re-open. With me still riding his back, we step inside the elegantly appointed lift.

“Do you think she suspects something?” I ask Brandon as the doors close.

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Drunk with love, I burst into laughter. “That’s so not original.”

“Shut. Up. Or I’ll have to fuck your mouth into silence.”

Not knowing if I’m going to laugh my head off or suck him off, I reach for my floor button. But Brandon grabs my wrist and stops me midway.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask as he forces my hand down.

He answers my question with a question. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To my room.”

“Nothing doing. You’re sleeping with me.”

My breath hitches. I kiss him everywhere I can as he waves his key card over the button marked PH—the exclusive penthouse floor. The elevator smoothly ascends with no stops. I can’t stop loving him.

Brandon’s Sean Connery suite is almost as big as his house. It’s got to be close to five thousand square feet. Stunning black and white photos of the debonair actor in his James Bond finery line the walls and meet my eyes first. The rest of the décor is classical, the rooms tastefully filled with plush furnishings in muted tones of brown, beige, and tan. Complementary textured rugs cover the dark hardwood floors while creamy silk curtains accent the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a terrace and the city. The panoramic view of the Croisette and the Mediterranean is breathtaking.

Brandon takes me directly to the ginormous bathroom. What makes it really spectacular is that it’s circular—the sexy, curvy shape dictated by its position directly beneath one of the hotel’s Belle Époque arched domes. All creamy marble and shiny chrome with pale blue accents, it’s a suite within a suite, with separate bathing and toilet areas. The lights are dim. He sets me down on a marble vanity and then reaches for the wall phone. He holds the receiver to his ear and speaks into it. My eyes fix on his flexed bicep and the rigid muscles of his sculpted back. His skin is bronzed velvet. Christ, he’s gorgeous. A fucking sex god. Even his sultry voice excites me.

“
Oui,
this is Monsieur Taylor in the Sean Connery suite. I’d like to order two hot chocolates, two shots of crème de cacao, and a plate of praline truffles if you don’t have M&Ms.” He pauses and then smiles. “
Oui, beaucoup
de
whipped cream.”

He hangs up the phone and faces me. “Are you okay with that? I thought maybe we’d get hungry later.”

“
Oui
, Monsieur Taylor.” I put on my best French accent and make my voice as breathy as possible. Truthfully, the only thing I’m hungering for is his cock.

A saucy smile tugs at his lips. “I like it when you call me that. It turns me on. I want you to call me ‘monsieur’ for the rest of the evening. Deal?”