Waiting For Forever (Beautiful Surrender, Part Four)

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.