Divine Solace: 8 (53 page)

That grip on her throat tightened. “A Domme cherishes her
subs, rabbit.
Cherishes.
They’re not here for her to kick around to make
her feel more superior. Except Noah, when I’m in a bad mood. Then I have you to
kick my ass for that.”

Despite the grim humor, Lyda’s gaze stayed piercing. “That
was your last free pass. You put yourself down in front of me or where I hear
about it again, I’ll be kicking
your
ass. Got it?”

Gen pressed her lips together, nodded.

“Good girl.” Lyda’s touch eased to a distracting caress
between Gen’s breasts, with a quick tug on the connecting point between the
cups of her bra, accessible from the vee neckline. “Now, truth. How did you
know that about J. Martin? You cut your eyes away when you mentioned an
article, and that’s what you do when you’re not telling the whole truth.”

She and Noah should take Lyda to Vegas. They could probably
come home capable of affording ten J. Martins. “How about
quid pro quo
?”
Gen rallied. “You tell me where you and Marguerite went the other day?”

On Wednesday, Lyda had told Gen and Noah to watch over the
nursery business while she ran an errand. She was driving again, but only short
trips. One, because she still tired easily and two, despite her great annoyance
with herself about it, she was still skittish behind the wheel in heavy
traffic. Noah offered to take her, but Lyda declined the offer. “I have a
ride.”

A half hour later, Marguerite drove into the nursery. While
Noah went into the house to let Lyda know she was here, Gen had approached the
open window of Marguerite’s BMW. The 320i was past its prime, but Marguerite
refused to get rid of it, citing the fact she wasn’t going to buy a modern BMW
that had the same body as any other car on the road. When the engine had
reached three hundred thousand miles, Tyler had given her a brand new engine
for a Christmas present.

“Hey,” Gen said, glad to see her former boss. She stopped by
Tea Leaves at least once a week, and she and Chloe met for lunch frequently,
but she was still getting used to the idea that Marguerite had already
predicted. She was likely not coming back to Tea Leaves. Last week, Lyda had
offered her a job officially—assistant manager, underscoring how quickly Gen
was learning the business and earning her Mistress’s trust in her.

“Congratulations on the promotion,” Marguerite said. Gen had
of course called Marguerite and Chloe after it happened, so they knew, but it
was the first time one of them had seen her in her new capacity.

“Thanks,” Gen said. “I haven’t screwed up badly enough to be
fired, yet.”

“You won’t. But my offer still stands, Gen. No matter what
happens, you will always have a job with me if you want or need it.”

Unspoken—If this relationship doesn’t work out.
Fortunately Gen saw nothing but sincere hope for her in Marguerite’s gaze. With
her power of prediction, if Gen had read a warning, she would have been
terrified. More terrified than she was already, taking such a large leap into
so many unknowns. But her usual caution about such things was something she’d
left behind. As nervous as she might be about unknowns, she felt more strongly
about backtracking.

Lyda came out of the house, Noah helping her down the stairs
before she took over for herself with the cane. Gen spoke to Marguerite, low.
“She’s leaning on that less all the time, but she still tries to overdo, M. You
can tell when she does, because the ankle gets shaky.”

Marguerite arched a brow. “I’ll take care of her. But I’d
advise you not to try to handle a Mistress too much. It tends to piss us off.”

Gen grinned. “Like I didn’t already know that, working for
you as long as I have?”

The flash of surprise in Marguerite’s gaze—Gen hadn’t been
the type to joke about the Dom/sub dynamics before—was replaced by an amused look.
“Careful. I might tell her what you said. And ask to bear witness to the
consequences.”

Gen flushed, though the idea of M being at the club when
she, Noah and Lyda were there didn’t discomfit her as much as it might have at
one time. Inside the Dom/sub world, things tended to get tangled and
intertwined, an arousing playground.

Noah helped Lyda into the car. As the two Mistresses drove
off, he glanced at her. “Do we know what that’s about?”

“Not a clue.”

A call to Chloe had revealed nothing further about their
errand. When Lyda had returned home, she refused to discuss it further.
However, whatever she’d been doing had fueled her in other ways, because that
night she’d driven both Gen and Noah to sweaty, replete exhaustion. The next
day, she took her first short walk without the cane.

Coming back to the present, Gen suspected all these changes
she was making to her life—new relationship, new job—were what had stirred that
debris from her past. She’d made those insecurities work for her, driving her
further education and attempts to improve herself, but whenever change
happened, it made her vulnerable to that baggage. But no more. Lyda was right.
She was past that.

“I will not tell you what Marguerite and I were doing,” Lyda
said. “Fairness has no place in a Mistress-sub relationship. Spill about J.
Martin, or I’ll eat my breakfast on your stomach and stab you with my fork.”

When it came to a battle of wills, on most things, Lyda was
going to be the victor, because that was the way it worked—the way Gen needed
it to be, truth be told. As Noah had said, the why was better explained through
emotion than thought.

“I’ll tell you, but you have to swear to keep it to
yourself, because it’s a giant secret we’re not supposed to talk about, since
J. Martin doesn’t do any public appearances. Tyler and he are good friends.
Really good friends. And Tyler also knows Thomas.”

“No shit?” Lyda’s brows rose. “Would J. Martin give me a
discount if I met him at Tyler’s?”

Gen gave Lyda a light thwap with the towel. “Geez. You have
a one-track mind.”

“Which is why I’m a successful businesswoman,” Lyda said,
unperturbed. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“If you can get him off by himself, maybe.” Pretty certain.
The other thing Gen knew, because she’d met Josh at Marguerite’s wedding, was
that he was a submissive. A hot, distracted, entirely appealing submissive,
totally in love with and faithful to his Mistress and wife, Lauren. However, if
a Mistress like Lyda got him off by himself, the miniscule business acumen he
had about the price of his art would be obliterated under the spell of those
riveting eyes. “But while his art broker’s around, not a chance. Marcus is more
ruthless than even you. And he’s Thomas’ husband.” He was also a Master as
formidable as Tyler and beautiful as Lucifer. Even though Marcus was
irrevocably gay, he could still make a woman shiver when his gaze turned upon
her.

She’d probably share any and all of that with Lyda at some
point. Despite her mercenary nature, Lyda could be trusted with a secret. But
now Gen’s attention was distracted by something different, out the kitchen
window.

A man was walking up to the front of the nursery. The gate
was locked at the end of the drive, as it always was on their closed days, so
he must have left his car there. Lyda had a separate drive to the house for her
personal guests. As Noah came out of the greenhouse, apparently seeing the
man’s approach, it was clear he knew who it was. From the rigidity of his
stance, the look in his eyes, and the resulting cold spike through Gen’s chest,
she guessed pretty quickly herself. Lyda confirmed it, following Gen’s gaze out
the window.

“Elias.”

Gen thought the only reason she beat Lyda to the door was
her Mistress’s residual limp. She heard Lyda call out to her to wait. She might
have listened, but once she came out on the porch, there was no chance of that.
As she stepped out, Elias had reached Noah. No words were spoken that she saw.
The man punched Noah in the face, hard enough Noah stumbled, went to one knee.

Gen didn’t remember leaving the porch, didn’t remember
closing the ground between them. She was just suddenly in between them, with
the shovel she’d retrieved on the way clenched in both hands. Noah hadn’t even
raised his hands, hadn’t even closed them into fists to defend himself.

Gen didn’t know enough about fighting to use fists, but she
knew enough about dirty self-defense tactics from Marguerite to know how useful
a heavy blunt object was. She was vaguely aware of a shout as she swung the
shovel toward Elias’ head, rage driving every action, muting every rational
thought.

She was brought up short, the handle of the shovel caught in
a strong, capable hand, another arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her back.
Noah. Noah had stopped her swing, was pulling her back. Strong enough to stop
her, but unwilling to use any of that strength to protect himself.

“Don’t you touch him,” she snarled. Elias had taken a
self-preserving step back, had gone white enough to give her a spurt of
satisfaction. She had a further impression of streaked brown hair, blue eyes.
Elias was handsome, strong-looking, possessing the build of a man who’d
probably played sports in high school or college. Ten years older than Noah,
maybe. He wore slacks and dress shirt, a tie, as if he was on the way to a business
meeting. Or, being Sunday, maybe coming from church, an odd thought for the
moment.
Hey, I’ll stop by after the service on love-my-neighbor and beat up
the submissive kid who pissed me off.

“Gen.” Noah said it urgently enough she hesitated. “No. He has
the right.”

“No, he doesn’t,” she snapped at him.

“He’s a grown man who knows what he’s doing,” Elias said. He
had a voice like a DJ’s, smooth and deep. She hated it. Hated him. “Move out of
the way.”

“Not in this lifetime, you piece of shit.”

But Noah put her on her feet, still holding her firmly, and
moved her out from between them. “No,” Gen resisted him. “Noah.”

“This is my choice, Gen.”

The words tore through the rage, ripped into her heart. No.
They were past this, weren’t they? She couldn’t accept this, couldn’t allow it
to destroy every hopeful thought she’d had about their progress together, the
three of them, since Gatlinburg. Lyda wouldn’t take less than all of him. She
couldn’t. It didn’t matter what she said about Noah and crossed wires. Gen knew
her enough now, knew it would eventually break the link that held Noah to them.
And that link was vital to all of them.

“It’s a stupid choice.” She put her hands on his face. “Why
can’t you see this isn’t love? I love you. Lyda loves you. Yeah, she might not
have said it, but in the way she acts toward you, treats you… Goddamn it, she
loves you. And so do I. I won’t stand by and let someone take advantage of you,
hurt you like this. Don’t you understand that?”

He tried to move her again. She dug in her heels, gripped
his arms to hold him. He’d have to drag her. She clung to rage, because
otherwise she’d have to bear the horrible truth that the past few weeks had
been a false happiness. The unresolved issue was right here, ignored but never
gone, patiently waiting to ambush them all. The wall was still behind his eyes,
never gone, just obscured by her idealism, which was once again leading her to
heartbreak.
Don’t do this to me. To us. To Lyda.

“Can you not understand that you owe it to people who truly love
you to love them back? To choose them? There’s no greater gift you can give us,
than to lay yourself all out there for that one…or two…specific people, and let
them know that your heart and soul is unconditionally
theirs
. Not just
any asshole who comes along.” She was poking a stick right into that
rage-trigger, but she didn’t care. The alternative was unthinkable.

“You just said it,” he said, his chin set, gaze
dispassionate. “My choice. Please stand aside, Gen. If you have any regard for
me, step aside.”

She looked toward the porch. Lyda stood there, leaning on
the cane. She had that locked expression Gen knew too well. It cut her heart to
ribbons.

“Come here, Gen,” Lyda said, holding out a hand. “Come to
me.”

“No.” It was a broken plea. It became even more excruciating
when she saw the strain around Lyda’s tight mouth, the terrible knowledge in
her eyes.
There is a wire crossed in his mind…
Those goddamn, fucking
crossed wires.

“Fine.
Fine.
” She thrust away from Noah, turned on
him. “You’d sacrifice your life for us, but you won’t fucking choose us. You’d
break our hearts rather than do that. That’s worse than letting us die, Noah.
But if that’s what your fucked-up brain says to do, then go with him. Don’t
wait for Lyda to let you go, because if she does let you go, it’s because you
forced her to let you go. She knows she doesn’t deserve to be treated like this
by you. Neither of us do.”

He was flinching as if she was hitting him with the shovel
now, but she wouldn’t stop. She had two people in her life to protect, one at
her back and one at her front. The one at her front needed to hear the truth of
it, even if it never sank into his broken mind. The one behind her might deny
ever needing Gen’s defense, but Gen had been inside Lyda deeply enough now to
know there were parts of their formidable Mistress that were as capable of
being hurt and destroyed as anyone else. Especially when she opened herself to
love, as she had.

“If he beats you, kills you, that won’t be the real tragedy,
Noah. It’s that he’ll eat your soul, because he doesn’t really know what it
means to love you. To accept you as who you are. You deserve that, you’re
smarter than this. I spent years of my life figuring it out, years I’ll never
get back.”

She stepped up to him. She knew his body well enough to jerk
the shirt up and reach behind him to find it without searching. Her hand landed
on that scar, the one that had bifurcated
Yours
and
unconditionally
,
and erased the “un”. “Love can be given unconditionally, but the recipient
should
never
accept it that way. They should spend their lives working
for it, because that kind of love deserves to be earned. It has to be. You
don’t value what you don’t have to earn, even if it’s a gift.”