Darkest Desires (The Club #14)
Page 7
I hadn’t been to The Club since Miranda died. Hadn’t wanted to see other couples blissed out in the throes of an irreplaceable connection. Hadn’t wanted to be reminded of the memories I’ve spent the past few months trying to forget.
Without thinking, I shoot off a quick text to the number Diana gave me for Stella. I can’t do this. Can’t be in the place, reminded of all I’ve lost.
Some things are irreplaceable.
I get to my feet to leave, when I see Stella caught up in conversation with Tally and another Club member. Other patrons flow around me as I come to a stop in the middle of the aisle, watching as Stella follows them down the hall to a private room.
Each step is like walking through cement, but I make it to the open doorway. When I step inside, I’m met with raised brows and twisted lips. Tally notices me and starts to come forward, but I shake my head and move to an empty seat in the corner that will keep me relatively concealed from the group—and Stella in particular.
At Tally’s motion, the other regular members of The Club who attend the munches to welcome newcomers also leave me alone. Presumably under the guise of respect for my wife—which only serves to make the guilt burn alongside the whiskey in my stomach.
A man, one I don’t recognize, approaches Stella and she stiffens slightly, her eyes going to the floor for the barest of moments, but it’s enough for me to stiffen in the confines of my slacks. For the first time in over a year, I want to take a woman. Want to own her.
But not just any woman. This one.
Her dark hair flutters over her shoulders and her smooth creamy skin teases underneath the hem of her dress. I image all those curls spread over her body and nothing else. I imagine holding it in my fists as she kneels before me, those bright red lips glistening for me.
Begging.
She raises her eyes, glancing around the crowd, almost looking to see if anyone is watching and I know, with a certainty that’s always served me well in my profession, that she’s as addicted to the audience as I am to subservience.
Without giving myself a chance to think about the consequences for the first time in a long time, I send another text to her phone. This time not to drive her away, but to see her again. Without the pulse-pounding addition of The Club members around us.
To see if the needs stirring inside of me are real.
Thankfully, the dinner ends and she bids goodbye to the man sitting next to her. His eyes follow her as she leaves, just as mine do. Her cheeks are red, either from excitement or the growing heat in the crowded room, and her eyes are bright. She draws the eyes of everyone in the room and I wonder if she knows.
She speaks with Tally, who hands her a card. The warmth in my stomach contracts and I have to grip the edge of the table to keep from striding across the room and taking her. I force myself to finish off my tumbler of whiskey, force myself to think of my wife, the woman I loved all during medical school, my residency, my childhood.
I never thought I’d find another woman I’d want to be mine. To shape and mold under my hands and command. When she died, I thought that part of me died with her. God knows the good parts of me did.
Now all that’s left are the darkest parts.
I get out my phone again and dial her number. As she leaves the room, I follow a safe distance behind. She brings the phone up to her cheek while pushing the door open to go outside. The line connects, linking us.
“Hello,” I say.
The Club
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About the Author
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Nicole Blanchard lives in Florida with her family and their menagerie of animals. She chooses each day to chase her own fairy tale even if they contain their fair share of dragons. She is married to her best friend and owns her own business.
Nicole survives on a diet of too many books and substantial amounts of root beer and slim jims. When not reading, she’s lavishing attention on her family or inhaling every episode of The Walking Dead and The Big Bang Theory.
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