Waiting For Forever (Beautiful Surrender, Part Four)

by Ava Claire

  I hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him close, lips pressed against his. Was there a part of him that wasn't tantalizing? Even the sweetest kiss made me soaking wet, the memory of him inside me making me arch into the embrace.

  Screw food.

  I was ready for round two.

  He grabbed the hand that was snaking its way to his cock. He pressed a kiss in my palm, his eyes hot with passion. "You want more?"

  "Oh yes."

  He closed my hand, a smile teasing his lips. "Food first, little sub."

  I pouted, but I let him walk away. Mostly because the sight of that man's chiseled behind was a devastatingly hot thing to behold.

  "What are you in the mood for?" he called from the hallway. "I can arrange for some groceries, but I believe I have the stuff for sandwiches. Or I can order in."

  I pulled my t-shirt on, hopping after him as the panties came next. "Not in the mood for anything in particular. Sandwiches are fine."

  I walked into the main area, eating up his muscular chest as he filled a glass with water. He brought the glass to his lips, and I felt a fluttering between my thighs. He glanced in my direction, an eyebrow hitching. I dropped my head, kicking myself. He was like the Submissive Whisperer. He knew what I was thinking before I could even think it. And I was just broadcasting 'I'm hungry, but the only thing in your kitchen I want is you.'

  He filled a second cup with water then brought it to me. It was hard to grip the glass when all I could think about was how badly I wanted to grip him, but I managed. I guzzled the water, trying futilely to snuff out the lust that raced inside me like some wild, feral animal.

  I traced the rim, avoiding eye contact. "I'm sorry."

  When he didn't follow up, I snapped my gaze to his. He had that same inquisitive look he had on his face when we first met. Trying to decipher my code.

  "What are you apologizing for?"

  "I know we're not in the bedroom, so the Dom and sub stuff doesn't apply, but I..." I didn't finish, realizing that the knot in the pit of my stomach wasn't hunger. It was dread. I'd felt this before. Trying to be sexy for Jason, telling him how I desired him, and I was met with him pushing me away. Telling me that not everything had to cycle back to sex. And here I was, barely able to think about anything other than Logan fucking me over the counter.

  "What we have, I know it's new and fresh and everything is happening so quickly, but I want you to know that this isn't just sex for me. Just because I can't take my eyes off you, I don't want you to think that's all I'm about." I picked at my nails, not wanting him to see the pain that rushed to the surface. "I'm not just some sex crazed nympho."

  "Melissa, I love every part of you. The stubborn part, the sensual part, the part that put everything else on pause to take a moment to appreciate the view back in the bedroom."

  I met his eyes just in time for a stupid tear to escape from my eyes and race down my cheek. I swiped it away angrily, holding up a hand to stop him from coming to my rescue. "I'm fine. Really."

  "Uh huh." His voice was low, but the sarcasm came through loud and clear. He waited expectantly for a few minutes, not saying a word, until he sighed and turned to the fridge. He pulled out meat and cheese. "Mayo? Mustard?"

  "Just mayo," I answered softly. I still wasn't ready to answer the real question. If I told him what was going on, I'd have to admit that I was still picking up the broken pieces that Jason left. If I thought tears would ruin the after sex glow, mentioning my ex would kill it dead.

  I pushed off the counter, flashing him a smile that he missed because he was concentrating on opening the bread. His eyes were narrowed and pensive, like he was defusing a bomb.

  "Need a hand?" I said, forcing some cheer in my voice.

  He passed me the bread and grabbed two plates. "I know I haven't done this in awhile, so I could be a little rusty." He put the plates side by side. "What we have is a relationship instead of an arrangement. But it's not always hot sex and cuddling if memory serves. The relationship part means we talk about the hard and uncomfortable. We're supposed to be there for each other."

  I dropped two pieces of bread on one plate. "I know."

  He put both hands on the counter, putting the sandwiches on the back burner. "How about I start? I built my company up from nothing. We were barely a blip on the radar, and now we’re a multi-billion dollar corporation. With all this shit with Delilah, the board is pressuring me into taking an extended vacation."

  My heart went out to him. "I'm sorry, babe." I worked in marketing--image was everything. If you Googled Mason Acquisitions a few months ago, you would have gotten a totally different result than now.

  He gave me a sad smile and turned back to the jar of mayo, stabbing his knife into the container and slapping the mayo onto the piece of bread. "I'm just trying to make the best of the hand I've been dealt. Damage control."

  "I get it." I arranged the bread side by side and stepped back. "I know all this drama with Delilah is probably reminding you why you don't get all tangled up with someone--"

  "I'm glad that I'm tangled up with you."

  As if I could fall for this guy any harder, he combed his fingers through my hair and kissed the tip of my nose, our foreheads touching while he stroked my cheek. "You're the only thing keeping me together right now."

  I wasn't sure if it was his eyes or the sheer nearness of him, but the words came rushing from my mouth.

  "I’ve been thinking about Jason."

  Logan reared back like I'd just spit on him. "What?"

  "Oh no!" I said, realizing that sentence alone sounded really bad. "It's not like that. Me and Jason? We're done. Period. But he's still there. Lurking beneath the surface." I needed to do something with my hands, so I started piling the meat on the bread. "I got so used to feeling like sex and desire was routine. Not as important as love. Sex was just something we did. And for me to want it all of the time, to want him to be aggressive and take me, use my body for his pleasure--it was the ultimate sin." I closed the sandwich, wishing I could close that chapter of my life. Wishing it was that easy. "Being with you...I love every minute of it. I just don't want to screw it up." My nostrils flared, a terrible thought scratching through my mind. "I just got you back, if I lost you again-"

  He pulled me back where I belonged, head against his chest. I relaxed in his arms, reminding myself that what we had was different. He wasn't Jason. Love with Logan wasn't black and white. All or nothing.

  Love with Logan was freedom.

  "Any man that ever made you feel anything short of incredible is out of his mind."

  He fisted my hair and I arched into him, our lips colliding. There was no breaking for air, no concern for anything but discovering how many kisses it would take to make the world fade away.

  His cell jingled over on the couch and he paused the onslaught, giving me one final peck before he made his way to his phone. Sensing the huff that was descending on me, he threw me a smile over his shoulder. "Normally, I wouldn't answer, but I'm playing friendly with Delilah. It could be about the baby." He picked it up, frowning at the screen. "It's not me. Must be you."

  "Me?" I said, making a face as I joined him in the living room, swiping my purse. I dug into the side pocket I kept my phone in. A three-letter word had my heart thudding in my chest.

  'Dad'.

  We hadn't talked since the blowup at the office. Not that I expected him to approach me. I knew my dad. He'd bide his time, making me second guess and stew in my anger until it was a black hole inside of me. Then I'd be left with guilt and remorse, and I'd end up apologizing. The whole song and dance usually took weeks, not days. And this was a first. He was calling me.

  I accepted it, a smile hiding behind my lips. Maybe the outburst in the office was what we needed. Maybe he was finally starting to see that I needed a father, not a boss.

  "Hey Dad!"

  "Melissa, can you tell me why our phone lines have been clogged with calls from the press? Something about you stealing the b
oyfriend of some actress?"

  The smile disintegrated. "Let me explain-"

  "Oh, this should be good." His voice was brusque. Callous and unfeeling, as usual. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Logan

  "Still pouting?"

  I knew the answer. If I could have my way, we'd be in bed. Those big blue eyes would be wondering what kinky thing I had in store. Her long blonde hair would be like a wild halo; the sun streaming in golden, just like her skin. Instead, we were on the road just outside of Sacramento.

  From the way Melissa had completely shut down last night, I had a feeling her father had made some sort of ultimatum, ordering her home as soon as possible. She had barely said a word the rest of the night. She only took a couple of bites of her sandwich before she retreated to the bedroom.

  She didn't have to say the words, but I knew she needed the space, so I backed off and attended to my business. Checked the earnings reports, eyed potential investments. When I went back in the bedroom where she was tossing and turning, face twisted with a struggle she couldn't escape in her dreams, I rescheduled my meetings the following day. I slid into bed beside her and I held her. I tried to cherish the moments. The way she leaned into me like she couldn't get enough of my touch. I knew she wouldn't be happy with me in the morning when I told her a car would be taking us to Sacramento so she could iron things out with her father.

  After she spent the better part of the morning hours telling me she didn't want to see him, then relenting slightly and telling me she'd see him, but alone, she'd finally conceded altogether. She warned that I'd see with my own eyes how she and her father were like oil and water.

  Other than a 'no' when I asked her if she wanted to stop for coffee and a 'whatever' when I got her a mocha that she begrudgingly drank, we did very little talking. But as the miles between us and our final destination became fewer, she started fidgeting.

  "I can have Mike pull over so you can stretch your legs if you'd like."

  "It's an hour and forty-five minute drive, Logan," she fired back. "Not a cross country road trip."

  The Dom in me wanted nothing more than to get the driver to roll up the partition and spank her for mouthing off, but I kept him under lock and key. The fact was, I had no idea about the details of her relationship with her father, besides the obvious strain. She had every right to deal with the stress of seeing him how she deemed fit.

  I was so used to taking charge, so eager to fix something since things in my life were a mess, that I didn't consider that I was overstepping my bounds.

  Too late to go back now. Just have to make the best of it.

  I leaned back against the leather seat, saying something I should have said before we embarked on this road trip. "Tell me about your father."

  She gave me a wilting look, her lips pulled into a scowl. "We're almost there. You'll know all about him soon enough."

  "He's a businessman, I'll know what he wants me to know about him," I rebutted sharply. When she angrily snapped her attention to the window, I cooled my temper. I'd all but thrown her over my shoulder. Her father had ordered her home, and then I ordered her to accompany me to straighten the whole mess out. Both of us made demands of her and forced her hand. It ultimately didn’t matter if I thought I was doing the right thing.

  And it wasn't a completely selfless act on my part. I wanted to meet the man, show him that I wasn't the tabloid asshole that was plastered all over blogs and magazines. I wanted him to see I loved his daughter. But in my rush to prove myself, I put Melissa's needs second. That was an error I was dying to correct.

  I wanted to know her, to get her to go to an uncomfortable place. I couldn't ask that of her and not do the same. "I never met my father. My mother spoke of him of course, but none of it was good." I reached for a bottle of Evian, wishing it was a bottle of vodka instead. Delving into my past was more than uncomfortable--it was dangerously close to unbearable.

  Referring to the woman that gave birth to me as a mother after what she did felt false. I gave the Brysons, the family that adopted me, as little of my heart as I could get away with, but if a woman deserved to be called ‘mother’, it was Rose Bryson. She was the one that put ice packs on my fists after a fight, the one who made me freshly baked cookies for good luck before a test. She was the one that worried about me and told me that I was special after I got so used to thinking I was a mistake.

  In the back of my mind, I always wondered if my father missed me. I should have hated him--my mother planted the seeds from the moment I'd unwisely asked where he was. But there was always a drop of curiosity that never ran out. I wondered what it would be like if my father had never done what he did and my mother was normal. But Melissa was proof there was no such thing as normal. Everyone carried around the broken pieces of splintered white picket fences.

  We pulled closer to downtown. Sidewalks and modest storefronts were shoulder to shoulder with new construction. Downtown Sac was getting quite the facelift.

  Melissa probably knew the way from here like the back of her hand, but her attention was elsewhere. Her eyes focused on every street lamp, every mailbox, every sign. I'd forced a reunion on her--I wouldn't force her to talk until she was ready.

  The driver eased to the curb. I didn't need to strain my detective muscles to figure out that the small huddle of people clustered near the entrance were paparazzi. Melissa finally looked at me. There was no anger, no fight in her gaze, just weariness.

  "Take me home," she said flatly.

  I gave her a nod and she leaned forward to tell the driver the address. When she sat back, she tiptoed her fingers until they brushed against mine. Her other hand gripped her phone, typing out a message with her thumb.

  Once we were in motion, relief rippled across her face, rounding her shoulders, releasing the tension in her body until her fingers roped between mine and she clutched my hand.

  "This will be strike three,” she said quietly. “I doubt he'll come meet me."

  "Strike three?"

  She listed her offenses one by one. "The first was doing anything that called into question that the Fosters are anything but Family of the Year material, the second was not dashing out here as soon as he called, and the third was not coming up to the office."

  "He's in Marketing," I shrugged. "Surely he knows that you avoiding the paparazzi right now is the wisest course of action."

  She looked down at our hands, a sad smile lining her lips. "I deserve the walk of shame. I have to atone for breaking the cardinal rule: I acted anything less than perfect."

  My chest tightened. I thought no father at all was a worst fate. But a life of striving for the impossible took the prize. And I'd brought her back here, back to that man.

  "I'm sorry for insisting," I said, capturing her gaze and searching for forgiveness. "Let's just go back to the city."

  She leaned in and kissed my cheek, her words a murmur against my skin. "Half an hour, then we can head back."

  We pulled into her apartment complex and she tensed, probably expecting the paparazzi had made their way here as well. She exhaled when the only traffic was residents making their way to their vehicles with briefcases and backpacks with sleepy-eyed children in tow.

  I told Mike to go grab a bite and be back in a half an hour, then followed Melissa inside her apartment.

  "It's kind of a mess," she warned, "But make yourself at home."

  From the brown microfiber couch and photographs of her and friends, even one of Melissa and her father, it was easy to feel relaxed and at home. I'd never noticed how my place lacked warmth until this moment. Her place looked like someone actually lived there. Loved there. Mine was a meticulously arranged photo shoot for some magazine. Beautiful to look at, but lonely.

  Knocks descended on the door, and Melissa looked so shocked that a breeze would have knocked her out flat. Shock faded into wariness as she moved toward the door and stopped.

  "I'm right here," I said firm
ly.

  She nodded slowly, biting her lip. Taking a deep breath, she rushed forward like she just wanted to get it over with. She barely had time to step out of the way before a man barreled into the room. The first thing that came to mind when I saw him was elementary school. I was scrawny then. A target--until I started standing up for myself. He hadn't even said a word and I knew he used his muscular build just like those bullies had. Throwing his weight around to intimidate.

  He looked like he belonged in a ring instead of an ill-fitting two-piece suit. His salt and pepper hair was buzzed short, probably a military man. His facial features were hard and thick, frown lines souring any resemblance to Melissa. Except for the eyes--there was no mistaking the fact that she had her father's eyes. His deep blue gaze chewed me up and spit me out.

  I had to hold back my chuckle. I hadn't met a significant other's parents since high school. I hadn't been nervous then, and I was even less so now.

  He sized me up as I joined Melissa's side. Manners dictated that I extend my hand, but the man was clearly spoiling for a fight. I wouldn't waste my time, or his, by going through the motions.

  Melissa was the first to speak. "Hey Dad."

  He looked at her like she'd just called him an asshole. From the way he puffed out his chest, breathing fire, ‘asshole’ would have been appropriate.

  "‘Hey Dad’?" he seethed. "That's all you have to say to me? Yesterday afternoon the phones were tied up with reporters. Who knows if we lost potential clients? Then last night, I called you and you hung up on me." He shook his head with disgust. "I decided to do my own research about this situation. This scandal-" He tossed a look of disdain in my direction. "-this man...it's not wise to get involved in any of it."

  He focused on his daughter. There was still a good ten feet between them, but Melissa trembled like his massive hands were on her shoulders, trying to shake sense into her. "What did I always tell you?"

  His answer hung in the air and I waited for her to fight back. But the woman I'd met was nothing like the one that was all but cowering beside me.