by Ava Claire
"Normal is boring," he joked. When I didn't return his smile, he became serious. "Do you want me to tell you it gets easier?"
"Yes!" I nodded so enthusiastically my neck hurt.
"That would be a lie." He let out a tired sigh as we stopped at a red light. "Back when I was seeing Delilah, someone spotted us. My picture appeared on some blog and from then on, I had no privacy. People snapped pictures of me on my morning run, when I went to grab coffee, on my way to work. My whole life was suddenly public knowledge. Kids who wanted nothing to do with me growing up were suddenly my best friends, doing interviews with every tabloid on the supermarket rack.
When I ended things with Delilah and her fans started in on me, I thought with time it would die down. But it didn't. The only break I got was when I went to Pleasure Point. When I met you."
I hung my head, knowing that this was a moment. I was an escape for him, and he was an escape for me. We were both running from something and ran into each other's arms. But I couldn't get past his admission that it didn't get better. “I think I should have gone with the lie.”
"C'mere."
He tilted my chin upward, his green eyes gazing into mine. He guided me to him, his lips aligning with mine, silencing everything else but our kiss.
He pulled away too soon, putting the car back in motion. I was still, my eyes shut and holding on to his taste and the heat between my legs. I was on fire, wanting to climb on top of him, to ride him until we both melted together--and I wanted to climb into his bed and fade into his arms, surrounded by the warmth of him. I'd never been so simultaneously in lust and love with someone. So horny and hopeless.
“Just to warn you, there will be more of them at my building. If I could, I’d order them off the face of the Earth,” he growled. “They can’t come inside the building unless they’re a resident, but the sidewalk is public property.” His green eyes scanned me, then shot back to the front, on high alert. “We just have to get inside the parking garage and we’ll be good.”
I swallowed the expanding knot in my throat. “I understand.” The minutes that passed between his lips on mine and the reminder that my life could be turned inside out had me doubting if I truly understood. I didn’t understand that going on the vacation alone would put me on a collision course with Logan. That I’d meet someone who knew me so intimately without ever touching me. A guy who saw the real me beneath the person I pretended I was. And while I knew that love had everything to do with why I came back after I shut him out, I didn’t understand how deluded I’d been to think that everything would be okay once I saw Logan and we fixed things between us.
The traffic was at a slow crawl, a Gothic styled building standing out among high end department stores and trendy restaurants. The first thing that popped in my mind was New York, a grand building where even the concrete was molded into the shape of filigrees, every square inch a work of art. I peered out the window at the black awning with the street address in bold, white letters. Standing like an unmovable force was a man in a black suit, ready to leap into action the moment anyone that didn’t belong tried to enter the building.
When I saw the sea of photographers, my confidence dimmed. As if they could smell our scent, they turned in our direction. The cameras went off like bombs as Logan made a hard left, laying on his horn when a group of them stepped into the driveway to the parking garage. I doubted they could see his bloodthirsty glare, but they wisely dodged out of his path.
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 fuck 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. Gr
owing 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.
She turned her attention to the dining area.
“All custom made.” I patted the sturdy, solid surface. When she said nothing, I pulled off my tie. Tough crowd.
She had to at least appreciate the sunroom that led out to the balcony and the priceless view of the city. But she walked right past it, sliding onto one of the barstools that lined the granite countertop. She peeled off her jacket, draping it on the seat beside her.
“You have a beautiful place, Logan,” she said finally. “Breathtaking, even.”
“And you haven’t even seen the bedroom,” I joked, hoping for a smile. An eye roll. Something. The sides of her mouth lifted slightly then dropped.
“Okay.” I swiveled her to face me, going serious. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Her eyes glittered like crystal. “Nothing. I mean-” She drew a shuddering breath. “I feel like I’m in a movie. The view, how perfect and unique everything is.” She left me hanging, biting her lip instead of finishing her thought.
“Talk to me,” I repeated tersely. When she raised her chin defiantly I changed tactics, stifling the frustration and trying tenderness. “I’m supposed to be the dark and mysterious one, remember?”
Her eyes sparkled, her lips spreading into a grin. “True.” Her internal debate continued for a few moments more, then she sat up straight, crossing one leg over the other. “Okay. Your place is gorgeous. That’s obvious. I can see the care and money that went into every square inch of this place, from the floor to the skylight. But none of it feels like home. I don’t see the warmth that lights up a room when you walk in.” She hopped from the stool, her eyes piercing to the bone. “It just doesn’t feel like you.”
And I thought that she’d gush over my state-of-the-art furnishings. Melissa showed me just how foolish I’d been to expect her to be like any other woman I’d brought here.
“Warmth? Not many people would use that word to describe me.” I listed a few greatest hits. “Cold. Vicious. Calculating-”
She crushed her lips against mine. Her taste lingered when she pulled back.
“Then they don’t know you.”
She said it so simply. Effortlessly.
I almost believed it.
“Besides, where are the pictures?” she continued, faking confusion as she searched high and low. “Is this a ‘studio’ or a museum?”
I pulled her into my arms, an idea springing to mind. I whipped my cell out, bringing up the camera. I extended my arm, getting both of us in the frame.
The guy on the screen was happier that I’d ever seen him. She fit in my arms like a missing piece clicking into place, counting down the seconds until we made the moment last forever.
“1, 2, 3-”
The screen changed, my assistant’s name flashing across the screen. My thumb hovered at the decline button until Melissa elbowed me.
“Maybe it’s an emergency!”
“Then she’ll leave a message.” When Melissa shook her head with disappointment, I conceded, eyes rolling to the ceiling. “Yes, Amanda?”
“Mr. Mason!” Her voice was breathy, like she’d just run a marathon. “I-I know you didn’t want to be disturbed-”
“Yet here we are.” Melissa glowered at me and I tried to dial down my annoyance. “What is it?”
“It’s about Delilah.”
Here we go.
“She reached out and is interested in meeting with you.”
Hope sparked, but I didn’t whip out the champagne. There was always a catch with Delilah James. “So you’re telling me she’ll sit down with me without the media?”
Melissa’s face brightened. I didn’t have the heart to tell her not to get her hopes up.
“No media, no drama,” Amanda confirmed with a sigh. “She does have two conditions though.”
“Of course she does,” I growled, slicing a hand through my hair. “What does she want?”
“She wants to meet at your studio, and she wants Melissa to be there.”
Anger roared through me, shredding any goodwill Delilah garnered by finally cutting the crap. She was up to something. I could feel it.
Chest heaving, I bit off a “stay available” and ended the call.
Melissa came to me, putting both hands against my chest. She waited until I calmed down before she spoke. “Isn’t Delilah meeting with you good news?”
“Not when she’s demanding for you to be there.” I swept my fingers through Melissa’s locks, cupping her cheek. “I don’t trust her. And I won’t put you in harm’s way.”
Melissa looked troubled, clouds rolling through her blue eyes. “Neither do I, but I can take care of myself.” She stood taller, her voice strong. “Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Melissa
I was pretty sure Logan was more nervous about Delilah coming over than I was. It made sense on one level–they hadn’t talked since Delilah went public about her pregnancy–but he was stealing glances at me, like he was worried I’d melt down at any moment.
He stopped pacing, his eyes narrowed with concern. “You need more water?”
I raised my half full glass. “I’m fine. Maybe you should have a drink?” Something to calm you down?
“Oh, I’d love a drink,” he said wistfully. “But I’m sure whatever hidden camera she’ll have in tow will pick up on the alcohol on my breath. I don’t want to add any fuel to the fire she’s created.” He gripped the counter. His anger was as bright and blinding as a camera flash. “And now she wants to drag you into this mess.”
I reached over and put my hand over his. “I came back. I chose to be with you. That means I dragged myself into the mess.”
My words didn’t alleviate the tension pulled tight across his face and body. He was dangerously close to snapping.
I squeezed his hand. “Maybe she’ll play nice.”
“Right,” he said sarcastically. “Because she doesn’t do anything without
an ulterior motive.”
“Calculating, just like you, huh?” I said pointedly, shrugging off his scowl. “People are wrong about you. Maybe you’re wrong about her.”
A buzzing sound reverberated from the foyer.
His face froze over. I almost pitied Delilah or anyone that had the misfortune of coming face to face with Logan Mason after crossing him.
When the elevator finally opened, the nervousness I’d kept at bay stampeded over me. My mouth was painfully dry, my throat felt swollen shut, and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Sure, Delilah and I squared off in Pleasure Point and I let her know I wasn’t afraid of her, but things were different now. She wasn’t just an ex anymore. She was the mother of Logan’s child.
I prepared myself for the same loud, obnoxious entity to come strutting in like she owned the place, but that wasn’t the Delilah James walking my way.
She wore an oversized white t-shirt, leg-hugging jeans, and nude colored flats. Her red hair was mostly hidden by a floral scarf, shades hiding her eyes. She pulled them from her face, her other hand shooting to her belly.
Her voice was low and somber. “I appreciate you seeing me, Logan.”
He and I exchanged a look, both of us surprised by the woman before us. He recovered smoothly, silently moving through the foyer toward the dining area where I stood. I watched Delilah waddle behind him like she was about to pop at any moment. I stifled my eye roll and forced a smile. At the end of the day, I’d take the actress over the diva.
“I know we started off on the wrong foot, but I’d like for us to at least respect each other.” I held out my hand. A part of me expected her to laugh at my olive branch. I braced myself for her righteous indignation, reminding me that she was an award-winning actress and I was just Jane Nobody. Instead, she shook my hand, a tight, painful smile stretching across her face.
