He held up his hand when the protest formed on her lips. And then he cupped her chin, stroking his thumb down her jawline.
“You’ve been thrown one hell of a curveball. I get that. And I’m not asking you to go to bed with me. Not yet. Not tonight. But stay here in the guest room. I’d feel better if you weren’t alone. I’ll make us breakfast in the morning and then I’ll take you home. And then I’ll give you time. In the morning we’ll set a date. Dinner. Dancing. Whatever pleases you. Then you can give me your answer, and depending on the answer, we’ll go from there.”
She swallowed visibly and he could see the indecision in her eyes. Her weighing her options and trying to absorb the events of the day.
“Stay,” he whispered, angling his head to kiss her again.
She emitted a sweet sigh as his tongue pushed in to taste her all over again. Kissing her was addictive. Now that he’d kissed her for the first time, he knew it would never be enough. He wanted to taste her everywhere. Her breasts. He wanted to get between her legs and savor every inch of her feminine flesh. And then he wanted to brand her. Possess her in every conceivable fashion there was to possess a woman. Until she had no doubt as to his ownership. No doubt that he was the last man who’d ever make love to her.
“Stay,” he said again, as he reluctantly ended the kiss and drew away.
She sucked in a breath and then exhaled it in a long wave, her shoulders slumping downward with the action.
“All right,” she conceded. “I’ll stay.”
SIX
WHEN Joss walked into Dash’s kitchen the next morning, he knew she hadn’t slept well, if at all. But then neither had he. How could he when he was imagining her in the next bedroom? So fucking close and yet a world away. Out of reach. He’d lain in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, alternately thanking and cursing fate.
He was so close. This close to having his heart’s desire, and he kept wondering if this was all some sick joke fate was playing on him. Dangling the proverbial carrot in front of his nose only to cruelly yank it away. What if Joss backed out? What if she’d acted on impulse and after careful consideration chose to change her mind?
He couldn’t handle it. It had been bad enough before when he’d known he had no chance with her. But now? Now that he’d kissed her, had tasted her, had held her in his arms? He couldn’t bear it if he lost her now. Before he even had her once.
Not that once would ever be enough. Not with her. Other women? Once had been all he’d ever wanted. He hadn’t wanted to form relationships even though not doing so was torture in itself. He saw Joss and Carson. Was tortured by what they had and by knowing he’d never have the same.
Most of the time he sucked it up and dealt. But the nights when he couldn’t, when he was lonely and aching for what could never be, he’d gone to The House. Sated his needs and then went back to his self-induced purgatory.
He hoped to fuck that was over. For good. He could only hope. If willing it made it happen, then she’d have already been in his bed. Tied to it so she’d never leave.
Desperate? That didn’t even cover it. Not by a long shot.
He had no pride when it came to Joss. And he didn’t give one damn.
He poured a cup of her favorite coffee and slid it along the bar as she sat down. She was wearing one of his T-shirts, a fact that made him absurdly happy, and a pair of pajama bottoms she’d had to cinch tight to keep from falling down her hips. Not that he would have minded . . .
“You didn’t sleep, baby,” he said in a gentle tone.
She flinched and closed her eyes, but not before he saw a surge of grief swamp them.
“Please don’t call me that,” she whispered.
“Of course. I didn’t think. I’m sorry,” he said softly.
It was what Carson had always called her.
“There are plenty of other endearments I’ll use for you, honey.”
She opened her eyes and a smile flirted with the corners of her mouth.
“Now, that’s better. Surely it wasn’t that bad of a night?”
But even as he said it, he knew it likely had been. It had been hell for him, and he wasn’t the one who’d been handed a huge shock. And on the anniversary of Carson’s death. He inwardly winced, but then timing wasn’t always his friend. He wasn’t going to not act just because it was the date of his best friend’s death. Fate—and Joss—had forced his hand.
“It was a lot to take in,” she admitted, bringing the cup to her lips.
She took a sip and then closed her eyes as pleasure washed away the lines of fatigue on her face.
“You spoil me,” she said, lowering the cup.