Heightened Desires: A Club Temptation Novella (Club Temptation Collection)

by Leigh Lennon

  “It’s okay, chéri, I’m here now.”

  I carry her to the couch and will hold her until she tells me not to.

  She’s still shaking, but she’s moved from me into the kitchen. “In all honesty, this is a huge pizza, might as well stay and help me eat it.” She grabs two sodas and a couple of plates, setting them down on the kitchen table. She lets one of the sodas fall, her fingers trembling. I pull for her hand and the unopened can.

  “Chéri, you don’t have to act as if that didn’t just happen. You had a man come at you, having to defend yourself. It’s okay to…” She waves me off, not wanting to talk about it.

  “I hope you like cheese. It’s the only kind of pizza worth eating,” she explains.

  “Um, I’ll eat any sort of pizza, as long as it doesn’t have pineapple on it.”

  Her mouth gapes open, staring at me. “Right! That shit is so gross on pizza.”

  She rewards me with a small grin, and somehow we find a happy medium with pineapple being categorized as the worst pizza topping on this earth. I know this is just superficial, and all but we’re having a conversation.

  “By the way, how did you take down a man three times your size?”

  This makes her smile even larger. “Yeah, well, Kier sent me to self-defense classes. The first thing I was taught was how to take the arm in a way it would bring a three hundred pound man to his knees. I guess it worked.” In her explanation is a sense of pride.

  “I guess Kier would love to know it worked, however he might just kill the man,” I add.

  She sits, opening the tab to her diet drink as I do the same to mine. “So, what made you come all this way to tell me?”

  I guess there’s a change in the conversation. “The only way I know to be intimate is to make it very impersonal with rules.”

  “But you didn’t do that the first night we were together.” She’s not touched her pizza, and if I look hard enough, her eyes almost water. “And that night, you were a Dominant. And it was the best night of unbridled sex. I love you as a Dominant but not as an asshole.”

  We sit in silence as she nibbles at her pizza as I devour three large pieces. I guess I’d forgotten to eat in my need to get to her.

  “Would you be willing to go out on a date with me tomorrow? We can do whatever you want.”

  She stands to take both my plate and hers to the sink. “Dinner is over. It’s time to go.”

  She doesn’t allow me a chance to touch her or interlace her fingers with mine. “I kind of don’t want to leave you, chéri.”

  She stands in front of the door. “I’m okay, and I can take care of myself.”

  And this is when I take the opportunity to remind her how spectacular we are together.

  “Molly, please let me make it up to you. We have something here.”

  She closes her eyes, as if she’s warring with herself. As she opens them, her crystal gray eyes meet my own.

  “Be here at noon. I pick lunch and the venue.”

  “Agreed, chéri.”

  I want to lean in and place the softest of chaste kisses on her head, but I don’t press my luck in the hopes that tomorrow I can convince her to take a chance on me.

  Chapter 15

  Molly

  My mind still wanders to yesterday. I was stupid to invite Zane over to my house. He’d had an appointment in Portland. With my parents gone, he was leaving after we shared a pizza together. I barely know him, and yet I allowed him access to my life because he knew Kier. I was so stupid.

  I’m still a little shaken by it all and wasn’t sure if I caved so easily with Marcel, because of what happened last night. No, that’s not true. I didn’t cave. From the moment in the bar, it’s always been Marcel.

  I send him a text first thing in the morning.

  Me: Wear tennis shoes.

  I hit send, but this is Marcel I’m talking about.

  Me: Wait, do you even wear tennis shoes?

  I find a pair of yoga pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a tank top to wear underneath in case I get a little too warm. I do very little to my makeup, simply concentrating on the arch of my eyebrow and a little powder and glimmer to give me the slightest of shines.

  I pack a change of clothes in case I get dirty or sweaty. That’s not very romantic. I’m certainly putting the cart before the horse. I’d not told him I’d felt the same way and pushed away several invitations to go out last night. Before Marcel arrived, my only solace was the cheese pizza and the large pint of butter pecan in the freezer.

  My text alert startles me as I’m in deep thought. As I turn to my phone, I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips. It’s so natural with him, though I keep telling myself this is more than a fling, and I can find myself very hurt if this goes sideways. Yet again, I know I’m hurt already.

  Silver: You are a smart-ass. I’ve missed that in you. And yes, I own tennis shoes, even a pair of jeans.

  I may be young, but it’s not my thing. However, I’m not going to make this easy on him.

  Looking at the clock, I have thirty minutes to kill and pull out my laptop, working on a new lesson plan for next week about clouds. I’m pulling up the latest lesson plans other teachers in my grade have posted and I’m searching and changing them up with interactive songs and puzzles when a loud knock pulls me out of my teaching responsibilities.

  “It’s unlocked. Come in.”

  I don’t want to leave it unfinished and have five more minutes left, and I’ll be set for Monday.

  He opens the door, a scowl on his face. “Do I need to remind you, chéri, that it’s not very safe just letting anyone in, let alone leaving the door unlocked?”

  “Yeah, yeah. As I proved to you last night, I can take care of myself.” I don’t give him any time to respond. “And by the way, there’s some coffee in the kitchen. Help yourself. Give me five minutes and I’ll be done.”

  He doesn’t take my suggestion but walks over to me and places a kiss on my forehead.

  “I wanted to do that last night. But I thought better.” He sits at the dining room table, away from the kitchen, staring at me. “Are you doing okay this morning?”

  I know what he means, though he doesn’t say it. “Yes, I’m better.” I turn my attention back to work, but feel his stare on me. “I can’t finish with your eyes on me. Go—get yourself some coffee or a glass of water.”

  He takes the hint, but as he leaves he touches my shoulders, giving them a squeeze. Yep. Our attraction sure as shit hasn’t gone anywhere.

  Ten minutes from our destination, I point at a small shack. “Hey, pull over here.”

  “What, and get murdered?” Certain words really pull the French accent from him, and murder just happens to be one of them.

  “You told me I could pick anything. Now pull over, mister,” I tease, almost forgetting how mad he’s made me.

  “What is this place? It looks like that restaurant from Goonies, where they store the dead body.” He gives me a laugh. “Oh, fuck, you’ve probably never seen that movie. It came out well before your time.”

  I give him a playful slug. “Listen here, gramps. I, too, have seen it, and I guess you’re right, but I’ve eaten here several times. And I’ve never been killed. Anyway, I don’t think there’s a basement there.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, we aren’t far from where they filmed it?” he retorts.

  “Um, for a Frenchman, you sure know a lot about both geography and pop culture.”

  He gives me a hearty laugh. “Yeah, I’m full of surprises.”

  I arch one of my eyebrows, trying to come up with the right comeback, but nothing witty comes to me, and I leave it as he parks.

  He grabs my hand, tugging me into his side. “This is much better, don’t you think, chéri?”

  I won’t admit it to him, but it really is.

  We arrive at Multnomah Falls, right at two p.m. As we start on the paths, he grabs my hand one more time. “I told you last night, I didn’t think I was built for com
mitment. But with you, I can’t let go. I want to see you exclusively. And between my need for control, I swear I’ll find a way to share the emotion with you.”

  At times, he’s so formal. I’m not sure if it’s because of his background, culture, or how he grew up.

  “Let’s dissect what you said for just a second.” We keep walking, and he’s quiet. He knows I want more about him.

  “Molly.” This catches my attention because it’s not normally how he refers to me. “My dad died at an early age. He was the love of my mom’s life, and when the clause in my father’s will didn’t leave her any way to provide for ourselves, we moved to the States where my papa’s best friend offered to marry ma mère. He’d always loved her, but she loved my father. She’d also loved the lavish lifestyle we’d just been basically evicted of, and married my adoptive father within a month of my papa’s death.”

  She tugs at me, and we stop on the path, moving us out of the way of other tourists.

  “I’m so sorry.” I’d shared a little with her, but just the basics and certainly without the emotion I am in the presence.

  “Anyway, my adoptive father, Montgomery Morgan, loved ma mère. He made her the center of his world. And because he loved ma mère, I, too, became the center of his world. She didn’t want any more kids. I thought it was because she was older than she was after having me close to forty. But I heard her tell my grandma over the phone that she’d only love one man, and she couldn’t bear to have another man’s child. I was too young to understand what that meant. Then there would be days where ma mère would disappear. My dad, as I started to call him because he was the best man. He invested in my life. And I loved him like I loved my papa. He knew she was cheating on him, but he gave her chance after chance. After the final straw, I’d overheard him talking to his lawyer. His only concern was me. He told the lawyer he’d not divorce my mom because he didn’t want her to take me from him. But he wasn’t the same. It led to a deep depression he held on to for years. Finally, Mère left, but I was in college. I just saw how his love for her caused him to eventually die of a broken heart. And I decided at that moment if I could control my own life, it wouldn’t happen to me. But I can’t let you go.”

  I pull him so tight to me, away from the trails and paths. This explains so much, and honestly, it had been what I wanted from him.

  We continue the path to the waterfall, and when we’re there, we stand like most in front of the majestic beauty.

  “I want to tell you one more thing. And no one but my board of directors knows.”

  I place my hand over his on the railing of the bridge, our eyes fixed on the waterfall.

  “I’m listening.”

  “You know you asked me about my wealth. There’s more. My dad, Montgomery Morgan, had been one of the richest men in the world. He did come from money, no denying it, but he took his wealth and started a small broadcasting company. The small company turned into fifty stations in the US, and when he passed away, he gave me full ownership and control of it. I didn’t want to manage the whole corporation. I mean, I do, don’t get me wrong. But I wanted to immerse myself in the everyday dealings of my stations.”

  “Wait, are you saying you’re like a permeant undercover boss?”

  He lets out another one of his hearty chuckles. “I guess I am.”

  Then it hits me. “Wait, you are MML International. You own the station.”

  “You googled me?” His lips quirk up into an adorable smile. “And yes, I do.”

  I turn toward him, and he squares his body with mine. “And why are you telling me this?”

  He tips my chin up, where my gaze meets his. “Because I realized I can’t hold on to the resentment I have toward my mom. I’m not really living, and I want to live a full life with you.”

  I’m about to answer him when he cuts me off.

  “Don’t answer now. I want to give you a week. And if you want to explore this, then you come to me, on your terms.”

  He’s giving me the power. It’s in my hands, and honestly, I don’t know what to do with it.

  Chapter 16

  Molly

  Since he dropped me off at my childhood home on Saturday evening, I’ve not seen him or talked to him. He wants me to come to him on my terms. He’s willing to give, but can a man who’s lived close to a half of a century really change in the long run?

  I’m sitting at the dining room table, continuing my lesson planning, when my dad appears out of nowhere.

  “Have you been here this whole time?”

  I thought I was alone. Mom is playing bridge with a group of her friends tonight, and my dad normally shoots pool at the bar down the street.

  “I just wasn’t feeling the bar tonight, kiddo.”

  He pulls a chair from the dining room table as he sits kitty-corner from me. “So, sugar, what’s new in your life?”

  I know he’s digging, but with my dad it’s easy to be open. “If you are asking me if I’ve seen the Frenchman, as you refer to him, then yes. He surprised me this past weekend, and he shared things with me he’s never shared with another person.”

  “Wow, that’s impressive. So, what are you waiting on?”

  “What if I walk into this blindly and get my heart trampled on? I’m not sure I could recover.”

  He bobs his head in agreement, then stops. “Let me ask you this, what if you go into it and it’s the most beautiful life you know?”

  The most beautiful life I know? I only ever thought that existed in dreams and in Disney films.

  “You make it sound so simplistic like life won't get in the way, and we’ll be two love doves who never fight.”

  “Um, no. I know life will give you plenty of challenges. But with that comes trust and commitment to see your issues through. Your mother and I have had a doozy. I was not a good man, but we made it through with a lot of commitment to her as she had done for me. I’d not have you or Kier, and I’d seriously miss out on the best life for me if I gave in to fear. Anyway, it’s just food for thought. I love you, kiddo.” He leaves, and he is gone as fast as he came. But the man is wise for his years and makes more points than I care to argue with.

  My hand hovers over his name. It’s funny. Last Saturday, the one day we spent together, though he’d only kissed me, had been the most intimate of times. His confession of why he keeps sex, just that in the past, and why he’s closed himself off means more than I can articulate into words.

  I’m sitting on my bed, the same one I’ve had since I was ten, thinking of the life I envisioned for myself, even a month ago. It’s not in the same way. It’s completely different. A thought occurs to me, and I pull at my end table drawers next to my bed. Rummaging through the drawers I most likely haven’t cleaned out in five years is an old diary of mine.

  I turn to the date as of today, but ten years back. I wonder what my thirteen-year-old self could say to me if she were here. And I was always so boy crazy that I’m sure she has some advice I can glean from now.

  October 3rd

  There’s a new boy in my class. His name is August. What an exotic name. And his features are just like his name. He’s tall and slender, like he may be a runner. Yet I can see his muscles fill out his simple green T-shirt. I hope one day I’m lucky enough to marry a man like that. Someone who has a little bit of mystery to him, someone I can grow old with, but I’ll be his treasure at the same time.

  I stop because there were some more entries about lunch that day and the girl I caught Kier with in his room, and how he paid me thirty dollars not to tell Mom and Dad. But I read the most important part of my journal.

  It may be a Friday night, but I know what I’m doing tonight. Throwing a couple of essential items like a toothbrush, panties, bras, a couple of shirts, and jeans, I’m through my door and into the living room.

  My mom’s eyes focus on the duffel bag slung over my shoulder. “You going somewhere this late?”

  My eyes plead with my dad. I have a three-hour drive ahead of me,
and this is not a conversation I want to delve into right now.

  My response is about to be very generic, giving very little information, but my dad interrupts me.

  “Are you finally going to claim a piece of happiness for you, Molls?” My mom’s stare now bounces from Dad to me. When I nod, he continues. “Go, sugar. Drive carefully, and I’ll fill your mom in, if that’s okay?”

  “Yeah, Dad, and thanks.” I’m out the door, in my car, and bound for Seattle. I hope he’s not changed his mind about us.

  Chapter 17

  Marcel

  I’ve not contacted her. I’ve not stalked her on social media. I even canceled another trip to New York in case she seeks me out.

  It’s a bit chilly for the first part of October in Seattle. And when I’m home, even in the colder months, I’m on my back deck with a fire flaming and a true crime documentary on. I attempt not to think of her, but it’s a fruitless endeavor.

  Gloria is on her way over with all my dry cleaning for the week. Surely, if Molly has reached out to her since she has her contact, too, Gloria would have told me, but I’ll ask just in case.

  Even the steak I grilled for myself isn’t holding my interest, and I push that and the asparagus across my plate.

  The doorbell rings, and it’s about right since Gloria normally doesn’t help herself in when I’m home.

  Instead of allowing her access through my Ring doorbell, I make my way to the door and swing it back, expecting the platinum blond hair of Gloria’s, but it’s not my assistant in front of me.

  I’m breathless as my chéri stands in front of my doorway with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Did you mean it, that we could be more?”