BATTLE OF DESIRE

It was a cold Saturday morning – well, cold for Miami – and Marcia was at a business breakfast meeting with new clients. Sipping her coffee, she mused, it's been a while...

It had been a long while since she'd been in town, and she especially loved this area, with the cars going by and people walking along the sidewalk. As she sipped her coffee and listened to her clients chat, a message popped up on her phone.

It was from the office – the package had been delivered and was waiting for her inspection.

She put down her coffee cup and excused herself from her clients.

"Well, gentlemen, thank you very much for your time. As agreed, all the documents will be sent to you before the end of the week."

Everyone smiled, shook hands, and Marcia headed quickly to her office.

==========

"There! Follow her. Don't get too close," said the man with sandy brown hair and light blue eyes, seated in the back of a black Lexus. His eyes were intently focused on Marcia as she crossed the street, headed to the parking lot, and got into her red Mercedes.

Fifteen minutes later, Marcia parked her car and walked into her office, a two-story building with a full glass front on the ground floor, topped by a stylish wood exterior on the upper floor. Written on the entrance was the name of the company: Oltre Bacchus, a mix of Italian and French. It was one of the newest wine stores to hit the Miami Strip.

As Marcia walked in, the black Lexus parked opposite the building. The man in the passenger seat reached over, placed a hand on the driver, and said in a deep voice, "Wait here. I'll be right back."

He stepped out of the car, checked for oncoming vehicles, and crossed the road swiftly to the door. He stood outside for a moment, hand poised over the door handle, before taking a deep breath and walking in.

==========

Marcia was opening a recently delivered crate of wine from Europe, her back to the door, shoulders hunched over, head down. She turned around and looked up when she heard someone enter. "Oh, I'm so sorry, we're not open yet. If you could come back –"

She stopped mid-sentence, her mouth still open, as if all the air had left her lungs, because of the man – no, the ghost – that she saw in front of her.

Marcia stared at the visitor, her eyes widening, and she dropped the lid of the crate she had just opened.

Crash!

The secretary let out a yell, "Ma'am, are you okay?! Is everything all right?" he exclaimed as he hurried toward Marcia.

==========

Seeing the gentleman at the door, he turned to him apologetically, "Oh, I'm sorry, we're not open yet. Perhaps you could come back in an hour, maybe two?" He said nervously, gesturing with an outstretched hand for the visitor to leave, while still moving towards his boss; concern on his face for the sudden noise but wearing a professional smile for the potential customer.

The man didn't look at him, not even for a moment. His mind was preoccupied with the image he had seen as he walked through the doors; Marcia's slender back and shoulders moving gracefully as she worked the crate lid free, head down, with concentration etched on her profile. Her slim nose, full lips, and slender chin... it was all too familiar.

He looked back at Marcia and saw that the two were staring at each other without speaking. Finally, Marcia breathed in, stuttering, "You... Jullian... How...? Why...?"

Jullian stepped forward, approaching Marcia. She took a step back, raised her hand, and said, "Stop!" Jullian stopped instantly as if hit by an invisible wall.

The air grew thick with tension as the secretary glanced back and forth between the two, confused and unsure whether to say something or retreat to the storeroom he had just come out from. Luckily, Marcia saved him, "Kyle, please leave us. It's okay; I dropped the lid by mistake."

Kyle nodded and murmured his agreement to Marcia's request, leaving the room.

Jullian, the man who had entered the store, gazed intently at Marcia and started to speak. "Marcia..., I..."

"Stop," Marcia said, cutting him off, her usually soft voice trembling and barely above a whisper. "I don't..., you shouldn't..., why...? Leave, Jullian!" Her voice rose at the last two words.

"If you just give me –"

"I said leave!" Marcia cut in again, this time, without whisper or hesitation. Jullian's shoulders slumped slightly, almost imperceptibly, and for the first time since he entered the room, his eyes moved away from Marcia for a brief second before returning to her increasingly reddening face.

"Marcia, we need to talk." That voice, that same deep, sonorous, authoritative voice, made Marcia subconsciously look away, dipping her head to the side toward her right shoulder, which moved upward in a half-shrug. She stopped mid-motion, turning back to Jullian, her brown eyes blazing.

Marcia pursed her lips and stared defiantly at Jullian.

"I know the way we left things is wrong and hurtful, but if you give me –"

"Leave!" Marcia yelled, clenching her fists at her side.

"If you'd give me one minute, I can explain," Jullian continued in a steady voice, his beautiful light blue eyes locked with Marcia's deep brown ones.

"One minute to explain what you did five years ago?" Marcia responded incredulously. She turned away from Jullian, facing the wall, and took a few deep breaths. Turning her face to the side, her back still toward Jullian, hands on her slim waist, she continued, "I don't want to hear anything from you. You can leave, and you can leave right now."

==========

Jullian sighed, showing exasperation for the first time, well, Jullian's version of exasperation. He closed his eyes for three seconds and then took a step forward. "I know you don't want to hear what I have to say, but you have to hear it. I have to tell you what happened back then. I need to explain it."

"I don't need your explanation!" Marcia retorted, still with her back to Jullian, only the side of her slender face visible. "This is my space, and I want you out. You are not invited, and you are not welcome."

Jullian gave an aspirated sigh. "Okay, fine, I'll leave, but I'll be back later."

Marcia spun around at this and pointed aggressively at Jullian. "Don't you dare come back here! You have no business with me, and I have none with you!"

Jullian stepped forward, right up to Marcia's face, and grabbed her arm. "You have everything to do with me, and I have everything to do with you. I will leave now, as you requested, but I will be back. I will see you again." He strongly emphasized the last two 'will's.

They stared into each other's eyes, frozen in the moment, closer in their anger than they were with their faces almost touching, their breaths intermingling. Marcia sharply held her breath and deliberately leaned back, away from Jullian's intense demeanor, saying nothing, her brown eyes dark with anger.

Jullian released Marcia's arm, stepped back, and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for doing that. I'll see you again." With that, Jullian gazed intently at Marcia one last time, turned around, and walked out.

Marcia stood with her head spinning, heart racing, and sweat forming on her forehead – even in the coolness of the office. Her eyes were darting about as she stood, stock still, in front of the open crate. Her hands were shaking...shaking with what? With anger? With rage? With embarrassment?

She started to pace and then suddenly rushed out of the office after Jullian. By the time Marcia reached the parking lot, Jullian had already crossed the street and was getting into his car.

Marcia looked on as Jullian got into his car and drove off. Her hands clenched at her sides as she watched the disappearing vehicle, she muttered under her breath, "Five years...just like that...five years. How? Why am I reacting like this?" She closed her eyes as his car disappeared from view.

"Well, how was it? You left pretty early this morning and you're just getting back now?" a dark-haired man asked Jullian as he walked into the brightly lit game room of his family's opulent mansion.

"Good evening, Father," Jullian responded, heading toward the minibar to pour himself some whiskey.

Jullian's father, Elander Grayson, raised his near-empty glass to Jullian in greeting. "How was it?"

Jullian walked toward his father, seated in his favorite dark brown leather wingback chair, facing the room's entrance. Jullian settled into the black three-seater leather sofa to his father's left, crossing one lean leg over the other.

Taking a sip from his glass, he replied, "As expected, she hates me."

"Now, now, don't worry about that. She's young. Of course, she has her passions, and she's allowed to have emotional outbursts," his father responded, a slight smirk playing on his lips, as he looked his son in the eye and took a sip from his glass.

Jullian, cupping his drink in both hands, stared down at the carpet. He was replaying the scene from that morning at Oltre Bacchus. The scene with Marcia's face as she worked on the crate, the scene with Marcia, mouth half open, the scene with Marcia...Jullian's eyes refocused as he pulled himself back to the present.

"What do I do, Father? How can I fix this? She won't even talk to me," He asked his father, his voice low and strained, his gaze not leaving the carpet.

"Well, my boy, there's the easy way and there's the hard way," Elander responded.

Jullian's brow furrowed and he looked up at his father with one eyebrow slightly raised. "How do you mean?"

Jullian's father looked at him, tilting his head to the left and lightly shaking it slightly as if he were sorry for his son, "Well, Jullian Grayson, heir to the Grayson empire, what do you want that is out of your reach? It's a simple matter of reaching out your hand and taking it."

"Or," Elander continued, raising his glass to Jullian in a mock toast, "you could do it the hard way, try wooing her." He said, his eyes laughing.

Jullian's father gave a small laugh before his expression turned serious again. "By the way, help me understand something. Why are you, son, so distressed over some college crush who just happened to walk back into your life?"

"Father, she's not just a crush. I was in love with her. And now that she's back, I need to make her understand –"

"Understand what?" Elander interrupted. "You're the heir of the Grayson family. You don't have to explain anything to anyone!" Elander Grayson stood up in a huff, looking down at his son, who remained seated, legs still crossed, his drink balanced on his knee.

"You don't have to explain anything," Elander continued, "As a commoner, a mere plebeian, she should know her place! Whatever you want, is what she must do. This is how it has always been!" Elander said, his voice sharp, his stance commanding.

Jullian met his father's gaze. "But, Father, you know that –"

"Ah, enough of this!" Elander spat, his eyes narrowing. "Then and now are not the same. Now, you want to prove yourself, right? You want to show us you can make your own decisions and that your choices are wise and true, right?" Elander retorted as he stared down his only son.

Jullian shifted his gaze back to the carpet, away from his father's intense blue eyes.

That is what we always do, whatever we want, all the time, no matter how it affects anyone, no matter the consequences, Jullian thought bitterly.

His lips pursed and his eyes darkened as he took a deep swig from his glass. "I hear you, Father. I understand. But this is something I need to handle, and I need to handle it by myself."

His father, now standing behind the wingback chair, rested his forearms on its back. "Well, you know how we handle things," Elander said, his tone calm and even. "And of course, if you need any help, you can always come to Daddy." He stared at Jullian while slowly turning his glass left and right, swirling the remainder of his drink.

He saluted his son with his near-empty glass, a playful yet dangerous glint in his eyes, downed the last drops of his whiskey, and walked out of the game room.

Jullian uncrossed his long legs and leaned back, exhaling, his arms hanging off to his sides, staring at the chandelier that graced the room.

He suddenly exhaled, long and exaggeratedly. He wanted to scream, but that would be unbecoming. So, he did what he'd been taught to do. He took deep breaths, staring at the chandelier, and counted down from ten in his mind, slowly and methodically.

When he reached one, he downed the rest of his drink, placed the glass on the side table, and headed upstairs to the home gym.

It was time to hit something and hit it hard.

Marcia remembered it like it was yesterday.

College club registration day for students. The sun was blazing overhead as she and her fellow club members sweated, running and jumping around passing students, cajoling, teasing, prodding, charming them to join their wine-tasting club.

Clothing damp from sweat and from the occasional spraying of cold water on their faces, backs, and arms to keep cool.

Taking occasional short breaks to sip water, soda, or some other allowable beverage, she and her club members were working hard to get as many signatures as possible.

As Marcia took a break, sipping her water, a dark figure caught her ever-watchful eye – a tall, well-toned student walking fast toward the main college school building, head down, shoulders stooped, seemingly doing his best to avoid the excessively, almost aggressively, boisterous wine-tasting club.

She looked closer and noticed that the student had a build somewhere between a runner and a swimmer, with sandy brown hair.

Ah! That's the sixth one today! Do they think avoiding eye contact makes them invisible? Marcia thought to herself with a cheerful chuckle.

"What? What's up?" the student beside her asked.

"Hold this, June," Marcia replied, handing her water bottle to the student who had just spoken. June took the bottle and followed Marcia's gaze; she gave a small knowing smile, "Get 'em, tiger!" she said, slapping Marcia lightly on the shoulder, as they both focused on the runner.

Marcia jumped in front of the runner. "Hello, how are you? We're getting new people to join the wine-tasting club. Would you be interested?" she said cheerfully, sticking a flyer under the student's nose.

Turning his head away, the student walked past Marcia without saying a word.

"Hey, hold on," Marcia said, grabbing the runner's arm as he walked past. Wow, that's some muscle he's got under there, she thought, momentarily distracted, you wouldn't know just by looking. The runner half-turned sharply, raising his gaze to meet hers.

Marcia, stunned by the expression on his face, hurriedly let go, apologizing immediately, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, that was...that was too much, I'm sorry. That was wrong of me." Her breath suddenly came fast – and not from the short run just now, she had not been breathing this hurriedly when their conversation started.

"I was just...I was...I just wanted to...," she stammered, trying to find the words to say, and subconsciously rubbing her hands against her slim thigh as if trying to wipe dirt off them to apologize for touching the runner with unclean hands.

More than his expression, the intensity of his gaze shook Marcia to the core – the sudden and unexpectedly light blue eyes that seemed to be looking right through her hit her first, then the strong brow, aquiline nose, strong jaw, and cheekbones set with lips that looked like they needed to be kissed, all hit her at once.

As she fumbled for words, the runner's frame softened and he turned fully to face Marcia. "What is it?" he asked, looking away from Marcia, staring over her shoulder. "Uh, I, uh, wine tasting, uh, club, uh, join, uh, would you?" she blurted out, stumbling over her words.

He snatched the flyer from her and walked away.

Marcia exhaled, hunching over, placing her hands on her knees, her heart racing. "Woah! What was that? What was that?!" she said to no one in particular, patting her chest, attempting to calm her beating heart.

"Hey! Marcia! Flyers! hurry up!" shouted Steve, the president of the wine-tasting club. Marcia straightened up, rushed back to the table where the rest of her club members were, and resumed handing out the flyers.

"What happened?" June asked, her brow furrowed as she handed out flyers beside Marcia. Marcia looked down at her, smiled slightly, and shook her head gently, giving no reply.

She glanced back up at the passing crowds, smiling and passing out flyers. I wonder if he'll come to the semester opening event this evening.

June, who had watched the whole exchange from a distance, shook her head as well, thinking I wonder if he'll show up tonight, as she continued handing out flyers and looking for the next target.

It was evening, and the wine-tasting club's semester opening event was in full swing, attracting a lively crowd.

The garden, where the event was being held, was tastefully decorated with white and yellow party lights and round cocktail tables scattered throughout, allowing guests to chat and sip wine for a bit before moving to another table or strolling through the garden.

At the back of the venue was a long table with at least thirty different types of wines from around the world, and a few beers for any heathens that may have made it into the venue.

The wine table was manned by the executives of the wine-tasting club, who gave brief histories of the wines presented and explained the art of wine tasting to the guests who came for a drink or refill; and gave brief side glances to heathens who picked up the beers instead.

Soft classical music was playing in the background, Concierto #3 Allegro, by Sebastian Bach, and many people were standing in groups or mingling around, creating a nice atmosphere.

The runner entered the venue, scanning the room from the entryway. He slowly made his way inside, moving in a quiet, unobtrusive way, avoiding all groups, and any eye contact. Many people didn't even notice as he walked past them.

His gaze landed on a group of wine-tasting club members – a group of people with the same gold-colored badges pinned on their chests – his eyes rested on one person: Marcia, who was talking and smiling with the group. That magnetic smile on her face that felt like it was pulling you in.

He continued glancing around the garden, but his gaze kept coming back to Marcia, drawn to her black hair blowing softly in the evening breeze, her warm brown eyes, and the soothing sound of her voice, which he could hear even from a distance – not the words, but the vibrations of the sounds, soft and inviting.

As Marcia was chatting with her friends, she suddenly noticed June's voice. "Um, hi, yes, um, welcome, do you need help with anything? I can show you around..." June said nervously to a student who had just arrived, a stark contrast to her usually boisterous and energetic tone.

She and the other two club members she was standing with looked toward June's voice and clearly understood why June sounded so strange.

Ah! It's him! Marcia thought, as she excused herself from the others and started to walk toward the student she had met earlier that day while handing out the wine-tasting flyers – the runner.

"I'm here for this," the runner said, showing June the flyer. His eyes flicked around as he spoke to her.

"Oh yes, yes, of course! We have the wines all set up at the long table over there," June replied, gesturing toward the executives standing and talking with guests in the inner part of the garden.

The runner lifted his gaze to follow June's hand and after half a heartbeat assessing the wine-dispensing table, he turned to move in the opposite direction.

As he glanced away from the wine table, about to walk away, he saw Marcia heading towards him.