Unscripted Page 20

  “That’s just it. I don’t want to lose you. Ronan, I have never needed a man before, not like I need you. Losing you would break me, and I don’t think I’d recover.”

  There – it was out. It hit me like a freight train… the realization that I actually needed him. Christ almighty.

  “Oh, Holliday. You won’t lose me,” he replied sweetly, rubbing the pad of his thumb across my cheek. “I cannot imagine my life without you in it. My heart aches when you’re not with me. I couldn’t sleep the other night. I missed you terribly.”

  I knew exactly what Ronan was talking about because I’d felt the same ache. I didn’t know why I was fighting my feelings for this insanely attractive man who had been totally honest with me and loving me so deeply that he’d moved across the country to be with me. I was hopelessly head over heels for Ronan Connolly. He was right. I needed to just let go. As scary as it was, I was going to take that leap. I was thinking with my heart and my head, and it felt so good.

  “All right, Ronan Connolly, you are mine and I am yours,” I announced proudly. “Let’s do this. I’ll move in with you, and I’ll love you as long as my heart beats in my chest, until the day I take my last breath on this Earth.”

  Smiling, Ronan leaned over the middle of the bed and kissed me. “Good because that’s the only way I want it. Losing you is not an option. I love you, Holliday. I’d move heaven and Earth to keep you safe and make you feel loved.”

  “You know we’re a total cliché right?”

  His eyes flashed as he gently swept the hair away from my cheek. Ronan pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. My head fell into him as I nuzzled into his broad chest.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because we’ve known each other for a little over a week, and suddenly we’re in love.”

  Instantly my heart seized, when I said the words “in love.” I didn’t know if Ronan was actually in love with me or not. I know there is a difference.

  “Ah, I see. What was it you said a few days ago? Oh yes, let me make sure I get this right— fuck the haters.”

  “I believe I said screw not fuck,” I laughed. “I guess we’re just going to have to prove them wrong.”

  “Love isn’t something you can put a timeline on, you know that right? As it would seem, fate had other plans for us. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I suppose that is true,” I admitted threading my fingers with his.

  Warmth flooded through me as I lay curled against Ronan. Silence enveloped us, and I took a few moments to just enjoy— feeling cherished. It was foreign concept to me, but one I knew I was going to grow to appreciate quickly with Ronan.

  “Ronan,” I said quietly.

  “Yes, Holliday.” His rich accent purred. I love the way he says my name.

  “Don’t ever let go.”

  “Never, my beauty. Not ever. You are mine.”

  I closed my eyes and fell asleep to the sound of Ronan’s steadily beating heart.

  One Week Later

  Cabo San Lucas, Mexico

  Ronan

  She thought that I was asleep, but I was watching her; watching her while she dug her toes in the sand, watching her as she smoothed unruly, wind whipped strands of hair behind her ears. The sunlight danced all around her, she looked like an angel— a sexy angel. Definitely not the biblical type, although Jesus Christ himself would be lucky to have Holliday Prescott on his team.

  Looking in my direction, I caught her smiling. I did nothing except admire her beauty. Loving Holliday was easy — yes, I fell hard and so did my cock. You know what I’m saying. I mean no disrespect; she is without question the most stunning creature I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.

  She doesn’t know this, but when I passed through the lobby at The York Hotel on my way to the photo shoot, I saw her sitting by the fireplace. She was tapping her ink pen against her bottom lip. I only saw her for a few moments, but I felt a strong pull towards Holliday. It would be my good Irish luck that my darling daughters laid the groundwork for me. I’ll be sure to thank them someday— maybe.

  Recalling our first dinner together, it did not go well. That was entirely my fault. I was very thankful Dean interrupted, telling me I needed to take a call from Nina. Desperately needing a few moments to pull my shit together, I felt like I might say or do something utterly idiotic. I was too forward and much too arrogant with my words. A total fool, I’ll blame jet-lag for my ungentlemanly like conduct. Thank the Lord Holliday gave me a second chance to prove myself.

  When Holliday told me the story behind her scars and how she had been… I can’t even say the word. That crushed me. But, she surprised me with her unbelievable courage and strength. Two of the characteristics I love most about her. I can’t pinpoint an exact moment when I knew I loved her, probably because I feel like I’ve loved her forever, because it feels like I have known her forever— not giving a fuck if I sounded like a sappy wanker. I won’t apologize for that.

  “Señor Connolly,” a warm Spanish accent greeted me.

  “Yes, Javier. What can I do for you?”

  “Sir, Mrs. Connolly’s afternoon massage appointment, you asked to be notified one hour before.”

  Hearing the title Mrs. Connolly gave me terrible flashbacks to my ex-wife, but it also made me smile on the inside at the presumptuous staff thinking Holliday and I were married.

  “Javier, Holliday is not my wife, but I appreciate the compliment.”

  “Many apologies to you, Señor Connolly.”

  “Not to worry. I will deliver her to the spa personally, Javier. Gracias.”

  “De nada, Señor Connolly.”

  Holliday waded into the water. My eyes darted around taking in our surroundings. No paparazzi that I can see. God, she’s beautiful. I need to fuck her soon— it’s been far too many days.

  The vibrations from my phone pulled me from my perverted thoughts. It’s the third time in an hour, my Manager has rang me. He knows I am on vacation. Whatever bullshit he has to tell me can wait. Hitting ignore, I shoved the phone in Holliday’s beach bag.

  She emerged from the sea, like some mythical goddess… no better yet a “Bond Girl.” Pushing to my feet, I grabbed her towel from the lounge chair. Smiling, she stopped and wrung the water from her dark hair.

  She jogged lightly towards me, “Hey there.”

  “Hey there yourself, my beauty,” I replied, softly wrapping her in the towel. I took my time drying her off, kissing every inch of exposed skin, which was a lot since she was wearing scraps of fabric that left little to the imagination. One of the few things the French managed to get right.

  “Did you have a nice swim?”

  “I did, the water is unbelievably warm.”

  “I am very glad to hear that,” I replied, threading my fingers through her damp locks. “By the way I have a surprise for you.”

  “You’re spoiling me,” she replied, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

  “Yes, I am, and it’s only the beginning of our vacation. You have a massage in an hour,” I said, trailing my fingers across her collarbone. Goosebumps splashed across her skin.

  “Ronan,” she hummed. I adore the way she says my name.

  “Yes,” I murmured against her neck.

  “You’re phone is buzzing.”

  “I know.” I trailed my thumb across her lips. “I’m trying to ignore it.”

  “Oh, but what if it’s a…” Crushing my lips to hers, I cut her off mid-sentence. I’m lost to everything in this moment— except her. All I hear are Holliday’s soft sexy little moans, she makes when we kiss. However, my concentration is broken when my cellphone continues to buzz. Retrieving it from her beach bag, I contemplate throwing it out into the sea. But my eyes shift to the text message on the screen: CALL ME IMMEDIATELY. VIDEO OF YOU AND GRADY LEAKED ONLINE. DONNA AND I ARE ON DAMAGE CONTROL.

  My heart pounded in my ribcage. I felt my shoulders tense and the blood begin to surge in my veins. Expelling a deep breath, I shoved my hands through
my hair. The bastard deserved a lot more than a punch to the jaw. Why did he have to taunt me? Fuck, that is no excuse. I know better. But when he said, “How does it feel knowing I had her first, Connolly?” It took everything in me not to rip his fucking throat out.

  Hooking her hand around my waist, she asked, “Ronan, what is it?”

  “Fuck! Grady James and that goddamn altercation at Indigo Row. Our fight was leaked online.”

  Holliday pulled away. I realized I had yelled directly in her face.

  “Sorry, so sorry, my beauty,” I grabbed her face, pressing a reassuring kiss to her soft lips.

  “Hey, remember that thing I said about when a problem arises, we’ll handle it together?”

  “Yes,” I mumbled.

  “That goes for you too,” she said smiling, taking my hand in hers. “Now, call your PR team, find out what’s going on and then let’s see about getting you in for a massage as well.”

  Pulling her in close, I pressed a kiss to her forehead. My phone began vibrating again. This time a message from Dean flashed bright across the screen: THE INFORMATION YOU WANTED EARLIER. DEREK SAUNDERS HAS ARRIVED IN NEW YORK CITY.

  Good. Even though this mother fucker doesn’t know it yet, he and I have unfinished business. When it comes to protecting Holliday Prescott there is nothing I won’t do. And for every permanent scar he gave to Holliday I will put ten more on him. I will destroy his empire, his shitty legacy and his worthless fucking life. Holliday is mine now, and I protect what is mine.

  Sneak Peek – After the Break

  by Andrea Joan

  Coming Spring 2015

  Prologue

  Liam

  Seattle: One Year Ago

  Drug of choice; railing lines of coke seems to be on the menu tonight. But I’m not particular I’ll shove anything up my nose, down my throat, or into my lungs. Snort, smoke, or swallow. Doesn’t matter as long as it gets me so fucking high I can’t remember who I am.

  Booze of Choice; Jameson. Every. Fucking. Night.

  Girl of choice; obviously she has a name, but at the moment I can’t fucking remember. I’m sure she told me before we stumbled back to my shitty apartment. I can probably blame this memory loss on the coke, or the booze, or the fact that this chicks’ mouth is wrapped so tight around my cock that she is literally sucking the memory out of me, but the truth of it is I have barely listened to a fucking word she has said. I don’t care to remember so I can’t listen. Blondie probably told me her whole life story when I was serving her drinks tonight, right before she pulled me into the bar’s bathroom and let me snort lines off her tits while she shoved my hand up her practically non-existent skirt, but every time she spoke I shut my brain off because I. Don’t. Want. To. Remember.

  That’s the curse of having an Eidetic Memory. I can’t forget anything I hear or see or smell or even fucking taste. Every event, every experience, every single snapshot of my life will burrow its way unrelentingly into my brain like a fucking diseased tick. People think that having a photographic memory is some kind of gift, like a god damned superpower. Shit, there was a time I believed that. School was a cake walk. Anything I read in a textbook or learned during a lecture was easily categorized and referenced in my mind for future use. I could tell you the tie’s my Freshman History teacher wore every day of the two week period he taught the class on the Fall of the Roman Empire. That was almost ten years ago. I can even recollect wall to ceiling to floor what my first girlfriends’ bedroom looked like right down to the prayers on all those creepy fucking Precious Moments posters she had plastered over her walls. I was thirteen.

  But here is the problem with having every second of my life seared into my memory like a brand. I don’t get to pick and choose what is remembered. When something horrible happens to me, something so dark and depraved and painful it would rival my worst nightmare, I will be condemned to remember. Every. Fucking. Detail. In high def. I’ll hear the screaming and the begging, feel the pain of a blade slicing my skin over and over, smell the fear and taste that coppery flavor of blood as real as if it was happening in the present. The memory will brutally rape my mind until there is nothing of substance left and the only escape from the constant punishment of it comes in the form of a powder or a pill or a bottle. Or pussy.

  Pussy seems to help drown out the ghosts that haunt me. Temporarily anyway. Which is why I stumbled the two blocks from the bar to my apartment with Blondie on my arm. She was more than ready to fuck, she’s hot in that fake porn star kind of way, and most important she came with snowy white party favors.

  “Fuck you’re good at that honey,” I groan, my large hand grabbing the back of her slender neck pushing my dick deeper down her seemingly endless throat. Bringing the bottle of Jameson to my mouth I take a pull that would put Tommy Lee to shame. The burn hits me quick, and I relish the feeling of my eyes rolling back into my head as the effects of the alcohol and coke mixed with the sensation of a warm tongue licking my cock and taking me deep again cause me to fall back on the mattress, the box springs singing that familiar tune of carnal abuse as I hit it hard.

  “You like that Liam? God you’re seriously big,” she purrs while her hand takes over where her mouth left off, pumping me up and down.

  That should be a huge fucking turn on, but my name on her cigarette laced voice almost causes me to lose my erection, especially when I open my eyes again and find fake violet ones staring back at me, begging for my approval. Approval she will be waiting a long ass time for because the disgust I have for myself in this moment has been reallocated to this chick. Everything about her is phony; colored contacts, cheap blond extensions attached to her head, and definitely fake tits. Even the scent of her is a fucking turn off; some kind of overly sweet flower smell, but it replaces the odor of death and blood that habitually surrounds me so I acquiesce.

  Fuck!

  Why did I have to open my eyes? Maybe if I get drunk enough and high enough this will never even be a memory.

  “Don’t talk honey. Just suck.”

  “Mmmm I love when you call me honey,” she moans creeping her fingers slowly toward the hem of my shirt, her other hand fisting my dick hard just like I need.

  The harder she sucks me off, the harder she works her hand up and down my shaft, the easier it is to push the memory of that night further and further away. So I need her to stop fucking talking.

  Chuckling I grab her hand off my shirt.

  “You shouldn’t. I only call you honey because I can’t remember your name. Now stop talking and suck me off. Or you can leave. I don’t really give a shit.”

  Her faux violet eyes shoot up at me clearly in shock that I would say something so offensive. But I know she won’t leave. I clocked her as an insecure bar slut the minute I served her a cosmopolitan and she adjusted her already low cut shirt further down to give me a better view of her tits while constantly brushing her hands over the tats on my arm.

  “You’re an asshole,” she spat out but stays conveniently on her knees in front of me.

  Nothing I haven’t heard before, or anything I would argue with. But what the hell did she expect? A few winks in her direction, some shared shots of tequila-which I’m not technically supposed to drink while working- and the mention that I was once an amateur boxer had her panting and guiding my hand under her skirt in the bar bathroom before she even gave her name. A name I now could not fucking remember for the life of me.

  Tammy…Taryn…Trisha? Something with a T. Or maybe a P.

  Nope. Not coming to me.

  God damn this coke is good. My face is numb, my fucking mind is numb. I need to get the name and number of her dealer before I shove her ass out the door.

  “I know I am. But maybe you can help save me. Turn me good again honey,” I say with a cocky ass smile. I know the effect I have on women without even trying and that little ray of hope should do the trick of getting her gifted little mouth back on my dick.

  Christ. I am an asshole.

  Blondie sm
iles big and works her hands back toward my shirt. My entire body tenses at the realization that she is trying to take it off.

  “Stop,” I snatch her wrist with the hand not attached to my whiskey.

  “What? I just wanna see what you’re working with under there. I know fighters have cut bodies. It would make me much more eager to suck you off. I may even be willing to swallow,” T or P something teases licking her lips slowly.

  Fuck it.

  What do I care what this chick thinks. Two scenarios could play out. She will either excuse herself as she runs out the door, which is fine by me, or ignore what she sees and continue blowing me.

  I’m sure my cock would agree that the latter scenario is more favorable.

  Normally I try to avoid taking clothes off all together, but I know Blondie is not going to let up and frankly I’m too fucked up right now to put up much of a fight. And I need this. I fucking need to get off. I crave the silence in my head, a break from hearing her call out for me to help her. To save her. A brief reprieve from seeing and hearing my brother’s last fucking breath.

  “Go for it honey, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I say laying back on the bed, taking another swig of Jameson as the ceiling above spins in an endless circular maze, speckles of silver and black dots swirling round and round.

  The feel of my shirt gliding up my abs should excite me, but only causes panic.

  “Holy shit,” I feel her breath whisper against my skin before my shirt even reaches my pecs. “Maybe you would be more comfortable if you kept the shirt on.”

  What she really means is that she would be more comfortable if I kept the shirt on. I’m lucky my pretty face was spared from any lasting damage or I may have never gotten laid again. T or P something doesn’t bother to ask what happened or feign sympathy as she kneels back down on her knees and takes me deep into her mouth again.

  “Shit” I curse under my breath taking another pull as her tongue glides up and swirls around the tip of my cock.

  It’s almost time for another hit of blow.