Maya Banks - Letting Go

“But he is hurting her,” Kylie said fiercely. “You had to have seen what I saw today. What we’ve seen for the last while. She’s not happy, Joss, and I’m worried about her. What if he’s abusing her?”

Joss blinked, utterly shocked by Kylie’s assertion. Yes, she’d noticed that Chessy wasn’t her usual cheerful, sunny self. She’d sensed that something was off about her best friend, but never had she entertained, even for a moment, that Tate was hurting her physically.

“I don’t know exactly what’s going on with Chessy and Tate,” Joss said carefully. “But I do know that there is no way he’s abusing her. Chessy would never stand for it. She’s too strong and independent, despite the fact that she gave Tate her submission. Not to mention she’d tell us if he was hurting her. We’re too close of friends. We’d know, Kylie. We’d know.”

“No one ever knew the hell that Carson and I endured,” Kylie said painfully. “We hid it from the world. Our father appeared to others as a doting parent incapable of ever doing us harm. But behind closed doors he was a monster.”

“Please don’t worry about me,” Joss said. “And don’t worry about Chessy. I’ll talk to her if it makes you feel better. I know Tate. We all know Tate. We’ve all been friends for years. There is no way he is abusing Chessy. And sweetie, I know you’re not happy with my choice. I don’t expect you to accept it, but I’d like for you to respect it at least.”

“I love you,” Kylie said brokenly. “And I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to steer you away from the path you seem so determined to take. But if this is really what you want, if it’s what you need and it will make you happy, then I’ll try to respect your choices. I just don’t want to lose you too.”

Joss hugged her again. “You’re not going to lose me. You’re my sister and my best friend. Carson was not my only tie to you and now that he’s gone it doesn’t mean that our tie is severed. You’re my family, Kylie. I love you.”

Kylie pulled away, a watery smile quivering on her lips. “I’ll expect a report tomorrow just like Chessy. I won’t sleep tonight for worrying about you. I just hope you know what it is you’re getting into.”

“So do I,” Joss murmured. “So do I.”

DASH Corbin parked his car outside The House and sat for a moment, wondering again why he was here tonight. Normally on the anniversary of Carson’s death, Dash would spend the day—and evening—with Joss. Not that he didn’t spend plenty of other days with her, but for the first two anniversaries of Carson’s passing, he’d spent the entire day with Joss. Holding her. Comforting her. Supporting her.

And it was his own personal hell.

It sucked to be in love with his best friend’s wife. He’d lived with guilt for the entirety of Carson’s marriage to Joss. Carson had known. He’d guessed, though Dash had done his best never to allow his feelings to show. But his best friend was perceptive. He knew him better than anyone else ever had. They weren’t just business partners. They were as close as brothers, though Dash hadn’t existed in the hell that Carson and Kylie had endured growing up.

No, Dash’s family was the complete antithesis of Carson’s. If you could call the piece-of-shit bastard who’d fathered Carson family. Dash’s parents were still as solidly in love now as they were forty years ago when they’d married. Dash was one of five siblings, the middle child. Two older brothers. Two younger sisters who were spoiled and protected by their older brothers.

Carson had been befuddled by Dash’s close-knit family from the moment he’d first met them. He hadn’t known how to react to a normal, well-adjusted family setting. But Dash’s family had embraced Carson—and Joss, when Carson had married her. And even Kylie, though she was more reserved and more wary of his large family than Carson was.

Dash sighed again and got out, walking to the entrance of The House. He wasn’t even interested in any action tonight, but he was restless and on edge. Joss had occupied his thoughts the entire day. Ever since he’d taken her to the cemetery and had seen the difference in her.

He didn’t know what to make of the abrupt change. She’d walked out of her house in jeans and a T-shirt, looking so young and beautiful that it still made his chest ache to remember the image of her.

And then she’d asked to be left alone at the grave and she’d stayed there, her lips moving as she’d spoken to Carson for a long while. When she’d returned, there was a marked difference in her demeanor. And then that spiel about not needing him. Apologizing to him, for fuck’s sake. Apologizing for being a goddamn burden. For taking up too much of his life and time. Hell, she didn’t even realize she was his life. Or at least he hoped she would be.

He checked in with the man working the door and wandered through the lower levels. The social rooms. The places where people met up, drank good wine, mingled before moving upstairs to the common room or one of the private suites.

There were plenty of beautiful women and no shortage of interested looks thrown his way. It had been a while since he’d come here to work off some steam. Usually after he’d spent time with Joss, pretending the woman he was with was her. It made him a bastard, but he made certain the woman he was with was taken care of. She had no way of knowing that she was a poor substitute for the one woman he couldn’t have.

Was she finally moving on? She’d talked the talk during the car ride home. She’d been blunt, painfully so, and it had cost her. He’d seen the naked emotion in her eyes when she’d said that Carson was gone and he wasn’t coming back and she had to move on and accept that. But did she mean it?

He was afraid to hope. And he was afraid of making the wrong move. He couldn’t afford to fuck it all up by pushing her too soon. She viewed him as a friend. She viewed herself as a burden to him. Someone he’d babysat through her grief. Never even realizing that he lived for the moments when he was with her.

Carson had known that his best friend was in love with his wife. He’d known and accepted it. Dash had been afraid that it would ruin not only their friendship, but their business partnership as well. But Carson had understood. He trusted Dash never to act on that attraction. And he’d also exacted a promise from Dash that were anything ever to happen to Carson, Dash would be there for Joss.

Hell of a note when his best friend entrusted his wife to his care if something happened to him.

Worse was the fact that Carson had exacted that promise mere weeks before he’d been killed in an accident. Almost as if he knew. Had he sensed that something would happen and that Joss would be left a young widow?

At the time, Dash had brushed off the very serious pledge that Carson had confronted him with.

If anything ever happens to me, man, I want you to promise me. Promise me that you’ll be there for Joss. I know you love her. If there ever comes a day that I can’t be there for her, I want you to promise me that you’ll take care of her and love her like I do.

The words echoed through his mind. Prophetic? Or just coincidence?

At the time, the promise had just been a painful reminder of all that Carson had and all that Dash didn’t. Joss was . . . She was beautiful. Not just physically. She could light up a room by simply walking in. She had a gentle smile that could charm even the hardest heart. And she’d never so much as looked in the direction of another man after she’d met Carson. God knows, there’d been no shortage of men only too willing to seduce another man’s wife. But Joss acted as though she had no clue of her effect on men. And that made her all the more desirable to Dash.

After making a quick round of the social rooms, he picked up a glass of wine—Damon Roche served only the best—and headed up the stairs to the common room.

There was the usual eclectic mix of sexcapades occurring in the large, open room. Though there were no actual partitions, the room was sectioned off simply by the participants taking their own spaces for their activities.

A mixture of sounds and smells greeted him as he walked farther into the room. The slap of flesh on flesh. The smack of a whip or a flogger. The sighs, moans and cries of ecstasy. Some of pain. Some of pleasure. The air was thick with the scent of sex.

He crossed the room, taking in the occupants, wanting to ensure that Tate and Chessy weren’t present tonight. Not that he was a prude by any stretch, but seeing his other best friends having sex wasn’t high on his list of priorities. Though he shouldn’t have worried because he hadn’t seen them at The House in months. The few times in the past he had seen them, he’d cut short his own visit, because he would never do anything to make Chessy uncomfortable.

She was a very special woman, and Tate was a lucky son of a bitch to have such perfection. Submissive. Beautiful. Gifting Tate with her absolute trust. There was not a more precious gift than a woman who gave her submission to a man.

It was what he wanted for himself, what he’d always sought out in any relationship he’d formed. But for Joss, he’d deny that part of himself if it was the only way he had a chance at having her. Knowing Carson’s background, Dash knew with certainty that Carson and Joss had never delved into that lifestyle.

But then he’d never gone beyond casual sex after Joss. Once she’d come into Carson’s life, a whirlwind, there hadn’t been another woman for Dash. He sated his needs, made certain his partner’s were met as well and then he moved on, never willing to commit, even though he’d known that Joss was unattainable. Only now that wasn’t true. She was free. But could she ever love another man as she’d loved Carson?

That was the question of the day. And could Dash be content with only a part of her heart?

He nodded before he could stop himself. Hell yes, he’d take any part of her he could get. The question was, when did he make his move?

Today had given him the first ray of hope in three years that Joss was ready to move past her grief and live her life again. He’d been patient. He’d been whatever she needed him to be. But he wanted to be so much more.

He retreated to the corner of the room, politely declining with a gentle smile a woman who offered to service him. Another night he may have let her, close his eyes and imagine Joss under his firm but tender grasp. But tonight his thoughts were consumed with Joss, and he couldn’t muster the heart to pretend as he’d done so many other times.

His family thought him a fool for not moving beyond his feelings for Joss a long time ago. They’d eyed him with sympathy for the last three years. His brothers had even asked him when he was going to act. But he’d known it wasn’t time. Not then. But now?

He couldn’t help the petal of hope that unfurled when he’d been with Joss earlier today. He’d seen the difference in her eyes and in her demeanor. But then that bullshit apology for being a burden, and she’d acted as though she were finished being that burden to him.

To hell with that. If she thought he was just going to step aside, she was very wrong.

He stood watching with waning enthusiasm, not even sure what had driven him here tonight. What he wanted was to be with Joss. Watching a movie and trying to get her mind off her grief, which is what he’d done the last two anniversaries—and plenty of times in between. The day hadn’t gone at all as he’d expected. He’d cleared his calendar, made certain his clients were covered so that he could spend the day with Joss.

He hadn’t expected her to all but dismiss him after their trip to the cemetery.

His gaze was drawn to the entryway where a couple entered, and he did an immediate double take.

What the ever-loving fuck?

He stared, unable to believe what he was seeing. Joss had just walked through the doorway, a man Dash knew from The House at her side, his arm wrapped intimately around her waist, his hand splayed very possessively over her hip, leaving no question of his . . . ownership. Or impending ownership.

She was dressed in a killer black sheath that hugged and outlined every single one of her perfect curves. And she wore a pair of fuck-me shoes that just begged for a man to do just that. Fuck her in those heels until she screamed his name over and over.

Her hair was upswept, a few tendrils floating lazily down her slender neck, drawing attention to the delicateness of her features.