“Let go of me,” I insisted, and tried to push him off to no avail.
“Be quiet and listen––it didn’t. I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anybody.” He exhaled sharply. “I…I couldn’t stay away. I tried. I just couldn’t do it,” he admitted, shaking his head as if it still bothered him. “I hated myself for it so I took it out on you for making me feel…weak…out of control.”
His voice trailed off. I saw what that confession cost him before his eyes darted away. When they returned to me, however, they were open, reflecting the depth of his feelings. There was wonder and desire present, a flicker of hope––but what stirred my curiosity was the large dose of unease.
“Like pulling pigtails?”
His lips twitched. “Something like that…I’m sorry,” he said softly, stroking my hair back. “Can we start over?”
I would forgive him anything if he kept looking at me that way. “Yes,” I replied, the word pushing past a lump in my throat.
His eyes brightened and a spot somewhere around my heart ached. I liked seeing him happy. I wanted to make him happy…and that scared me half to death.
“I have to go,” I whispered.
“Okay––just one more thing,” he murmured, before he kissed me again and again.
* * *
Yawning loudly, I looked up and found Mrs. Arnaud’s large eyes fixed on me with pointed interest. My hand stilled from stirring the béchamel sauce.
“Are you getting enough sleep, chérie?”
My smile was tight as I replied, “Yes, madame, maybe reading a little later than I should.” May God forgive me. I was waiting for a bolt of lightning to strike me down where I stood. Seemingly satisfied with my answer, she turned and rifled through the refrigerator.
A moment later, Sebastian walked into the kitchen and I noticed two things. One: Mrs. Arnaud treated him to the same inquisitive inspection she had given me. And two: the man looked as fresh as a winter breeze. That was entirely unfair. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, a baseball cap with an S over the rim that caused his hair to curl up at the sides, and a large dose of mischief was present in his bright eyes. The air around him was light and relaxed. I was glad for that. He was always so serious.
I felt him brush up against me, as he walked by, and my eyebrows shot up. My scolding glance only earned me a playful leer. It was a dangerous game, even though Mrs. Arnaud’s head was still buried in the refrigerator, thankfully unaware.
“What were you reading that was so interesting?” he asked in a mocking tone.
I’d like to read you your last rites at the moment, I replied with my glare. The impossible man winked at me. I bit my bottom lip to school a smile that refused to stay down. Having finally located the butter, Mrs. Arnaud turned and waited with warm interest for my answer.
“Umm, A Thousand Years of Solitude, I mean One Hundred Years of Solitude,” I muttered, blushing madly. It certainly had felt like a thousand years before last night, I thought.
“Really?” he asked with innocence worthy of an Oscar nomination. I promptly answered his query with another glare of warning. “I prefer Love in the Time of Cholera,” he continued, undaunted. Then directing his attention at Mrs. Arnaud asked, “I’m taking the guys to the lake for some fishing, Marianne. Could you please pack some drinks and sandwiches?”
“Bien sûr, I will send Vera down around noon?”
Sebastian face split in a perfect, white grin. “Perfect. Oh, Ben called this morning. He’s coming to stay for a while. He should be here by tonight.”
“I’ll make up a room for him far from the other guests.”
After thanking Mrs. Arnaud and directing a salacious glance my way, out the door he went. I immediately got busy, afraid of being studied too closely. I’ve never been good at keeping secrets, and beneath Marianne Arnaud’s sweet façade lurked a deadly quick wit. I directed all my energy at washing the eggs Charlotte had brought in earlier, meticulously examining them to make sure all the feathers clinging to the shells were removed. It seemed to work. She returned to mixing the ingredients for the crêpes.
“Mrs. Arnaud, who’s Ben and why does he need a room far from the other guests?” I asked offhandedly.
“He’s a very dear friend of Sebastian’s,” she answered. The fact that she called him by his first name caught my attention. Strange, that. “The poor, poor boy has night terrors. He can get quite loud. Always requests a room far from everyone else. I think it embarrasses him. He was in the American military.”
“How awful, I can only imagine.”
“Vera, you mustn’t let him upset you.”
Of course––nothing escaped her. “He has a gift for doing that.”
“He hasn’t been the same since the death of his wife. He doesn’t know how to manage his emotions very well.”
I guess it was better that she thought we hated each other. A pang of guilt hit me. Still, she had just handed me the opportunity to ask about things I was burning to know, so I took advantage of it.
“What was she like?”
“She was lovely.” Her gaze swung out the kitchen window. Pensively, she added, “A bit fragile but sweet. They were only married a month before the accident…he was devastated.” In the pause, her brow furrowed. “I’m not certain he will ever recover completely.”
The fragile bud of joy that had bloomed within me overnight withered and died on the vine. My heart throbbed with a dull pain. Somehow, in my delusional mind, I had stopped thinking of him as still in love with his beautiful dead wife. I had completely blocked it out. What an idiot. I needed to hear this, needed to remind myself daily that this was only about sex.
“And it’s not like he had an easy childhood,” she added. “There’s only so much a heart can take.”
Her voice snapped me back to the present. “How bad could it have been? He grew up in the lap of luxury,” I responded, a bit more curtly than I’d meant to.
She examined my face closely before she spoke. “Chérie, growing up in a palace does not protect you from misery.”
“What do you mean?” I mumbled.
“His mother is the kind of woman that should never have had children. I’m certain you’ve noticed. They were headed straight for a divorce before she got pregnant. Anyway, she used the boy against the father. It got quite ugly, saw that myself.”
“How?” My heart was suddenly pounding in my ears and my throat struggled to squeeze out the word.
“Imagine a little boy never getting an ounce of love or affection from his mother, unless she’s putting on an act in front of his father. The boy knew––he was always clever and sensitive––he knew,” she finished in a whisper. Her words hung in the air while her attention returned to the batter she was mixing.
I thought of the love and affection I grew up with. Never in doubt. Always available. I had been smothered in love. What could it have been like for a child to never have felt wanted, loved? Emotions I was not comfortable with began leaking out of my heart. I tried to stop them but it was a finger on a gunshot wound––it did more harm than good. I was already in serious danger of loving this man. And that, I could not allow.
* * *
Around noon, I drove the golf cart down to the lake. A long canoe bobbed on the water. It was filled with men doing too much talking and not enough fishing––probably already having scared most of the fish to the other side of the lake. The other was on shore. Sebastian had been waiting for me. My heart skipped a beat as I watched him approach with a playful smile on his handsome face. I put the golf cart in park and began unloading the baskets of food and beverages. I wouldn’t meet his eyes. They had too much power over me.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked in a soft voice.
“Nothing’s wrong. Excuse me, I need to unload this cart.”
“Let me help,” he murmured, taking a basket from me. Together we walked towards a giant oak where chairs and a picnic table sat in the shade. “Why won’t you look at me?”
I looked up, my expression blank. “I’m busy. I have work to do.” I thought I caught a flash of pain in his eyes before I turned away, though maybe I was imagining it.
Working quickly, I arranged the food and the container of iced beverages while an awkward moment of silence stretched out between us. He stood aside, studying me as if I were one of his balance sheets, a discrepancy that needed to be solved. I did my best to ignore him. As I finished setting the table, he reached out and almost touched me before he pulled his hand back and glanced over his shoulder. We both turned to watch the men pushing the canoe onto dry land.
“Come to my room tonight.” His voice was sweet, supplicating. It made me ache for him.
“No, I can’t,” I whispered.
I heard him sigh. The heavy air surrounding him was back. I could feel it. After a beat, he walked away. I stared at his retreating back and fought a strong impulse to run after him and throw myself into his arms. It was better this way. I had to keep myself as emotionally detached as possible.
Chapter Sixteen
A postcard sunset turned the sky a kaleidoscope of colors. Cerulean to radiant violet. Magenta to cadmium orange. I leaned against the stone column of the doorway and stared absently at the horizon. I couldn’t even enjoy the stunning show Mother Nature was putting on, too lost in thought. What Mrs. Arnaud had revealed had thrown me off balance. Now I wish I hadn’t asked. We were one day into it and it had already gotten complicated. I hated complicated, complicated was messy.
A black Mercedes sedan approached and pulled up to the front entrance. The passenger handed the driver some bills, opened the door, and unfolded his large body out of the back of the car. When he stood, he was not quite as tall as Sebastian and more heavily muscled. There was a bit of dangerous air surrounding him; you could sense it even at a distance. A quick appraisal revealed that he was handsome: a straight nose, a firm jaw, black hair cut efficiently short. Both arms had sleeves of tattoos that started at his wrists and disappeared under the short sleeves of his grey t-shirt. He definitely didn’t look like the rest of the bank’s clients.
Holding his garment bag over his shoulder, he jogged up the stairs rather gracefully for a man his size. He moved slowly, smoothly, and something told me that there was a powerful force behind those languid movements. That’s when he glanced up with eyes of the most unusual color; a pale smoky grey with rims a silvery blue-green. The color of a blue spruce pine. I couldn’t stop staring. Against his suntanned skin, the effect was shocking. And he was obviously accustomed to women having this reaction to him because his sensual lips shaped themselves into a knowing smile, two dimples on his lean cheeks further punctuating the matter.
“Hi, I’m Ben Winters,” he said in a smooth deep baritone. I pushed off the column and stood straight.
“Hello. Mr. Horn mentioned you were arriving this evening.”
He ducked his head to hear me better as he followed me inside. “Where is the sunuvabit…I mean––is he in his study, ma’am?” he drawled, his expression charmingly unrepentant. Mr. Winters was a lady-killer. I didn’t need to see or hear any more to know that. A voice called to me from somewhere down the hall.
“Vera, where are you sneaking off to?” The snickering voice drew closer. “Is that Daniel you’re going to hide in a corner with? Oh, Daniel,” she teased. I turned to face the owner of the snickering voice. Charlotte walked up with her hands on her hips, ready to poke fun at whomever I was with. Then Mr. Winters turned around.
They stood before each other as if someone hit the pause button on a video. I stifled a laugh. A wide-eyed astonished look was frozen on Charlotte’s face. I’d never seen her speechless before––didn’t even think it was possible.
Mr. Winters, on the other hand, was doing a great impression of an ice sculpture. The only sign of life was the rosy glow visible on his sharp cheekbones.
“Charlotte, this is Mr. Ben Winters. He’s a guest of Mr. Horn’s.”
Crickets. Until the door to Sebastian’s study swung open and he stepped out. His eyes jumped from me, to Ben, to Charlotte.
“Ben?” Sebastian’s voice broke the spell. Mr. Winters turned around and the two men hugged, pounding each other on the back loudly.
How in the world did they not break bones doing that? Amazing what men mistake for affection. When the pounding finally ceased, Sebastian slung an arm around Mr. Winters and turned to face me. A bright smile stretched across his face. In return, my knees almost buckled. His face transformed to a whole new level of gorgeous when he smiled like that.
“Vera, this is my best friend Ben,” he announced cheerfully, slapping poor Mr. Winters on the chest as he spoke.
“You mean, your only friend,” Mr. Winters smirked.
There was enough testosterone in the room to fuel the western hemisphere, impossible to ignore. And the contrast between them was intriguing. Mr. Winters still had the casual, rough edges of an American, his handsomeness rugged and raw, while Sebastian had honed all that into strict, lethal masculine elegance. Mr. Winters was all easy smiles and open charm. Sebastian, on the other hand, kept everyone at a distance, not welcoming female attention in any way. Beneath the stunning facades, though, there was a common virtue––both men were profoundly comfortable with who they were.
I grinned like the village idiot. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
His large hand engulfed mine. “Call me Ben, please.”
Charlotte still had that deer-in-headlights look about her. After an awkward moment of silence, I reiterated, “And may I introduce Charlotte.”
Mr. Winters’ face turned grave as he grasped Charlotte’s hand and shook it. I glanced at Sebastian and found a quizzical look on his face. When his eyes met mine, I shrugged, unsure what to think myself.
“Come on, Ben. We have a lot to catch up on.”
Grabbing Charlotte’s elbow, I steered her towards the kitchen. Behind me, I could hear Mr. Winters trying to reduce his deep baritone to a whisper.
“Jeeezus H, how do you not walk around here with a constant hard––” I looked over my shoulder and Mr. Winters’ caught me watching. His eyebrows lifting a fraction, he muttered, “Never mind,” before the door to Sebastian’s study closed.
* * *
It was just past eleven. I knew that because I had been glancing at the clock every fifteen minutes while I read a French version of Jane Austen’s Persuasion. Well, I was attempting to read it. I kept finding myself on the same page over and over again, not remembering a single word. It had taken every ounce of willpower I possessed to stop myself from going to his room. And I was paying the price for it now. I was unfocused, I was in a horrible mood, and my body ached for him.
When the door creaked, I held my breath. Sebastian stepped inside and quietly closed it behind him, locking it afterwards. A pang of relief shot through me, quickly followed by barely contained excitement. He leaned back against the wall with his hands tucked behind him. My undoubtedly hungry gaze did a slow perusal of his long body. From his bare feet, up the black track pants hanging on his lean hips, and over the stunning breadth of his bare chest. Just looking at him altered the chemistry of my body.
A storm was gathering strength in his eyes. He was mad and I couldn’t have cared less. He looked so good it took everything I had not to leap on him and cover his sullen mouth with kisses. Then I remembered I wasn’t dressed for a visit.
I looked down and cringed when I realized I had my worst old linen nightgown on and my hair was piled on top of my head in a messy bun. Not exactly a temptress. I did a mental check of what underwear I had put on after my shower and decided it wasn’t the pair with the hole in them. Thank God. Not that I had any super sexy black g-strings hiding in my wardrobe, but I certainly didn’t want to scare him away.
He smirked when my eyes zeroed in on the large erection tenting up his pants. My nightwear didn’t seem to be dampening his desire. A prickling heat started at my toes and spread through my limbs, making me restles
s and my skin painfully sensitive. The soft nightgown I was wearing was suddenly made of pins and needles.
He walked over to my narrow bed and sat on the edge, facing me. Then, without a word, he took the book out of my hand and placed in on the desk. I couldn’t take my eyes off his thick shaft. My entire body lit up at its proximity.
Thank God, you’re here.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I mumbled.
He reached up and cupped my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. His gaze, hot and molten, drifted to my mouth and I swallowed.
If you don’t touch me soon, I’m going to pounce on you.
“Your friend seems nice.”
I knew I was babbling. Nothing to be done for it, when he stared at my lips with that sensual threat in his eyes, it scrabbled my thoughts and destroyed my composure.
You’re in serious danger of being raped if you don’t hurry up.
“You shouldn’t have introduced us, Sebastian. I’m just the housekeeper,” I rambled on…while lust and need carried on a completely different conversation in my head.
His eyes softened. He leaned down and kissed me gently, brushing my lips with his. Once. Twice. “Not to me, you’re not,” he stated quietly. His tenderness crushed any lingering remains of doubt I may have harbored.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. Potent alchemy. The kiss turned wild in a flash and everything happened quickly after that. I was dragged onto his lap. He tugged at the elastic that held my messy bun together until it broke and my hair spilled down my back. Coiling it around his hand, he pulled my head back to feast on my neck. His kisses became more demanding, almost desperate. My hands were everywhere at once, stroking his chest, sifting through his hair.
Ablaze with desire, heat flooded the farthest reaches on my body. In record time, he had me turned on and tuned into him so completely that I wouldn’t have noticed or cared if somebody had walked in on us.
A Million Different Ways (A Horn Novel Book 1) Page 16