Page 159 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

HUNTER

W hen Dixie tells me her fantasy, it takes all the willpower I possess to keep quiet. I want to volunteer—of course I do. I’m not insane. I’m not blind, and I sure as hell am not immune to her.

I don’t know what instinct possessed me to ask her about her fantasies. I wasn’t sure what she’d say, but I thought it would be something a small step up from pure vanilla. Pink fur-covered handcuffs or something like that.

But no. Once again, Dixie is full of surprises. Holy fuck, she likes to be watched. She might even want a threesome.

And I want to give it all to her. I want to make every single one of her wicked fantasies come true.

But I hadn’t said anything. Because as much as I want to, it isn’t a good idea. It wouldn’t be casual sex with Dixie. She’s not that type of woman. She would want a relationship that was about more than kinky sex.

She deserves a relationship that’s about more than kinky sex. I’m just not the right person to give it to her. Not now. I’m too numb to form emotional attachments.

When clients lose their loved ones, I tell them not to expect anything of themselves for a year. The first twelve months is a time for survival. It’s not the time to make any major changes.

Even if I’d volunteered, there’s no guarantee she would have accepted.

She’s still grappling with her wants and needs.

When I was in my twenties, I might have tried harder to convince her to live out her fantasies, but I’m in my thirties now, and I don’t want to talk her into having sex with me. I want her to want it.

The surge of possessiveness that went through you when she approached that guy? That was nothing, was it? And if she finds someone to participate in her fantasy ? —

I push away that thought and tamp down my instinctive spike of jealousy. She’s free to sleep with whoever she wants. I have no claim on her.

I turn into the driveway. The house is dark. If she knew I was coming home, my mother always left the porch light on for me.

I park the car and enter the house. The full-fledged erection I sported when Dixie told me her fantasy has subsided, but I’m still semi-erect.

It wouldn’t take much to close my eyes, to visualize Dixie in a car with me, naked, writhing on my lap, bouncing on my cock.

To picture her eyes going wide as Eric walks up.

To hear her gasp of shock. To feel her clench around my erection.

Fuck. I need a cold shower, stat. It’s not the only thing that will take care of my erection, but it’s been a very long time since I’ve jerked off in my mother’s house, and it somehow feels wrong .

You’re a fucking mess, Driesse.

I’m about to head upstairs when a car turns into the driveway. Dixie? Could she have changed her mind?

It’s not her. It’s Mitch Donahue. “I was driving by, and I saw the porch light was on,” he says with an ingratiating smile. “You’re a hard man to reach, Hunter.”

“You can’t see the light from the street,” I retort bluntly. “The house is in a valley. You have to turn into the lane to catch sight of it.”

“Like I said, I was driving by,” he says blandly. “Can I come in?”

I’ve been ignoring Donahue’s attempts to reach me.

After my discussion with Brian Holland, my mother’s lawyer, I should have looked into his allegations, but I haven’t.

It just all seems so pointless, and I don’t have the time or the inclination or the energy to do anything about it.

All I’ve done is dodge Donahue’s calls. You’d think he’d get the message.

I step aside, and he enters. I wave him to the living room. He takes a seat on the couch. “Have you had a chance to think about what you’re going to do with this house?”

No. I’m only in Highfield two days a week, and it seems ridiculous to hold onto this house just for a place to crash.

I have many friends in the neighborhood who have offered me their spare bedrooms. Caleb and Nolan both live close by.

Xavier owns a freaking castle. If none of that works out, I can rent a studio apartment.

I don’t need a lot of room. It’s just one night a week.

This house doesn’t mean anything to me without my mother. The kitchen isn’t a place for endless cups of coffee and long conversations any longer. The garden is chock-full of weeds. I still haven’t gone into her bedroom. Still can’t face it.

I don’t want to hold onto this house. Maybe if I let it go, I’ll be able to get rid of this numbness. Maybe I’ll be able to move on.

But do I want to sell it to Donahue? Do I want the lot to be divided up, and six hideous homes built among the rolling hills?

They’ll raze down this house, rip up my mother’s vegetable garden, and cut down the trees dotting the gently rolling hills.

The property will be transformed—changing from a serene refuge into a cookie-cutter subdivision.

That would have broken my mother’s heart.

“I appreciate your interest, but I’m going to pass on your offer.”

A weight lifts off me the moment I tell Donahue I’m out. It feels good to make this decision.

Of course, the man doesn’t take my answer at face value. He pushes back. “Look, Hunter. Can I be honest with you?”

Mitch Donahue wouldn’t know honesty if it came up and slapped him in the face. “Sure.” I don’t care what he has to say, but this might be the fastest way to get him to leave, short of throwing him out the door.

“The offer I made is a really good one. You're not going to get that kind of money anywhere else.”

“Money isn't the only factor in my decision,” I respond. “I’m not in a situation where I need to make urgent financial decisions.”

He doesn’t like my answer. Frustration flashes on his face before he wipes it clean, replacing it with a broad smile. “I totally understand.” He leans forward, trying another tack. “I came to know your mother quite well.”

I very much doubt that.

“She was very involved in the community,” he continues. “She gave generously to several organizations in the neighborhood. She led several of their fund-raising drives. Why, I don’t think the domestic violence shelter would have opened without her support.”

Donahue is persistent; I have to give him that. And while I doubt that he knows my mother, he’s done his homework. One time, she’d even broached the idea of a charity auction at Club M. I’d almost spit out my coffee at her suggestion. “Do you have any idea what happens at the club?” I’d asked her.

She’d snorted in amused derision. “I don’t know why young people think they’re the first generation to have sex,” she’d replied archly. “You do know I?—”

“Stop right there,” I’d begged her. “Please. I want to hold onto my innocence.”

She’d laughed. “To answer your question, Hunter, I don’t care what happens at the club, not as long as people are generous with their wallets. Sex money spends the same as any other.”

Thankfully, she found other sources of funding, because there had been no auctions at Club M that year.

Donahue is waiting for me to say something. “It’s late,” I say bluntly. “I want to get to bed. Why don’t you tell me where you’re heading with this?”

“Six million dollars is a lot of money,” he says. “Sure, you could hold onto this property. Or you could accept my offer. Think of how much good you could do with that money. Think of what a difference you would make. In your mother’s name. To honor her memory.”

Well, fuck.

Fresh doubt assails me. What would my mother have done? Would she have held on to the family home, or would she have done whatever she could to help the nonprofits that meant so much to her?

“I’ll think about it.”

The developer nods. “Of course.” He gets to his feet at last. His job is done—I am once again in turmoil, uncertain about the best course of action. “I ran into Ms. Thorsen yesterday. Have you met Sophia yet? She’s new in town. She works for the community health center, the one on Stuart Street.”

“Yes.” She’d been at the will reading. My mother had left her organization some money, but I hadn’t paid attention to the specifics.

“They’re having difficulty making ends meet,” he says.

He’s trying to disguise the glee in his voice and doing a terrible job at it.

I suppress the urge to punch him in the jaw.

“It’s so hard to get a new nonprofit off the ground.

She thought she was going to get a government grant, but then it fell through.

I promised her that I’d give them a generous donation if I have a good year.

” He gives me a sly smile. “This is the only deal I have in the works.”

Mitch Donahue has the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I walk him to the front door. “See you around, Donahue.”

Of course, he doesn’t let me have the last word. “I’ll call you in a week or two,” he says. “Think about what I said, Hunter. Think about the difference that six million dollars could make.”

I watch his car pull away, my mood dark once again. I want easy answers, but there are none. I wish I knew what to do.