Unforgettable: Book Two (A Hollywood Love Story #2)(28)

He hits me again, this time harder. “Zoey…”

“I’ll never lie to you again.”

Slap! “Zoey, show a little respect. Say: ‘Sir, I’ll never lie to you again.’”

My voice a tremor, I do what he asks.

“Now, apologize for lying to me.”

Slap! I wince. “I’m sorry.”

“Not good enough.” Another swat of his hand. “You’re missing a word.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Apology accepted. But you need something more as a reminder to NEVER lie to me again.”

Without warning, his large hand crashes down on me again. I scream out. And then again. And again and again. Tears sting my eyes and I whimper. He picks ups his pace and spanks me yet harder, faster. Always in the same spot. Over and over. My ass is on fire. My whimpers morph into sobs. Loud, soulful wails like the cries of an animal in heat. Scorching tears sear my face and forearms. My sobbing intensifies, washing out the harsh crackle of his hand upon contact with my raw burning flesh, deafening me, arousing me, setting every ounce of me ablaze.

“Zoey, no more playing games. No more testing me. Do you understand?”

I nod like a bobblehead doll, unable to get a single word out.

“Zoey, I need words.”

“I understand, sir.” I manage, my voice a mere croak.

And then suddenly, I feel his powerful knees press hard against me. They bounce me into a standing position, but as I rise, my knees buckle beneath my legs. Clasping my waist, he catches me before I collapse onto the floor. Heaving, I let him hold my limp body in his arms.

“Shh, baby.” Still holding me firmly in one arm, he lifts his other hand and smooths my hair. “Why didn’t you use your safe word?”

“I’m sorry,” I sob out from my quivering lips. Hot tears continue to stream from my eyes.

“No, I’m sorry.” His voice is soft and compassionate. “Did I hurt you?”

“A little,” I lie. Yes, it hurt like hell, but I loved every erotically charged minute. My safe word was nowhere near the tip of my tongue.

“Come here.” Wordlessly, he draws me in closer until my breasts graze his chest. My sensitized nipples pucker beneath my dress, sending another rush of wetness to my sex. His rock-hard cock presses against me as he caresses my sore butt. His tender touch is so soothing. The pain mixes with pleasure. Still in stilettos, I rest my head against his pecs. My eyes clamp shut as his heartbeat drums in my ear like a sweet lullaby. My crying subsides.

I don’t know how long we stay in this position until his sultry voice awakens me from my state of nirvana. I gaze up at him. His eyes are hooded and a faint smile plays on his lips. With one hand, he brushes away my remaining tears. Thank God, I wore waterproof mascara. One hot wet mess is enough.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to your party. And let’s forget this ever happened.”

I nod, knowing I will never forget this moment. This experience. Commiting it to memory, I catch my breath.

Five minutes later, we’re back in his sports car. This time he drives down the twisting, hilly roads slowly, meandering as if he never wants our journey to end. And truthfully, neither do I. “All of Me” plays on the radio. The lyrics fill my head and my heart.

The painful truth hits me like a rockslide. I turn my head toward him, glimpsing his intensely beautiful profile. A runaway tear trickles down my face. Yes, all of me loves all of him.


“Go,” he says stoically as he drops me off.




The elegant dining room of Fig & Olive is still filled and bustling. Adjusting my dress, I stumble back to my table. Jeffrey and his friends are in the middle of eating dinner. Everything looks and smells delicious, but I’m not hungry.

“Zoester, where’d you go?” asks Jeffrey as I take my seat.

I fumble for an excuse. “Um, uh, I had to help Brandon with some lines. He had a panic attack.” I blink several times, holding back confused tears. My intuitive brother’s gaze stays on me, and from the look on his face, I can tell he’s concerned. He knows how I feel about Brandon.

Chaz, who has no clue, looks at me shrewdly. “C’mon, Zoeykins. You really want us to believe that? You have that just-f*cked look going on!”

“Honey, leave her alone,” says Jeffrey to no avail.

Mortification races through me. My face is flushing. I hastily take a gulp of my still there bubbly. Chaz’s comment elicits a heated reaction from the clearly buzzed group.

I defend myself. “No way would I sleep with my boss.”

“That didn’t stop, my tiger,” chimes in Blake before giving his wife an affectionate peck on the cheek.

“Blake!” shrieks a reddening Jennifer. “Say no more. And that goes for the rest of you too.”

Chaz snorts with laugher. “Okay, I won’t tell anyone about how you two f*cked in Blake’s f*ck pad at the Conquest Broadcasting Christmas party.”

It’s Blake’s turn to look embarrassed while the others roar with laughter.

“C’mon, Zoey, tell us the truth,” begs a loaded Libby, the penultimate market researcher who’s always asking questions and seeking answers.

I take another sip of champagne. “It is the truth.” Kind of? Unless zipless f*cks count. “And besides, Brandon’s engaged to Katrina Moore.” The taste of her name on my tongue nauseates me.