Waiting for Me (2 page)

From the way Melissa’s eyebrows jumped and her lips thinned, she didn’t appreciate
being reminded that other women had been in my bed. In my shower.

I should have told her that she wasn’t like the rest. That she was special. Instead,
I left the room without another word.

****

W
ith Melissa’s taste on my lips and her hooded eyes tattooed on my mind, focusing on
work was virtually impossible. When my cell lit up with the number of the last person
in the universe that I wanted to speak to, I decided to bite the bullet. I owed Melissa
an apology, an explanation for why I’d given her the brush off. Since I wasn’t the
kind of man that gave apologies or explained myself to anyone, the walk up the stairs
seemed to stretch on for an eternity.

I'd been armed with a joke, but the look on her face told me she was more apt to rip
my head off than chuckle. Her crystal blue eyes were as frigid as ice as she glared
me
into submission. She didn't even need words. That look said, ‘speak now, or get the
hell out of my face’.

I was at the head of a multi-billion dollar company. At any given moment, I had the
fate of thousands of employees in the palm of my hand. But a genuine spark of fear
tightened my chest.

The effect Melissa had confounded me. Never before had I cared if the submissive in
my bed felt slighted when the lust was satisfied. I paid no mind to her feelings when
I abruptly reminded her that our arrangement was only a sexual one.

Melissa's eyes flayed me alive. She wouldn't let me put the wall back up and dismiss
her like the others. The fire in her spoke to the flames inside of me.

I swallowed the knot in my throat. I knew I'd come back upstairs for a reason, but
she rendered me speechless.

She stood up, perching a hand on her hip. My eyes flickered over the fact that she
disobeyed me, passing on the clothes I'd offered her. She redressed herself in her
leggings and t-shirt from the night before.

If I couldn't get her to obey a simple command, I was in for a grueling training session
once she surrendered to her submissive nature.

“Where's the dress?” I asked. My voice was low. The Dom in me turned the three words
into something dangerous.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed to insolent slits. “You mean the skanky little sundress
to go with the Logan Mason approved toiletries?” She snorted. “Thanks, but I can dress
and bathe myself just fine.”

Oh, she was a stubborn one. The fight in her made my cock harden to steel. It wanted
her smart little mouth wrapped around its thick shaft. Desire rumbled through me,
taking over, and I struggled to reclaim control. Last night I broke the rule. The
next time I had her, she
would
be mine.

My submissive.

I saw the challenge in her, a challenge I was dying to accept, but I kept my distance.

My lips curled into a smile. “Are you hungry?”

She frowned, her beautiful features registering surprise. I longed to see the thoughts
and images flashing through her mind. Was she expecting me to demand that she turn
that hot little ass toward me so I could spank her for forgetting her place? Did the
thought make her wet?

She gulped hard, her cheeks flushing pink. “I-I could eat.”

I knew I was playing with fire, and if I got any harder my cock would rip through
my jeans, but I took a step toward her. She was still as a statue, but her eyes shifted
to my groin, stroking the length of my erection. When her eyes returned to mine, they
said the words she refused to utter.

Fuck me.

And I would.

But not until she begged for it.

I maneuvered around her and retrieved my money clip from the top of the dresser, tucking
it in my pocket. Not touching her, taking her; it wasn't easy for me either.
Just fuck her senseless, get it out if your system. Get her out of your system.

But that rationale was pointless. I
had
her. I'd sheathed my cock deep inside her, tasted her, made her scream my name. I
didn't want her out of my system. I wanted more. All of her. Whether my pride wanted
to admit if or not, Melissa Foster was under my skin. Why else were we climbing into
my Range Rover, pointed toward Capitola Beach?

I'd come to Pleasure Point to get away and focus before the shareholders meeting back
in San Francisco. Instead of learning our latest acquisition inside and out, I was
paying more attention to my passenger than the road, wondering what made her tick.

The wind gusted through the car, sending her blonde strands flying—and the sweet,
citrus aroma of the shampoo she claimed she didn't use filled my nostrils.

I inhaled deep, unable to resist taunting her a little. “You smell delicious.”

“A familiar scent for you, huh?” she snapped. “Since you make all the women you bring
to your bed use it?”

She was baiting me, but I didn't bite. I winked at her. “Only the important ones.”

I expected an eye roll, but she gave me a look full of derision. “You think it's funny
to use women and throw them away for the next one that comes along?”

I tightened my hold on the steering wheel. “I don't promise anyone a happily ever
after. I just promise an escape. A night of good, hot fun—”

She gestured out the window. “Sun's out. I guess I'm the lucky girl that gets mind-blowing
sex
and
lunch. I'm supposed to be grateful, right? Happy that I'm not disposable?”

I cocked my head in her direction, expecting to see her glaring back at me defiantly.
Instead, she shied from my gaze. Suddenly, she was taken with the scenery. It was
understandable—the sun turned everything golden and warm. There was nothing quite
as beautiful as Capitola in the spring, but I could tell by her tone that she wasn't
sightseeing. There was an undercurrent of something else in her voice. When I heard
a sniffle, I swerved, forgetting I was behind the wheel; forgetting everything except
Melissa. When she whipped her head to gawk at me and I saw a tear glistening on her
cheek, I swerved to the shoulder of the road and jerked the car into park.

“What the hell, Logan?” she hissed.

What the hell indeed
. I white-knuckled the steering wheel, anger pumping through me like acid. She hadn’t
said a word to support my theory, but something inside me told me some asshole had
hurt her. I didn't know the specifics. The specifics were irrelevant. I just wanted
to take out whoever had caused the pain that streamed from her eyes. “What happened?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “What?”

“Who hurt you?”

A smile teased her lips as she eyeballed me, the tears a faint memory. “What is this?
You coming to my rescue?”

Her words cut through the fog of testosterone and I shrugged a shoulder, readjusting
my shades. “Just curious.”

“Uh huh.” Her smile faded. “Why do you care? I'm sure the women you sleep with then
discard don't walk away unscathed.”

Almost on cue, my phone flashed with a text notification. I knew exactly who it was.
One such woman that Melissa referenced. It was safer to keep my shades on, to keep
some barrier between us, but I pulled them off anyway. I needed Melissa to see I was
real, and nothing like the man that brought tears to her eyes.

“Perhaps, but I'm always upfront with the women I sleep with. Sex is just that—sex.”
I brought a hand to her cheek, my thumb stroking her gently. “I think the man behind
those tears made promises that he broke.”

Her crystal blue eyes were liquid as she tightened her jaw to rock. “And what promises
will you break?”

“To you? Not a single one.”

Her chin trembled, but my little fighter didn't loosen her grip on my eyes, trying
to weed out any indication that I was full of it. “And why should I believe you?”

She had a point. I could tell her that I was different with her. That what we had
was just as shock inducing to me, but those were just words.

So I showed her.

I took hold of the back of her neck and brought her to me. I wanted to pull her entire
body into my lap, but I settled for claiming her lips. I stole the air from her lungs
and inhaled her taste. My tongue stroked and plunged into her waiting mouth, running
along every surface, dancing around hers and matching the moans she echoed, blow for
blow. Words couldn't do the lust, the aching need, she inspired in me justice.

But it was more than that. I wanted more than just to fuck her. I wanted to possess
her. I wanted to protect her. I wanted to lay her bare. Corrupt her...and save her.

I wanted her to possess
me
.

When I pulled back, her face was flushed with such sheer desire that I nearly ripped
her seatbelt off and took her then and there. But just as easily as she became mine
and let me in, she yanked the mask back in place.

She flipped her blonde mane nonchalantly and turned back to the front. “So about that
lunch...”

My cock pouted, but two could play that game. I slipped on a mask of my own. One of
indifference. A front that couldn’t be further from the truth. “We're almost there.”

When she grunted an acknowledgment, I couldn’t resist the urge to make something very
clear.

“I need you to understand something about me.” My eyes never left the road, for the
safety of us both, and the safety of what was left of my racing heart. “I wasn’t just
giving you a line or trying to get into your pants when I said that I cared for you—”

“But you want me to submit, right?”

“Yes,” I bit off, frustrated that her hackles were already up before I could even
get it all out. “I want you in every way. I want you to be my submissive and explore
that part of you. But I won’t do either of us a disservice by forcing it on you. I
won’t touch you, or pressure you, until you’re ready.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice was soft
and unsure. “And what if I’m never ready?”

“You will be,” I said. I had no doubt. It was an indisputable truth I would stake
my wealth on.
And my heart.

“And then what?”

“You’ll beg for me,” I smiled deviously, wondering just how wet she was from the way
she shifted in her seat. A part of me longed to take back the promise and find out
for myself, but I settled for stroking the length of her arm. When my touch drew to
her hand, she flexed her fingers, the tiniest concession.

It was only a matter of time.

****

I
was used to commanding attention when I walked into a room. I towered over most people
at 6’3 and daily runs and a slight addiction to lifting weights added solid muscle
to my lean frame. Although the paparazzi hardly bothered me since the woman that made
this R&R trip a necessity was no longer on my arms, eyes still perked in our direction
nonetheless.

Melissa squared her shoulders, still giving me the silent treatment after our tense
discussion in the car, but questions were all over her face. I knew I’d promised otherwise,
but my fingers skated down her spine, hand resting on her lower back. Fate worked
in mysterious ways – if she would have obeyed me and wore the dress, I would have
missed the delicious shudder of her breasts as she reacted to my touch. But in her
T-shirt I had a perfect view of her arousal as her peaks pebbled behind the cotton
fabric.

She let out an indignant huff and crossed her arms against her chest. But she didn’t
pull from my touch. This woman was an enigma, so wrapped up in being right, being
in control that her little shows of defiance only made me want her more. I wanted
to climb in her head, plunge inside her until I knew all her secrets.

Secrets = attachment. Attachment = trouble.

But there was no putting the genie back in the bottle. The damage was done and instead
of switching to safe mode and keeping my distance, I found myself pulling closer.
Even if she wasn’t ready to face our connection, what she was to me, and I was to
her, I wanted everyone to know that the gorgeous blonde turning the brightest of reds
was mine.

The hostess went from smiling so big that I could see every bleached white tooth in
her mouth to all but scowling when her star struck eyes evaluated Melissa and our
intimate proximity. Delilah James was beloved by all, from working class mothers to
tweens and socialites. When I began our casual relationship, I found their attachment
endearing—until I ended our relationship. My company’s Twitter was bombed with death
threats and sad smiley emoticons as her fans came to terms with the fact that we were
done.

Now if, I could just convince Delilah of that fact...

“Mr. Mason.” The hostess was petite with dirty blonde locks pulled into a low braid.
She moves from behind the stand with agile, feline-like prowess. Her eyes squared
on Melissa with a predatory gleam in the narrowed, brown things. “New friend? I’m
used to seeing you with D.”

I almost smirked at the girl whipping out the nickname reserved for the select few
that knew the Delilah beneath the glitz and the glamour. Not very many people knew
the extent of her acting ability; her turn as everyone’s BFF was the role of her life.
Delilah James loved herself too much to be a good friend or look out for anyone but
number one, but she had this girl ready to attack and tear Melissa’s throat out for
her perceived offense.

But Melissa’s silence sucked all amusement from the situation. She might not be ready
for the ‘s’ word, but we were certainly more than friends. Even though she’d gone
stiff as a board, I rounded her waist and pulled her even closer. I challenged the
hostess with a silence of my own. Blushing madly, she conceded.

“I’m Jada! Let me show you to your table.” She bubbled on about the weather or her
favorite items on the menu, the awkwardness a few minutes earlier a distant memory
– for her, at least. Melissa was still mute and withdrawn. Once we were seated, I
tried to lighten the mood. My eyes ripped her clothes off, suckling her hot little
nipples and caressed her face like I meant it. At some point, I’d have to question
my sanity, and how I could have fallen so hard for someone I just met, but losing
myself in Melissa, living in the moment, was much more fun than playing therapist.