Waiting For Me (Beautiful Surrender #2)(4)
Author: Ava Claire

“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.

3

****

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 br**sts 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 ni**les 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.

She was purposefully shying away from my gaze, the cute flare in her cheeks telling me she wasn’t reading the menu she was intently skimming. I reached for her, an electric current cutting to the bone as I drew my finger across her knuckles. Her body was full of possibilities, places that I couldn’t wait to explore.

“I’m starved,” I murmured. “But what I need isn’t on the menu.”

She raised her eyes and I realized the flush in her cheeks wasn’t that of lust at all. She was angry.

“I wonder if you used the same line on D,” she growled, each word sharper that the last. “Did it work? Did you make her believe that she was different and special?”

I shifted in my seat. This didn’t look good. I could tell her the truth, that I tried to have more than a sexual relationship once, but it blew up in my face. I could tell her she was worth the risk, but my pride muted what was in my heart.

Jada flitted over to our table, buying me a few more minutes. “What can I get you to drink?” She directed her question, and br**sts, in my direction. I guess it was progress. She wasn’t holding on to my fictional fairy tale romance with Delilah, but she seemed to have forgotten that I came here with a date.

I expected Melissa to give her a piece of her mind, but she just smiled sweetly. “I’ll take a vodka and cranberry.” The smile turned poisonous when tossed her darkened gaze back at me. “I want to be good and ready when my ‘friend’ tells me another lie.”

I asked for the same and when Jada sauntered off to get our drinks, I got serious. “I know you think this is all a game to me, that I move women around like chess pieces, but it’s more complicated than that.”

She arched her brow, like I’d just contested gravity of that up was up and down was down. “That’s just the thing. It’s not complicated. From the beginning, you told me you didn’t do cuddling. I’m the one that thought—” She stopped hard, hitting some obstacle she couldn’t conquer.

Many women had tried to decipher my code, discover what made me tick so my heart would beat for them. My rules, my structure, my need to control always superseded my need for companionship. I didn’t need to confide in them; I had no interest in spilling the guts of an unhappy childhood. It was too messy. Romance was too messy. But domination? It came to me as easily as breathing.