Waiting For Forever (Beautiful Surrender, Part Four) Read online

  Waiting For Forever (Beautiful Surrender: Part Four)

  Ava Claire

  Copyright © 2014 Ava Claire

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  The Beautiful Surrender Series

  Waiting For You (Beautiful Surrender: Part One)--April 2014

  Waiting For Me (Beautiful Surrender: Part Two)--May 2014

  Waiting For Us ( Beautiful Surrender: Part Three)--July 2014

  Waiting For Forever (Beautiful Surrender: Part Four)--August 2014

  Waiting For Always (Beautiful Surrender: Part Five)--September 2014

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Logan

  The server had to ask me twice before I cleared my throat and ordered a Perrier. Food, drink, the drama with Delilah--none of it mattered when I was sitting across from Melissa.

  My submissive.

  The woman I let in my bed...and my heart.

  When Melissa’s bright blue eyes dropped to the menu in her hands, tongue smoothing over her lips like she could taste the items with perfect clarity, desire stirred inside me. She made everything else go quiet. She was the calm after the storm.

  "And for you, ma'am?" the server chirped.

  Melissa’s gaze flickered to me, a moment of silence passing between us. I arched an eyebrow, and she followed suit.

  "Not ordering for me whether I like it or not?"

  My lips pulled into a smirk that was just for us. "Trust me, the next time I give an order, you'll like it."

  Red colored her cheeks as she snapped the menu in the direction of our server. "A-A mocha, please. And a croissant." Once the waitress dashed away to put in our order, Melissa's eyes narrowed. "Stop looking at me like we're not in a restaurant, surrounded by people. People that will mind if you do what your eyes are hinting at--which is bend me over the table."

  I reached for her hand, my fingertips stroking her skin. I drank in the shiver that echoed through her. "I don't care if we're in a restaurant or standing on the Golden Gate Bridge. You're gorgeous, and you're mine. If these past two weeks taught me anything, it's that I can't take my eyes off you. And for the record, I’m using every ounce of self control to hold back my desire to sweep everything off the table-"

  Her eyes bulged knowingly.

  “I guess I don’t need to finish the thought,” I grinned.

  “Logan!” she hissed, cheeks darkening.

  God, I loved her.

  How was this possible? How could she make it all go away, just by existing? One smile from her and something in me believed that everything would be alright.

  She twirled a blonde strand lazily around her finger. Not in the ditzy, coy way I was used to from other women, eyes vacant as they tried futilely to convince me that our connection was more than it was. Melissa's eyes were pensive, taking it all in like she was genuinely in awe of every moment. She didn't take a single thing for granted.

  She drummed her fingertips on the white linen tablecloth, eyes shooting to the crystal chandelier overhead. "The lighting, the lack of prices on the menu, the paintings on the wall-" Her evaluation came to a halt as she cleared her throat, snatching her hands into her lap.

  "Is something wrong?" I asked quickly, ready to move heaven and earth if that would make her happy. Stroll right out the door if she was dissatisfied with the cafe. The back door, because even with our table nestled away from prying eyes, I knew the photographers were out front, dying for a shot of us together. Photographic evidence that I was the billionaire playboy, abandoning my child in favor of my latest conquest.

  "No," she answered, gaze settling on me. "It's just when you said 'cafe' I guess I pictured something a little less fancy. Which was dumb because you're--well, you know what you are."

  I cleared my face of all emotion. I knew what she was getting at, but I couldn't resist playing with her a little. "And what, pray tell, am I?"

  Her nostrils flared. "Rich. Filthy rich."

  The only word that mattered was filthy. My body could care less that we were out in public, cock hardened to rock with memories of her stretched out on my desk, her silken wetness wrapped around me as I took her.

  "You think you're slick," she said, twisting her golden strands until they spilled over one shoulder.

  Another word that had me gripping the arm of my chair, struggling to keep my composure.

  Slick.

  My thoughts must have been clear as day because she gave me a demure smile that clutched her hot little mouth. "I know exactly what you're doing. It's the same thing I'm doing, talking about this cafe, while you're screwing me with your gaze, thinking about what happened in your office. We’re both ignoring the elephant in the room." Her smile wavered. "Delilah."

  That word snatched all the air from my sails and breathed fire into my lungs. The good mood, the false sense of happiness because Melissa was back and all was right in the world, was turned to cinder and smoke.

  I was no fool. Delilah was more than some looming thing that I struggled to ignore. There was no ignoring the damn soap opera my life had become. It started with Amanda's call two weeks ago, and I'd been barreling down the highway to hell ever since.

  I barely had time to catch my breath when I found out Delilah James was carrying our child--and she decided the best way to break the news to me was to break it to the world. I'd lost my mind a little, punched a mirror like a petulant boy, and let Melissa run away when she told me what was in her heart. Truth be told, it was the same thing that was in my heart, but how could I say those words, change my entire world, after Delilah dropped the bomb that I was going to be a father?

  No, Delilah was more than the elephant in the room. She was the poison in my system. Eating away at the happiness I thought was finally mine. Chaining me to her forever, whether I was ready for the responsibility or not. At the end of the day, no matter what lies she told to sell magazines or garner clicks, I would be a part of this kid's life. He or she would know me and never want for a thing.

  Melissa was watching, waiting for my response. Expecting a joke most likely. I was no longer in a joking mood.

  "What would you like to do?"

  Her eyes dropped to the table, then slowly drew back up to meet mine. "I'd like to know what comes next. With Delilah and the...baby."

  Something in my chest tightened at the look that soured her face. She could barely say the 'b' word. I knew it was unfair to expect her to be delighted by the situation, to overcompensate by talking about baby showers and family trips. Those things were enough to make my head spin. Considering our whirlwind romance, any other woman would have abandoned ship. I wouldn't run from my child, but it wasn't her cross to bear. Yet Melissa was still here. Hell, she escaped the three-ring circus and came back for more.

  So I calmed the flare of indignation that whipped inside me and answered her question.

  "My people are in contact with her people-"

  "Really?" Melissa cut in incredulously. "Isn't that the standard industry brush off? You don't think you need to sit down with
Delilah, one on one?"

  "What a great idea!" I exclaimed, dialing up the sarcasm to a fever pitch. "I can't believe I didn't think of it myself, considering I am intimately acquainted with Delilah James."

  Hurt colored her face at my dig. "I get that you're stressed, but if you're going to be a jerk about it, you can drink your overpriced water alone."

  Apologies weren't my thing, even in the rare instances where I was wrong. ‘I'm sorry’ seemed like a weakness. Surrender. Call it ego. It probably didn’t help that I was surrounded by people too afraid to call me on my BS because it could cost them their jobs. Either way, there was something refreshing about someone giving it to me straight.

  Melissa Foster was getting a second apology in less than twenty-four hours. If that wasn't proof that she was good for me, I wasn't sure what was.

  "I'm sorry," I sighed. "You asked me a reasonable question and I snapped at you."

  She dipped her head twice in acknowledgment, her eyes signifying she was still waiting for something. Sorry or not, she wasn't letting me off that easy.

  "Delilah knows exactly what she's doing," I began, loosening my tie and putting down my defenses. Slightly. "She's insulated by photographers who are hungry for scandal and eager to devour whatever scraps, however mundane and boring they might be. In every picture, she's clasping her stomach or answering her cell with an expectant look, hoping her wayward lover is finally ready to step up to the plate.

  My calls are ended if I don't agree to meet her somewhere public, because I know what she's really asking is if some photographer can snap our pictures together. Maybe a couple with me looking contrite, tail between my legs." The frustration and anger about how Delilah was playing the media, playing me, stormed to the surface. "This isn't a game for me. I want what's best for the kid. I won't play into her hand and have one more terrible thing for my kid to see or read about their father one day."

  Melissa leaned forward slightly, eyes tracing every line of my face in silent awe. "You really mean it, don't you? You want what's best for your child?"

  "Of course I mean it," I said indignantly, then relaxed when I remembered we hadn't been together for weeks. The last time she saw me, I'd sucker punched a mirror. Not exactly Dad of the Year behavior.

  She wasn't there when I tossed and turned, dreaming about my little one. A boy with my eyes. A girl with Delilah's fiery red hair. She didn't know that I woke up in a cold sweat, filled with shame that for one second, I’d wished that I never met Delilah. That I wished my child away.

  That night, I'd pulled myself from my bed and looked into the fragmented mirror. I stared at the man that looked back at me. A man whose life was driven by desire--my desire to succeed professionally at any cost. To never feel the emptiness of going without again. A man who regulated his personal life, building barbed wire around his heart to keep anyone from getting too close.

  The spark of life in Delilah changed all that. It wasn't just about me anymore.

  I had called Amanda at 3am, giving her the most important job of her career--finding out who made the best crib, car seat, hell, the best pacifier, and purchase it all. I opened a trust and arranged to fill it with more money than my child could spend in a lifetime. And then I tried to call Delilah and realized that she was already using our child as a bargaining chip, and she had no intention of letting me in until I publicly flagellated myself.

  My sin? Not loving her.

  Love was something I was incapable of giving Delilah, but our child? I was already head over heels.

  I gathered my thoughts, trying to figure out a way to explain it to Melissa. Make her understand. "It probably seems like I've done a complete 180-"

  "I get it." She gripped my hand, her eyes swimming with tears as she squeezed tight. "Maybe it's because I've been looking for signs of it from my dad as far back as I can remember and have always come up disappointed. I can see it in you, Logan. I can see how much you love your baby, and it's beautiful."

  All the emotion that had been building in me from the moment I realized I was going to be a father rocked my entire being. I hadn't cried since I was a child, and the man in me fought tooth and nail to keep the tears at bay.

  "Everything okay over here?" Our server had impeccable timing, standing beside our table with our drinks and an empty smile.

  I pulled my hand away, giving her a curt nod. She brandished Melissa's latte, then my bottle of Perrier.

  "May I?" she said, gesturing for permission to pour it for me. I nodded a second time, giving her a tight smile. The sound of the water filling the glass dominated the silence, the awkwardness from the interrupted moment writhing like the bubbles that danced in the glass.

  "I’m sorry," the server said smoothly, the high-pitched youth all but disappearing, "But you're Logan Mason, right? The billionaire dating Delilah James?"

  "Dated," Melissa corrected brusquely. She blushed when the server arched her eyebrows with interest. "Sorry."

  The woman pointed at the two of us. "So you two are together now?"

  I eyed her warily. "I'm not sure how any of that is your business."

  "My apologies, Mr. Mason," she said sweetly. "Why don't I give you two another minute to decide what you’d like to drink?"

  Before I could remind her that she had just delivered our drinks, she hurried off toward the kitchen.

  "Sorry," Melissa apologized again. "Do you get that a lot? Random people coming up and asking you a bunch of questions?"

  "Unfortunately these days, yes," I sighed. I looked toward the kitchen, something scratching at the back of my mind. "I don't mind the questions, I'm just used to them being asked by photographers that hound my every movement, not a server in a restaurant."

  Worry rippled across Melissa's face. "And what will happen when they find out about me?"

  "We'll deal with it," I assured her. "Together."

  A harried looking server stepped up to our table, pulling her lips into a smile that was more of a grimace. "I'm so sorry it took me so long to get over here. We've been slammed. And we had an issue with a photographer sneaking in to get pictures of some billionaire." She paused, noticing we already had drinks. "Who was helping you?"

  Melissa's jaw dropped in disbelief.

  I shook my head, tossing my napkin on the table with disgust. "Welcome to the circus."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Melissa

  Breathe.

  Just breathe.

  My body seemed happy to completely ignore my commands. My heart still roared in my ears. My breath still came in rapid hiccups. My brain replayed the moment I realized that I was so out of my element: our actual waitress coming to our table, apologizing and telling us they had an issue with a reporter sneaking into the restaurant. Realizing that the reporter was the one who had been pretending she was our waitress, bringing our drinks and slyly asking Logan questions.

  Realizing that my life as I knew it was over.

  I clutched the seatbelt like it was my lifeline as Logan's Benz purred to life. The parking garage was dimly lit, the fluorescent glow of the sparse light peeking into the car. I was glad it was dark and his attention was on maneuvering us toward the exit and not on me. I didn't want him to see just how shaken I was.

  Even though I'd managed to laugh and eat my croissant with minimal hand shaking, the truth was slowly devouring me, chunk by chunk. I mean, this was some super spy stuff. The woman had infiltrated the restaurant with the sole purpose of digging up dirt on Logan. To find out about me. What would happen now? How long until they found out my name? Where I worked? Where I lived?

  Logan's hand shifted from the gearshift to my thigh, and I struggled not to jerk away. Not because I didn't want him to touch me. His touch was the only thing that made sense. The only thing that felt right. But every person we drove past made me suspicious and worried they were secretly a photographer or some crazed Delilah fan.

  "It's overwhelming, huh?"

  I thought I was playing my cards close to the chest
, but one look at his face and I knew that he saw past my charade.

  "Overwhelming is an understatement." I forced myself to ignore the feeling that the whole world was watching, judging and concentrating on us. I lowered my hand on top of his, and almost instantly I stopped shaking and a calm settled over me. I realized something that made my heart flutter to my throat. "You knew I was pretending I was okay in the restaurant and you didn't call me on it?"

  He lifted his fingers, slipping them between the cracks in mine. We were just holding hands, but I felt the desire building inside me, my core warm with need. He turned something innocent into something deliciously sinful.

  And then his words made me fall for him a little harder.

  "You didn’t need me to state the obvious. You just needed me there."

  I brought his hand to my lips and kissed it, breathing in his skin. Reveling in his love. It was probably some sort of love-fueled delusion, but with him by my side, I felt the fear subsiding.

  He pulled up to the parking garage attendant and paid the fee, and the fear level lurched back to high alert. People were at the exit on both sides of the car, aiming their cameras at us. Flashing lights cut through the windshield.

  I slumped low in my seat as Logan eased from the garage, their shouts putting my teeth on edge.

  "Mr. Mason!"

  "Logan, who's the girl?"

  "Over here!"

  I snapped my eyes over to Logan, ready to aim my anger at him since the car seemed to be crawling through the sea of paparazzi, but I saw the white of his knuckles, the annoyed set of his jaw. There was no way he could gun it even if he wanted to. They had us surrounded, and besides the likelihood that he could injure one of them, if he dashed off, it would look like he had something to hide.

  He let out an audible sigh of relief as we veered onto the street, fading into the bustling downtown traffic. "Jesus."

  I repositioned myself, leaning my head back against the leather seat. "You calling on Jesus doesn't make me feel any better." I bit my bottom lip, trying to calm the queasiness in my stomach. "I need to believe that things will go back to normal."