Unforgettable: The Complete Series (A Sexy Cinderella Standalone Love Story)

by Nelle L'Amour

  Miss Moneypenny’s eyes clash with Katrina’s. “Not wasting my time talking to you.”

  “I don’t waste my time talking to peons.”

  “You’re going to be sorry you said that.” On her next breath, Miss Moneypenny charges at Katrina, tackling and knocking her to the ground. She tears at her metallic jumpsuit.

  “You bitch! You’re ruining my outfit! It’s Versace! You’re going to pay a pretty penny to replace it!”

  “I’m not even going to take it to a tailor,” retorts Moneypenny, straddling Katrina and holding her down while she screams and writhes.

  My eyes stay riveted on her full, heart-shape arse, and I have the burning desire to spread those huggable cheeks apart. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, M always preached. Scott the Bot meanwhile hoists me higher. I’m now about twenty-five feet in the air. In a few minutes, I’m going to be fish food.

  Katrina and Moneypenny continue to go at each other madly, exchanging every expletive in the dictionary. They roll about on the floor. Hissing. Gnawing. Scratching. Fisting. Clumps of hair go flying. It looks like Katrina has the upper hand, stabbing her adversary with the spiky heel of her killer stiletto. Again and again and again.

  “Die, you fat bitch!” she screams.

  “You die first!” rasps back Moneypenny after another blow. To my utter astonishment, she reaches into her impressive cleavage and yanks out a shiny six-inch knife. She holds it over Katrina. Katrina’s eyes flicker with terror.

  “Don’t you dare kill me!” she shrieks. “I’ll give you anything you want! All the money in the world!”

  Moneypenny slowly lowers the knife. “There’s only one thing I want, and it’s not your money. And besides, my name comes with it.”

  The knife is millimeters from Katrina. Her face is frozen with fear. Moneypenny holds her fierce in her gaze.

  “Rot in hell, bitch!”

  “Noooooo!”

  Katrina’s mouth never closes as Moneypenny plunges the blade into her chest. Splat! My nemesis lets out a deep groan as her right breast deflates and jelled liquid seeps out from the three-inch tear in her jumpsuit.

  “Ha! I always knew they were fake!” Moneypenny smiles with smug victory and then looks up at me. “Hang on, James!”

  My eyes stay on her as she dashes over to the pulley that’s hoisting me. With a whoosh, she slices the cord like a swashbuckler. I fall thirty feet to the ground, but it’s a hell of a lot better than falling into a tank full of man-eating piranhas. I’ve always preferred hard surfaces.

  “James, are you okay?” asks a concerned Moneypenny, squatting down beside me. Wasting no time, she cuts through the binding and sets me free.

  Slowly, I sit up, facing her. I give her nose an affectionate flick. “I like a girl with a knife.”

  She grins. But not for long. The smile on her face falls off and her eyes grow wide with terror. “James, watch out!”

  I spin around like a top. Fuck. Scott the Bot, who’s programmed to kill me, is coming at me at breakneck speed.

  “Die, Bond.” Two monotone syllables. A lethal laser shoots out of one arm, but I move out of harm’s way just in the nick of time. On my next breath, I reach into the breast pocket of my tuxedo and pull out my Beretta. I aim it and fire. Bang! I get the automaton right between the eyes, leaving a bullet-sized hole. And then I fire the gun two more times, aiming for his eyes. Bang! Bang! Double bullseye! His eyes pop out of their sockets, hanging on by mere springs. Deprogrammed, the bot spins around in crazy circles until he collapses onto the floor with a clang.

  I rotate on my arse again and face Moneypenny. A seductive smile lights up her face. “And I like a man with a gun.”

  “Miss Moneypenny—”

  “My name is Zoey.”

  “Zoey.” I love the way her name rolls off my tongue. All these years together and I never knew her first name. It’s as beautiful as she is. My cock rises to full attention.

  Then, her face grows serious again. “Oh, James. If you died, I’d—”

  Tilting up her chin, I silence her with a fierce kiss. She melts into me. It’s as if her soft lips have always belonged on mine. Her tongue finds my tongue and they dance together, swirling and twirling, as if they’ve done this forever. She fists my hair, and her supple breasts press against my chest. I can feel her nipples harden like bullets beneath the fabric of my tux. She moans into my mouth. I want to fuck her more than I want to serve Her Majesty. I want her to be mine. She will be mine. I’ve never failed at a mission.

  I break the kiss and reach for a handful of the rope.

  “James, what are you doing?”

  “I’m going to properly thank you for saving my life.” Q always told me actions speak louder than words. On my next heated breath, I twist the rope around her wrists, binding them together, and then attach them to a floor-to-ceiling metal pipe. Seeing her tied up like this makes my cock crazy with want. Without wasting a second, I scrunch up her little dress to her hips and rip off her scanty lace panties. I take whiff before tossing them. It’s like I’ve inhaled a drug. I can’t wait to get more. Sitting back on my calves, I spread her legs and bury my head between her thighs. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. Her pussy so pink and glistening. I can’t wait to taste her. My talented tongue darts out of my hungry mouth and dips into her carnal lips. Jesus. She’s more delicious than I even imagined. I greedily lick and flick her sweet slickness.

  Arching, she moans. “Oh, Sir James.”

  Her calling me sir only gets me more excited. None of my Bond girls ever called me that though I was knighted. Such respect and submission.

  “How does it feel, Zoey?”

  “Oh, James, I can’t find the words.”

  “Well, then, let me try to enlarge your vocabulary.” My tongue moves to her clit. It licks and flicks until I feel a hard throbbing nub at the tip. Her breathing grows harsh. A symphony of pants and moans plays in my ears.

  “Now, tell me, Zoey. How does that feel?”

  “Oh please don’t stop! I need more!”

  I love that she’s begging for me. And so polite. “Zoey, I need more specific words.” I nip her.

  She gasps. “So good.”

  “Please say: ‘So good, sir.’”

  She does as asked and I go back to my ministrations, loving every minute of her tantalizing pussy and responsive clit. She’s dripping with want. I plunge a finger into her slit and pump her. God, she’s so wet and tight. I can’t wait to fuck her.

  Her breathing grows more ragged. She begins to writhe, trying desperately to free herself from the pole. The moans become whimpers. And the whimpers become sobs. I love a damsel in distress.

  “What do you want, Zoey?”

  “I want to come, sir! Please!”

  “You’ll come when I say you can. From now on, you’re mine. Only mine. Say it—”

  “I’m yours. Only yours!”

  “I own your orgasms, do you understand?”

  She nods feverishly.

  “Zoey, I need words.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  The passion in her voice—and her submission—are all I need. I give her pussy a nice slap, and as she yelps, I kiss her clit and suck away the sting.

  “Oh, James!”

  “Come for me, Zoey. Don’t hold back.” I press my lips back on her divine pussy, and with the next flick of my tongue, she explodes in my face with a gush of wetness. Best of all, she screams my name. The way it’s spoken stirs me to the core. It’s time for her to get to know my other big gun.

  “Lie down. Hands above your head. Then bend your knees and spread them wide.”

  Silently, she does as told, and at the sight of her, I feel my cock swell, as if bigger is possible. She’s truly exceptional. Her pussy so ready, her nub a crimson rosebud and the delicate wet petals of her cleft an exquisite shade of pink. Her thighs quiver.

  Our eyes connect.

  “James, you’ve never even taken me to dinner.”
/>
  “No, I’ve never taken you to dinner looking like this. Let me give you something to digest.”

  On my knees between her legs, I undo the clasp of my pants and zip down my fly. My hard as a rock cock springs out like a jack in the box. Her jaw drops to her chest and she gasps.

  I don’t think I’ve ever had such a powerful erection. It curls to my navel. There’s even a bead of pre-cum on the tip. “Do I come up to your expectations?”

  “Oh, James, so beyond! Please, James, I need you inside me!”

  “My dear, I’m going to fuck you until you detonate. Blow you up into a million little pieces. I’m going to make you come so loud, so hard you’re going to scare the fish.”

  “Oh James, take me. You can have me any time. Anywhere. Whatever is left of me, whatever I am, I’m yours!”

  She has no idea. I lean into her, placing one hand on the cold cement to anchor myself, and the other around my enormous shaft. I rub it along her soaked folds and then I put it at her entrance. Inch by thick inch, I glide it inside her until I hit the warm, wet velvet of her womb. She clenches around me. And then I hear another scream.

  “I’m not done with you, James.”

  The voice is a hoarse, deranged whisper, but I’d recognize it anywhere. Katrina! She’s alive! Still inside Zoey, I crank my neck and her venomous eyes collide with mine. Zoey’s knife is in her hands. Before I can blink, a white-hot pain sears me…

  Fade to black.

  At the sound of my alarm, I bolt up in my bed. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m back to being me. And that I’m alive. I’ve got a giant boner and I’m shaking like a leaf. The blurred line between reality and fantasy frightens me. My dream’s as vivid as the morning light. I try to make sense of it.

  It’s sending me a message. About my need for dominance. And my need for my assistant. Zoey’s under my skin and in my bloodstream. She lives in my soul and makes me feel whole.

  But my gut tells me this dream is an ominous warning. An omen. A chill runs through me from my head to my toes. Things are so goddamn complicated. My fucking life is totally out of control.

  Chapter 4

  Zoey

  The next day, I’m feeling a lot stronger physically, so Brandon lets me spend more time up and about. I spend most of my time helping him with some lines and, like it or not, responding to the never-ending tweets about the status of Bratrina. He seems a little on edge. When I ask him why, he tells me he’s got a lot on his mind and didn’t sleep well. That makes two of us. Visions of Donatelli and my mother’s killer and her brutal death haunted me as did Brandon’s pending marriage to Katrina.

  In the late afternoon, he orders me to put my laptop away and we snuggle on the couch to watch another rough-cut of an upcoming Kurt Kussler episode. Both of us relax. Halfway through it, my phone rings. Brandon puts the show on pause while I answer it.

  It’s Pops! He’s back in town and wants to come over. He’s eager to talk to me.

  Forty-five minutes later, he’s at the house. I hug him at the front door.

  “Oh, Pops! I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “How are you doing, babycakes?”

  I smile and usher him in. “I’m doing better.”

  “I’m taking good care of her, Detective.” Widening my smile, I cast my eyes at Brandon who’s come to join us. “I’m about to order in some sandwiches from Greenblatt’s. Would you like one?”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I won’t be staying long. The missus wants me home for dinner. Boss’s orders.”

  Brandon and I both laugh. “What about a beer then?” he asks.

  Pops’s eyes light up. “Now, that I’ll take.”

  “Me too,” I chime in.

  Brandon shoots me a dirty look and waggles a reprimanding finger. “Uh-uh-uh. No beer for you. You can’t have any alcohol while you’re on your meds. Your boss’s orders. Understood?”

  I make a face. “Yes, sir.” Brandon’s face lights up at the last word.

  While Brandon goes to the kitchen to get the beers, Pops shrugs off his trench coat and makes himself at home, taking a seat in one of Brandon’s oversized chairs. I curl up on the couch. Someone who wastes no time, Pops gets right into it.

  “So babycakes, tell me again what happened.”

  I launch into my story and tell him how I’m sure I saw Brandon’s manager Scott having coffee with Mama’s murderer. “Pops, I’m more than a hundred percent sure it was him. You know I’d never forget his face. Yeah, he looked older, but it was him. I’m absolutely positive.”

  “I believe you, but the problem is we can’t find any witnesses who saw two men who matched those descriptions. The Farmer’s Market is a big open space with diverse locals and tourists who come and go. My team’s spoken to all the vendors, and at best, they’ve gotten something like, ‘That sounds like a lot of people who stop by.’”

  “Maybe they caught something on a surveillance camera,” I offer. Between growing up with Pops and watching a lot of Kurt Kussler, I could practically be a detective myself.

  Pops glumly shakes his head. “I wish. Unfortunately, The Farmer’s Market doesn’t have a surveillance system.”

  My heart sinks. We’re still at square one. Brandon returns with two Heinekens and a Diet Coke for me. Mr. Thoughtful.

  “Help yourselves,” he says, setting the bottles on the coffee table. Snatching a beer, he lowers himself on the couch next to me. His thigh brushes against mine and I can feel his warmth.

  “Why is Scott lying?” I throw the question out to both Pops and Brandon after taking a swig of my soda. “Pops, you should make him take a lie detector test.”

  “They’re unreliable.” He grabs a beer and takes several gulps.

  Brandon plays devil’s advocate. “What makes you think he’s lying?”

  What! He doesn’t believe me now? My face scrunches with anger and my voice rises an octave. “Because he is! He’s a total slime bucket. I wouldn’t believe a word that man said. I bet he even told you he’s the one who found you unconscious on the day of your accident.”

  Setting his beer bottle back down on the table, Brandon blinks several times the way he does whenever he’s having a recall moment. He looks flustered…unsure. “He did. While I was in the hospital, he said he called it in. Saved my ass.”

  My stomach twists. I didn’t really mean what I said. A cocktail of shock and rage shoots through me. “Fucking liar! Newsflash: I’m the one who found you and called 911.” The one who held you, prayed for you, kissed…I banish the memory of that day before tears betray me.

  Pops corroborates what I’ve said. “It’s true. Zoey did. We still have the dispatcher’s recording.”

  Brandon is stunned into silence. Finally, in a soft voice, he says, “Zoey, why didn’t you tell me?”

  My voice softens too. “I thought you knew.”

  “I’m sorry, Zo.” He brushes his hand along my jawline. His tender touch sets me on fire. I feel myself flushing with tingles all over. Wondering if Pops notices, I glance his way. His brows are furrowed, his lips pressed together, and he’s rubbing a thumb across his dimpled chin. I know that expression. I’ve seen it a zillion times before. He’s onto something.

  “Pops, what are you thinking?”

  He lowers his hand, but his brows remain knitted. “If Scott Turner is lying, that changes everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Babycakes, tell me again the conversation you overheard. Word for word.”

  Thanks to my eidetic memory, I recite it as if I’ve just heard it, making use of my acting skills to imitate their voices. “The man who shot Mama shouted, ‘You fucked up once. Don’t do it again.’ And then Scott nervously replied, ‘Okay, okay, I’ll take care of it.’”

  Almost instantly, I gasp and clasp my hand to my mouth. I construe their exchange in a whole new way. “Pops, do you think they were referring to Brandon’s hit and run?”

  Pops looks at me with intensity. “Possibly. The two
of them may have something to do with it. I have a hunch someone’s trying to knock off Brandon. And there could be a connection between the accident and your mother’s murder.”

  Brandon and I both quietly digest Pops’s words. Brandon breaks the silence. “Detective, what’s the next step?”

  “I want Zoey to come into headquarters tomorrow and talk to our sketch artist. We need to find out who this man is.”

  “I’ll bring her. I don’t want her driving yet, especially downtown.”

  Pops smiles warmly. “Thanks. Afterward, I’m going to talk to Scott. Check out his cell phone as well as his alibi and do some digging. Maybe we can dredge up something that ties everything together. Maybe there’s even a connection to Kremins.”

  “Kremins?” asks Brandon, puzzled.

  Pops fills Brandon in. Conrad Kremins was the man who was shot along with Mama. What Pops learned in the investigation of their murders was that he was a sleazy sex club operator who had a lot of enemies and was in major debt. My mother’s bullet was probably meant for him.

  A pang of sadness assaults me at the thought of her senseless murder before giving way to a burst of optimism and excitement. Pops is going to find the evil man who did this to her! And uncover the cruel person who ran Brandon over and left him for dead. I just know it.

  Setting my soda down, I leap up from the couch and give my father another big hug. “Oh, Pops, you’re the best!”

  He laughs his hearty laugh. “We’re going to solve this mystery once and for all.” He turns to Brandon and, with a wink, does his best Kurt Kussler imitation: “Get it. Got it?…”

  “Good,” chimes in Brandon, smiling brightly. He really seems to like my dad.

  “One last thing. Brandon, do you have a bodyguard?”

  Brandon screws up his face. “No way. I’m an action hero. I can take care of myself. And I don’t like people following me around.”

  Pops twists his mouth. “I seriously think you should have one. Your life may be in jeopardy.”

  Brandon polishes off his beer. “I’ll think about it.”

  Knowing my headstrong boss, I doubt he’ll acquiesce. Despite the megastar he is, he’s never traveled with an entourage except on very special occasions like award shows.