Unforgettable: Book Two (A Hollywood Love Story #2)(20)

This morning, he’s wearing the same dour expression on his face as he nears me. With each step, my heartbeat speeds up and my knees grow weak. A shiver vibrates through me, down my spine to my toes. And there’s a palpable ache between my thighs. Part of me wishes that he’d stop with whatever Mr. Nice game he’s been playing with me. That he’d treat me again like his slave girl at his beck and call. The sadistic slave driver. It was easier that way.

“I’ve packed everything you need including your wool cap, Timberlake boots, and leather gloves.” I pause, reflecting on how abnormally long it took me to pack a weekend’s worth of clothes. “I’ve also packed Katrina’s birthday present.” Brandon had a PA from the show pick up my car from The Farmer’s Market. Unfortunately, everything was intact. It pained me to pack the diamond necklace; I almost didn’t.

“Thanks,” he replies without an ounce of enthusiasm.

“I also packed the stuff you asked me to pick up at the Pleasure Chest.”

Brandon flushes. “Oh, I forgot about that.”

“I didn’t.” I still don’t know why he needs a cock ring. Maybe he and Katrina are into kinky sex. The thought of that possibility kindles a flame beneath my feet like gas in a burner. I’m simmering with a mix of jealousy and lust. Even the remote possibility that there’s a sexual problem between the Hollywood “It Couple” doesn’t tame my agitated state.

“Oh, and I’ve also packed Gucci’s bag. It’s next to the bed.”

A faint smile plays on Brandon’s kissable lips. “I like the new outfit you bought him.”

“Thanks. I picked it up at Petco while running some errands. I thought he should look more manly.”

While the happy little dog wags his tail as if in agreement, a buzzer sounds. Brandon’s intercom. My breath hitches. Gucci barks and runs in circles. The precious pup doesn’t cheer me up.

“That must be your limo.” I retrieve a folder from Brandon’s dresser. “Here’s your itinerary and the final set of questions Letterman will be asking you. Your publicist says he may surprise you with something spontaneous.”

“Thanks.” Brandon takes it from me and shoves it into the front pocket of his suitcase.

“I’ll go open the gate. Come on, Gooch.” Tucking him in one arm, I take hold of his roll away bag with my free hand and slog to the front door. Brandon trails behind me, wheeling his bag. Balancing Gucci’s bag, I press a button on the wall panel by the door to open the front gate. In no time, the limo’s uniformed chauffeur is at the door.

“Good morning, Mr. Taylor. I’ll take your bags,” says the driver, hauling both of them away.

After planting a little kiss on his head, I hand Gucci over to Brandon. God, there’s something so damn sexy about the little furball in his arms. Tingles swarm me as he sets the dog down on the floor and then holds him by his leash.

“Take good care of him,” I say, trying to mask my arousal and my gloom.

“I will. Are you going to be okay?”

My heart stutters. “Yeah. I’m going to move back into the guesthouse.”


“Be careful.” He holds me in his gaze, his violet eyes penetrating mine.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m worried about Donatelli.”

“Don’t be. He doesn’t know what I look like or where I live.” I also remind him there’s a patrol car stationed outside the house 24/7.

He flashes a fleeting, semi-relieved smile. “Take the weekend off.”

“Thanks.” I glimpse the driver holding open the passenger door. “You better go.” The words are so hard for me to say.

“Yeah, right.”

We share an awkward stretch of silence. Though it’s short, it feels like an eternity. The early morning air chills me.

“Watch me tonight on Letterman.”

I force a half-smile. “I will.”

I long for him to hold me in his arms. To feel his touch. The ache in my chest is so great I may break.

“Go.”

With a flick of my nose, he says goodbye.

Shivering, I shut the front door and hear the limo take off.




I move back into the guesthouse and spend the day taking care of mostly personal things. Bills, laundry, emails. My pampered life is over. My gloomy mood never lifts, and as the day goes on, I fall into a deep depression. I’ve always enjoyed the privacy of my small living quarters, but today, without Brandon, the space feels empty and lifeless. I miss him. I f*cking miss him. And that little dog too. Every menial task I attempt takes me twice as long as it should. That’s because my mind is on him. I keep checking the time, hoping he’ll call me when he lands. But he doesn’t. Of course not. He’s back with Katrina. They must be taping Letterman. And then, I’m sure they’ll go out for dinner at some romantic Manhattan restaurant and f*ck their brains out in their luxurious suite at The Four Seasons.

Perhaps due to my state of mind and concussion, I fatigue quickly. After a lame, lazy dinner of ramen noodles, I take a nap. When I awaken, I jolt. Shit. It’s eleven forty-five. I hope I haven’t missed Brandon on Letterman. I hastily reach for my remote and turn the TV on to Channel 2.

“And now give a warm welcome to our first guests, Golden Globe winner Brandon Taylor and America’s It Girl, Katrina Moore. Better known as the Hollywood power couple…Bratrina.”