Unforgettable 3 (Hollywood Love Story #3) (24 page)

Bradley Wick was my fiancé. We’d gotten engaged a few nights ago though the ring was still coming. My friends had spontaneously taken me out to Greystone Manor, one of Hollywood’s hottest clubs to celebrate. The group at our VIP table included college classmates and my very best friend in the world, Libby Clearfield, Chaz’s twin sister. Leave it to Chaz to get us into this impossible-to-get-into celebrity hangout. Libby’s brother was one of LA’s up-and-coming fashion designers. Doors opened to Chaz. The world was his oyster.

Chaz repeated the question as if I had deaf ears. My circle of friends oohed and aahed. I felt myself flush. Turn the color of the strawberry margarita I was drinking. The answer to that question was on the tip of my tongue. A single word. “Dare.” I wasn’t telling. Truth: I’d never had an orgasm with Bradley. Not a single one.

Chaz’s boyishly handsome face lit up. He seemed pleased with my response. The disappointed sighs from the others at the table made it clear they were way more interested in hearing about my sex life than in watching me make a total fool of myself. Whatever. I was a fair player and was going to have to live up to the challenge.

“Okay, so what’s my dare?” I asked Chaz.

A wicked glint flickered in his chocolate-brown eyes. “You have to kiss the man over there.”

What?
“Which man?”

“
That
man sitting at that table for two in the corner.”

My gaze followed his gesturing finger across the opulent, crowded club to a corner table close to the dance floor. I eyed a man seated by himself, his back to me. One arm was angled upward, so he was probably drinking a cocktail or eating something. The dark suit he was wearing looked expensive, and though it was hard to gauge how tall he was, his erect posture and broad shoulders suggested he was likely over six feet and built. His thick dark hair, styled in that trendy mussed up way, brushed his collar. I summed him up in an instant. Some filthy rich player looking for a hook-up. Okay. I could handle him. It was just a dare. A silly game. And I was sloshed.

I rose to my feet. And so did Chaz.

“Let’s make this a
real
challenge,” he crooned with a fiendish grin. In a flash, he yanked off his Burberry plaid tie, and the next thing I knew, it was tied tightly around my eyes. I was unable to see a thing.

My table of friends went crazy, with shit-faced screams of approval. Okay. So, blinded, I was going to have to make my way across the bustling nightclub to
that
man’s table, find him, and then kiss him.

“On the lips,” instructed Chaz.

Gah! What had I gotten myself into? “No way,” I pleaded, my voice hoarse from all the alcohol. I’d lost track of how many margaritas I’d consumed.

“Way!” shouted the group in unison.

To my absolute horror, Chaz spun me around several times. When he stopped, I was dizzier than a lush on a three-day binge. I swayed on my feet and had no clue about my bearings. Loud, pulsating techno music thrummed in my ear.

“Will someone at least tell me which direction to head in?” I asked, teetering between laughter and anxiety. I’d had one too many drinks. Had I not, I would be running out of this joint, blindfold and all.

Gripping my shoulders, Chaz pointed me in the direction of my target. I took small hesitant steps in my heels, my friends guiding me with roars of laughter. “That’s it . . . to the right . . . no to the left . . . you’re getting closer . . .”

If I wasn’t so smashed, I would have felt enormously embarrassed, stumbling and fumbling through this chic club, blindfolded. Along the way, I felt up some big-boobed girl, knocked over a bottle of something super expensive, and bumped into a server carrying a tray. Actually, this wasn’t too bad given how accident-prone I was. Most of these encounters were met with giggles, but there were also a few what-the-fucks. Though blindfolded, I could feel people staring at me. My skin prickled. I knew now what a blind person felt like going through life. A bolt of compassion shot through me.

“Just two more steps to the right,” I heard Chaz shout out.

With my arms outstretched, I did as he directed, and suddenly my fingers were tangled in a thick wad of silky hair. It must be him. He didn’t flinch or say a word.

“Kiss him, kiss him!” I heard my friends chanting in the distance.

Oh, God. What was I going to do? I couldn’t let them down or I’d never live it down. I’d come this far. Without overthinking, I blindly ran my hands over my victim’s face. His skin was soft with a fine layer of silky stubble, and his features were distinct and defined—a straight, manly nose; a strong, slightly clefted chin; and above it, a set of lush, velvety lips. I lingered on his lips, tracing them with my fingertips, building up the courage to touch down on them with my own.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m playing a game of Truth or Dare, and I have to kiss you.” God, how ridiculous I must sound and look with my blindfold.

I took my victim’s silence as a sign he was willing to play along.
Okay, here goes
. Clutching his angular jaw between my hands, I bent down to kiss him. But before I could latch my lips onto his, he rose and, in one swift move, crashed his lips onto mine.

Oh. My. God. A heat wave shot through me. It was one of those kisses like in a movie. Fierce, delicious, passionate. Opened mouth and oh so consuming. And he tasted divine—the sweet taste of champagne lacing his breath. He bit my upper lip, forcing me to part them, and plunged his warm, velvety tongue inside my mouth. His tongue instantly found mine and they entwined, dancing like they’d been together forever. He tugged hard on my ponytail, yanking back my head, and coiled it around his hand, tearing at my roots. The delicious pain mixed with the delicious pleasure of his kiss, sending a rush of erotic sensations through me. Every nerve ending was a sparking fuse. My breathing grew shallow. Already lightheaded, I was now borderline delirious. I’d never been kissed by a man like this before. I didn’t want him to stop. What was wrong with me? I’d just gotten engaged.

In the background, I could vaguely hear my friends cheering and whistling. “Go, girl!” For sure, head cheerleader Chaz.

My inner voice told me to stop, but no matter how much I willed it, I couldn’t get my lips to part from his. In fact, I deepened the kiss, pulling him closer to me by the collar of his shirt. The material felt expensive, like the gazillion thread Egyptian cotton kind. Everything about this man tasted and felt divine. He squeezed my ponytail tighter. I moaned into his mouth and he moaned back. God, the throaty sound of him was sexy!

And then suddenly, as fast as he had plunged his tongue into my mouth, he withdrew it. In tandem, he let go of my hair. I gasped, desperate for more.

“Wait!” I cried out, my hands grappling for him. Instead of finding him, I found myself knocking over a chilled glass. My heightened sense of smell told me it was his champagne.

“I’m sorry,” I croaked, struggling to tear off the tight, blinding tie. “I’ll buy you another.” Finally, I undid the tie. I blinked once. He was gone, and I was painfully all alone. Where did he go? My eyes frantically searched the pulsating crowd, darting left and right, but he was nowhere to be found. Even if he was facing me somewhere, staring into my eyes, I wouldn’t know it because I didn’t know what he looked like.

My friends were now all standing and applauding me. I’d lived up to the dare. Kissed a strange man on the lips. Oh, those lips!

Dazed, I staggered back to the group and dared not tell them how much I’d enjoyed it. And wanted more.

Blake

M
y office intercom buzzed. It was my latest secretary, Mrs. Cho. Ms. Jennifer McCoy was here for her job interview. I glanced down at my Rolex. It was only eight thirty. She was fifteen minutes early. Hmm. A punctual one. I quickly read over her impressive resumé one more time. A B.A. in English and Psychology, Magna Cum Laude from USC, and a Masters with Honors from the university’s prestigious film school. I did the math in my head: 4.0 GPA, age twenty-four.

I don’t know why I was interviewing her. My dad, Saul Bernstein, the feared and revered head of Conquest Broadcasting, had told me I had no choice; she was already a hire. Impressed by her credentials, he had promised her an entry-level job upon graduation at Peanuts, our children’s network. Unfortunately, Dad had recently decided to sell the network to a German conglomerate because it wasn’t generating enough revenue; the kids’ biz was just not what it used to be—a cash cow like
Power Rangers
was hard to come by. A man of his word, my father didn’t want to let her down—or lose a valuable asset. After scouring the company for an entry-level programming job, he decided she would be a good fit with SIN-TV. And a good fit with me.

“Send her back,” I told Mrs. Cho. Let’s see if Ms. Brainiac had a sense of direction and could find my corner office.

While waiting for her, I yawned. Kirstie and Kristie had both showed up at the club last night and caught me kissing that strange, blindfolded girl. Fucking my fault. I’d unknowingly made a date with both of them; sometimes I did that. Well, they didn’t seem to mind. They were identical twins—fashion models with the same agency—and were used to sharing things. So, they proposed a little ménage à trois in my private fuck pad at the club. Usually, I enjoyed a gaggle of arms, legs, tits, and pussies, but last night I wasn’t in the mood. I couldn’t stop thinking about that damn girl who’d kissed me blindfolded. There was something about her. I don’t know if was her fearlessness or the sweet scent of her—a blend of cherries and vanilla that lingered on my collar—or those sexy little sounds that gurgled in her throat. It definitely wasn’t her looks—she was petite and brunette—not my blond supermodel type. Yet, I was instantly attracted to her, and the minute I tasted her, I wanted more. Like taking a bite of a chocolate truffle and then wanting to devour all of it because it’s so irresistibly melt-in-your-mouth good. She had no clue while I devoured her mouth, my cock was straining against my pants, yearning for more.

“What were you doing with that girl?” asked Kirstie, her voice snippy.

I explained I was just playing some kind of game with some chick I didn’t know. And would never see again. They turned to each other, did that twin telepathic thing, and then responded in tandem with one snarky word: “Right.”

I paid the price all right. Once in my fuck pad, the dynamic duo decided they wanted to play a game with me too. Kirstie blindfolded
me
with my tie, and Kristie pulled down my slacks and boxers. While one got down on her knees and sucked my dick, the other mouthed my balls from behind. I got hard okay. Fast and furiously. But it wasn’t the cock-sucking blond duo that was making me hard. It was that girl. That crazy blindfolded girl. In my mind’s eye, I imagined her on her knees doing all these things to me with her lush mouth and that deft velvety tongue. Me, fondling her, pulling at her ponytail, talking dirty. Her, sucking, licking, moaning. Fuck. Why didn’t I pull off her blindfold? Why didn’t I find out who she was? I groaned. Chances were I’d never see her again. Stupid fucking me. I’d let one get away. I’d been prey to a game, and I’d lost. I never lost. No, never in my almost thirty years on this planet. I sucked in a gulp of air. My cock was heavy and beginning to pulse, and my nuts were contracting. The telltale signs I was on the brink of a major orgasm. My body stiffened, and I arched my head back. “Oh, yeah!” I cried out, but before I could come, all mouth contact was gone.

“Bye, Blakey,” cooed the twins. I heard the door slam shut before I could remove my tie from my eyes. Fuck them! The brats had blue-balled me. Wrapping my fingers around my aching cock, I finished what they’d started. As I stroked up and down my rigid length, her sweet voice resounded in my head. “I have to kiss you,” and at those words, my cock exploded in my hand. For the first time in my life, the memory of a kiss had brought me to the point of no return. I had to find her, see her again. I clambered to pull up my pants, and after tucking my cock inside, I dashed out the door. Back inside the club, my eyes circled the crowded, pulsing room, then darted left and right. She wasn’t at a table, at the bar, or on the dance floor. Maybe she went to the ladies’ room. I waited patiently for her return, my roaming eyes on the lookout. “Blurred Lines” was blasting, and clubbers were wildly singing and dancing along. Ten long, desperate minutes passed. Fuck. That girl was gone. Out of my life.

My mind returned to the moment. Where was this new girl? She definitely must be lost. I set my eyes on my computer screen and scanned the latest ratings report. Our prime time and late night ratings were through the roof, but as usual, our daytime ratings were lackluster. I just didn’t get why our porn lineup in the morning wasn’t getting eyeballs. Big dicks fucking preened pussies weren’t cutting it. Something was missing.

“Mr. Burns?” A sweet voice at my doorway diverted my attention, and I looked up from the screen. In tandem, my eyes blinked, my body jerked, and my cock tensed. Subtly for her not to notice.

Though her neat auburn bun, prim tweed suit, and tortoiseshell glasses made her look like some bookworm who should be working at a corporate law office, I swear I’d recognize that face anywhere—with its dewy-skin complexion, delicate bone structure, and those expressive, turned-up lips. Someone pinch me. I must be dreaming. But there she was. That girl I’d kissed last night. In fact, her lips were still swollen. Holy fucking shit!

“Hi, I’m Jennifer McCoy.”

It took several long moments for my brain to communicate with my mouth. I cleared my throat and licked my lips. “Please come in and take a seat.”

Unlike last night when she was blindfolded and took short hesitant steps, she strode into my office with a strong confident gait and lowered herself onto one of the two armchairs facing me. She placed her shoulder bag and briefcase on the floor next to her and crossed her shapely, long legs. I had the burning urge to uncross them.

“So, Ms. McCoy—”

“You can call me Jennifer.”

Okay, let’s start over. “So, Jen-ni-fer, you come highly recommended by my boss, Saul Bernstein.” God, I loved saying her name. It sucked the air out of my lungs.