A Million Different Ways (A Horn Novel Book 1)

by Dangelico, P.

  This feels good, this feels right. I tried not to ruin the moment by reasoning. “Isn’t there another one?” I mumbled into his shirt.

  “Yes. The boy that takes care of them when I’m busy fed her earlier.”

  “What’s her name?” I asked absently. A long pause, a deep sigh. “What is it?”

  “Lady Gaga,” he answered in a resigned voice. I burst out in laughter, and he held me until the tremors subsided.

  * * *

  It was early afternoon. Most of the guests had either departed for the golf course with Sebastian––he promised not to walk the course––or had gone fishing. Paisley and Marcus had chosen to stay behind, had taken one of Sebastian’s smaller jet boats onto Lake Geneva. We didn’t see each other the night before. Every attempt Sebastian made at sneaking away from his guests was thwarted. First by Caroline Pruitt, who insisted on speaking with him at length about the investments Sebastian had made with her trust fund. And later by Charles Hightower, who insisted on playing poker until an uncivil hour. It was around two by the time he made it back to his room. I was soundly asleep by then, never heard the incoming email.

  Mrs. Arnaud encouraged us to take a break. We would be serving another formal dinner that evening and would be up late. I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest. I’ve never been the type of person that can take a nap in the afternoon; too much nervous energy. The bathrooms on the first floor needed a thorough cleaning. I figured this was as good a time as any.

  I had just finished polishing the faucet when the door swung open, and a large, male body bumped into me. The powder room wasn’t large enough to accommodate two people. Startled, I bounced off the wall and teetered forward as I lost my balance. A hand grasped my forearm to steady me. I looked up and found Marcus standing just inside the tiny room, his fingers still wrapped around my arm.

  “Pardon me,” I said quickly.

  He smiled blandly. “No, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He had a neat, boyish appearance. He was handsome in a shiny, clear-eyed way, but I sensed some artifice in his mild manners. When I pulled out of his hold, he remained in the doorway, and I was stuck with nowhere to go. A prickle of unease crawled up my spine when my gaze met the fixed, unnatural smile on his face.

  “I’m done cleaning this one. Feel free to use it.”

  “You never answered my question.” He cocked his hip casually and extended his arm, gripping the doorframe–– effectively blocking me. My stomach clenched a little. I didn’t ignore it. I had learned to trust my body’s survival instincts.

  “What question?” My voice was purposely cold.

  “You said you weren’t British. Where are you from?”

  “Albania.”

  “Albanian,” his mouth twisted in a sly, sarcastic smile, “Albanians are known to be tough, stubborn, right?” He leaned his hip into the doorjamb and crossed his arms, making himself more comfortable. I was growing more anxious by the minute.

  “That’s a stereotype, but I’ll take it as a compliment. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more cleaning to do.”

  “Sebastian is a hard taskmaster, I take it. Keeps you––busy?” The lascivious tone in his voice turned me rigid. I banked my emotions, trying desperately not to go into full-tilt panic. Had he realized the situation between Sebastian and me, or was it my own paranoia?

  “Mr. Horn doesn’t concern himself with what the staff is doing. Please step aside.”

  His face impassive, he studied me for what felt like an eternity. As I stepped forward, determined to push my way through, he grabbed the top of my arm. “Hold on, we’re not finished.” Without enough room for me to get any leverage, it was impossible to break out of his hold. An epic scream worked its way up my throat.

  “Is this bathroom available?” The smooth baritone brought me to a halt mid-struggle.

  Marcus immediately loosened his grip. Scooting out immediately, I found Ben Winters standing in the hallway just outside the powder room. His body was tense, barely containing a violent, tangible force. If I thought him untamed before, he looked positively savage now. His eyes were two shards of ice in his austere face. The lady-killer was gone. All that remained was the killer.

  It took only a moment of the wordless debate between the two men to make Marcus retreat. A small part of me felt thrilled, vindicated. Marcus gave Mr. Winters a nonchalant shrug before he stepped inside and shut the door. When Ben looked down, his whole body softened, his eyes filled with concern. “You all right?”

  I must have looked more shaken than I felt. He placed his large, warm hand on my shoulder, and patiently waited for my response. “Yes, I’m fine, Mr. Winters. Thank you.” The tight, crisp note of unease in my voice disagreed.

  “Ben, please,” he insisted in a gentle voice. My hand came up to smooth back hair that was already smooth. I wasn’t fooling him––he could tell I was still jittery.

  “Thank you, Ben. I’m fine, really. I should go.”

  “Ben?!” Sebastian’s edgy shout reverberated down the hall. He stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at us. This afternoon was going from bad to worse. As far away as he was, I could see him scowling at Ben’s hand resting on my shoulder. The crazy possessiveness needed to stop. I couldn’t have him pawing the ground like an enraged bull every time someone of the opposite sex spoke to me.

  The corner of Ben’s wide mouth crept up. His hand fell away from me. “I got this. You go on.”

  I wasn’t in any condition to deal with another altercation, still too strung out from the last one. I watched him walk towards Sebastian and then fled in the opposite direction, seeking the sanctuary of my small room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The chattering of birds woke me. One eyelid curiously crept up. My window was wide open and the room washed in gold by the afternoon sun. I had lain down for a minute––my head throbbing with the aftertaste of adrenaline and stress––and must have fallen asleep. I was surprised Charlotte hadn’t come to fetch me. We were serving the last formal dinner that evening, and there was still a lot to prepare. In any case I couldn’t remember opening the window.

  A rustle of movement in the corner caught my attention. Still wearing his golf clothes, he sat in my chair, dwarfing it. His large body was bent forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his fists under his chin. He was staring with a quiet intensity that made me want to squirm and hide. Our gazes locked and I watched a mix of indecipherable emotions cross his face. A sense of relief stole over me.

  I’m so glad you’re here.

  “How long have you been sitting there?” I asked, sitting up and rubbing my eyes, my voice raspy from sleep. I hadn’t bothered to take my uniform off. It was a wrinkled mess. Without a word, he came to sit on the small twin bed and cupped my face with such gentleness that it almost made me cry. “Don’t you look like the lord of the manor––nice outfit,” I teased, trying to lighten the grave mood.

  Ignoring me, he closed his eyes and placed a sweet, tender kiss on my lips. “Are you okay?” he murmured. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to crawl onto his lap and lay my head on his shoulder, or push him away and tell him to get the hell out. I couldn’t bear the kindness or the concerned look on his face. It was a drug, addicting and dangerous for me.

  “Yes. I’m fine. Why would you ask that?” The snappy tone in my voice made him pause. His hand dropped back down, leaving my face cold and lonely where the warmth of his palm had been.

  “Ben told me what happened with Marcus. I’m sorry. That won’t ever happen again. They’re gone. I threw them out.”

  My eyes widened. The last traces of sleep evaporated. He threw them out? “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him that if he ever looked at you again I was going to make sure he tripped head first into a wood chipper.”

  My mouth gapped open. “You’re joking…right?”

  “I’m deadly serious about keeping you safe. He’s right to be scared of me.”

  Words deserted me
. How was I to respond to that? His expression was hard and remote, a current of violence emanating from every fiber of his being. I needed to bring him back to me, to restore some sanity. I placed my hand over his heart and petted him gently in slow circles, working the anger out of his muscles. My hands traveled up his neck and around his skull, coaxing him closer. When I ran my short nails over his nape, he let out a deep sigh. Sensing his acquiescence, I kissed him, teasing his lips apart until he softened and kissed me back. I don’t know how I knew what he needed from me. I just did––as he knew where to touch me.

  “Will you come to the lake with me tonight?” It was the first time he’d asked, instead of issuing a decree. That was progress.

  “I don’t know. We’ll be done late with dinner this evening.”

  “Meet me in the woods by midnight.”

  Okay, well, baby steps.

  “Go now. I need to change my uniform.”

  He gave me a curt nod and smacked my lips with a quick kiss, then stood and quit the room. I stared at the door as it closed behind him, his words still ringing in my head. I’m deadly serious about keeping you safe. His behavior in the past was starting to make sense now. He was worried for me. Sweet, beautiful man. And the look on his face…it had been so long since anyone was concerned for me. I was in serious danger of losing what little grip on reason I had left. There wasn’t even the smallest doubt that I would meet him at midnight…and we both knew it.

  * * *

  He pulled me through the woods that led to the north side of the estate, where the small lake was located; Lake Geneva being too dangerous and cold for midnight swims. The moon concealed itself behind a carpet of clouds. It was so dark I could barely see a foot ahead of me. All of a sudden, a warm gust of air pushed them aside and a shaft of light fell on his flexing shoulders. I stopped abruptly, my hand yanking out of his grip, and he turned with a questioning glance. He was so beautiful my heart hurt––probably because I knew he would never really be mine.

  “You’re beautiful,” I whispered.

  His sharp gaze softened and his mouth curved into a lopsided smile. Moving swiftly, he pushed me up against the rough trunk of a sycamore and kissed me, driving my head back with his passion. He grabbed my rear end, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips, and lifted me up without any effort. I wrapped my legs around him and held him tightly, binding him to me.

  “I need you,” he said breathlessly, between kisses. I had unleashed a monster. He’d never been this impatient, demanding. He devoured my mouth, his tongue in deep penetration. There was nothing I could do but submit. He fumbled with his athletic pants, trying to free his erection, and roughly shoved himself against the thin linen of my nightgown, hard and hot against my sex.

  “I want you,” I murmured. I was so worked up I couldn’t stop the words from spilling from my lips. He cupped me, stroking impatiently. He pressed his fingers inside of me and discovered just how much.

  “God, you’re wet,” he whispered, the rasp in his voice more pronounced. He positioned himself and let my body sink, fully impaled by my own weight. My short fingernails dug into his shoulders. My teeth scraped the delicate skin of his throat, making him gasp and press closer. The feeling of utter fullness, of possession, was mind-blowing. He was everywhere. He began thrusting up hard and sure, the sensation so acute I came in a sharp, explosive climax that had my body closing around him in a vise-like grip. He kept pounding into me until he allowed himself the same relief; my name ripped from his throat in a shout loud enough to echo through the woods. He wasn’t quiet in his passion anymore. Sagging against me, he buried his face in the curve of my neck. I could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to breathe.

  Reality returned in an instant. With it came the sting from the scrapes inflicted by the ragged bark. My throat pinched from the swell of emotion boiling up. He snuggled closer. Ever so delicately, with care reserved for precious things, I stroked the nape of his neck and sifted my fingers through his hair.

  Things were so good between us. Why this man? This man I could never have.

  “No condom…Jesus,” he said between choppy breaths. “When are you due for your period?”

  That hit me like a thunderbolt. I was never irresponsible–– never ever. “I don’t get it regularly. Mostly, I don’t get it because of my weight. There’s little chance anything happened. My mother had a hard time conceiving.”

  His gaze lifted to mine and found absolute truth. As he placed me back on solid ground, my legs wobbled, incapable of holding me up. Before I could stumble, he pulled me into his arms and anchored me to his solid frame. “You should probably be on birth control, just to be safe. God knows I have no control around you.”

  He was right, of course. I wasn’t even going to pretend that I didn’t love it when he lost his vaunted self-control with me. I replied with a simple, “okay.” And realizing that there wouldn’t be any argument, he grabbed my hand, laced his fingers through mine, and led me to the lake.

  I watched him swim the width of the lake twice before he swam back to me. The graceful line of his body cut through the water with ease. For a moment I wished I could have seen all that power at full throttle, before the accident, then quickly abandoned the thought. This is who he was now. My imperfect, perfect lover.

  “Will you at least try?” he asked with a teasing smile. His face transformed when he was playful, glowing as if lit from within.

  “No. I’m not exaggerating when I say I’m not a good swimmer. I keep paddling and never get anywhere.”

  We were treading water close to shore. He kept touching me, his hands roving over me unconsciously, pulling me closer. I wrapped my legs around his hips and his large hands stroked my rear end and squeezed.

  “Sebastian––” His fingers sifted through my intimate curls and tugged. I yelped and laughed, swatting his hand away.

  “Hmm, nothing sweeter than my name on your lips.”

  “Someone said that you were supposed to be on the U.S. Men’s swim team, at the Sydney Olympics. What happened? How come you didn’t go?”

  His expression sobered, his smile flattening into a grim line. He rubbed his face, his wide palm brushing water drops off his thick lashes. Blast it. I hadn’t intended to ruin the good mood. My smile disappeared, too. When his hand lifted, he looked at me pointedly.

  “You really want to know?”

  I felt awkward, like I had stepped over some invisible line. “Only if you want to tell me,” I answered softly.

  “I’ve never told anyone before.” He seemed surprised at himself, feeling the words out on his lips.

  “You don’t have to,” I mumbled.

  Soothing the awkwardness, I reached out and ran my hand against the bristle on his cheek and jaw. He grabbed it, turning his face into my palm, and kissed it.

  “My mother overdosed the night before the Olympic trials. She was in a coma for three weeks.”

  “How?”

  “Valium, Percocet, and vodka…the official story is that I pulled a hamstring. The family called in favors, kept her name out of the papers and the hospital records…my mother’s family is in the oil business, and very influential in Houston.”

  The water was suddenly cold. My teeth chattered. “I’m sorry,” I said while I held him, cradled him with my arms and legs, unwilling to let anything separate us.

  “It’s old news.” He stroked my bottom again and gripped my hips. “Time to get out. You’re shivering.”

  My heart ached for him. It was obviously not old news. It was clear he still harbored a good deal of anger and resentment. What a sacrifice––to train all those years and have it taken away from you by no fault of your own. I could certainly empathize with that. A clear picture was coming together about his ambivalent relationship with his mother––and it wasn’t pretty.

  We took our time walking back to the house, shrouded in silence, accompanied by moonlight. I couldn’t stop staring at our entwined hands, impri
nting my mind so I could cherish the memory some day. I had tried my best to remain detached and failed, lost that struggle a while ago if I was honest with myself. I was no expert at handling illicit affairs. He was steadily pulling me into the deep end of the emotional pool. My willpower was no match for the depth of feeling I had for him; a demoralizing discovery because eventually he would move on and I would be left to patch up my shattered heart. Aleksander’s betrayal had taught me a harsh lesson. I could never allow myself to need someone again, to depend on anybody. Self-preservation trumped everything––even love.

  “We need to lay some ground rules if we’re going to continue this…this affair.”

  He stopped and turned, his eyebrows hitching up at my clinical delivery. “Ground rules? Umm. Okay. How do you usually conduct these things?” he asked with a shade of sarcasm just this side of anger.

  “I don’t usually conduct anything, as you well know, but I think we need to draw some clear boundaries.”

  “I’m all ears.” He released my hand and raked his hair back off his face.

  “First of all…the alcohol and the painkillers. It scares me.”

  He looked pensive. “I’ve been thinking about that. The drinking isn’t a problem. I don’t know about the oxy…maybe with your help…” His voice trailed off, his expression turned cautious. I couldn’t see the beautiful mask anymore, the ruse that everyone else saw when they looked at him. All I could see was the uncertainty in his eyes. Had anybody ever been there for him?

  “Of course, I’ll help. All I ask is that you try.” There was a flash of something amazed in his eyes before he hid it. He hadn’t taken anything for granted. “Second, I want this to remain private, between us. I don’t want anybody at the house to ever know.” His brow pinched. Clearly, he wasn’t in agreement so I continued before he worked up an argument. “I have a ridiculous amount of respect for Mrs. Arnaud. I don’t know where I’d be without her kindness, and I would be mortified if she knew.”