Unforgettable 3 (Hollywood Love Story #3)
Read Unforgettable 3 (Hollywood Love Story #3) Online
Authors: Nelle L'Amour
BOOK THREE
Nelle L’Amour
Copyright © 2016 by Nelle L’Amour
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved
First Edition: January 2016
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is purely coincidental.
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Cover by Arijana Karcic, Cover It! Designs
Proofreading by Mary Jo Toth
Formatting by BB eBooks
Unforgettable
Seduced by the Park Avenue Billionaire
Seduced by the Billionaire Boxed Set
An Erotic Love Story
Gloria
THAT MAN Series
Writing under E.L. Sarnoff
Dewitched: The Untold Story of the Evil Queen
Unhitched: The Untold Story of the Evil Queen
To the late great Nat King Cole and his daughter, Natalie, whose unforgettable song inspired the story of Brandon and Zoey.
And to Jeanette Sinfield, my muse, who inspired me to keep going when I wanted to give up. Your love and support will always be unforgettable.
“Perfect moments can be had but not preserved, except in memory.”
—Leonard Nimoy
Brandon
T
he flicks of a warm, wet tongue graze my neck. The Gooch. I slowly peel open my eyes, one at a time. They feel like they’ve been super-glued together and the lids are made of cement. The pup wags his tail. I can’t say the same for the one that’s hung between my legs. It feels like a dead weight.
Squinting, I glance down at my watch. It’s six a.m. The darkness of night has morphed into the light of day though the sky’s a depressing gray. I must have nodded off. Still on the couch, draped in a thick towel, I feel sick to my stomach. And it hurts to think. Last night’s events come at me like a rockslide. My head aches, my heart aches, and my cock aches.
Everything’s gone wrong. My romantic getaway with Zoey here in Cannes has ended up a total nightmare. Fucking Katrina showed up and fucked up everything. I know she’s crazy enough to follow through with her threat—to tell the media I physically assaulted her and threatened her life. My insane fiancée staged the whole thing right down to slashing her arm with a jagged piece of glass and pulling out clumps of hair from her head. But she’s right. The media will believe her. She even took photos. God dammit. She’s blackmailing me. Holding a virtual knife to my chest to cut off my balls. Giving me no choice but to marry her and go along with her absurd wedding plans. I don’t love her. I don’t like her. I loathe her. There are bitches. Fucking bitches. And psycho bitches. She belongs in a category all of her own. Fucking psycho bitch.
Burying my head in my palms, I squeeze my burning eyes shut for a moment’s reprieve. Hoping the blackness behind my lids will give me clarity to find a way out of this horrific mess. I breathe in and out of my nose as I search my chaotic mind. My thoughts are like bumper cars, colliding into each other, knocking any semblance of rationality off the track. It’s futile. I can’t think straight. Or think of a solution.
Zoey, Zoey, Zoey, Zoey
. Her sweet name rings in my ears, silencing the cacophony. She’s made for me. I love every ounce of her. Inside and out. The irony—it took amnesia to make me realize that the girl of my dreams was right there in front of me all along. Last night was the best, most powerful, and most sensuous one of my life. I couldn’t get enough of her. She rocked my world.
Then goddamn Katrina showed up. The timing couldn’t have been worse. A bitter cocktail of guilt and remorse courses through me. I shouldn’t have let the fucking psycho bitch throw those demeaning insults at her. My beautiful Zoey kept her head up high and weathered the storm like the trooper she is. And I love her all the more for her courage, strength, and pride. My loyal little soldier. I’m the one who’s the coward and should hang my head in shame.
Shit. I promised to text her, but I didn’t. My poor Zoey. Knowing her, she must have stayed up all night waiting to hear from me. Confusion gives way to anguish. I owe her an explanation. It’s all too convoluted to explain in an email. Let alone a text. An ugly conversation awaits me. I hope she’ll understand. Maybe have a solution. Help me grow some balls and still love me for the powerless asshole I am.
