Page 196 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

SOPHIA

U nfortunately, yes. I happen to be free for lunch.

I've never been this rude to a prospective donor in my life. It's shocking, really. And it's good that my boss Patricia didn't overhear me because she would have been justified in firing me on the spot.

Damien brings out the worst in me. That wasn’t the case ten years ago.

When I met him at the hospital, I really liked him.

More than that. I had a humongous crush on him.

I would seek out every opportunity to talk to him.

I knew what time he came in, and I would strategically arrange to be in the office kitchen at the same time so we could bump into each other over coffee.

I figured out his favorite lunch places, and I started frequenting them myself.

Thinking back on twenty-five-year-old me, it's frankly a little embarrassing.

In hindsight, it’s obvious that I’d been a little in love with Damien Cardenas, even before the threesome.

It was the first time I felt this way about a guy.

I lost my virginity in high school, and I slept with a couple of guys in college.

But none of them made me feel the way Damien did.

When we talked, his dark brown eyes would focus on me.

His entire attention would be on what I was saying.

I was addicted. I couldn’t get enough of him.

Then, one night, on some mad impulse, I followed him to Club M and realized Damien was not just the hyper-competent consultant who worked at the hospital. There was a lot more to him than he let on. He had a hidden side. A dark one.

That thought should have scared me, but it didn’t. It excited me. If Damien was a pool, I was ready to jump into the deep end.

And then he introduced me to his friend Julian Kincaid.

Julian made me laugh. He had a dry, sly sense of humor. Have you ever met someone for the first time and felt like you’ve known them all your life? That was the way I felt about Julian.

I decided fairly early on that I wanted both of them. So, I flirted outrageously. I let my fingers graze Julian’s when he handed me a drink. We did one round of tequila shots, and I licked the salt off Damien’s hand.

They flirted back. The double entendres got increasingly outrageous.

There was a group of very acrobatic naked people on the stage, and the droll commentary Julian kept up over their performance had me giggling.

And then Damien’s dark eyes rested on me.

For the first time that evening, he asked me what I was doing there.

“I didn't expect to see you here, Sophia,” he said, his voice a low, seductive murmur. “I didn't realize you knew Xavier.”

I didn’t know how to play games in those days. I just blurted out the truth. “I followed you here. I told the security guard that I was with you.”

He picked up my hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed my palm and then sucked a finger into his mouth. Desire exploded inside me. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked, his eyes never leaving my face.

“Yes,” I responded in a whisper. “I found the two of you.”

Damien hesitated for a split second. Julian didn’t. “According to Xavier, there are private rooms in the basement,” he said, taking charge. “Evidently, there’s more to Club M than orgies on the main floor.” His gaze slid over me like a caress. “Want to check it out?”

“Private rooms.” I wet my lip with my tongue. Their eyes followed the movement, their expressions hungry. “For sex?”

“Sex, yes,” Damien replied. “But also bondage and domination. Have you been tied up before, Sophia?”

I hate Damien. He got me fired. But that moment. . . I remember everything about it with crystal clarity. I have masturbated to that memory for ten years. Even now, it has the power to make me wet.

Damien Cardenas asked me if I’d been tied up, and a thrill shot through my body. It was as if he was speaking to every secret desire in my soul. I came alive at that moment. I had an intense desire to experience what they offered. I craved it. I needed it.

“No. But I'd like to be.”

It didn't even strike me to ask whether this was a safe thing to do. Whether this was sensible. Because it was Damien, and he wouldn't hurt me. I'd only just met Julian, but I knew I could trust him. Don't ask me how. It was a bone-deep certainty.

So much for my instincts. I thought I was safe, but I was wrong. Somehow, word got out that we’d slept together. It wasn’t me; I didn’t tell a soul. I hugged that night close to me, my own cherished memory.

If I hadn’t been careless, then they were. And I got fired.

Enough, Sophia. I shake my head and drag my attention back to work.

It's a good thing what I’m doing doesn’t need concentration because my focus is shot.

I handwrite thank-you notes to everyone who participated in Saturday’s fundraiser on autopilot.

I stuff brochures and our wish lists into envelopes.

Ten minutes before noon, I head to the washroom and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

It's all very well to pretend that I don't care what Damien thinks of me, but the uncomfortable truth is that I do.

I brush my hair and tie it back in a severe ponytail.

I refresh my lipstick and add a fresh coat of mascara.

Donna, who answers the phone, comes in while I'm doing my makeup. She takes in my reflection, and her eyes widen. “Whoa, hot date?” she asks. “Is it the guy I put through to you this morning?”

“It's not a date,” I say severely. Donna is both an incurable romantic and an unrepentant gossip; the last thing I need is the entire office talking about my personal life. “I’m having lunch with a potential donor.”

“You’re wearing cherry red lipstick for a potential donor?” She tilts her head to the side. “Tell me more.”

Yeah, okay. That’s quite enough of that. “Who's answering the phone while you're in here?” That’s admittedly a mean thing to say to a pregnant woman, but her questioning has hit a nerve, and I’m ready to fight.

She heaves a sigh. “Sheesh, fine. It's a donor. No more questions.” She gives me a sly smile. “I'm going to make sure I’m sitting at the front desk exactly at noon. Your mystery donor had the sexiest voice. I want to see what he looks like.”

Lovely.

It would be far more convenient if Damien had a potbelly and a wart on his nose. Unfortunately, when he shows up, he looks like sex on a stick.

I've seen Damien in a suit, and I’ve seen him naked.

Today, he's neither. He's wearing dark jeans and a white linen shirt rolled up to the elbows. Sunglasses hide his eyes. He used to be clean-shaven when I knew him, but sometime in the last ten years, he’s grown a beard, a neatly trimmed one. It suits him.

Donna's eyes are very round. Great. We’re going to be talking about Damien Cardenas for the next week, at minimum.

“There you are,” I say brightly, making a vain effort at rushing him out before Donna gets more water-cooler material. “Let's go.”

His eyes flicker to the receptionist, who is staring at him avidly. His lips twitch. He knows that I'm trying to get him out of there, and he's deciding if he's going to cooperate.

“I’d love a tour of the facility, Sophia.”

Jackass. I hate him. “Let’s do that later. I'm starving.”

“Of course.” He waits until we get outside, looks around to make sure there’s no one in earshot, and then murmurs, “After all, I do know what a healthy appetite you have.”

My body remembers that voice. My insides tighten. My heartbeat speeds up. I stop dead in my tracks. “No,” I say flatly. “If this is going to be a lunch filled with sexual innuendo, I'm not playing. We are going to discuss work. Nothing else.”

He glances my way and realizes I’m dead serious. Contrition fills his face. “Fair enough,” he says. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

He sounds sincere. Why am I not buying it? Oh, wait. It’s because it’s Damien Cardenas who can, if he sets his mind to it, charm the pants off anyone. Including me.

We walk to the parking lot. “I can drive myself,” I tell him. “Where are we going? I’ll follow you in my car.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He throws me a deeply exasperated look. “Are we going to fight about every single thing? Get in the SUV, Sophia.”

He is a donor, I tell myself, not for the first time. He might give your organization a lot of money. Be nice.

The SUV in question is a brand-new Range Rover. A large, muscled beast of a vehicle. I open the passenger door before Damien has a chance to get it for me and hoist myself into the seat. “Is this yours?”

“Yes.”

I have to bite my tongue to keep from making a joke about the size of his penis.

It takes superhuman effort. If I say something about compensating for his equipment, Damien will remind me that I’ve seen his cock.

He might ask if I need a refresher to remind me.

There will be banter. I might enjoy the battle of wits, but it would not be professional. Not at all.

“Where do you live?” I ask instead.

He pulls out of the parking lot. “If I’m being grumpy, I would tell you that I live in airport lounges. I maintain a residence in Hong Kong and one in Toronto, and of course, there’s the lake house in Highfield. But I divide my time largely between New York City and Lima. Why?”

Simon bought a new truck last year for his contracting business.

He’d agonized over his decision, spending weeks wondering if he could take on the additional cost. Meanwhile, Damien Cardenas maintains residences in Hong Kong and Toronto, and of course, there’s the lake house in Highfield.

It must be nice to be rich. “Is the SUV a rental?”

“A rental?” He looks puzzled by my line of questioning. “No, it belongs to me. Renting is too much of a hassle.”

I open my mouth to say something about how out of touch he is. Then I shut it. He has offered to give your organization a million dollars, Sophia. That money will go a very long way. Remember your resolution to be nice?