Unforgettable: Book Two (A Hollywood Love Story #2)(4)

“Eat!”

I look down at my bowl. So wrapped up with the episode, I’ve hardly touched my soup. I shift, and as I do, my spoon tumbles out of the bowl and falls to the gleaming wood floor. Clink!

“Shit,” I mumble under my breath as I bend over to retrieve it. Except Brandon gets there at the same time. His face is in my face, just a breath away. My pulse speeds up as his long tapered fingers graze mine. Tingles course through me like bubbly champagne.

“I’ve got it,” I say, clasping the handle and straightening up as he does.

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“Don’t bother. My mama told me you can kiss away germs.”

“Mine did too.” With a smile and a twinkle in his eyes, he grasps my wrist and lifts my hand to his lips. My eyes never leave him as he kisses the back of the spoon. The way he does it is so damn sexy. With smoldering eyes and a sensuous pucker. Before my heart beats out of my chest, he releases his lips and my hand.

“You can never be too safe. On the other hand, no risk, no gain.”

“Right,” I reply, eyeing the little bit of saliva he’s left behind on the spoon tip.

On my next sip of soup, I can taste him. The warmth of the broth heats me up further. My temperature rises and I can feel his eyes on me.

“Why didn’t you tell me Pete was your father?”

I shrug and tell him the truth. “Honestly, I thought you knew.”

“Actually, I didn’t.” He pauses. “Well, at least as far back as I can remember.”

Damn his amnesia. I still haven’t decided if it’s better to remember or to forget. While my legs stay curled under me, my gorgeous boss stretches his long muscular limbs across the coffee table. My eyes travel down his perfectly ripped jeans to his bare feet. They’re so f*cking perfect. Just the right length and width. Sizeable, manly, beautifully arched with just the slightest dusting of dark hair on the instep. The girls in my massage classes used to tell me you can tell a lot about a man, especially his cock, by his feet. They were so right. A fluttery sensation erupts between my thighs as I picture Brandon’s gorgeous organ. That thick, breathtaking tower of magnificence. A monument to mankind just like his feet. His virile voice cuts into my wicked ruminations.

“Why don’t you and Pete have the same last name?”

“While Pete and Auntie Jo adopted me and I’m officially their daughter, I wanted to keep my last name out of respect to my real mother and father. I call Uncle Pete Pops, but I could never call Auntie Jo anything close to Mama. I’m lucky though. I couldn’t ask for better parents. I’m super close to both of them and their son, who I grew up with and adore.”

Brandon blows on a tablespoon of the hot soup. “What was your real father like?”

“Mama told me he was handsome and brave.” I reach for my nearby bag and pull out my wallet. I flip through the pictures. “Here’s a photo of the two of them taken just before he died.”

Brandon studies the photo. “They were a great-looking couple. You’re the best of both of them.”

Brandon’s right. I have my father’s big brown eyes and wavy chestnut hair and my mother’s porcelain skin and her full Cupid’s bow lips. But unfortunately, not her fine-boned frame. Instead, I inherited Papa’s big-boned, sturdy build. Well, with the exception of his hands. I glance down at my slender, long-fingered hands that are exactly like Mama’s and thank Brandon for what I construe as a compliment.


“What was your mother like?” he asks.

A collage of images flashes through my head. Oh, my beautiful Mama with her wild red hair and delicate features! Where do I begin?

“She was angelic. This photo barely does her justice. Despite the fact we weren’t rich, she had a lot of style and great taste. I guess you’d say, Bohemian chic. She knew how to make cheap vintage finds from flea markets look like a million bucks.”

“Do you still have some of her clothes?”

“Yes, but they don’t fit me.” I laugh lightly. “On special occasions, I wear some of the jewelry my father saved up to buy her and use her beaded handbags.” My voice chokes up. “Sadly, her wedding ring and band, which she never took off, were lost at sea.”

Brandon runs a finger from my cheek to my chin. “So, your parents were in love?”

The affectionate gesture brings awareness to the pulsing bundle of nerves between my legs. I quirk a small smile.

“Totally. My father was my mother’s one and only. The love of her life. Her hero. Mama cried for days when he died in that wildfire. I think if she’d lived, she would have never remarried. That’s how great their love was.”

Brandon takes in a deep breath. “My parents were the same way. Sometimes I think perishing together was a blessing. They never had to suffer the pain of loss.”

I detect sadness in Brandon’s voice, an emotion I’ve never witnessed. And his eyes look forlorn. “They died in a car crash, right?”

“Yeah. Some motherf*cker in a van went through a red light. He didn’t suffer a scratch, but both my parents died upon impact. My mother was decapitated.”

“Oh my God!” I gasp. “That’s horrible!” Though I read a little about the fatal crash online, I didn’t know the sordid details. Resisting the urge to comfort him physically with a hug or the mere touch of my hand, I ask him if his parents’ untimely and violent demise affected him.