Page 205 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

SOPHIA

D amien gives me his address. At ten, I pull into his driveway. I don't know what I expect his lake house to look like, but if I had to guess, it would be large and grand.

This is neither. The view of the lake is spectacular, but the two-story brick house looks cozy and welcoming. Large planters flank the front door. The windows are thrown open, Reggaeton spills out and hang on. Is Damien singing along?

I love it.

He must hear me pull in because he opens the door before I knock.

He’s wearing faded jeans and a gray T-shirt that looks like it's been through the wash dozens of times.

He looks good enough to eat. Hunger grips me.

I want to pull down those jeans and wrap my lips around his cock. Right here, in the doorway.

How would he react? Would he be horrified? Or would heat flare in those dark eyes? Would his fingers tighten in my hair, would he tug me closer? Would he thrust down my throat and cum in my mouth, or would he erupt over my breasts and make me lick up the mess?

Where the hell did that come from?

I stopped on the way for coffee. Damien’s eyebrows rise as I hand him a cup. “Should I be suspicious that you're being nice to me, Sophia?”

“You said you didn't really wake up before two cups of coffee. We’re handling power tools today, aren’t we? I figured it would be safer this way.”

His lips quirk. “Thank you. I’d invite you inside, but we should go. Julian is wielding heavy machinery on less than three hours of sleep. Someone should probably keep an eye on him.” He steps out and shuts the door. “Do you want to ride with me or follow along in your car?”

The sensible answer would be to follow him.

That way, I’m not riding along with Damien.

Damien Cardenas exudes sex appeal. Always has.

The last time we’d been in the enclosed space, I’d been mad at him, and even so, I’d been only too aware of him.

Now, when I’m a mix of confusion, regret, and horniness? Damien is my kryptonite.

And I’ve never been able to resist. “I’ll ride with you.”

If he’s surprised by my answer, he doesn't show it. “Let's go.”

Julian’s house is huge. It’s not as large as Xavier’s castle, but there are turrets and rolling lawns, for heaven’s sake. My mouth falls open as we pull up to the front. “This is where Julian lives?”

Damien turns off the engine. “Let me guess, you’ve driven past this place dozens of times, but you thought it was abandoned.”

“Pretty much, yes.” This place doesn’t seem to be Julian’s style. Then again, what do I know? The night we were together, we didn’t exactly discuss our architectural preferences. We had hot, raw, passionate sex. “It’s just Julian here? This is a lot of house for one person.”

He gives me a sidelong glance. “Are you asking if Julian is single? The answer is yes.”

My cheeks heat. I was probing, true, but I thought I was subtle about it. Damien saw right through me. “Julian's father died last year and left the family home to him.” He grimaces. “Julian hates this house.”

“Why?”

“The short version is that Julian's parents weren't the nicest people. His plan was to fix it up and sell it, but he just hasn’t had any time to work on the place.

His father left things in quite a mess, and Julian has spent much of the last eight months juggling his work, his father's estate, and basic maintenance.”

Ouch. Poor Julian. I’ve been there. Simon, Andre, and I worked on our house every spare moment we got, making it into a warm and welcoming home. There had been three of us, and Simon was a professional, but it had still been exhausting.

“You said on the phone that Julian was running behind. Does he have a buyer? Is that why there’s a deadline?”

“No, Julian’s sister Hannah wants to get married here. It’s a Christmas wedding.”

I open my mouth to tell him that that’s just four months away, but it’s not as if he doesn’t know that. “Has Julian thought about hiring a contractor?” I assume he can afford it, but maybe I’m wrong.

“Trust me, he’s tried. Finding a contractor in Highfield seems impossible. Julian tells me he’s left messages for fifteen different contractors in the last week. Only two have called him back.”

Yikes. I wonder if Simon was one of them. I have to get my brother to check his messages.

“Anyway,” Damien says, opening his door. “The wedding is in the greenhouse, so that’s what we’re working on. Shall we?”

Julian opens the front door, a harried expression on his face.

“Thank fuck you’re here,” he says. “I’m still drying the place out.

Stupid freak storm.” Then he catches sight of me, and surprise flashes over his face.

“Sophia, what are you doing here?” He winces.

“Ouch, that sounded rude. Let me rephrase that.”

I have to laugh. “I’m not offended. I’m teaching Damien how to be a better person, remember?”

“And that involves pulling up tile?” he asks dryly. “Tough class. Come on in.”

The foyer makes me gasp. I step inside and am greeted by two curving marble staircases.

A glass chandelier drops from the soaring ceiling.

Once upon a time, it would have looked magnificent.

Now, the marble is stained yellow, and cobwebs drape the dull crystals of the chandelier. It still takes my breath away.

Julian catches sight of my face. “I know, it’s ridiculous,” he comments.

“My great-great-grandfather built this house. Probably so all his neighbors could see how important he was.” His lips quirk.

“He named it Kincaid Castle. He had delusions of grandeur.” He leads the way through sparsely furnished rooms to a side entrance.

We’re moving too quickly for me to gawk, but the impression I get is that the home is largely empty of furniture.

“It’s too large,” he continues. “The roof leaks, the place is impossible to heat in the winter, and there’s no hot water.

” He opens the door to the outside, and we step onto a curved pathway.

“And then there’s the infamous greenhouse. ”

I stare at the large glass building in front of me. The space is massive, easily five thousand square feet. It is bigger than my house, for crying out loud. “Oh, wow.”

“My mother liked to garden,” he says. “There were always roses here, even in the dead of winter.”

“I love roses,” I murmur absently as we step inside.

Part of me is wondering if I can talk Simon into installing a greenhouse in our backyard.

The other part of me is horrified at how much work Julian will have to do to get this place wedding-ready.

The floor tiles are cracked and chipped.

Multiple glass panes are broken. Radiators line the insides of the walls, but they look like they’re a hundred years old.

“When’s your sister’s wedding again?” I ask, even though I know perfectly well what the answer is.

“December.” Julian runs his hand through his hair, his expression wary. “It’s an aggressive timeline, I know.”

Aggressive? Think impossible. I'm not an expert by any means. Simon is the contractor in the family, but even I know that one person can't do this in four months. Of course, Julian probably knows it too. So, I give him a bright smile rather than rub it in. “What’s the plan for the day?”

“Finish prying up the floor tiles,” he replies.

“And, if there’s still enough time left, take it to the dump.

I need to get the tile off to look at the underfloor heating.

It isn’t working, and I have a guy coming on Monday to deal with it.

Fingers crossed, I won’t also have to bust open the concrete slab underneath. ”

“That's how the space is heated? The radiators plus the underfloor heating?”

He nods. “There's a boiler for the greenhouse and one for the house. The one for the house works sporadically. This one hasn’t worked in a long time.”

We put underfloor heating in our bathrooms. It’s so nice. Nothing is more luxurious than a warm floor in the middle of winter.

“Okay, bust up the tile,” Damien says cheerfully. “Got it. What do you want me to do?”

Julian glances at me. “Sophia, this is messy work. Damien volunteered, but if you don’t?—”

“Julian,” I interrupt. “I’m here to help, and unlike Damien, I even know what I’m doing. Do you have a spare set of safety glasses and some earplugs?”

His eyes hold mine for a long instant. “Thank you,” he says softly, his expression warm. “Yes, there’s safety gear in the kitchen. Where there’s also a pot of coffee and a box of donuts.” He gives his friend an amused glance. “Get your caffeine fix in. It’s going to be a long day.”

Damien wasn't lying when he said he didn’t know what he was doing. But he’s a quick learner. He watches Julian operate the tile breaker, his expression focused. He tries it once, adjusts what he’s doing, and then has the hang of it. It’s deeply annoying .

I find it unexpectedly relaxing working with my hands.

I’ve been so stressed the last few weeks.

The threat to the health center and long hours spent on the phone and hunched in front of my computer have taken a toll on me.

Now add in the appointments at the fertility clinic and the meeting with the support group, and I feel ready to burst.

Scraping tiles off the floor is cathartic.

Damien and Julian talk while they work. They've been friends for a long time, and it shows in their banter and the good-natured insults they throw at each other. I see sides of both men I haven't seen before.

It only makes them hotter.

The work is messy and dusty, and it does nothing to quench my inconvenient lust. I am incredibly aware of the two men as I work all day. Aware and attracted. I notice them move. I home in on every smile. My nerves tingle to life when their gaze rests on me.

The physical labor feels like foreplay.

I tried to remember why it would be a bad idea to fall into bed with them, but all the reasons I listed earlier elude me. All I hear is Aurora's voice telling me, “You should have sex.”

On Wednesday next week, Dr. Hernandez will discuss my fertility test results with me.

If everything looks good, I pick a sperm donor, obtain vials of semen, and then we’re off to the races.

Even if my follicle count is low, Dr. Hernandez has assured me that I can take drugs to increase my fertility.

Soon, I'm going to be a hormonal mess. I have a short window here. There is a clock, and it’s ticking. And Damien is only in town for a month.

What's the harm, really?

Eight hours of messy, exhausting work later, it’s done.

My nails are caked with dirt, my T-shirt is covered with dust, but every last tile has been pried up.

“Thank you,” Julian says, his voice vibrating with sincerity.

“Thank you both so much. I can't even tell you how grateful I am, but please, let me buy you dinner. It's the least I can do.”

Damien tilts his head to the side. “Sophia?” he asks. “I’m your ride. What would you like to do?”

I don't want this day to be over. Well, I do want the hard physical labor part of the day to be over—every muscle in my body aches—but I’m not ready to leave. All-day, anticipation has been building up inside me. To leave now would be anticlimactic.

“I never say no to a free meal.” I glance down at myself. I’m a mess. We all are. “Then again, I can’t go out looking like this. Maybe we should get pizza again?”

“May I suggest an alternative?” Damien says. “Why don't we head back to my place? We can shower, get cleaned up, and I can put a couple of burgers on the barbecue.” He flashes me a grin. “Unlike Julian, I have hot water.”

Julian makes a face. “It's a wreck, I know.”

“Don't let him give you grief,” I tell Julian. “It's not easy juggling a job and renovations. It took us a full year to fix our house.”

Damien’s offer hangs in the air. Dinner with them. The three of us, alone in his home. Nobody else around. Nobody to stop me from my impulses. Would we open a bottle of wine? Undoubtedly. Knowing what I do of Damien, it’ll be something delicious. I’ll drink a glass or two, and then what?

There is food in my refrigerator. I should decline his offer and go home.

But I don't.

I take a deep breath and commit to the evening. I acknowledge my desire instead of denying it. For the first time, I admit I want this. I want them. I want to be open to the possibilities that scent the air we breathe. I want to see what might happen between the three of us.

“Let’s do it.”