A Million Different Ways (A Horn Novel Book 1)

by Dangelico, P.

  Hastily, he dragged me from the room and out of the apartment. In the elevator, he quickly enfolded me in his arms. He couldn’t keep his hands off me any more than I could resist touching him, pressing me as close as we could possibly be fully clothed. He placed kisses on my nose, my temple, my mouth between mumbled words I couldn’t discern. My desire fed off of his––just as feverish and uncontrollable.

  When the elevator rang and the doors opened, we broke the kiss panting. A busty redhead stood before us staring openly, her overfilled lips pursed. She was dressed in a white, banded dress that brought her cleavage front and center. Sebastian’s expression transformed immediately. His Royal Highness was back. She stepped inside the elevator while her eyes raked up and down Sebastian’s body in flagrant appreciation. I didn’t care for it one bit. Mine. The thought came out of nowhere.

  “Sebastian?” Another American.

  “Lucinda.” His tone was cool, standoffish.

  “You look…well.” She did nothing to mask the surprise in her voice. Her dark blue eyes immediately turned icy when her gaze settled on me.

  “Never felt better. You?” he asked with no real interest, his attention still on me.

  “Just got back from L.A. I didn’t know you were in town.”

  “I’ve been busy,” he murmured in a blatantly lascivious tone that, I won’t lie, I was delighted to hear. The elevator reached the parking garage and the doors slid open. Sebastian threw his arm around my shoulders and pulled me out. I stole a quick glance behind us, and found Lucinda slack jawed.

  “Good seeing you, Lucinda. Say hi to Patrick for me.” He was a consummate actor. All the little nuances of his expressions, the ones he thought he hid so well, had become a native language to me.

  “Slow down. I can’t walk in this dress.”

  His lips quirked. “I won’t let you fall, lover.”

  “Lover?”

  “We’re lovers, aren’t we?”

  I was grinning like a fool again. He did that to me, often. “Yes, I guess we are.”

  Once I was inside the car, he buckled me in. I never had a man buckle my seatbelt before; it was strange and endearing at the same time.

  “Hungry?” he asked as he turned on the ignition, his door whispering shut.

  “Very.”

  “Good.”

  We pulled out of the garage and onto the road. I looked in the side mirror and recognized the black Mercedes SUV right behind us.

  “Are they going to follow us everywhere?”

  “That’s their job. Why? Does it bother you?”

  “Not if keeps you safe.”

  “Us safe.” He turned and pinned me with an alert glance. “You’re with me now.”

  I didn’t want to paint the mood dark with an argument so I let the comment slide. “Who was that woman?” I could tell by his mixed expression that he didn’t want to discuss it. “Is she an ex?”

  “No…but not because she hasn’t tried.” His brow creased and he gripped the steering wheel tightly.

  “Why do you dislike her so much?”

  “How do you know I dislike her?”

  “You’re not the only one with the power of observation, lover.”

  He gave me a brief smile and sighed deeply. “That’s a conversation for another night. I don’t want to think about her right now.” Cupping my small hand in his, he raised it to his mouth and kissed it.

  “Okay,” I answered, because I knew better than anyone that some topics were poisonous and I didn’t want the smile to fade from his lips.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We pulled up in front of a building covered in ivy, a brass plaque reading Le Chat Botte next to the mahogany door. Sebastian put the car in park and Gideon Hirsch suddenly appeared, holding the driver side door open while he scanned the area with a razor sharp focus in his dark eyes. After Sebastian helped me out, he settled into the driver’s seat and drove away. We navigated around the rows of Rolls Royces, Porsches, and Mercedes that lined the curb outside the restaurant, typical of Geneva.

  Inside, the bar area was richly styled, all dark wood and dim lighting. As we walked in, a whole crowd of heads swiveled to look at us. I stiffened immediately, my steps growing stilted. Sebastian looked back with a questioning glance, and when he noticed the tight look on my face, smacked a quick, hard kiss on my lips. Exuding that aura of superiority he always wore in public, he pulled me along and parted the sea of people that filled the bar without any effort. I followed in the wake of his magnificence with my chin down. Not even the expensive clothes helped stifle the overwhelming feeling that I was an imposter, a fraud playing at something I was poorly suited for. I wanted to shrink into a ball and roll away.

  The maître d’ greeted Sebastian with excessive enthusiasm, an indecent smile on his mobile, carnal lips. He caught me glaring at him and pressed those lips into a forced smile.

  “Mr. Horn, how wonderful to see you again. Your table is ready.”

  Eyes all over the dining room continued to follow us as we were led to an intimate table in the corner, near the windows. It had a breathtaking view of the city. Night had fallen and the Jet D’eau was lit up. The maître d’ sat us across from each other and continued to devour Sebastian with his eyes––not that he noticed, suddenly absorbed in the wine list.

  “That’ll be all, Jean. We’re taking our time tonight.” Jean finally unfastened himself from our table, albeit reluctantly.

  “How do you do it?”

  His gaze lifted from the menu. The ghost of a smile lingered on his sensual mouth. “Do what?”

  “Innocence doesn’t suit you,” I counseled. He chuckled, looking young and carefree––for once. “How do you put up with the fawning masses?”

  His eyes turned sulky, smoldering. “I’m only interested in one person fawning over me.”

  “I think we can safely say that I’ve been fawning over you since the day we met.”

  “That’s not true,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’ve had to work very hard to get you to fawn over me.” I fought to keep a straight face, but I just couldn’t do it when he was being so unabashedly sexy and charming. I must have fallen down a rabbit hole because two month ago I was contemplating eating my best friend’s discarded cheese sandwich, and now I was dining at the best restaurant in the city with this glorious sex god.

  “Wine?”

  “I’m allergic, order whatever you like.” Nothing gave me a blinding headache faster than a glass of wine.

  “How about champagne then?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Sebastian looked up and Jean was at his side in a heartbeat. When his gaze returned to me, his eyes were devilish crescents, a smile in them that made me burst out in laughter.

  “Jean, we’ll have the Krug 88.”

  “Of course, two glasses?”

  “No, just one for my lovely lady,” he replied, and Jean promptly scampered away to do his bidding.

  “You’re not having any?”

  “Driving.” Of course, the oxy wouldn’t mix well with the alcohol. I was proud of him. He was trying, as he had promised.

  “Don’t people like you have drivers? Or permanent security detail?”

  “I have security when I travel, but not at home. Draws too much attention. Besides, I like privacy, can’t have any with too many people around.” His pointed gaze held mine. “I’ve got a question for you.”

  “About what?” I did the best I could to sound relaxed, under the circumstances. I hated being under the microscope. He was too perceptive, saw too much…in me. When Jean suddenly surfaced with the bottle, I was grateful for the reprieve. He poured and let Sebastian test it before serving me a chilled flute.

  “Your British accent.”

  “Oh.” I heaved a small sigh of relief. “Miss Albright––my nanny until I was thirteen. She was a very stern, very proper British nanny with a degree in child development. Mr. Whitehurst was my tutor until I went to university. He was Oxford educated. My
father was a big believer in education,” I replied, praying he would leave it at that. Needless to say, I was in rare company, having access to nannies and tutors in my country was unheard of. I took a refreshing sip of the rare vintage.

  He leaned his head on the triangle of his index finger and thumb, his expression thoughtful. “Have you ever been?”

  “To England? No. America was my obsession. All I did was watch old American television shows when I was a kid.” He nodded, a sweet smile playing on his lips. “I told my father I wanted to move to Malibu and be a lifeguard when I was thirteen. He didn’t think it was a good idea––shocking, I know.” The old memory made me smile into the champagne glass. “I’m certain I wouldn’t have filled out the red suit quite like Pamela Anderson––and seeing that I’m not a very good swimmer, medicine was the better choice.”

  “I’ll take you there. I have a good friend that has a house on PCH in Malibu. We can watch the sunset with a nice bottle of champagne.”

  My smile faded. “Don’t say that.”

  He cupped my face and kissed me, licking a drop of champagne off my top lip. Self-consciously, I glanced around and noticed curious stares skipping back and forth between us. The heat from their collective attention made my cheeks burn.

  “Why not?” he said in a low, sexy drawl. “There’s so much I wanna share with you.”

  My discomfort growing, I tried to pivot away. “I never hear you speak that way to anyone else.”

  “Lost most of it at Stanford. Only comes out when I’m drunk…or turned on.”

  “You’re always turned on.”

  He shook his head. “Only around you…I’d love to see you in a little red bathing suit,” he added, cleverly maneuvering me back.

  “As I recall, someone suggested I could buy a pair.” It was a casual remark, tempered with a smile. And yet, his whole demeanor changed instantly. A flush crept up his neck and a scowl darkened his features, his gaze dropping to the water glass his long fingers held.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “You should know that I think you’re perfect––just as you are.”

  I felt guilty for teasing him. He wouldn’t look at me. He kept staring absently at the water glass, twisting the stem around and around. I cupped his face and raised his lips to mine, trying to persuade him with kisses to soften.

  “Hey, I was teasing you. Come back to me.”

  His mood took another sharp turn. He grabbed my face and kissed me back passionately––a little too passionately for public consumption. A forced cough rang above us and we startled apart.

  “I’ll order for you. Any other allergies?” I should have been irritated, but I wasn’t. I knew better now. His drive to control and dominate came from fear, from this irrational impulse he had to guard and take care of me. For whatever reason, he needed it and I gave it to him willingly.

  “Yes.” Surprised, he glanced up from the menu. “To overbearing men,” I said, my eyebrow arching. It was just a brief smile, and it disappeared just as quickly––but I caught it nonetheless.

  Jean took the order, standing much too close to Sebastian if you asked me. In the meantime, my eyes took the opportunity to indulge themselves. And there was so much to take in, every small detail about him a precious jewel I wanted to secretly tuck away so I could admire it later, in the privacy of my thoughts. Where it hurt no one to dream of what could’ve been if I weren’t me. If we were just two ordinary people that had met in an ordinary way.

  “You never mention your family.”

  His question sucked me out of my thoughts. My hand stopped abruptly from reaching for the champagne glass, my gaze sliding up to his. “My mother died in labor and my father passed away six years ago. There’s no one left.” Sipping the champagne slowly, I hid my unease in the glass. His scrutiny though, remained on me.

  “That must be difficult,” he said, brushing my cheek tenderly.

  I pulled away, too unsettled to meet his perceptive eyes. My gaze slid to the window. “I’m used to it.”

  “Is that why you chose medicine? Because of your mother?”

  The reflection of the streetlights sparkled off the Jet D’Eau. “I suppose…I don’t care to look at it too closely,” I admitted. “Let the dead bury the dead.”

  Even though it was a soft murmur, spoken more to myself, he must have heard me because his gaze grew startling in its intensity, the meaning of which, I couldn’t even begin to fathom.

  We started with a course of marinated sea bass, fleur de sel, combawa, with an infusion of spider crab and Indian verbena. The aroma floating up from the artistic presentation made my mouth water and my stomach grumble. Sebastian’s eyes were focused on me as I savored every bite. It made me terribly self-conscious.

  “Is Marianne not feeding you enough?”

  I blanched. “What do you mean?”

  “I heard your stomach growling.”

  “She’s been nothing but kind and generous. It’s me. My metabolism is in overdrive all the time. I can’t keep weight on.”

  “I want you eating more. Promise me.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Promise me or I’ll speak to her myself.”

  Worry ripped through me. “No, please don’t. I promise.”

  When the main course of Dublin prawns rolled in kadaïf arrived, I scrambled to change the subject. By now, I’d learned that arguing won me nothing and only caused him to entrench more firmly.

  “Do you like what you do? Running the bank, that is.” For a moment, he looked confused. “Hasn’t anyone ever asked you that before?”

  “Actually––no,” he answered, mild amusement in his voice. He gathered his thoughts before adding, “I don’t know if I would say I love running the bank. It’s the game, I love.”

  “The game?” He poured me another glass of champagne. I savored every rich swallow, the delicious vintage making me loose and easy.

  “Trading is a zero sum game,” he explained. “There’s no gray area. Someone wins, someone else loses.” An aggressive glint sparked in his eyes.

  “How did you get into it?”

  “I started as an energy trader. I told you my mother’s family is in the oil business.” He shrugged casually. “The rush is addicting.”

  “It wasn’t about the money?”

  “Money is just the scorecard. The rush comes from winning. And trust me more people lose than win. Anyway, I was always expected to take over the bank.” This was a side of him I rarely saw, unless he was barking orders or swearing at one of his people on the phone. I was separated from that part of his life––the real part.

  “Do you still trade?”

  “No. I have too much responsibility. Keeping an eye on my guys handling the billion dollar portfolios is a full time job.”

  I tried to act blasé at the figure but failed miserably. “Billion?”

  “Multi-billion,” he corrected, his mouth curving into a roguish smile. He was so cocky, so sure of himself when it came to his work.

  This was exactly why I didn’t want to leave the safety of the estate. There, I could pretend we were just two people desperately attracted to each other. Here, I was faced with the uncomfortable truth that we were worlds apart. The word imposter kept popping up in my mind. His brows pinched together when he realized what my mind was chewing on. Grabbing my hand, he raised it to his lips and kissed the palm. “Don’t do that. Don’t pull away. It’s just money.”

  A dry laugh surged up my throat. “Says the billionaire. Rich people are the only one’s to ever call it just money.”

  “It means nothing between us. And I won’t apologize for it. You’ll learn to live with it.”

  It was so easy for him to let his imagination run wild, to consider the possibilities. He didn’t have a clue what I was hiding. I didn’t have that luxury. And I would do anything to keep him from discovering the truth.

  “I don’t have to learn to live with anything. The only place we belong together is in your bed. And when it�
�s over, you’ll go back to your world, and I’ll stay in mine.”

  His eyes were intense, burning with pent up emotion, and his breathing had quickened. He was struggling to control himself. “Are you done?”

  “Yes.”

  He signaled for the check. “We have somewhere to be.”

  Jean picked up the pace when he realized the air hanging around the table had suddenly turned frigid. Once the bill was paid, Sebastian pulled me out of the restaurant. The tension surrounding him was palpable. I knew something was coming. As soon as we hit the street, he dragged me into a dark alley, around the corner, and pushed me up against the side of a building. Before I could take a breath, he grasped my face and his mouth came crashing down in a brutal kiss.

  I took it. I took all of it. His frustration, his desire, his need to dominate, to make me bend to his will. He bit my bottom lip hard enough that I could taste the metallic tang of my own blood. He squeezed my breasts roughly and my body bowed into his hands rather than shrinking away. His reckless passion stoked mine to a fever pitch.

  “You need to do a better job listening.” I felt a scrape of teeth on the delicate skin of my throat. The sting lingered. “Who do you think is calling the shots here?” he asked, his voice descending into a primitive growl. I was pretty sure it was rhetorical question.

  He shoved his stone-hard erection against my sex and slipped his hand under my tight skirt, hiking it up forcefully. With the heel of his hand, he brushed my clit just enough to drive me wild. Lost in the heat of the moment, I struggled to get closer and ripped the shirt out of his pants to stroke the muscles of his lower back.

  “Do you want me?” Two fingers secretly slipped inside of me. “Do you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Good.” The wall of heat was gone in an instant. He pushed off of me abruptly, leaving me utterly aroused and unfulfilled, cold and alone where his touch had been. I wanted to scream. His eyes were hooded, sulky, daring me to challenge him. When I didn’t respond, the flat line of his lips curved in victory. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me onto his side. “Let’s go.”