Page 157 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

DIXIE

“ H i.” My voice comes out breathless. My pulse races as if I’ve run a marathon.

Hunter lifts his head up. “Hello, Dixie. Are you eating in, or is this takeout?”

“Eating in.”

He gestures to the seat across from him. “Join me?”

“You don’t mind?” He looks tired today, far more so than he did on Saturday. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he looks like he hardly slept.

He lost his mother recently, remember?

“Not at all,” he responds with a smile. “I’d appreciate the company.”

I wonder how he’s doing. I remember only too vividly the first weeks after my mother died.

My emotions had been all over the place.

A part of me was relieved that she wasn’t suffering anymore, and then I would feel guilty about feeling that way.

But mostly, I remember being numb and detached from reality.

My mother’s friends brought casseroles. Michael hung around the house too. Jessica would drop by, bringing my nephews Jonathan and Dylan with her, and it was impossible to feel detached when two toddlers were running around, leaving a trail of chaos in their wake.

Those first few weeks, people had made sure I wasn’t alone. It had helped so very much. It had been a lifeline when I desperately needed one.

Is anyone helping Hunter? Does he have family to lean on? A significant other?

I take a seat. A pretty waitress wanders over with a menu. “Hello,” she says. “My name is May. Can I get you something to drink?”

“A club soda, please, with a slice of lime, if you have it?” Hunter’s drinking a beer, and the idea of a cold alcoholic beverage sounds tempting, but I’m so tired that I’m likely to fall asleep in the middle of dinner if I add booze to the mix.

“Of course.” She bustles away, returning in less than a minute with my drink.

“Today’s special appetizer is nam tok nua,” she says.

“It’s a grilled steak salad with onions, red peppers, cilantro, mint, and chili.

For the main, we have barbecue pork, marinated in garlic, honey, and coriander root.

It’s served with sticky rice and a papaya salad on the side. ”

That sounds delicious, but so does everything else on the menu. “I’m going to need a minute to decide,” I tell her frankly.

“I’ll be back in a few.” She gives me a friendly smile. “Dr. Driesse is a regular, so he can help you out.”

She walks away. “You are?” I ask Hunter.

“It’s next to the hospital,” he explains. “I work there Mondays and Tuesdays. I’m here practically every week.”

“What do you recommend?”

“You really can’t go wrong with the special.”

“Done.” I set down my menu. May comes over immediately to take my order. When she’s gone, Hunter tilts his head to a side and surveys me. “You left rather abruptly on Saturday,” he says. “Did I offend you?”

I still haven’t processed the complicated tangle of emotions from my visit to Club M. The peculiar longings it had stirred in me, the hidden desires that it exposed. “No,” I manage to respond.

“Good.” He takes a long swallow from his bottle. “It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.” There’s a moment of silence. “Xavier told me about your mother. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” He pushes the plate of spring rolls toward me. “Have one. They’re excellent.”

My mouth is watering, and my stomach is going to betray me at any moment by grumbling loudly at the lack of food, and so I take him up on his offer.

For a few moments, we make idle conversation.

I ask him about his work, and he tells me he divides up his time between Highfield and Washington DC, where he works at a veteran’s hospital.

“Do you commute from the city every Monday and Tuesday?” I ask curiously. It’s technically feasible, but it sounds exhausting to have to drive almost two hours after a full day of work.

“No,” he says. “I crash at my mother’s place. Her house is just fifteen minutes away.”

Oh. If I knew him better, I’d ask him how he feels about that.

When my mom died, I couldn’t wait to get out of her home.

I had too many memories of her there, and I felt her loss keenly every time I stepped into her foyer.

It would always be the place where she suffered as her cancer worsened.

Michael and I had agreed—a rare occurrence—to sell it as quickly as we could.

The waitress brings us our food. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks me. “What about you, Dr. Driesse? Do you have everything you need?”

Her voice turns breathy when she addresses him. She leans forward, and the buttons of her blouse strain against her ample breasts. They’re really working overtime, those buttons.

Ouch, that’s a catty thought. Seriously, Dix?

I scold myself. Get a grip. If the waitress wants to flirt with him, she can.

I have no business being proprietary about Hunter.

He expressed interest on Saturday, I turned him down—more accurately, I ran away—and he’s accepted it.

He’s a good-looking guy. Women are going to come onto him.

I have no business getting bothered by it.

Besides, if Hunter eats here every single week, May knows him far better than I do.

Hunter’s giving me a peculiar look. “You have the strangest expression on your face,” he says. “Is everything okay?”

I shake myself. “Yes, of course. Sorry, what were you saying?”

“How are you liking Highfield? You’ve been here six months, right? Are you enjoying it?”

“I haven’t had much of a chance to explore,” I reply.

“Work has been crazy. But I can’t complain too much.

My biggest fear was about meeting people.

It’s a little intimidating to make friends as an adult, you know?

Especially if you didn't grow up in the area or if you don't have a school-aged child. But I’ve been lucky. Fiona is fantastic, and she’s welcomed me into her life, and she’s introduced me to Avery and Kiera. It’s great to have girlfriends.”

“Interesting.”

I look up. “Interesting how?” God, this pork is delicious.

Tempting as it is to scarf it down, I’ve already made a fool of myself in front of Hunter once.

Well, twice. I make myself take small, ladylike bites.

“Hunter, you’re a psychiatrist. It's intimidating when you say ‘interesting’ in that tone of voice.”

He laughs, and his chuckle washes over me, rich and warm.

“Your choice of friends is interesting,” he says.

“All your friends are in decidedly unconventional relationships.

For someone who emphatically declares that she's not interested in BDSM, you certainly seem to surround yourself with a lot of people that lean that way.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested in BDSM.”

“Are you?”

I duck his question. “I like them. I’m not going to judge them by their relationships. They’re consenting adults, and they’re with good people that treat them well. That’s all that’s important.”

“Sure.” He notices I haven’t answered his question, but he lets it go.

For a few minutes, we eat in silence. My thoughts are all over the place. Finally, I summon up my courage. My emotions have been in turmoil since Saturday night. Perhaps Hunter can help me make sense of the way I’m feeling. “Can I ask you a question about sex?”

He grins wickedly. “I don't know,” he murmurs, his voice dipping low. “Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first?”

My cheeks flame. “It’s a serious question. What do you get out of it? BDSM, I mean.”

He regards me for a long second. “It’s a complicated answer,” he says finally. “Bondage doesn’t do a lot for me. I’m not a rope guy; I’m not going to spend hours on shibari.” He takes in my confused look. “Japanese rope bondage. It’s something of an art form.”

“Ah, okay.” I gulp down another piece of pork. I wanted him to answer my question, but I didn’t expect him to. Now we’re talking about sex in a brightly lit Thai restaurant. At least the family is gone. Grandma and Grandpa don’t need to hear this.

“Should I stop?” he asks.

“No.”

“Okay. The SM part of it—sadomasochism—doesn’t do much for me either.

I’m not into pain. Which leaves the dominance and the submission aspects.

” He lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “I like control. Maybe it's because of the nature of my job. I want to help people, but whether they get better or not is mostly out of my control. Sometimes they do, and sometimes they don't. That’s difficult for me; I really do want to make a difference.” He leans back with a smile. “But that’s only one part of the answer.”

“What’s the other part?”

“It turns me on.”

My insides tighten. My face feels like it’s on fire. Not just my face. Heat sparks through my body, heat and a strange, keen sense of anticipation. I take a sip of the club soda, hoping the chilled beverage will calm me down. “Have you ever been involved with somebody that wasn't interested in it?”

His answer comes without hesitation. “No.”

“Kink or nothing?”

“Something like that.” He sets down his chopsticks.

“It sounds pretty inflexible when you put it that way but let me see if I can explain.

There are people, men and women, who have very definite ideas on what sex should and shouldn't be. They are emphatic about what is acceptable to explore and what is off-limits. What is wrong, what is dirty, what is sinful.”

“Are you talking about me?”

“Why do you think I am?”

I stare at him in exasperation. “Stop answering my question with a question.”

He picks his chopsticks back up. “I wasn’t talking about you,” he replies. “I don’t know you. I doubt that’s who you are—the people I’m talking about would never, ever, set foot inside Club M. The idea of seeking the pleasure you want is far too hedonistic for them.”

I take another sip of my club soda. Once again, it does nothing to quench the fire burning through me.