A Million Different Ways (A Horn Novel Book 1)

by Dangelico, P.

  “Were what?” I mumbled, my train of thought derailed by the spell his smoldering eyes and voice were casting.

  “Hanging around.”

  How could two simple words sound so indecent? Everything south of my navel tingled. And then, very slowly, he reached out and caught a lock of hair that had escaped my ponytail. I held my breath as he coiled it around his index finger and tucked it behind my ear. Shocked and confused, I remained perfectly still when his hand didn’t leave me immediately. The pads of his fingers grazed the tender skin of my neck, under my ear, lingered there, happy to stay forever. But when his focused attention landed on my lips, I came to my senses and stood up, his hand falling away from me.

  It must be the drugs, I told myself. The drugs made him forget who I was for a moment. “I should get you back to the house.” I couldn’t keep the anxiety out of my voice. It sounded high and far away.

  He wouldn’t look at me as he planted his good leg on the ground, underneath himself, and offered out his arm. I braced myself to counterbalance his weight, more than twice my own, but as he levered himself up, the momentum carried him forward and his body slammed into mine.

  Mistake. Big mistake.

  It was unbearably intimate. My hair stood on end. I could feel his body as if the clothes between us didn’t exist. I looked up and found him gazing down with an openly suggestive expression, an unapologetic sensual smile on his lips. I tried to pry loose, tried to escape the lure of it, but he held on, gripping my shoulders tightly while the hard evidence of his virility pressed against my stomach and a flood of sensations screamed through me.

  Step away. Step away right now!

  It took the self-control of a Sohei warrior monk to peel myself away and search for his cane. “Let me help you get back,” I said in a timid voice, as I handed it to him. He agreed with a slight nod, his eyes boring into mine with superhuman intensity.

  There was no way to avoid touching him again. Cautiously, I gripped him around the waist, placed my shoulder under his armpit for support, and began walking towards the house.

  “You’re stronger than you look,” he murmured. I couldn’t answer, my wits deserting me. I forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand, careful not to steer him onto any irregularity in the grass.

  All my senses were on high alert, my body vibrating with too much awareness. His blistering body heat. The heavy weight of his muscular arm draped over my shoulders. That addictive scent. It was a miracle that I managed to resist the urge to snuggle against him. Considering the significant height difference, we fit together rather perfectly.

  “Can you please keep the computer? Nobody has to know about it.” I had never heard his voice this gentle, intimate. The voice of a lover.

  “I can’t keep it because I can’t explain it to Mrs. Arnaud, and I would never lie to her.”

  “A woman with scruples.” He barked a joyless laugh. “How original.” I pretended not to hear that, wasn’t about to open that can of worms.

  Maybe it was the beautiful bucolic setting or the crisp, fresh air…or maybe it was the heat and hardness wrapped around me. In any case, the tension transformed into something pleasant, companionable. We walked in silence until the house came into view. But I could feel him thinking, strategizing his next move.

  “I could tell her that I loaned you a computer for your studies.”

  I knew he wouldn’t back down. He was clearly a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. Somewhere in the back of my mind that knowledge made me pause uneasily.

  “Fair enough. But I’ll return it to you when I leave.”

  “Leave? Where would you go?” His expression remained inscrutable while his grip on my shoulder tightened.

  “Anywhere I’m accepted in a residency program.” I felt his steps slow fractionally, looked up and found him deep in thought. “Why do you drink so much?” I bit my lip when I realized I had voiced it out loud. He met my inquisitive gaze with apprehension.

  “Who says I drink too much?”

  “I do.”

  He blew out a deep breath and stared ahead, avoiding eye contact. “It’s under control.”

  “You can’t drink with all the medication you’re taking,” I said softly.

  “I know––trust me, I know.” There was a sad resignation in his voice that made my heart ache for him.

  Up ahead, one of the groundskeepers, a tall, muscular man named Daniel, spotted us. He rushed over and took the other side, supporting Sebastian’s weight easily. We were close enough to the house that other servants came pouring out to help. I was pushed aside in the shuffle, stood watching as they carried him away. Then, just as he was about to disappear inside, he turned and our eyes locked. Were we friends now? Did he want that too? I wasn’t sure what had happened, although something had changed between us.

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m going to the bar to get another drink, we’ll never get service here. Too many people.” Charlotte cupped her mouth as she spoke. The noise level was deafening. The air was thick with smoke and body heat.

  “What?” I screamed back.

  She laughed and motioned theatrically with her hands, miming her words. “ANOTHER DRINK???”

  “No, I’m good.” I laughed again.

  It was the most fun I’d had in ages. The singer was indeed as good as Charlotte said she was. Towards the front of the room, dancing broke out, causing a chain reaction that ended with a number of young women being hoisted up on the tables. Charlotte and I were pressed against two brothers, one too short and the other too young. The short one was starting to annoy Charlotte as he kept pushing up against her, staring openly at her breasts when he spoke. The young one blushed every time I looked at him.

  Not having much choice in clothing, I decided on my ivory silk blouse, my best jeans, and the only black high heels I owned. I had removed my mother’s Hermès scarf and placed it in my handbag. The place was a sauna. I was drenched in sweat. My ivory blouse was sticking to my body improperly and my wet hair wrapped around my throat. I turned to see if Charlotte had managed to muscle her way to the bar when something caught my eye.

  My body reacted before my mind did. There was a knot in my stomach and goose bumps swept over my skin from head to toe. Way in the back, leaning up against a wall…I saw him. He was looking straight at me with his usual penetrating stare. His arms were crossed in front of him, making the pale blue dress shirt he wore strain in all the right places.

  I blinked, not trusting my eyes, and when I looked again, he was gone. It took me a while to collect my wits. For a moment, I wondered whether I was far more drunk than I realized and decided to analyze the mystery later––I refused to let him ruin my evening.

  Charlotte finally resurfaced with her drink. We ended up sharing the cold beer and continued dancing until a little after one, until exhaustion and the pain in my feet took over. It was a refreshing change to be tired from joy instead of worry.

  A thick bank of fog met us as we walked out. The reflecting light from the street lamps made the night sky glow with a heavenly incandescence. The chill made me shiver and cross my arms tightly, trying to hide the puckering nipples evident through my wet blouse.

  Theo pulled up in an ancient Citroën that sputtered to a stop. Laughing, we piled into the car quickly while Theo held the door open in a gallant attempt to impress Charlotte. He put the car in gear and it lurched forward and stalled, rattling my teeth.

  “Are you sure we wouldn’t be safer walking home?” I whispered to Charlotte.

  Theo’s eyes narrowed. Wounded male pride stared back at me. “I’ll have you know this car is a classic,” he blurted out in French, right before the tail pipe practically exploded.

  Charlotte and I exchanged skeptical looks and swallowed the impulse to laugh out of mercy. I pressed my forehead to the cool window as Theo grinded the gears in reverse. That’s when I detected a familiar dark sports car parked down the street. My breath caught when the headlights turned on and the ca
r sped away. Glancing sideways, I found Charlotte flirting with Theo. She hadn’t noticed a thing.

  “Charlotte, have you ever seen Mr. Horn out? In town, I mean.”

  “Fuck no, never. Mr. Sunshine-N-Rainbows only goes to the most exclusive restaurants and parties.”

  “He’s not that bad. He can be a good sport––when he’s in the mood,” piped in Theo.

  Charlotte arched a perfect, blonde brow at him. “What does that mood look like? Because I’ve never seen it.”

  * * *

  We entered through the kitchen, taking turns giggling and shushing each other. I felt carefree, relaxed, and thankful that Charlotte had insisted on going out. I needed that, someone to force me to loosen up. Charlotte, yawning loudly, bid me good night and carried herself to bed. I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, and made it halfway to my room when I realized I had left my mother’s Hermès scarf on the counter.

  As I stepped back into the kitchen, my pulse jumped, my heart registering the charge in the air. I turned my head and there he was, with his back to me, dwarfing the stool he sat on. His posture was graceful, elegant when relaxed. His injured leg was extended straight and the other bent, an expensive driving moccasin perched on the bottom rung. My eyes moved appreciatively over his broad shoulders while they had the opportunity to indulge themselves, soaking in every detail.

  The pale blue dress shirt I had noticed earlier was half tucked in his jeans, as if he had dressed in a hurry. With his elbows resting casually on the counter, the breathtaking swells of his wide shoulders stretched taut the silky fine cotton of his shirt.

  His interest was fixed on an object. I leaned in to get a better look and realized he was holding my scarf, playing with it, pulling the worn silk through the circle of his index finger and thumb. Mesmerized, I watched him do it again and again.

  I was in the middle of wondering what it would feel like to have those big hands on my body, when he suddenly looked over his shoulder and found me standing there. Surprise flickered in his eyes before he quickly concealed it.

  “Mr. Horn?”

  Turning in his seat to face me, he said, “Maybe we can dispense with the formalities since you’ve already had your hands on me.” His voice was low and measured, but something in his tone made me uneasy, penetrating the dulling effects of alcohol.

  My smile faded. Pouf. In only a fraction of time all the ease we had shared earlier in the day evaporated.

  “My scarf, please.” I held out my hand. It hung between us vulnerable and alone while he stared at it. I didn’t feel up to another sparring match with him so I pulled it back. We were dancing around something I was in no condition to deal with.

  What did he want with me anyway? Certainly a man with his looks, power, and wealth didn’t go lusting after housekeepers. It seemed ridiculous to even consider. Still, I couldn’t deny that inexorable pull between us. It was present as always, getting under my skin, unsettling my nerves, and making a general mockery of my self-control.

  “Come get it,” he murmured, “I don’t bite.”

  My eyes widened and irritation loosened my tongue. “Yes, you do. You can get quite vicious actually.”

  Although his lips quivered, there was no amusement in his eyes. The dim light did nothing to conceal all that smoldering intensity living there. That didn’t bode well for me.

  “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

  “That’s none of your business––but as a matter of fact, I did,” I answered curtly.

  He stared back silently for an excruciating amount of time. When he spoke again, his voice dropped lower. “You enjoy making a spectacle of yourself? Rubbing up against men you don’t know like a cat in heat?”

  I sucked in a breath, shocked by his outrageous comment as if he had slapped me. Ground control, we have a direct hit. My entire body flushed crimson. My neck was on fire. His cynical smile vanished when he noticed the horrified expression on my face.

  I held out my hand again with my gaze focused over his shoulder because I would’ve rather died than let him see that he had any effect on me. “My scarf,” I demanded, forcing out the words past the dry lump of anger and embarrassment stuck in my throat.

  Before I knew what hit me, he wrapped his palm around my wrist and yanked me forward into the unforgiving wall of his chest, trapping me securely between his thighs. His fingers raked through my hair, gripping the roots tightly while his other hand cradled my neck. I felt the lightest brush of his thumb along the edge of my jaw right before his mouth crashed onto mine.

  Maybe it was the aftereffects of the alcohol. Maybe it was the shock. However, I didn’t move a muscle for a full minute trying to decipher what was happening. Then my instincts finally kicked in.

  I squirmed and struggled to get loose. My hands pushed against the uncompromising hardness of his shoulders, but it was like trying to budge the Matterhorn, an exercise in futility.

  The kiss was at first painful, desperate. Then, catching himself, he backed off and began seducing me with a gentle insistence that disarmed me completely. A nip, a dry brush. He slanted his lips in search of the perfect angle. His mouth caught at mine, teasing me until I succumbed to the temptation and stopped fighting him. It didn’t take much for me to surrendered and kiss him back. Everything about him was a siren’s song I had zero power to resist.

  He stood slowly. One hand left my face and traveled down my back, coaxing me flush against the hard swells of his body. The heat radiating from him erased any lingering contrary thoughts. I lost dominion over myself and melted into his touch.

  There was no awkwardness––and no hesitation. There was also an odd sense of familiarity present between us that I couldn’t explain. My hands, moving of their own volition, stroked his shoulders and traveled up his neck. As I raked my short nails through his hair, he breathed out a relaxed sigh and pulled me tighter. The hand on my lower back pushed me up against the erection straining against his soft, worn jeans. My hips, having plans of their own, hitched up and pressed against him, striking me in just the right spot. I shivered as a bolt of lightning raced through my attention-starved body and a low moan rose up my throat. God, how embarrassing.

  He broke the kiss and my eyes fluttered open. A wicked half-smile curved his perfect lips. That smug smile jolted me right out of the alcohol and sex induced spell, fury exploding within me. I pushed away and slapped him––hard. The loud crack echoed in the kitchen.

  I had never struck anyone in my life. One, it’s not in my nature. And two, I’m a physician––the Hippocratic oath and all that. However, the satisfaction I felt seeing his startled expression was obscene. The bewilderment on his face though quickly transformed to cool mockery.

  “Is this how you get your kicks? Screwing around with the help?”

  “Not usually.” He sounded bored, as if he didn’t particularly care one way or the other for what he had just sampled. That ratcheted up my sense of outrage.

  “I was hoping for some civility,” I bit out, right before I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve. “I see now that’s asking too much of you. I haven’t got a clue what you’re about, or what game you’re playing, but don’t ever touch me again!”

  And then he smiled.

  The first genuine smile I had ever seen on him. It was a ridiculous, blinding thing, all American white teeth and scorching sensuality…and thank heavens he never used it because it reduced my brain into a useless pile of grey matter within seconds.

  He barked out a laugh when my scowl slipped. He actually laughed at me. So I did the only thing I could, I gathered up the tattered remains of my dignity, turned on my heels, and stalked out of the room.

  By the time I reached my bedroom, the happy buoyancy I had felt earlier in the evening had long vanished. In its place there was an anchor sinking me to a level of self-loathing I had never quite experienced before.

  I felt like the biggest fool, cringing as I thought of how easily I had succumbed to his seduction. For a horrified m
oment I contemplated what could have happened if he hadn’t broken the kiss and smiled at me. I had to stay as far away from him as possible, because I wasn’t sure of anything anymore, least of all, my own judgment.

  * * *

  I didn’t see him for days after the incident. Mrs. Arnaud mentioned in passing that he had stayed at the apartment. I assumed he was choosing to avoid me. He never stayed in town anymore, to my everlasting regret, or maybe it was about work. Regardless, I wasn’t prepared to face him. I was living in a state of high anxiety. I didn’t know if I should say something, or let time smooth things over. I just hoped we could both pretend it never happened and things could go back to normal. His constant taunting and insults paled in comparison to how his kisses messed with my head. I almost longed for those days.

  Thoughts of him consumed my every waking moment, distracting me to the point that it was interfering with my work. I misplaced things, burned the coffee twice, and put fabric softener into the washing machine instead of detergent.

  Every time I thought about that night, I turned hot and restless. My entire body flushed and a heavy ache took up residence south of my waist. I was sure I wasn’t the first woman to swoon at his feet, but I had no desire to be part of that overcrowded club.

  I had just finished organizing the linens and towels for the guests arriving for the weekend when Mrs. Arnaud sent me on one last errand. She handed me five wooden hangers draped with his beautifully tailored shirts. They were all creamy white, except for the simple, tiny monogram sewn in a midnight thread on the cuff…SCH.

  “Vera, bring these up to Mr. Horn’s closet, make sure they face the same direction as the others, and organize them by color. It upsets him when it’s not done properly so please be careful. And then you’re done for the day. You worked way too late yesterday, you can’t keep pushing yourself like that.”

  “Yes, madame.”

  I didn’t bother explaining that I had to push myself to stop from remembering the feel of his hands on me, the taste of him. Fuzzy, lust-filled images would flash through my mind at the worst possible moments. Earlier that day, while eating lunch, François was speaking about his daughter––I think, I was barely paying attention––when suddenly I could feel the curved planes of his chest against my breasts, his hands kneading my rear end…the feel of the hard column of his sex. When my eyes met François’, my face burst into flames. His curious expression turned heated, then a slow smile stretched across his face. That’s all I needed, more complications with men I had no business getting involved with. I turned away abruptly while he was in the middle of a sentence and probably left him wondering whether I had lost my mind.