Unforgettable 3 (Hollywood Love Story #3) (31 page)

Back on the Beach was the perfect name for the restaurant Blake took me to. Located adjacent to the popular Annenberg Community Beach House pool that was now closed for the winter, the restaurant literally sat on the sand and enjoyed unobstructed views of the white-crested waves. We had a choice of eating indoors or outside, but there was no decision to make. With the perfect summer-like weather, we opted for a table outdoors. The place was crowded, filled with both couples and families. Close to the seating area, was a small playground where children could play. A cheerful, tanned waiter, who looked like he could be a surfer, came by with coffee and then asked for our order.

Ravenous, I ordered a mushroom and cheese omelet while Blake ordered huevos rancheros. It was a hearty breakfast that included three eggs, salsa, and beans—so different from the flaxseed protein shakes that Bradley always ordered. Blake consumed his food with gusto. My eyes trained on the way his mountainous biceps flexed when he lifted his fork to his mouth, and his lush lips sensuously wrapped around his Mexican-styled eggs. God, he was gorgeous!

“Where are you from?” he asked me, after swallowing a biteful.

A safe enough question. “Boise.”

“Ah, a Midwesterner. I should have known. What brought you to California?”

I cut into my omelet. “FYI, Idaho is not in the Midwest. And the answer to your question is I needed to get out of my shell. And USC has one of the best film and television schools in the country. I won a merit scholarship.”

“Why did you want to get into television?”

“Because I’ve always loved TV. It was my means of escape. I lived a very sheltered life; my overprotective parents homeschooled me.”

Blake took another bite of his eggs. “I’ve never understood people who homeschool their kids.”

“My parents had me late in life. After believing they could never have kids, I was a miracle baby. They wanted to keep me insulated from the world—out of harm’s way.”

“So, no peril or heartbreak for Calamity Jen.”

With a nervous little smile, I moved my omelet around my plate with my fork. “What about you? Where’d you go to school?”

“UCLA.”

“What did you major in?”

He licked his lips. “Anatomy.”

My eyes rounded. “You wanted to be a doctor?”

“No. I wanted to fuck.”

I flushed with unexpected laughter.

“I was a terrible student, but my female professors liked me and gave me passing grades.”

“Did you screw a few?” I couldn’t believe I was asking my boss such an audacious question.

He grinned wickedly. “I screwed them all.”

My eyes widened, but why should I be surprised? This guy was born a player. He was pure walking sex.

“How come you and your father have different last names?”

“During college, I did some modeling. My agent thought Blake Burns would sell a lot more products than Blake Bernstein. The name stuck.”

My eyes widened again. “You were a male model?”

He nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. My roommate made me try out for one of those I-want-to-be
America’s Next Top Model
reality series. I did it just to piss off my father because the show was another network. Well, to make a long story short, I won.”

“Wow! Did you like modeling?”

“Just the fucking supermodels part.”

A nervous little laugh slipped out of my mouth. He was definitely into supermodels. I took a sip of my coffee and probed further.

“So, how did you end up working for your father?”

“I got bored with the modeling pretty quickly. And the acting. But what I discovered was that I liked being behind the camera more than in front of it. And I saw that sex sold. More men than women watched that top model show. It gave me an idea. Why not create a television network that sold sex? Give the Playboy Channel a run for its money.”

“And—”

“So, I pitched the idea to my old man. SIN-TV. The
S
ex
I
nternational
N
etwork. And he went for it.”

What a great story. Okay, maybe I didn’t agree with all his programming choices, but he was a visionary. I had to admire him.

“What’s it like working for your father?” Saul Bernstein struck me as a warm but very demanding man.

“Better than I thought. It’s made us closer. He’s grooming me to one day run the entire company.”

“Interesting.” So, one day, my boss Blake Burns would be the head of Conquest Broadcasting. I was much more impressed than I let on. Of course, some gorgeous supermodel would be by his side while he ruled the media world. I took another sip of my coffee and inwardly sighed.

We shared a stretch of silence and finished our breakfast. My eyes soaked in the undulating roll of the waves and the surfers who were riding them as well as the close-by seagulls searching for a few breadcrumbs. But mostly, I couldn’t stop staring at Blake as he ate. His sapphire-blue eyes glinted in the sunlight, and his damp dark hair shimmered like satin. Every sculpted muscle was a work of art. He was beautiful. He caught my eyes on him. Setting down his fork, he reached across the table and brushed away a tendril of hair that had fallen onto my face from the ocean breeze. “So, when are you and your fiancé getting married?”

His out-of-the-blue question took me by surprise. I swallowed hard. “We haven’t set a date yet. Maybe in the summer.”

“Are you in love with him?”

I scrunched up my face, but inside my heart rattled. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I’m in love with him.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I care about him. I put his needs before mine.”

Blake gazed at me intensely, his eyes like lasers. “And he does the same for you?”

My mouth parted, but words stayed trapped in my throat. The truth: it was mostly about Bradley. His career, his interests, his desires. I was always giving into his ways—eating at vegan restaurants that made me want to puke, attending dental conventions that made me want to fall asleep, and spending the night at his place with its dreary brown wood furniture I wanted to burn. Damn it. I even fucked him the way
he
liked it. Always the same old boring way. Missionary.

“Bradley loves me.” My tone was sharp and defensive.

“Is he good in bed?” His deep blue eyes held me fierce. He was unnerving me.

“I’m not going to answer that question.” I spat the words at him. The truth: I wasn’t sure. He was the only man I’d ever been with. His dick was smallish. He came quickly, and I’d never had an orgasm with him. He was nothing like the men in those erotic romance novels I’d read. But I knew they were just fiction. Men like Christian Grey and Gideon Cross didn’t exist in real life.

Blake grinned smugly. “You did answer it. But as my dad always says, good is the enemy of better.”

He was having a very uncomfortable effect on me. As I pondered his words, my heart beat rapidly, and I felt flutters rise between my legs.

“Come over here, tiger.” He signaled with his index finger for me to lean into him. With my lips slightly parted, I did as he asked.

“You have some egg on your mouth.”

“Oh.” I flushed with embarrassment. Before I could flick it off, his long forefinger made contact with my face and languidly traced my lips before brushing it off. My flesh tingled all over from his tender touch. My eyes never left him as he sucked the bit of egg off his fingertip. A satisfied smile spread across his face.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have very kissable lips, Ms. McCoy?”

I jolted with shock. A heat stroke was a very real possibility. “No,” I croaked, my voice just above a whisper.

“Well, I’m telling you.”

With that and the check, breakfast with my boss came to an end.

Blake

A
fter breakfast, I asked Jennifer if she wanted to take a walk on the beach with me. I enjoyed being with her. It was rare for me to have a real conversation with a girl and couldn’t remember the last time I did. But after I told her she had kissable lips, she clammed up and told me she needed to get home.

Fuck. She didn’t even thank me for the compliment, I thought as we cruised along the Santa Monica Freeway in silence. Maybe she didn’t take it that way though the rest of our morning had gone so well. The top of my Porsche was down, and the radio was blasting. From time to time, I stole a glance at her. Her ponytail was whipping against her face, her eyes squinting, as if deep in thought. She kept her gaze straight ahead and occasionally looked out her side of the car. My cock was still twitching from the boner I had under the table. I was inexplicably attracted to her. It had taken all I had not to kiss those kissable lips and let her know I was the man she’d kissed in that game of Truth or Dare. I was now playing my own version of that game. The truth if I was asked: I had a burning urge to pull off the road and ask her to blow me. And if someone dared me, I’d do it.

With no traffic on the freeway, it took a short twenty minutes to get Jennifer’s house. I pulled up to the curb outside a small Spanish cottage. There were two cars parked in the drive away—a Mini Cooper and a Kia. Obviously, she shared it with someone. Her fucking fiancé? My skin bristled, but then I remembered he was at work. So, someone else.

“Thanks again for breakfast,” she said as she unfastened her seat belt. Her nonchalant tone irked me.

“My pleasure. We should do it again.”
And let me savor every part of you.

The corners of those kissable lips curled up. “Maybe.”

Man, I hated that word. I was a man used to hearing yes and who never took no as an answer.

Before I could jump out of my car to help her out, she opened the passenger door and let herself out.

“See you on Monday.” Her voice sounded cheerful but businesslike. She pivoted toward her house. Unbeknownst to her, I kept my eyes on her tight little heart-shaped ass and her thin, toned legs. She had a sexy little bounce to her stride. My dick hardened.

I lowered the volume of the radio. “Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

She looked over her shoulder. “What I always do on Saturday nights. I’m seeing my fiancé.”

The f-word
. I clenched my fists into hard balls while my dick softened.

By the time she disappeared into the house, I’d totally lost my erection. But the ache in my balls was palpable.

With the Lumineers singing “Ho Hey,” I peeled off the curb with a screech.

Whatever stupid game I was playing, I was losing. Jennifer McCoy did not belong to me.

Five minutes later, I made a sharp U-turn. Blake Burns did not lose at games. It was time to check out the competition. I pulled up to her house, jumped out of my car, and then knocked at her door.

She came to the door quickly. Opening it, she was already freshly showered and sporting a short terrycloth robe. Her damp, shampooed hair hung loose, spilling over her shoulders. Fuck. She smelled delicious—all cherry vanilla—and beneath that robe, I knew she was pure silky flesh. Man, how I wanted to tear that robe right off her and take her in my arms.

“Blake!” She seemed shocked to see me.

I cupped my jaw with my hand and feigned pain.

“Is something wrong?” She sounded concerned.

I nodded with a grimace. Man, I was good. I deserved an Emmy. My modeling/acting days were good for something besides supermodel hook-ups.

“I have a terrible toothache,” I moaned, rubbing my cheek.

“Oh my goodness. Come in. I’ll get you some Advil.”

“Thanks,” I said, stepping inside. “It started at breakfast but just suddenly flared up.”

“You poor thing. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

Poor me settled into an armchair while she darted off. Before I could study her house, she was back with a couple of those red pain pills and a tall glass of water.

“Thanks,” I said, taking them from her. I downed the Advil with a couple sips of the water.

“You should see your dentist right away.”

“I can’t. He doesn’t work on Saturdays.”

“Then you should see my fiancé. He’s a great dentist.”

Bingo.

I moaned again. “Do you think he could squeeze me in?”

“I’ll call him right now and make sure he does.”

Reaching for her cell phone on the coffee table, she speed-dialed a number.

I continued to feign pain while I listened to her conversation. She was obviously talking to the receptionist. She told whoever it was that a friend of hers from work had an emergency. Her brows furrowed while she waited for a response and then she broke into a smile.

“Great. He’ll be there soon. Can I say hi to Bradley?”

Pause.

“Oh, all right. Just give him my love and tell him I’ll see him tonight.”

I inwardly cringed as I watched her end the call. Placing the phone back on the coffee table, she found a pen and a cocktail napkin. She jotted something down on the paper napkin.

Smiling, she handed it to me. “My fiancé can squeeze you in. His name is Dr. Bradley Wick and this is where his office is.”

I eyed the address. Fuck. I had to go all the way to The Valley.

“Thanks.”

“Good luck. You’re going to love Bradley.”

There was only one thing I was going to love about Bradley Wick, DDS. And that was making him disappear.

My bud Jaime was right
. Eliminate the competition.

I mentally gave myself a high five.
Operation Dickwick
was about to begin.

Blake

I
t would figure that Bradley’s office was in the fucking Valley. Burbank, no less. With the traffic and construction on Laurel Canyon, it took me almost an hour to get over the hill and then across the 101 to the Barham exit. It was hotter than balls outside so I had to drive with the air conditioning on and the top up; my Satellite radio didn’t make the journey any better. I fucking hated going to The Valley. But I was going to make this trip worth it.

Seething, I pulled into the driveway of a white colonial-like building complete with Tara-like columns located off Pass Avenue. While located close to the media district, there was nothing chic about the building or the address. I whipped my Porsche into the first available spot in the small parking lot—right next to the spot reserved for Dr. Bradley Wick, DDS. Wouldn’t you know it—he drove a Prius. A white as bleached teeth 2012 model. I hated guys who drove Priuses. Have you ever noticed they’re a breed? All self-righteous, environmentally conscious, and fucking anal. Do-gooders who never broke a rule. The type who was always the teacher’s pet or the perfect Boy Scout. I already had a handle on Dickwick.