Unforgettable: Book Two (A Hollywood Love Story #2)(46)
And then he does something that totally turns me into vapor. Tracing my tear-soaked jaw, Brandon sings along in English, his voice pure velvet, as devastating as the man he is.
“Oh, Brandon!” I weep out his name. The impact of this magical moment has reduced me to mush.
Still singing and melting my heart, my gorgeous god of a man stands up, and rounding the table, pulls out my chair. “Dance with me, Zoey.” A soft but strong command.
On my next sniffle, I’m in his strong arms, my head resting on his beating heart, my arms draped around his shoulders, as he moves me slowly to the melody and words. Swaying me side to side, he sings into my ear while tears stream down my face and dampen his linen shirt. I lose myself in him with each slow measured step. It’s as if there is no one else in the world but the two of us. Unforgettable…as the word drifts into a hypnotic hum, he draws me closer to him, pressing his lips on my scalp. I feel the warmth of them and his taut body flush against mine. I melt into his ripples and his arousal. He owns me and I don’t have the strength or desire to break away. Physically or mentally.
I’m drunk with emotion. And one forbidden four-letter word. So intoxicated, I can’t think straight or question what I’m doing. I just cling to him. Like a song of love. Finally, I lift my head, and look up at him, my misty eyes searching for answers. His impassioned gaze holds me captive. My already racing pulse accelerates.
“Brandon—” I don’t know what words will spill out of my mouth next, if any at all. It doesn’t matter. Because on my next heartbeat, he fists my hair and tugs back my head. Before I can take another breath, his lips come crashing down on mine like a meteor. Still humming, he sucks and gnaws my hungry mouth. White-hot balls of passion explode inside me, showering me with fireworks from my head to my toes. I moan into his mouth and then I part my lips, allowing his tongue to find mine. Entwined, our tongues dance sensuously, swirling and twirling to the music and lyrics. Oh my God. This kiss! This incredible kiss! I cup his strong, stubbled jaw, deepening, and extending it, as he draws me closer, one hand gripping my ass. The song drifts into my ears like a magic carpet. The sparks now blind me. I squeeze my eyes shut. Yet, he’s all I see. Never before has anyone been so unforgettable in every way. After what seems like an eternity, the timeless song ends, and he gently breaks his lips away. My heavy eyelids rise like theater curtains, and our glazed eyes lock in a passionate exchange. Shouts of “bravo” from patrons and bystanders reverberate in my ears. I feel myself flush with embarrassment, but Brandon’s dimpled smile fills me with a rush of lust and desire as he holds me tight in his arms.
Tears flow from my eyes. Everything’s been so perfect. The setting. The meal. Our dance. Our kiss. But something is so wrong with this picture. A blaring ambulance races by. The sound of the siren startles me back to my senses, out of my drunken stupor. Brandon’s name burns on my heart. Remorse singes my brain. I want to rip that dazzling smile off his face. What the hell is he doing? What the hell am I doing? As reality sets in, so does a bitter mix of panic and regret.
Oblivious, Brandon kisses my tears away and then breathes against my neck. “Baby, let’s make this night unforgettable.”
Brandon
She clings to me like I’m her lifeline while her tears soak my shirt. This unexpected serenade has changed everything. It’s made her vulnerable. And it’s made me vulnerable. Zoey is special and she’s fragile. I’m suddenly afraid of hurting her. The giddy flirtation we shared over dinner has dissipated into the night air. Dancing with her to this song has done things to me I’ve never experienced before. Everything I’m feeling is for real. This is not Brandon the actor. This is Brandon the man. A man I’ve never known nor can I remember. A hopeless romantic. I mapped out the evening—sharing a nice dinner, getting a little drunk, then heading back to the hotel and f*cking her senseless. But now, my need to love her trumps my need to f*ck her. I want to hold her. Caress her. Taste her. Get to know every bit of her. Pleasure her every way I can.
Emotionally charged, I make a quick run to the men’s room. When I return to the table, she’s gone. My eyes dart around the restaurant, but she’s nowhere in sight. Maybe she went to the ladies’ room?
Antoine ambles over to the table with the check.
“Antoine, have you seen…my friend?” I ask. What do I call her?
“Ah, Monsieur Taylor. She ran out of zee restaurant. Very upset. Eez everything okay?”
Fuck. No. I quickly look at the bill and throw two hundred Euros on the table. Way more than the cost of the dinner, but I don’t have time to wait for the change. I thank Antoine and sprint out of the restaurant.
Shit. Which way did she go? Instinctively, I guess east, thinking she may be heading back to the hotel. She couldn’t have gotten too far in her heels.
I hop on the bike and rev it up. Without bothering to put on my helmet, which is dangling with Zoey’s from the handlebar, I charge down the sidewalk, full throttle, weaving in and out of stunned pedestrians. The motor roars in my ears right along with my apprehension.
“Attention!” I shout out in French when what I want to shout is get the f*ck out of my way. Angry promenaders shout back what I believe are French expletives. I deserve every one.
Yes, I am a crazy *. I’m not in my right mind. But right now desperation is negating any form of sanity. I have to find her. How far could she have gotten? Cranking my head to the left to look up an alley, I face forward again and freak. Fuck. I’m going to run into a gay couple strolling hand in hand in front of me. Plugged into their iPhones, they don’t hear me behind them.