Page 222 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

SOPHIA

D amien’s Range Rover is in the driveway when I pull in. I step out of mine and ring the doorbell. Julian throws open the door and smiles at me. “Come on in.”

I take a step inside. He wraps his hands around my neck, tugging me closer and kissing me, his lips warm against mine. “I'm glad you could make it.”

“Me too.” I hand him a grocery bag. “I didn’t know what kind of dessert you like, so I brought three kinds of ice cream.”

He winks at me. “You already know what kind of dessert I like, Sophia.”

Heat creeps up my cheeks. “Stop that,” I say severely. “You made me come so many times last night that I cannot possibly have sex today.”

He laughs out loud. “Is that so? That sounds like a challenge, baby, and I’m very competitive.”

Something's different in the foyer. I look around until I figure out what it is. The chandelier had been dull and dusty the last time I was here, but it's gleaming today, throwing bright, sparkling light around the space.

“This looks really nice.”

“Thank you. Damien’s in the kitchen. I left him in charge of the spinach.”

“Can he cook?” I ask curiously as I follow him.

“I certainly can,” Damien responds from the stove. “Better than Julian, I might add.” He flashes me a grin. “Hello, Sophia.”

“Talk is cheap,” Julian responds. “Put up or shut up.”

I laugh and go over to give Damien a hug. Purely because I’m being friendly. Not because I want to feel him up. No, not at all. Today, he's wearing a navy-blue shirt with small white anchors printed on the fabric and gray shorts. His hair is damp, looking like he just got out of the shower.

My mouth waters at the idea of showering with the two men.

Sheesh. Down, girl. Eat first before you jump them.

“You look very nautical,” I tell Damien. “Should I call you Captain for the rest of the evening?”

His eyes spark to life. “I like the sound of that.” His gaze runs over me. “And you look like a strawberry, pretty and pink and luscious.”

He called me luscious. Once again, I feel myself blushing.

I stopped at home on the way here and changed out of my work clothes.

I'm wearing a pale pink sleeveless cotton sundress with a fitted bodice and a gently flaring skirt.

“Is that a compliment?” I ask, resorting to pertness to cover my pleasure.

“I want to hoist you on the table, drag your ass to the edge, spread your legs wide, and devour you,” Damien replies. “So, yes. It’s definitely a compliment.”

My entire body comes to life. Unfortunately, that includes my stomach, which chooses that moment to rumble. Julian, who’s been watching our exchange with a predatory look on his face, jumps into host mode. “Sophia, what can I get you to drink?”

“Whatever you’re drinking.” I don’t like to drink and drive, and I should stick with water, but who am I kidding? I want to spend the night.

Julian holds up his bottle of beer. “It’s an IPA.”

“That’ll work.”

I look around as Julian gets me a beer. The kitchen looks different from the last time I was here.

The space feels brighter somehow. Less sterile, more lived-in.

Pale pink calla lilies overflow from a cut-glass vase.

The windows above the sink are thrown open, and the aroma of cooking fills the air.

Whatever Julian’s making, it smells delicious.

I look up. “Ah, you changed the light fixture.”

“Good eye,” he replies, handing me a bottle of beer. “Yeah, your brother suggested it. I stopped at the hardware store on my way back from your office. I was a little concerned that the wiring would be a mess, but it wasn't too bad. Do you want a glass for that?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“There is a formal dining room,” he continues. “But it hasn’t been used in years. I figured we’d eat here.”

The round wooden table is covered with a white tablecloth, a trio of brass candlesticks in the center. Julian pulls out a chair for me. “Sit,” he invites, setting a plate of cheese and crackers in front of me. “I’m just finishing up. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

Julian has made a roasted chicken with couscous and wilted spinach. The couscous has roasted pistachios and plump raisins, and it is delicious. I turn into a glutton.

“How’s your week going?” Damien asks Julian as I inhale the food.

“Hell.”

I look up at that. “What's going on?”

Julian sighs. “It's Francisco Flores. This is the first time I'm writing a script, and I thought he would be more helpful. But so far, he isn't being very cooperative.”

I frown. Julian mentioned Flores on Saturday. “Hang on. That’s the Hollywood screenwriter, isn’t it? If he’s the expert, why are you writing the script?”

Damien leans forward. “I thought Flores was supposed to write the first draft, not you,” he says, his voice sharp.

Julian shrugs. “I thought he was too, but I guess Donovan changed his mind. Flores wanted me to write the first draft, which was okay, and he said he’d be available as a resource.” He exhales in frustration. “But he’s not. All week, his only feedback is that it’s not working. It’s annoying.”

“Why aren’t you doing something about it?” Damien says bluntly.

“What am I supposed to do? Whine to Shaun that the mean Hollywood screenwriter is making me do my homework, and I don’t like it?”

Shaun’s his agent. “Why wouldn’t you complain to your agent?

” I ask, staring at the dish of couscous, wondering if I’d appear greedy beyond belief if I eat a fourth helping.

“I’m not a writer, but isn't your agent supposed to be your advocate in these matters?

If you don't tell him you're having a hard time, how will he know?”

Julian heaps a spoonful of the grain on my plate with a smile. “I don't want to be high maintenance,” he says. “Yes, Flores is rubbing me the wrong way, but I don't know if I have a right to be irritated. Maybe this is all about my injured pride.”

Damien stares at his friend with exasperation. “Julian, nobody in their right mind would call you a complainer. I’m honestly shocked you’re even talking about your problems. You usually do a great job pretending they don’t exist.”

Julian rolls his eyes. “Please,” he scoffs. “As if I'm the only one doing that. How many work calls did you take this week? Or have you lost count?” He turns to me. “Damien’s supposed to be on vacation.”

“You are?” I blink in confusion. “Wait, haven’t you been working the entire time?”

“I didn’t work on Saturday,” Damien replies.

“Saturday is the weekend. ”

He winces. “I’ve taken steps to reduce my workload,” he says.

“Pissing off half the leadership team in the process, but that’s to be expected.

” Unlike the two of us, he’s drinking wine.

He drains the rest of his glass and pours himself another.

“Enough about my problems.” He turns to me.

The full force of his attention washes over me. “How are things with you, Sophia?”

“You saw me yesterday,” I point out.

He laughs softly. “I did, yes. We didn’t really get a chance to talk.”

How are things with me? Let’s see. I've been trying to decide what I'm going to do about my fertility treatment. Trying to sort out what this relationship means and what it could be. I’m supposed to select a sperm donor and be tracking my cycle. I've started doing the latter, but not the former.

It’s so tempting to just lay it all out there, but something holds me back. “I don't lead as interesting a life as the two of you,” I murmur.

“I beg to differ,” Julian replies with an amused smile. “You were at a sex club yesterday. That seems pretty interesting to me.”

“True,” I say, keeping a straight face. “You’ll never guess what happened to me there. Two guys tied me up.”

“Tell me more,” Damien says silkily. His eyes have gone dark. Suddenly, the couscous isn’t the most important thing on my mind.

“They made me beg for my orgasms,” I whisper. Underneath my dress, my nipples harden to aching points.

Damien opens his mouth to say something, but his phone rings. He glances down at the display, mutters a curse under his breath, and swipes the call to voicemail. “My mother,” he explains in response to my questioning look. “Tomas must have told her about the changes I’m making.”

Before the phone rang, he was seconds away from burying his face in my pussy. Now, he’s tense. His shoulders are squared, and his jaw is set. I put my hand on his. “Are you okay?” I ask softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I expect him to say something light and flippant.

Instead, he sighs heavily. “My father and mother founded the Cardenas Group forty years ago,” he says.

“It’s a multi-billion-dollar corporation, yet they ran it like a family company.

Every decision was made by either my mother or my father.

Only family could be trusted. My father believed that if he wanted something done right, he needed to do it himself. ”

I listen without interrupting.

“When I joined the company a few years ago, it led to some clashes. My father wanted me to be his successor, but he wouldn’t let me make any changes.

” His expression turns frustrated. “We fought a lot. We’d reached a tentative peace when he died.

” His mouth twists in a wry smile. “My mother is the controlling shareholder. She didn’t make me the CEO.

Arthur Scott, our General Counsel, took over on an interim basis, and when she married Tomas, she put him in charge. ”

“Why didn’t you leave?” I ask, even though I already know. Julian told me what motivated Damien the day we had lunch. That was only a week ago. It feels like so much longer. I remember his exact words. Underneath that flippant, devil-may-care exterior, he has a very strong sense of duty.

“I can’t,” he says flatly. “We have thousands of employees. Tomas can’t handle the job. I cannot walk away.” He stares into his glass as if the wine has answers for him. “Last month, I had a health scare.”

Alarm jolts up my spine. It must show on my face because Damien squeezes my hand reassuringly.

“It was nothing, just some random chest pains. I wouldn’t have paid attention to it, except we have a family history of heart disease.

My doctor tested the crap out of me, and nothing showed up.

He figured it was probably stress and told me to take some time off. ”

I bought the lake house the year after my father died. None of us saw it coming. One day he was alive and well; the next day, he’d been felled by a massive heart attack.

I’m taking a break. It was either sailing around the world or sitting on my ass by the lake. I chose the lazier option.

“That’s why you’re here,” I whisper. You think that in the process of becoming an adult, I would have learned not to jump to conclusions, but alas, no.

“Don’t look so alarmed, Sophia. There’s nothing wrong with me.

” He flashes me a blinding smile, but I’m too worried about his health to fall for the charm.

If he’s supposed to be taking it easy, what the hell is he doing working around the clock?

“Anyway, with Tomas’ support, I made some organizational changes today.

My mother probably wants to chew me out. ”

On cue, his phone rings again. Damien makes a face. “If I don't pick up, she's going to keep calling. And then she'll start worrying herself sick.”

“Worrying?”

“My father didn't answer his phone. When she went to check on him, she found his body.”

Oh God, that's awful.

He picks up the phone. “Hello, Mama.”

I expect him to excuse himself and take the call privately, but he doesn't. “I can’t talk now,” he continues. “I'm having dinner with my girlfriend.”

And then he hangs up.

My heart almost leaps out of my chest. I gape at him. “Girlfriend?”

He holds himself still. “Did I jump the gun?” he asks. “We haven't had a conversation about it, I know, but there it is. My intentions, out in the open. I really like you, and I want to keep seeing you. I want this to be a relationship, Sophia.”

“And so do I,” Julian says.

Joy explodes inside my chest. They want to be with me. The universe has offered me a second chance, a miracle I don’t deserve. “I want that too.”

Tell them you want a baby. Tell them you’ve been exploring the idea of a sperm donor.

“Listen, there’s something I need to tell?—”

The doorbell rings, a loud clanging that makes us all jump.