Waiting for Me (3 page)

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 breasts, 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 My rules, my structure, my need to control always superseded my need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.

In that space, I took the reins, or if my sub was really kinky, the whip. There was
something cathartic about having someone trust me so wholly and completely. To give
them beautiful pain and pleasure. To find that dark beauty behind closed doors. But
the bedroom was miles and miles away. There was no safe words here. Melissa was hurting,
and not because she was over my knee or tied to my bed. I wasn’t ready to get into
the colossal mistake getting involved with Delilah James was, but I wasn’t willing
to let her believe that what we had was some throw away tryst, either.

“The last time I attempted to do—” I wasn’t sure what to call it, so I just gestured
between us. “It resulted in a disaster that spilled into my professional life. I don’t
want to lie to you, or lead you on.” I locked eyes with her. “I’m reluctant to let
you in. To let anyone in. If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that people
disappoint you.”

Her eyes softened in a silent acknowledgement that she understood that all too well.
“So you think you’ll disappoint me?”

I knew what the right answer was. Hell no, or some sort of grand proclamation of how
I’d rather die than bring her pain. But wasn’t that true of everyone? Only a true
asshole goes into a relationship with ill intent. But the truth, that falling for
me tended to lead to a broken heart, was a truth I wasn’t ready to utter. I didn’t
want to lose her.

“I think we should take it one step at a time.”

She made a face. “Well, we’re already doing it backward. We slept together, and I
know next to nothing about you.”

A smile fluttered over my lips. “I wouldn’t say we know next to nothing about each
other.”

The delicious pink returned to her cheeks. “You know what I mean.”

I did, but I had every intention of making her squirm. Reminding her about the sounds
she made as I touched her. Making her wet while she sat across from me, getting hotter,
wondering if I was getting harder with every passing breath. Fuck, I was dying to
be back inside her...

“And I have a Perrier and a vodka cranberry,” Jada chirped. She unceremoniously plunked
Melissa’s drink in front of her, then gave me the 5-star treatment. She brandished
the bottle like a game show presenter, then slowly cracked the tab and emptied the
contents into my glass. I gave her a curt nod and returned my attention where it belonged.
Melissa used the interruption to show renewed interest in the menu.

I remedied that. “Jada, we’ll take two of the Kobe burgers, mid rare, with all the
trimmings. Fries for me and, for the missus?”

Melissa glared at me, closing her menu. “Fries for me as well.”

Jada skated off to put in our orders, and I studied the annoyed woman eyeballing me
like she wished she had something sharper than a butter knife.

“How did you know I didn’t want the salad?”

“Because no one really wants the salad,” I answered simply. “The salad is about appearances.
And like you said, we’re doing this backward. No need to impress me with how little
you can eat.” I winked at her. “I’m already thoroughly impressed by you.”

I expected an eye roll, anything leading up to her flinging her drink in my face.
Instead, she peered at me strangely. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Pretend that you’re some sex crazed maniac.”

“Because I
am
a sex crazed maniac.” I said, voice smooth as sin. Almost hiding something else beneath
the confidence. From the curious tilt of her head, I didn’t do that great of a job.

“I know your sexuality is a huge part of who you are, but it’s not all of you. It
can’t be.” Before I could make a snappy comeback, she hopped up from the table, searching
out a restroom. I watched her go, taking the fight in me with her. Letting Melissa
in was a risk, but something inside told me that she’d already snuck past my defenses.
As soon as she got back, I’d be serious. I’d get as close to vulnerable as man like
me could get, and I’d let the chips fall where they may.

Melissa returned, her hair a little sleeker, lips glossier than I remembered.

I flashed her a smile and much to my surprise, and answering one crept across her
lips. She lowered herself into her seat and tried to cover my small victory by taking
a sip of her drink.

“Ask me anything.”

She nearly choked. “What?”

“You want to know who I am outside of the bedroom. Ask me anything, and I’ll answer
your questions.”

She contemplated it. “Without snark?”

“Well, now you’re going too far,” I grinned.

She threw daggers, but her lips twitched with a repressed smile. She fondled her napkin.
“Anything?”

“Anything.” I confirmed. When she dredged her eyes up, something in the blue made
me regret my offer. We were about to take a trip into the past, one of my least favorite
destinations. Instead, she surprised me.

“What’s your favorite color?”

I frowned. “My...favorite color?”

She raised her eyebrows expectantly. “You said anything.”

I chuckled. “Fair enough. Blue.”

She rolled her eyes with a heavy sigh. “Like my eyes, right? Always the charmer.”

“Not quite.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “Don’t get me wrong, your eyes are
gorgeous. But I mean more of a navy blue. Like the night sky that surrounds a full
moon.” I cleared my throat. “How about you?”

She was still digesting my response, her eyes zeroing in on me like lasers. After
a long, awkward silence, she answered, “Red. Like roses. Roses were my mother’s...”
She stopped, the color draining from her face.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” I said softly, putting two and two together. I felt
like I should say something more; hold her hand, comfort her, but I was never good
with loss and condolences.

Her shrug let me off the hook. “Everybody dies. Some just sooner than they were supposed
to.” Her jaw tightened. “Who is D?”

I groaned, the question I’d expected rearing its ugly head. “Delilah is a woman I
saw briefly—”

“Delilah?” Melissa interrupted. “There’s only two Delilah’s I’ve ever heard of. The
one from the Bible, and the famous one that’s splashed on every magazine cover and
blog these days.”

“That’s the one.” I said wearily, leaning back in my seat. Melissa’s eyes bugged out
of her skull and I let out a bitter chuckle. “Let me guess—you’re a fan.”

She shook her head slowly. “No, but you can’t escape her. I thought she was dating
some billionaire?”

I polished off my water, then realized maybe I should have offered it to Melissa because
she looked faint.

“Guilty as charged.”

****

I
watched her out on the sand, her blonde hair whipping in the breeze. My stomach protested,
the restaurant only a few feet away. Lunch was forgotten, as far as Melissa was concerned.
When most women discovered I was worth billions, their whole demeanor changed. Their
smiles grew wider. Hungry. Their eyes glittered like all the diamonds they saw in
their crystal ball. Melissa’s demeanor changed too: her lips curdled and she recoiled
in horror when I reached for her. Before I could get another word out, she said she
needed air.

There she was, close, but so far from me. I couldn’t read her. I couldn’t get inside
her head and it was driving me crazy. My ability to size up a person, know their motivations,
what made them tick and what made them crack, was a skill I’d turned into an art.
When I was a kid, wearing mismatched hand-me-down clothes and sneakers with holes,
snickering was a part of my daily life. One particularly cruel kid liked to ask me
where I went shopping. One day, my answer was, ‘Ask your mom’ (not my wittiest come
back). My reply was met with shock, then rage. But I had a rage of my own. Something
dark that had been nurtured since the first time a foster family sent me back. Every
time I was passed around like a hot potato through the system, my mother’s words cut
into me.

No one will ever want you.

I blacked out until someone pulled me off of the kid. When we went down, ‘Fight! Fight!’
chants echoed around us, roaring as loudly as the blood in my ears. But the whole
world was silent, mute. I looked down and saw why. The boy’s face and my knuckles
were covered in blood.

If people laughed or talked shit about my clothes after that fight, they did it out
of earshot from then on.

Somehow, I channeled the anger, learned how to smile and say all the right things.
Found a family that didn’t return me like damaged merchandise. All those years of
pretending I was normal was the product of watching people, young and old, dissecting
behaviors and mannerisms. I could read and interpret people like reading a book.

I situated my shades over my eyes, gazing at the woman I thought I had pegged. My
little sub who refused to admit her desires. Fair enough; I’d been the first dominant
to a fledgling submissive before. But I couldn’t put her in the same box as any of
the others I’d taken to bed. It was easy to cut ties with them, to forget them as
quickly as they swept into my life. Melissa Foster was different.

The wind combed over her white blonde strands, tugging the back of her T-shirt. She
tilted her head like she could feel my eyes on her. Her eyes roped me in, her lips
parted. She gave me the slightest of nods, then turned her attention back to the ocean.
I didn’t know if it was an invitation or acquiescence. I decided to go with the latter.

I strode toward the place where the sand met concrete. I couldn’t read her from across
a table, or deep inside her, but I’d put that aside for now and settle for just talking
to her.

I kicked off my shoes and trekked through the warm sand. She glanced down at my feet
when I stopped beside her. She turned her pretty blue eyes upward, shielding herself
from the sun with her hand.

“Where are your shoes?”

“Back at the gate,” I answered slowly, not sure how the location of my shoes was relevant.

She craned her neck back toward the gate. “You just left them there? What if someone
takes them?”

I shrugged a shoulder. “Then I’ll buy another pair.”

She whipped back to the front so quickly
my
neck hurt. “Of course. Because you’re a billionaire.”

I lowered myself next to her, dusting sand from my hands. “And I don’t have appreciation
for anything or anyone, right?”

“How could you, when you can have anything under the sun?”

“Because I know what it’s like to have nothing.”

She peered over at me, surprise rounding her gorgeous features. I saw the questions.
I could answer them all, but my brief walk through my memories earlier was enough
reminiscing for the moment.

“So you know some things about me, so I feel it’s only fair to balance the scales.”

Her cheeks reddened as she tucked wayward strands of gold hair behind her ears. “Nothing
I have to say comes close to dating celebrities and the jetset life.”

“You’re much more interesting than you give yourself credit for, Melissa.”

Her cheeks darkened to the most arousing red, but she tossed her hair and folded her
legs beneath her. “Alright. I was raised by my dad. Spent most of my life in Raleigh,
until my dad moved his ad firm to Sacramento. Graduated from Sac State, and I worked
at my dad’s firm...” She trailed off, watching her toes as she buried them in the
sand.

“What is it?” I asked softly.

“Never realized how boring my life story was until I said it out loud.”

“Boring is subjective.” I smiled as she snorted and brought her knees closer to her
chest. “What about your passions? Any great loves?”