Unscripted
Authors: Christy Pastore
Unscripted (The Scripted Series #1)
By Christy Pastore
Copyright © 2014 by Christy Pastore
All rights reserved
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously; any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locations is entirely coincidental.
Warning:
Content contains explicit sexual content and strong language and is intended for mature audiences. Parental/reader discretion is advised.
Formatting& Cover Design by L.J. Anderson
Editors
Laura Silverman
K. Donald
Publication Date: December 9, 2014
ISBN 978-0-9907099-1-6
This book is dedicated to all the people who still speak to me after reading my “dirty book.” For AJ who begged me to write a sexy hotel bathroom scene. And for Rachel, who seconded that motion of bathroom sex. You are both welcome. Love you all.
“
His gaze on me was intense, I couldn’t look away. I felt as if I was revealing my entire soul to him in this moment.”
The range of emotions I had experienced with Ronan felt like a topsy-turvy spinning roller coaster. Suddenly I was awake for the first time in what felt like years. Every fiber of my being was filled with heated desire, passion, lust and fear, and all I wanted was more… more of everything, more of
him
. How had I just lived these past few years only going through the motions? But, as glorious as all of this was, was I kidding myself? Could it be real? Or just a moment in time - a few days of thrilling and scary excitement rolled into one? The moment before you hit that first big drop on your favorite coaster, you fall, and then it's over.
This isn’t your typical Hollywood fairy tale where the typecast ordinary girl next door meets the famous handsome actor and they fall in love. Despite the emotional and physical scars that serve as reminders of Holliday Prescott’s past, she has evolved into a strong young woman. Ronan Connolly has loved and lost, but he’s never been
in love.
The weight of Hollywood’s expectations and the scripted games people play have left him bruised but not broken.
He's always followed everyone else's script and she wrote her own. That was until fate swept in with other plans.
“
Will there be anything else for you Miss Prescott?”
“
No thank you, Eli, and for the hundredth time call me Holliday,
please
.”
“
Yes, Holliday, a fitting name for the most beautiful woman in all of Manhattan. I’d celebrate you every day if you were my lady,” he said sweetly.
“
You really have a way with words, Eli,” I said, handing back the credit card tray.
Leaning closer to me he whispered, “If you like my words you should see what I can do with my tongue.”
Eli pulled back and shoved a hand through his dark hair sweeping it back out of his brown eyes.
I shook my head as a smile crossed my lips, “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“
Things are picking up. I need to get back to the bar,” he said pointing towards the revolving glass doors.
I turned my gaze back towards the window and watched as the busy streets bustled with holiday shoppers scurrying to finish their lists before the impending snowstorm approached. With arms full of bags and packages, New Yorkers were hailing cabs, waiting for their town cars and rushing to the subway with all their festive goodies in tow. The inside of the hotel was warm and cozy. The fireplace crackled. My hands were warmed by the delicious Chocolate Kiss in which I was indulging. Two young girls ran by where I was seated and bumped my arm almost causing a fashion emergency. I barely escaped spilling the hot drink all over my white cashmere sweater. If that had happened, my sister surely would have killed me. The sweater was one of her latest designs from her fall/winter collection. The girls were entranced by the beautifully decorated Christmas tree adorned with red and silver ornaments and bows. Several shiny metallic packages embellished with gorgeous red, green and blue ribbons sat beneath the tree, coaxing the girls into rattling the gifts.
I glanced around the lobby to see if a frantic parent or nanny was following close behind the two curious and wide-eyed girls but didn’t see anyone who seemed to be looking for children they’d lost track of. I kept a close watch on them as they shook several packages, running their fingers over the bows and laughing. Smiling, one of them ran up to me. She was holding a small silver present. Giggling she asked, “What do you think this is?”
