Page 206 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

SOPHIA

D amien and I ride together on the way back. Julian elects to follow us in his truck.

For a few moments, we sit in silence. I'm finding it difficult not to stare at him. It's dusk, and we’re still rural enough that Damien has to watch out for stray deer. Convenient for me. I keep sneaking looks over while his attention is on the road.

Are you doing this, then? If the opportunity presents itself, are you going to revisit the past?

I don't know what is wrong with me. Sometime in the last week, I have evidently decided that Damien getting me fired is no longer an issue. Seeing him again, I've finally been able to let it go.

And I really want to sleep with them again.

Maybe it's because of the soon-to-happen fertility treatments. Maybe it’s an awareness that I’m running out of time. Or maybe the prospect of multiple years of celibacy has me throwing myself at the nearest available guy.

The nearest available guy? My subconscious scoffs at me. If Matthew Barnes, your last blind date, was here, would you sleep with him?

Okay, fine. I reluctantly admit that it's not any available man I want. It's these men.

I sneak another look at Damien. He's not wearing his sunglasses any longer. His left hand is on the steering wheel, and his right hand is on the gear stick, even though the car has an automatic transmission. “Are you used to driving a manual transmission car?” I guess.

“Yes. Is it that obvious?”

Only if you're paying very close attention. “My car has manual transmission as well,” I tell him. “I like stick shifts.”

It’s a perfect opening for Damien to respond with some sexual innuendo. Surely there’s enough to work with there. A quip about how I enjoy stroking a shaft, maybe? Something, anything.

But he doesn’t react. Again.

God, this is cringe-worthy. I’m being so fucking obvious, and he’s politely ignoring it. Is he even interested in me? I thought he was. When we had lunch at Taco Gus, I would have sworn that he would be quite happy to pick up where we left off.

But ever since then, he’s pulled away.

And Julian? Julian’s even more of a closed book. I have no idea what he’s thinking.

If I want them, I’m going to have to make the first move. And the thought of putting myself out there, leaving myself open to rejection, makes me want to break out into hives.

Ugh.

The inside of Damien's lake house is comfortable, cozy, and welcoming.

An oversized sectional in the high-ceilinged living room faces a window offering a spectacular view of the lake.

The kitchen is brightly lit, open concept, and surprisingly colorful.

Buttercup yellow cabinets and a turquoise tiled backsplash provide a cheerful contrast to the stainless-steel appliances.

On the other side of the room, six blue chairs surround a somewhat battered dining table.

Everything here was chosen for comfort. It’s not what I expected at all. But the moment I see it, I know that no matter where Damien lives—whether it’s Peru or Manhattan or Hong Kong or Toronto—this is his refuge. This is his home.

“You want to shower before dinner?” he asks me.

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll find you a towel. Julian, you know your way around.”

Damien leads the way up a flight of stairs. Family photos line the wall. I don’t have time to take them in—he’s moving too fast for that—but one thing is obvious. The Cardenas are a good-looking family. Everyone is drop-dead gorgeous.

Nothing to feel insecure about here. Nothing at all.

The stairs end in a landing. Damien turns left and stops in front of a closed door. “Can we talk for a moment?”

He has an uncharacteristically serious look on his face. My heart starts to race. I wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my jeans. “Sure?”

“At your fundraiser, you said you weren't going to sleep with me.”

“Yes,” I whisper. How could I forget that conversation? His response is etched in my memory. Do you really believe I think so little of you?

“I deeply regret what I did,” he says quietly.

“I shouldn’t have made my donation to the health center conditional on you teaching me how to become a better person.

” He takes a deep breath. “There have been times in the last couple of days when I’ve thought.

. .” His voice trails off. “The money is the health center’s to use as it sees fit.

No conditions, no strings attached. I would like to see more of you, Sophia, but only if you want to as well. ”

“Oh.” My head spins. “Okay?” He quirks an eyebrow at my reaction. “Should I leave?”

He blinks. “Do you want to go?” He takes a step toward me, closing the distance between us. His voice dips lower. “Because it doesn’t seem like it. Unless I’m reading your signals all wrong?”

So Damien has noticed I’ve tried to flirt with him. I swallow hard. His nearness is melting my mind. “I should shower,” I stammer.

“Of course.” He throws open the door, the beginnings of a smile tipping the corners of his mouth. “Guest bedroom,” he says in explanation. “There’s an attached bathroom.” He vanishes for a moment and returns with a folded towel. “If you'd like, I can put your clothes in the wash.”

My brain takes in the bed and short-circuits. My mind fills with images of the three of us, bodies naked, limbs entwined. It takes me a moment to focus on Damien’s words. “But then I'd have nothing to wear,” I say stupidly.

He chuckles, warm and smooth and oh-so-sexy. “You can borrow one of my shirts.” His eyes sweep over me, and I feel his gaze like a touch. My heart jolts, and my pulse pounds. “Do you want to hand them to me?”

The air around me seems electrified. I remember this feeling from ten years ago. I felt the same excruciating mix of awareness and anticipation when I followed Damien to Club M.

And now? He’s waiting, watching me with an unreadable expression in his eyes. I almost open my mouth to ask if he wants me to undress in front of him but stop myself. What the hell am I doing? This is madness. I'm having a temporary attack of insanity.

“Give me a second.” I dart past the bed into the attached bathroom and shut the door. I strip naked and open the door a crack, just wide enough to hand him my jeans and T-shirt. “Here you go.”

His laughter is soft and knowing. I hold my breath, almost giddy with lust, but he doesn’t say anything. After a long moment, I hear his footsteps recede.

The shower is blissful, and I linger under the hot water for a long time. I come downstairs, my hair damp and only dressed in Damien's white linen shirt, to see it’s just Julian in the kitchen.

He takes in what I’m wearing, and his eyes flare with heat. I haven’t bothered with a bra, and his gaze lands on my chest. My nipples start to pebble. My mouth goes dry, and I instinctively take a step toward him.

He drags his eyes back to my face. “Damien had a work emergency,” he says. “He promised to be quick.”

“A work emergency? It’s Saturday night.”

“We’re talking about Damien Cardenas,” Julian responds. “He doesn’t have an off button.” He holds up a bottle of wine. “Would you like something to drink?”

I'm not exactly a lightweight, but I don't like to drink and drive, even if I’ve only had one glass of wine. It’s just not worth the risk. If I take Julian up on his offer, I’m either spending the night here or, at the very least, I’m staying for a very long time.

It would be more sensible to drink water.

Except I don’t want to leave.

“Wine sounds good.”

He pours me a glass. “I want to talk to you about something,” he says.

Not Julian too. I’m still reeling from Damien’s declaration earlier. “Umm, okay?”

The smile that ghosts over his lips doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “There’s chemistry between you and Damien, and I don’t want to make any assumptions based on something that happened a decade ago. Do you want me to leave?”

Whatever I thought he was going to say, this wasn’t it. We had lunch earlier this week. Did he not notice the way I was staring at his naked chest? I've masturbated to him spilling marinara on himself. Except in my fantasies, it's chocolate, and I lick it off him.

A wave of uncertainty washes over me. “Do you want to go?”

“What I want doesn’t matter.”

Huh? What’s this about? “Of course it does,” I reply, puzzled.

Julian might be quieter than Damien, but he’s never struck me as the shy, retiring type.

At Club M, he was the more dominant of the two.

He was the one with the fiendish imagination.

The one who tied me up, spread my legs wide, put a vibrator between my legs, set an hourglass in front of my face, and told me that I had to hold back my orgasm until the sand had fallen to the lower bulb.

What’s changed now? “Why do you think your needs aren’t important? ”

He doesn’t meet my gaze. He chops a tomato with swift, efficient strokes and then moves on to a cucumber, dicing it into squares. It’s clear that he knows his way around a kitchen.

It’s also clear he’s not going to answer my question.

“I don’t want you to go.”

He looks up. “Are you sure? There’s a lot of chemistry between you and Damien.”

Okay, that’s quite enough of that. He’s being remarkably dense for some reason, and if I have to hit him on the head with it, I will.

I don’t want one or the other. Call me greedy, but I want both.

“Julian, I don’t enjoy ripping up tile, and yet, I spent all day doing it.

Also, in case it wasn’t obvious, we had lunch, and I couldn’t stop staring when you took off your shirt. ”

His lips quirk. “It was a little obvious.”

“Let’s call it what it was. I was drooling. I want to have dinner with Damien and you.” I want a lot more than that. I want them. My cheeks are on fire. I’m going to need a glass of water to cool off. A bucket.

Damien comes downstairs at that moment. He’s showered too. He’s wearing a pair of gray linen shorts and a black T-shirt. His eyes travel from Julian to me. “Is everything okay?”