Waiting For Forever (Beautiful Surrender #4)(4)
Author: Ava Claire

He zipped through the lane like a bat out of hell, braking hard when we got close to the elevator towers. A single spot remained beside it, a sign glittering above the parking stall.

“Mr. Mason,” I read aloud, sighing, finally feeling like it was safe to truly relax. “Your very own parking space?”

The mischievous twinkle in his eye made butterflies swarm my tummy. “I’d hope so. I own the building.”

My eyes bulged and I clamped my lips together to keep myself from asking a dumb question like, ‘the whole building?’. His house in Pleasure Point was far from a shack, and I knew he was wealthy, but I struggled to wrap my mind around the fact that he owned the entire place.

Even though I got out of the car and followed him to the elevator, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d left something vital behind. My mind. My common sense. This was all happening so fast, leaving me in silent terror that I was too out of place, too normal to exist in this world of money and celebrity.

And then he touched me. It was the softest whisper of his fingertips, sweeping from my neck, down my spine, and pausing on my lower back. I looked up at him, words evaporating on my tongue, but my body whispered sweet nothings about love and happily ever after.

Rich, poor, crazy celeb ex or not, this man had a hold on me, and I never wanted him to let me go.

CHAPTER THREE

Logan

God, she tasted good. Sweet, naughty, and feisty, her tongue dashed in my mouth, the arm wrapped around my neck pulling me closer. I nearly said f**k the elevator and pushed her back against the wall to claim her in the garage, but she ended the kiss with a sly grin. She sauntered into the elevator and I drank in her curves, her tiny waist and round hips.

She spun around to the front, hand on her waist. “Well?”

I stepped in beside her, the warmth of lust blazing through my veins, demanding that I pull the emergency stop and have my way with her. The only thing that made me type in the code to the penthouse instead of ripping her clothes off was the fact that she was staring at the camera perched in the left corner of the elevator. Mesmerized by it.

I thought back to how painfully tight she’d gripped her seat belt after we escaped the paparazzi. I’d put money on her palm being marred with the imprint of her nails.

She was terrified of being watched.

Guilt poisoned my bloodstream, sex the last thing on my mind when I pulled the lever, the emergency brake slamming us to a stop.

She yanked her trench coat closed, her aqua eyes suspicious. “This isn’t an Aerosmith song. If you think I’m about to hook-”

“I knew you were bothered by the paps. Who wouldn’t be unless you thrived on the attention?” She was still eyeballing me like she was expecting me to screw her into submission, so I took a step back, giving her some space. “This isn’t about that. This is about my selfishness.”

She released her grip on her coat, slack jawed. “Your selfishness?”

I massaged my temple, trying to alleviate the tension headache I felt growing, but it was no use. When I looked at her face, full of questions and worry, I realized the ache wasn’t in my head at all. It was in my heart.

I’d become accustomed to the insanity. Flashes captured every moment of my daily routine, and I never stopped to think about what it would be like to be thrown into this world. It was all noise except for my one prerogative: having her in my life. Melissa hadn’t even spent a day in my world and she was already holding onto her sanity for dear life.

“Delilah, the baby, the cameras, and all the shit that comes with it is on me. That’s my life. I had no right to expose you to it until you were ready.”

She evaluated me, her thoughts a mystery. I was used to looking into her eyes and knowing exactly what she was thinking. Was she having second thoughts about me? Wondering if she knew me at all? If the headlines were to be believed, I had a new girlfriend for each day of the week. Dating me would only lead to a broken heart or worse. I didn’t care about their lies, but I cared about what Melissa thought. I wanted her to see the person in me who had the capacity to love. The person who loved her.

“I may have way underestimated what it would be like to date you, but I’m not naïve.” Her voice took on the strength that drew me to her when we met. “I know figuring this out won’t be easy, but I haven’t backed away from a challenge yet.” She reached around me and released the lever. “You’re worth it, Logan.”

Her words made my heart soar from my chest to my throat. No one had ever said such a thing to me. Growing up, my mother made me feel like I was a punishment from a cruel God, proof that the man upstairs had a sick sense of humor. The family that adopted me said all the right things and went through the motions, but I never let any of them close enough to believe it when they said they loved me. I couldn’t bring myself to believe I deserved it. But Melissa said it so simply, like it was an obvious, irrefutable fact. I knew that she meant it, and I wanted to believe it.

My throat constricted, my body’s involuntary reaction to the storm of emotions sweeping through me. These feelings weren’t altogether foreign to me. The buzzing excitement, the warm twinge in my gut took me back to another time. Another woman I’d said those words to.

Remember how that turned out.

We hit the penthouse level and I put the darkness behind me, bathing in the sunlight that streamed into the elevator.

Melissa’s eyes widened in awe. I gauged her reaction, half expecting her to squeal and dash down the corridor like a kid during Christmas. That was the usual response when someone saw my place for the first time. It was the reason I spared no expense. The foyer, brightened by the skylight, was enhanced by the custom mahogany floors. The light shone down on my collection of rare, original art prints. The artwork was behind glass and carefully curated.

She stopped in front of each one, studying each piece in silence. Without a word, she continued to the main room, pausing in the entryway. I mirrored her smile when her gaze darted to and fro, not sure where to begin.

“It’s a conceptual studio layout-”

“Studio?” she snorted, arching an eyebrow my way.

“I suppose it’s slightly larger than the traditional studio that comes to mind,” I smirked.

“By a lot,” she muttered with a chuckle. She started in the living room area.

“It has a continuous flow.” I followed her, watching her fingers glide over the back of the leather sectional. I ticked off the 60” flat screen TV, the state-of-the-art Bose sound system, the imported, one-of-a-kind table from Italy. She barely even looked at any of it.