“I cannot believe you decided to have your scars removed. You were so adamant about keeping them.”
“I decided it was time for a change and to let go. I think a part of me wanted to keep them, because it was a sign of my journey— where I’d been and how far I’d come. But, I don’t need the physical reminder.”
His finger traced over the scar on my shoulder. “I’ll take you to your remaining appointments, if you like.”
“You’re sweet, I’d love that. And that mark will be gone next. My body belongs to me, not him.”
He exhaled, before drawing my fingertips to his lips for a kiss.
“What are you thinking?” I asked, wiggling my ass against his cock.
“You’ll laugh at me.”
“I would never do such a thing.”
His wet fingers drifted up my rib cage and cupped my breast, alternating between rolling and pinching my nipple. I relaxed against his chest, his hands continuing their lazy glide over my skin.
“You know that film Out of Africa?”
“Of course. It’s only one of my most favorite movies of all time.” I rolled my head so that my cheek rested on his chest. I couldn’t help but run my fingers through the dark smattering of hair.
“Is that right?” he murmured, his fingers intertwined with mine.
“Yes. Meryl Streep is brilliant in the film, and I get swept up in the sheer beauty of it all—the music, the costumes, the love story. Even if the ending was extremely sad.”
I began reciting my favorite line from the film. Ronan laughed and kissed the top of my head.
“Why were you thinking about it?”
“When Redford washes her hair by the river while reciting Coleridge—that was positively romantic.” His hands tangled the loose ends of my hair.
“That poem is not romantic, Ronan.”
He huffed out a laugh. “No, the poem is not, but it’s classified as British Romantic Literature. I personally don’t see anything alluring about a man wearing a dead bird around his neck. That is certainly a harsh penance for guilt.”
“Driven by guilt and forced to roam the ends of the Earth, telling your story to serve as a lesson for others—that is terribly sad.” I sat up and twisted to face Ronan. “I read somewhere that the Mariner was a reflection of Coleridge himself—a sad, wise man.”
Ronan’s green eyes dazzled as his smile widened. “Look at you and your knowledge of Romanticism.”
I scooped up some water and playfully poured it over his head. After shaking the excess water from his hair, he curled his arm around my waist, pulling me back against his damp chest. His embrace was the most wonderful feeling in the world. As I settled comfortably into his frame, he rested his chin atop my head.
“I can’t imagine living such a lonely existence. Feeling sad, cloaked in a heavy burden of guilt from one simple mistake.”
While running my fingers along his pectoral muscles, I kissed his chest. “Don’t shoot the albatross and you’ll never feel that way,” I whispered.
Holliday
When I woke twisted in the sheets the next morning, he was gone. I took in my surroundings, the place where Ronan and I had begun our love affair. My heart raced with beats of excitement while I lay there thinking about that incredibly passionate week we’d spent there and the few months since. Loving each other had been easy. Moving in together had seemed like a dream.
I’d never imagined I’d find a man who could love me with all of my baggage. Or that I would allow myself to overcome my own emotional issues and find love. It was some kind of wonderful miracle that I’d found Ronan.
With each passing day, I was falling deeper into his world.
Deeper into us.
I stretched out from underneath the tangle of satiny softness that smelled of sex and Ronan and slipped out of bed. On my way to the bathroom, I noticed a pretty pale-pink silk robe draped over the bench. Smiling, I slipped it on over my shoulders.
After I brushed my teeth, I wandered to the living room and peered out the window—nothing but rain and fog. It was an ugly day, but perfect for snuggling and watching movies. My jellied legs somehow managed to carry me to the butler’s pantry. There was a note by the coffee maker from Ronan along with the room service menu.
I scanned the breakfast menu, and my stomach rumbled. Pastries, fresh fruit, and French toast. Yep, I ordered it all, along with orange juice and some English breakfast tea for Ronan.
The coffee maker beeped, and I poured myself a cup, adding some sugar. I slid into the chair at the breakfast bar and flipped on my iPad. As I was downing my hot beverage, I received a Google alerts email that I had set up to notify me of news stories about Ronan. A few posts related to the film, reviews, and some pictures from the events in Hollywood and Miami came up.
One particular headline grabbed my attention.
RONAN CONNOLLY AND HOLLIDAY PRESCOTT SPLITSVILLE ALREADY? REPORT
Things between Hollywood hunk Ronan Connolly and fashion executive Holliday Prescott may have fizzled as quickly as they heated up. A source tells Hollywood Vibes that Prescott was a no-show during the entirety of Connolly’s press tour for A London Love Story because she is “insanely jealous” of his friendship with Heather Young. Connolly and Young ended their romantic relationship some time ago but still remain “close friends.” It is rumored that Connolly is a huge part of helping Young recover and wanted to fly home immediately to be closer to the ailing starlet.
To add more fuel to the fire, the couple, who have been dating since December, has not been seen together since the J. Edward Avalon Foundation Gala earlier this year. (See photo at left)
Prescott, 26, was spotted a few weeks ago at the surprise wedding between Broadway legend Margaret Mills and screenwriter Harrison Ranford but has kept low public profile since the event.
Connolly, 32, was seen checking into The York Hotel yesterday instead of returning to their shared Upper East Side residence. Yet another sign the pair maybe headed for a breakup.
My eyes rolled as I finished reading the ridiculous post. “Oh my God,” I chuckled loudly.
“What’s going on?” Ronan said from the foyer.
“Oh, just a cute story on Hollywood Vibes blog about how we are headed for a breakup.”
Ronan dropped his iPod on the table and leaned over my shoulder to read the story. “Rubbish. All rubbish,” he laughed. “Nice photo though.” Then he walked away, and my foot swatted at his thigh as he passed by. “I’m going to take a shower.” Turning back around, he leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Would you care to join me?” His arms caged me against the chair.
“I would love to,” I answered, feeling my legs quivering a bit. “But I’m going for my own workout later.”
“Why bother?” he asked, pulling his sweat-soaked shirt over his head. “I can give you a workout right now.”
“Tempting, but, you see, I have to work out at the gym regularly in order to keep up with your insatiable sexual appetite.” I slid my fingers through his curls, pulling his mouth to mine.
My lips parted and our tongues found each other with gentle, soft twists.
Breaking our kiss, I mumbled, “I ordered breakfast, and it should be here shortly.”
“Wonderful. I’m famished.” His lips touched my temple.
“Maybe you’ll join me at the spa after my workout?” I called after him as he entered the master suite.
“I’d love to. Text me when you’re done.”
A tiny shiver moved through me at the thought of a relaxing afternoon at the spa with Ronan. I heard the sound of rushing water hit the tile in the shower. Grabbing my coffee mug, I pushed to my feet. Then I padded towards the butler’s pantry to refill my cup but was caught off guard at the sight of a very naked Ronan turning the corner. He came towards me, vibrating with intensity, his green eyes swirling with hunger and affection as they landed on mine.
He wrapped his arms around me, kissing me deeply. In one swift motion, he placed the coffee mug
on the counter and managed to swing me over his shoulder caveman-style. There was no point protesting.
“Did you honestly think I was going to shower alone?” he asked, untying my robe.
“No,” I admitted. “However, I should remind you that our breakfast will be cold.”
“I called the kitchen and told them we would like our meal delivered in an hour.”
My hands slid down his chest as he lowered me to the floor. His mouth curved into a wry smile, and his sharp gaze raking over me from head to toe caused my breath to quicken. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to my neck. His facial hair tickled against my sensitive skin.
I miss this feeling.
Strong hands slipped over my shoulders. His mouth covered mine, swallowing my excited gasp. Deft fingers lingered across my collarbone before making their way to my breasts. I moaned, and my body melted into his, feeling his erection hot against my hip. My pulse pounded, all the blood rushing to my ears. Before I knew it, my robe was on the floor and warm water was pouring over my bare skin.
“Ronan,” his name came out in a heated whisper. “I…I think we’ll need more than an hour.”
His beautiful lips twisted into a sexy smirk. “I’m not breaking this moment,” he said, shaking his head, and then he dropped to his knees. “The food can sit in the foyer for all I care, I’d rather eat you.”
Locked in his gaze, I was riveted by the masculine heat that flared in his eyes. Searing pleasure wound through me, and I was lost to everything except the softness of his wet tongue lashing over me.
God, I love this man.
Holliday
Nothing gave me a better feeling than a good sweat during an intense cardio workout. Well, except maybe a Ronan induced orgasm. Tranquil music wrapped around me as my feet carried me past the saunas of my usual post-workout stop and to the heated waters of the whirlpool beyond.
The York Hotel’s Madera Spa was one of the smallest in the city, but it was by far my favorite. I could get lost in an afternoon there floating in the vitality pool or sipping freshly squeezed juice while lounging in one of their heat-controlled tepidarium chairs. And the lemongrass footbath was a must. Since I wouldn’t be staying there on a regular basis, I’d need to steal some me time once in a while. Perhaps I’d book a treatment next week.
I grabbed a mineral water from the fridge and hung my robe on the wall. Ronan had thoughtfully purchased a new navy-and-white-striped bikini for me. No doubt it was special for this weekend. Like a ridiculously smitten fourteen year-old girl minus the “duck face,” I snapped a selfie and sent it to Ronan as an enticing request to join me now that I’d finished my workout. While shoving my phone in the pocket of my robe, I kind of regretted taking the photo. Selfies were fucking stupid, but I would have loved to see the look on his face upon receiving the message.
The familiar smell of chlorine and jasmine enveloped my senses. Flickering flames from botanical candles bounced off the white marble walls. And when I sank down in the corner of the whirlpool, the jets felt amazing against my lower back.
I closed my eyes and the let the bubbles and jets soothe the aching muscles in my legs from the thirty squats and lunges I did. The fitness area was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday afternoon. The spa was vacant, not a soul in sight. I half expected a tumbleweed to blow through any minute. The sound of the door to the whirlpool area opening alerted me that I was about to have company. Hopefully, they weren’t the Chatty Cathy type.
Through hooded eyes, I saw the outline of male figure with a tall, thin build grab a towel from the cubby and hang it on the wall. His arms and the muscles in his back were well-toned.
My head rested against the hard fiberglass of the Jacuzzi. The water gently rose as he entered. Water rippled around me, leaving me feeling relaxed.
“The water feels nice, doesn’t it?”
And even before the last syllable hit my ears, my stomach lurched. A violent spasm squeezed tight around my heart. Fear rolled through me, but I kept my eyes closed. I couldn’t look. The heat must have been taking its toll on me, causing me to hear things.
It wasn’t
It couldn’t…be him.
“I love a good soak after a long run.” His gravelly voice sliced through my thoughts like a jagged knife ripping at my old wounds.
Anxiety bubbled inside me. My eyes slowly opened, and the sight confirmed my terror.
Derek Saunders was here. And he was mere feet from me.
His eyes met mine and panic swept through my entire body.
Did he know it was me?
Feeling like the lamb cast in the lion’s den, I couldn’t let him sense my crippling fear. Fear would not paralyze me. If I had a panic attack, who knows what Derek might do to me. Inwardly, I shuddered at the thought of him touching me again.
Control your emotions, Holliday.
I mustered all the strength I could and replied in my best Italian accent, “Si, bellisimo. L'acqua è molto rilassante.”
Praying that was good enough for him to think I was a foreigner, finish his soak, and leave the room.
Smiling, he cupped his hands together, generously filling them with water and pouring it over his glossy black hair. “Holli, your Italian is impressive,” he replied. His voice was menacing and velvety smooth at the same time.
Terror sparked, igniting my blood on fire. Adrenaline raged through me. As if I had been electrocuted, I hurled my body out of the water.
Run, Holliday.
Fucking run.
My lungs burned from inhaling chlorine. Water splashed on the hardwood floor of the corridor with every slippery stride I took. My hands flew to the door latch. But jiggling the handle was of no use.
Keycard! My brain screamed at me. You need a fucking keycard!
I turned around and found Derek standing right behind me, his nostrils flared. He prowled towards me, backing me up against the glass door in the corridor, his big body towering over me. My eyes screwed shut, and I counted to ten. This wasn’t real—it was a dream like all the others.
Except, when I opened my eyes, Derek was all too real. And I was scared as hell, trapped in a living nightmare.
“Derek, back away from me—now,” I said through gritted teeth. “If you don’t, I swear I’ll fucking scream.”
He threw his head back laughing.
Is he taunting me?
His deep-brown eyes, almost black—soulless—bored into mine. I tried desperately not to panic. To control my breathing, I started to count to ten in my head.
His long fingers reached out, tracing ever so slightly across my cheek. I flinched at the contact, recalling the memory of his palm slapping me repeatedly.
“You used to love me touching you, Holli Grace,” he whispered, threading his fingers through the loose ends of my ponytail.
“That was before you and your sick buddies raped and beat me,” I shot back.
Narrowing his eyes, he grabbed me by the back of my head, pulling my hair. I cried out in pain.
“What did I tell you about crying rape?” he snarled.
Jesus Christ!
Why had no one come through the spa area? Was the entire staff on a fucking break?
“I almost didn’t recognize you, but when you turned your back, I saw my mark on your shoulder. Branded. Mine forever.”
My mind was a flurry of confusion and fear. When did I turn my back to him? Shit! I should have started my laser treatments with that mark first.
His hands moved from my head to my arm, pushing me down the corridor with bruising force. My mind raced…
Ronan…Blake…Ronan…Someone please come for me.
Blake isn’t here, stupid. He has the weekend off. Ronan, please, say you are on your way.
I struggled against his hold, his force never waning. He heaved me onto a chaise lounge. My eyes landed on the dark ink etched across the tan skin of his rib cage.
Veni Vidi Vici.
I was trapped in a tiny space with a man I’d once trusted.
A man who used to be my protector, but now, I viewed him only as my attacker. A man I’d once cared for—now, a man I hated and feared.
Who am I kidding? He was no man. Real men didn’t hit women. Men, real men, didn’t rape and abuse women. Derek Saunders was a vile human—a criminal.
“Does it make you feel all big and tough to throw me around?”
He pulled me from the chair and slammed me against the wall. My head hit the tile, and I winced at the pain.
The faint smell of tobacco drifted over me when he spoke. “If I remember correctly, my lucky charm, you liked it a little rough,” he growled.
Heat radiated off his body, and the muscles in his thighs contracted against mine. His fingers lifted to my breast, where he twisted my already peaked nipple. The damp, thin layer of material covering the essential parts of my body was all that separated me from this monster.
Sickness swirled inside me. Panic squeezed heavily against my chest, making it almost impossible for me to breathe. Suddenly, I felt weak, crippled under Derek’s evil spell.
Please, God, don’t let him steal my strength and everything I have worked so hard to repair these past years. Then I heard Maggie’s voice, and her words hit me hard. “Holliday, fight. The rape took away your control. You must fight to get it back.”
He cupped my chin in his hand, jerking my face to meet his. My eyes matched his biting gaze. His strong fingers dug into my skin. His other hand trailed across my stomach, dangerously close to the waistline of my bikini bottoms.
“Derek, you’re hurting me. Again,” I managed to say.
His temper flared, and with force, he released his hold on me. My head snapped to the side as if he’d hit me.
“Look at me, Holli,” he growled.
When I didn’t comply with his demand, he shook me. I stumbled on the slippery surface, but strong hands kept me from falling. He caught me. That revealed a small fraction of compassion that loomed beneath his icy exterior.
Derek had once cared for me. I’d been his girl. His trophy. With a taste for the expensive and unique, Derek was a collector of beautiful things. At parties, he’d put me on display like a rare thing of beauty. He probably would have placed me in a gilded cage as a showpiece in the center of the room for all to admire but never dare touch. Everyone in Los Angeles had known that Holli Grace belonged to the King of Side Effects Media.
Perfectly Scripted Page 16
