Unforgettable: Book Two (A Hollywood Love Story #2)(47)

“Watch out!” I scream at the top of my lungs as I squeeze the brake lever.

“What the f*ck are you doing, you crazy American?” shouts one of the dudes, yanking his partner to safety just in the nick of time. Losing control of the Ducati, I go flying—Crash!—and smash into a kiosk. My heart thudding, I drop my feet to the ground to steady the smoking bike and then hop off it. It tumbles to the pavement with a clang.

Fuck the bike. Without wasting a second, I dash down the Croisette, almost knocking down a few more people. I’m surprised I still don’t see her. Shit. Maybe she turned up one of Old Town’s winding streets. I’ll never find her.

About to give up hope, I finally spot her. She’s running barefoot about one hundred yards ahead of me. The long, flowy skirt of her dress billows like a sail.

“Zoey!” I shout out, running after her at breakneck speed.

She doesn’t stop or look back. Picking up her pace, she turns up one of the serpentine streets off the Croisette. I’m not going to lose her.

I pick up speed, running so fast my lungs and thighs are on fire. I may be a swimmer, but sprinting’s not my thing. Breathing heavily, I turn up the narrow street and see her. She’s within shouting distance.

“Zoey!” I cry out again.

“Leave me alone!” Her sobbing is gutting me.

Calling on all the muscle power I have, I jet-propel myself up the steep, winding cobblestone street. With me hot on her trail, she turns down a very narrow alley. It’s dark and deserted, lined by neighborhood grocery stores all closed till morning. She’s slowing. I’m so close I can taste her. Finally, I catch up to her and, cinching her waist, stop her in her tracks.


“Go away!” she cries, her sobs mixing with pants. She fights me off like a captured wild animal, writhing, and kicking, but even in my breathless state, she’s no match for my strength. In one swift move, I flip her around by her shoulders and walk her backward until she’s flattened against one of the storefronts. A boulangerie. I lift her arms high above her head and hold them tight against the rough stucco wall. My weight presses against her so she can’t free herself. She’s my prisoner. My prey.

“Let me go!” She squirms, angry tears streaming down her face.

“I will once you tell me why you ran away from me.” Rage fuels my voice.

“What kind of sicko game are you playing with me, Brandon?”

“What do you mean?” My voice is a little softer.

“You’re f*cking engaged to Katrina, almost about to marry her, and you’re coming on to me?”

I draw in a sharp breath and let out a loud huff. “We need to talk.”

Her stormy eyes search mine for answers.

“Zoey, it’s complicated.”

“Isn’t that a convenient word?” Sniveling, she turns her head away.

“Look at me, Zoey.”

She refuses. She’s so f*cking stubborn.

“Zoey, did you hear me? Look at me!”

Slowly, she turns her head. Our eyes lock.

“I’m having second thoughts about Katrina.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, repeating my earlier words.

“I don’t love her. I don’t even like her.”

Her teary eyes flutter, and I can feel her heart pounding against my chest as I rattle on.

“I still can’t remember shit about our relationship. Whatever I had with her before my accident, I have no longer. I can’t even stand f*cking her.”

Zoey’s eyes narrow as her lips purse. “If my memory serves me correctly, you sure seemed to be getting off on her when I caught you with your dick down her throat.”

I snicker. “Well, your precious memory is wrong. She seduced me; it wasn’t by choice. And I was groaning because she bit me. I couldn’t even get it up.”

A little smile curls on Zoey’s kissable lips. Good. A turning point. Because the hard part is coming. Again, no pun intended. I’ve got to talk about my feelings. Something I’ve never done with anyone, with the exception of my mentor.

“Zoey.” I take a long pause after saying her name. “I have feelings for someone else.”

“Oh, some other actress? Or ‘it girl’?”

“Jesus, Zoey. Don’t you know?”

She’s making it so f*cking hard for me. Literally, in more ways than one. My aching cock is straining against my fly, about to burst through at any moment. I want her so badly.

One word: “You.”

Her jaw drops open. One word back: “Oh.”

Okay. I’ve said it. The words get easier for me. “I brought you here to spend time with you. Away from LA. Away from Katrina. I want to know if the connection I feel with you is real. You’ve aroused sensations and emotions I’ve never felt before.”

“How can you be sure with your amnesia?” she challenges, looking deep into my eyes.

“I’m sure. I remember everything about the last ten years except the accident and the month leading up to it. And I remember you touched something inside me the minute I met you. You were adorable. I wanted to spread your legs and take you on my driveway in the pouring rain.”

“Really?” Her voice is so small she might as well be speechless.

Here goes. Maybe I should have written a soliloquy and rehearsed it. I suck at ad-libbing. I always have.