TWENTY
AS if knowing how trying the evening had been for Joss and how emotionally fragile she was, Dash made love to her so tenderly that she was overcome. Afterward, he pulled her to him, binding their wrists as he’d done previously and then cradled her in his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder.
She loved the intimacy of the act. Of being bound to him. It was more than just a physical binding. She felt connected to him on a much deeper level. One she welcomed and savored with her entire heart.
She fell into a deep sleep, contented and sated, and yet when her dreams came, they were disturbing. Carson was there, smiling at her, holding out his hand. Dash was on the other side, standing with his heart in his eyes. The voice inside her head told her to choose. That if she had the choice of having Carson back or remaining with Dash, which would she pick?
She frowned even in sleep, her forehead creasing in pain. How could she make such a choice? She’d always said she’d do anything to have Carson back. Anything at all. But now it wasn’t so simple. Now she had Dash.
She was caught in the middle of two men she cared about, each pulling her in a different direction. The dream didn’t make sense. She couldn’t have Carson back, so why was she being tormented with the choice?
And yet each man was demanding she decide. Carson’s smile faltered and sadness entered his eyes. His hand dropped, his shoulders sagging in defeat. But Dash didn’t look triumphant. He looked tortured, as though he’d do anything in the world to spare Joss the pain she faced.
Dash turned away from her, making her decision for her, but that wasn’t what she wanted. Still, she didn’t reach for Carson. She remained standing, frozen with the impossibility of the task before her.
How could she choose? Her past or her present? Her future? Carson was dead. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—betray Dash’s faith in her. Even in her dreams, she wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen.
Her heart in pieces, she watched helplessly as Carson turned, slowly fading away, becoming transparent, the look on his face slashing her open, leaving her bleeding on the inside.
“I’m sorry, Carson. I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, warm against the coolness of her skin.
Dash watched her in the darkness, helplessness gripping him. She was fighting her demons even in sleep and he was powerless to do anything about it. Worse, she was crying for her dead husband, apologizing to him. For what? For cheating on him? For betraying his memory as Kylie had accused her of? Did Dash ever have a hope of winning her heart or would a dead man forever own it?
He silently untied the sash binding their wrists together and this time it was he who turned away, putting his back to Joss. And again, sleep eluded him. He lay there, fighting his own demons while Joss battled hers, just inches away and a world apart all at the same time.
TWENTY-ONE
JOSS awakened the next morning feeling emotionally wrung out from her troubled, upsetting dreams. She automatically reached for Dash, needing the comfort he offered, a shelter from the emotional turmoil of her dreams.
To her surprise not only was her wrist no longer bound to his, but he wasn’t in bed. She struggled to sit up, brushing back her hair so she could see. Across the room Dash stood in front of the dresser buttoning the sleeves to his dress shirt. His expression was solemn, as if he were deep in thought.
“Dash?”
His name came out shaky and soft, but he heard her and turned immediately, his expression indecipherable.
“I have to be in early this morning,” he said in a neutral tone. “There’s a lot to do before Jensen’s partnership is announced. I’m not sure how late I’ll be but I’ll call to let you know when I’m on my way home.”
Her brow furrowed. His mood was the same as it had been the previous morning when she hadn’t been able to discern what was bothering him. And it was evident that something was. She may be an open book when it came to her emotions, but Dash was similar in that she only had to look into his eyes to know if something was off. And for the second morning, he wasn’t his usual, loving self.
He didn’t even come to the bed to kiss her, and she felt too self-conscious to get out of bed to go to him. She was too afraid he’d reject her and so she remained where she was, studying him from underneath her lashes.
“Be careful,” she said quietly. “I’ll look forward to you coming home. Shall I cook dinner for us tonight?”
“Whatever you like,” he said indifferently. “We can eat out if you prefer.”
“I’ll cook,” she said firmly, wanting to do something to please him.