Waiting For You
By Ava Claire
After being dumped by her boyfriend right before their Santa Cruz getaway, Melissa Foster decides to go on the vacation alone. Rest, relaxation, and most of all--no men.
She wasn't expecting the owner of the property she's renting, wealthy entrepreneur Logan Mason, to be the hottest thing she's ever seen. Or that he'd look at her like she was his sole reason for existence.
Is Logan the man she's been waiting for, or will their passionate romance end in heartbreak?
Copyright © 2014 Ava Claire
Chapter One
“Are you wearing lingerie?”
My face dropped like a ton of bricks. I’d pulled out the big guns and scoured Victoria’s Secret for something that gave me the illusion of killer boobs despite my barely B cup breasts. I scored matching bottoms to minimize my pear-shaped hips and butt. I’d rolled on some stockings even though I hated the things, and I topped off the ensemble with gravity defying heels. He loved my waist length white blond hair when it was down so I obliged, adding strategic waves to frame my face. I was going for a soft sensuality, his good girl gone bad. And he was scowling at me like I was the most offensive thing he’d ever seen.
He tossed his keys on the side table. “Anything for me?”
He leafed through the mail. Leafed. Through. The. Mail. Like spam and bills were preferable to me in lingerie. His girlfriend, who wasn’t keeping count but knew that it had been 2 weeks, 3 days, and 10 hours since she’d been touched in an erotic way. And from the looks of it, tonight was quickly becoming a bust.
I cleared my throat. He drew his deep blue eyes from the stack of envelopes, his eyebrows arched expectantly. Hurt and anger warred inside me. I had expectations. I expected the guy who claimed he loved me to want to touch me without being asked or cajoled into it.
I grew up with Jason Collier, and even though everyone saw that we belonged together, we didn’t start dating until after we left for college. We happened to end up in neighboring cities, both majoring in Marketing and Communication. I’d been with other guys, but nothing had lasted.
Until Jason.
I could still remember our first kiss. The first time we said I love you. The first time we discovered each other’s bodies.
Our nights were filled with enough heat and passion to make the very sound of his voice thrust me to orgasm. He could barely keep his hands to himself, his eyes alight with need as he took me whenever and wherever he could get me. In his dorm, in my dorm, and when we graduated and moved in together, in every room and on every surface in our apartment.
We’d been living together for a little over a year, and I wasn’t naïve. I knew it was the honeymoon phase where everything was new and spontaneous and a little dirty. I knew time would whittle our trysts down to a couple of times a week, but we went from clawing at each other like horny teenagers to barely touching each other every couple of weeks.
I tried again, twirling a blonde tendril around my finger. “Do you like my outfit?”
He threw me a half-hearted once over. “It’s great.”
A deep, hollow sadness flared in my chest as he tugged off his tie. Where did we go wrong? I still traced his jaw with my fingertips and leaned in for kisses that led nowhere. I threw hot and heavy looks his way that he deflected. Lately, I’d even given up on being coy and went right for the part of him that used to go wild for me, only to have my advances rebuffed. Thinking back on it, things hadn’t been good with us for a long time, but I held on to those first months. I held on to the three words we had said to each other.
I’d asked if he still wanted me, still loved me, and the answer was always yes. He cited work exhaustion as his excuse. And while he worked long hours, his schedule hadn’t intensified since those lust-filled days and nights from before. He claimed nothing had changed, but I knew it
By Ava Claire
After being dumped by her boyfriend right before their Santa Cruz getaway, Melissa Foster decides to go on the vacation alone. Rest, relaxation, and most of all--no men.
She wasn't expecting the owner of the property she's renting, wealthy entrepreneur Logan Mason, to be the hottest thing she's ever seen. Or that he'd look at her like she was his sole reason for existence.
Is Logan the man she's been waiting for, or will their passionate romance end in heartbreak?
Copyright © 2014 Ava Claire
Chapter One
“Are you wearing lingerie?”
My face dropped like a ton of bricks. I’d pulled out the big guns and scoured Victoria’s Secret for something that gave me the illusion of killer boobs despite my barely B cup breasts. I scored matching bottoms to minimize my pear-shaped hips and butt. I’d rolled on some stockings even though I hated the things, and I topped off the ensemble with gravity defying heels. He loved my waist length white blond hair when it was down so I obliged, adding strategic waves to frame my face. I was going for a soft sensuality, his good girl gone bad. And he was scowling at me like I was the most offensive thing he’d ever seen.
He tossed his keys on the side table. “Anything for me?”
He leafed through the mail. Leafed. Through. The. Mail. Like spam and bills were preferable to me in lingerie. His girlfriend, who wasn’t keeping count but knew that it had been 2 weeks, 3 days, and 10 hours since she’d been touched in an erotic way. And from the looks of it, tonight was quickly becoming a bust.
I cleared my throat. He drew his deep blue eyes from the stack of envelopes, his eyebrows arched expectantly. Hurt and anger warred inside me. I had expectations. I expected the guy who claimed he loved me to want to touch me without being asked or cajoled into it.
I grew up with Jason Collier, and even though everyone saw that we belonged together, we didn’t start dating until after we left for college. We happened to end up in neighboring cities, both majoring in Marketing and Communication. I’d been with other guys, but nothing had lasted.
Until Jason.
I could still remember our first kiss. The first time we said I love you. The first time we discovered each other’s bodies.
Our nights were filled with enough heat and passion to make the very sound of his voice thrust me to orgasm. He could barely keep his hands to himself, his eyes alight with need as he took me whenever and wherever he could get me. In his dorm, in my dorm, and when we graduated and moved in together, in every room and on every surface in our apartment.
We’d been living together for a little over a year, and I wasn’t naïve. I knew it was the honeymoon phase where everything was new and spontaneous and a little dirty. I knew time would whittle our trysts down to a couple of times a week, but we went from clawing at each other like horny teenagers to barely touching each other every couple of weeks.
I tried again, twirling a blonde tendril around my finger. “Do you like my outfit?”
He threw me a half-hearted once over. “It’s great.”
A deep, hollow sadness flared in my chest as he tugged off his tie. Where did we go wrong? I still traced his jaw with my fingertips and leaned in for kisses that led nowhere. I threw hot and heavy looks his way that he deflected. Lately, I’d even given up on being coy and went right for the part of him that used to go wild for me, only to have my advances rebuffed. Thinking back on it, things hadn’t been good with us for a long time, but I held on to those first months. I held on to the three words we had said to each other.
I’d asked if he still wanted me, still loved me, and the answer was always yes. He cited work exhaustion as his excuse. And while he worked long hours, his schedule hadn’t intensified since those lust-filled days and nights from before. He claimed nothing had changed, but I knew it
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