A Million Different Ways (A Horn Novel Book 1)

by Dangelico, P.

  “I’ve got you. Let go, Vera,” he whispered seductively.

  How could I explain that I could never completely let go, that I was incapable of letting myself depend on anyone. My mind screamed to run away––it knew it was in grave danger of relinquishing all control––while my body, addicted and enslaved, raced towards him at Mach speed. His formidable persistence paid off. It started quietly, building momentum until I fell over the edge with a scream that could have woken the neighbors. My head flopped back onto his shoulder.

  “I didn’t think I had another one in me.”

  “Don’t ever underestimate me, lover,” he whispered.

  No. I would be a fool to ever underestimate this man.

  * * *

  Stretched out on the bed with his hands tucked neatly behind his head, his arms protruding like wings, he looked like a jaded, just recently pleasured sultan. A self-satisfied smile lingered on his lips. His beauty still managed to leave me speechless at times.

  I lay on my stomach perpendicular to him, my lips charting a path from his navel to his right hipbone. His penis lay long and soft on his thigh. When I licked the space between bone and muscle it twitched, coming to life again. “You are insatiable,” I proclaimed with a wide, unadulterated smile.

  His lids lowered to half-mast. “Your fault,” he murmured seductively, then chuckled at my eye roll.

  “Do you know––” I said, kissing the dip between his taut abdomen and hipbone, “that I have been dying,” another kiss, “to do this,” he hissed as I licked him, “since I saw you hanging by those sinister looking straps in your gym.” Come to think of it those straps didn’t look so unappealing anymore.

  “Really?” His voice was high and tight.

  “In fact, I’m certain that this small piece of real estate right here,” I licked my index finger and drew a triangle between his navel, his hip bone, and the beginning of his pubic hair, “is the most precious in all the world. I would love to build a home right here.” I dropped another soft kiss on the spot, rubbed my nose on it, and watched him grip the sheets tightly. His sex turned dusky and hard, standing up proudly.

  “Imagine the view,” I purred. In a heartbeat, I was lifted and placed astride his lap while I squealed in surprise.

  “Enough,” he said, laughing, a full-throated laugh I hadn’t heard from him before. Music to my ears. His laughter was so rare I almost didn’t recognize the sound. I wiggled against his twitching erection. “Good Lord woman, have some mercy,” he pleaded in a heavy drawl, “I’ve abused your sweet body enough tonight.”

  “That accent makes me crazy.”

  “Good to know. Have to put it to use at a later date.”

  We were both grinning like idiots. It made my heart swell to see him relaxed and happy. He closed his eyes, and kissed me so tenderly that a surge of emotion clogged my throat. It came to me in a rush, the knowledge that I was way past the point of no return, already fiercely attached to him. So I pulled back, scared of my own feelings, of my weakness for him. A flicker of disappointment dimmed his eyes before he averted his gaze.

  Running his fingers through his hair impatiently, he said, “It’s late. We should get some rest.” When he turned the lights off, the silence was stifling, a chasm separating us all of a sudden…and then I felt him reach out and pull me closer. Tucking in behind me, he held me like he never intended to let go. I exhaled, relieved, because I didn’t want him to either.

  * * *

  The room was swaddled in darkness. I blinked repeatedly as my eyes adjusted slowly to the faint glow of a streetlight pouring in through the wall of windows. His iPhone on the bedside table read 3:50. The smell of sex hung in the air. It invaded my senses, bringing with it a rush of images and feelings of all the things we’d done and shared.

  Restless, Sebastian mumbled something I couldn’t understand. I adjusted the covers he had kicked clear off the bed and after tucking them around him, I watched him sleep for a while. My very own sleeping beauty. I never got the opportunity to really look at him. When he was awake, all that intense energy was blinding, like trying to study the sun. His face was tight, his brow furrowed in discomfort. I felt a pressing need to sift my fingers through his hair but I didn’t want to wake him. The pain was probably due to overexertion and he needed the rest to recover.

  I crept off the bed slowly, so that he wouldn’t feel the shift of weight off the mattress. Small twinges of pain lanced through me with every step I took getting to the bathroom, a satisfying reminder of where his body had been.

  I was staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, inspecting the red patch on my collarbone and the hickey on my throat, when I heard a low moan. I stepped back into the bedroom to find him breathing erratically. He wasn’t just uncomfortable, he was distressed as well. It killed me to see him in such a state. He was always so busy taking care of everything and everyone else that he forgot to take care of himself. The protective streak burning inside of me grew wide and angry.

  As I began massaging his leg, he quieted almost immediately. The space between his eyebrows relaxed. His breathing turned deep and calm. Beautiful, stubborn man. Any time I tried suggesting he use his cane, he changed the subject. His pride might not allow it, but his body would insist on it––or pay the price. It was taking more and more of the powerful opiates to get him through the day. He was addicted to them and we both knew it. With his resources, I refused to believe that a good orthopedist couldn’t alleviate some of the discomfort, and made a mental note to do some research on it.

  He mumbled again. I could barely make out the whispered words. “Don’t leave me…I need you…” I paused, questioning whether I had heard him correctly. “Don’t go…”

  A great weight was suddenly sitting on my chest, crushing the air from my lungs and destroying a newborn hope that had been steadily growing since we left the club. He was dreaming about his wife…after everything we had shared.

  “Love you…don’t leave me.”

  My jaw trembled. Tears stung my eyes. I was dying inside, my heart disintegrating a piece at a time, sucked into a black hole of despair. Then, the realization hit me, earth shaking in its magnitude, that it was too late to turn back, too late to save myself because I had totally, irrevocably fallen in love with him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I woke at dawn with his sandy head between my thighs. Not the worst way to start the day. Pinned to the mattress, all I could do was surrender as he licked and kissed and worked me up into a state of arousal that had me begging in not one but three languages. Finally taking mercy on me, he planted me astride and buried himself deep inside of me. Something was driving him. He was relentless, hell bent on drowning me in pleasure until every part of me was filled up, touched, and tasted––enslaved by him. It only occurred to me afterwards that it had felt so good because he wasn’t wearing a condom. He looked appropriately embarrassed after my scolding.

  “I don’t have any control when it comes to you,” he muttered.

  “Well how about your mind? Do you have any control over that?”

  His lips twitched, his expression wavering between amusement and challenge. Still, he didn’t argue.

  “When’s your doctor’s appointment? I’d rather you see mine.”

  “Next week, and no thank you. I’m perfectly capable of choosing my own doctor.”

  And that’s how the morning began…

  “They’re yours. Why wouldn’t you take them?”

  He looked like an angry god now, an angry Eros, with his hands on his hips and a sexy scowl on his face. I wanted to kiss that scowl away. Instead, I stared at our reflection in the vanity mirror and continued brushing my hair.

  The coach had turned back into a pumpkin. The horses were mice again. I had my old, tired clothes back on while he stood behind me wearing those titillating, snug boxer briefs and nothing else. He was so damn gorgeous––privately I was sighing and ogling like a teenage girl.

  “They’re not mine.
They were on loan for one evening. Thank you for doing that for me, but I don’t feel right accepting them. Besides, what would I do with them? I don’t need designer clothes. I’m a housekeeper, remember?”

  Frowning, he shook his head. “Don’t say that. That’s a temporary situation.” The pained look on his face shifted to determination. “You’ll need them when we go out. You need a lot more, but I figured you could pick out what you want yourself.”

  I had a good cry the night before. I went into the bathroom, crawled into the shower, curled into a fetal position, and sobbed hysterically. I got it all out of my system, felt peacefully resigned about the whole messy situation. Of course he was still in love with his beautiful, dead wife. She had looks, class, style, and ran in the right circles. The only circle I ran in was the one that revolved around his dining room table––while I dusted it. There was no contest. She won by a landslide. If he hadn’t been in such a dark place when we met, this affair would never have happened.

  I finished gathering my hair in a ponytail, turned around, and walked over to him. I petted his chest, just above his heart. He liked it when I did that. “No hair,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

  His expression turned smug. “Grass doesn’t grow on rocks.”

  I smiled at his adolescent remark. “Sebastian––” Before I could continue, he cupped my face, his thumbs lightly outlining the angles and planes…and I lost my train of thought. The man made me senseless. “Sebastian––”

  “Hmm.”

  “I don’t see how there will be a lot of going out for us. I rarely have two days off together. And I’m certainly not going to ask Mrs. Arnaud to change other people’s schedules to accommodate mine. I just started working there.”

  “There? You mean my house.” His intense gaze locked on mine, an unmistakable argument gaining strength in his eyes. “Am I the only one that finds this bullshit excuse ludicrous? You work for me––not Marianne.”

  “That’s a valid point,” I agreed gently. “Nevertheless, I report to her. And there’s no way I want her thinking less of me.” I stood on my toes, kissed his stern lips until he softened and kissed me back. “By the way, your language is filthy.”

  He wrapped his arms around me, steel bands that sealed us together length to length. “The clothes, the earrings––they’re yours. You can keep them here and that’s all I’m going to say about it. I’m fucking starving. We need breakfast.”

  “Sebastian––”

  He smacked my lips with a quick, loud kiss, stalling the rest of my words, and turned towards the door. Speaking over his shoulder, he added, “Don’t push me. I’m going to get dressed,” and left me standing alone. Impossible man. When he set his mind to something, he was an unstoppable force. I needed to handle this with care. Otherwise, he would take it as a personal challenge.

  * * *

  “How about I cook?”

  He looked like I had just confessed to inventing fire, hopeful though mostly disbelieving. I stood in the middle of the immaculate designer kitchen while he sat on the counter stool looking incredibly sexy in a white dress shirt and his old Levi’s.

  “You want to cook? Breakfast?”

  “No, the inauguration dinner for the next U.S. President. Yes, breakfast. Hasn’t anyone ever cooked for you?”

  Actually the appliances looked unused, just out of the box.

  “Marianne…but not in this kitchen. Ruth, at my mother’s house,” he mumbled.

  I tried to cover up my surprise by opening cupboards and pretending to look for something. My chest felt tight. Nobody other than an employee had ever fed him? Maybe I was old-fashioned but that didn’t sit right with me. “Do you have groceries?” I opened the stainless steel Sub-Zero and found…champagne, champagne, thirty bottles of Fiji water, a jar of capers, and a Red Bull. My eyebrows hitched up. “I’m scared to ask what the capers are for.”

  His mouth curved into a lazy smile. He walked up behind me and hugged me tightly, resting his chin in the curve of my neck. I felt the erection growing in his jeans. My eyes widened and a surprised burst of laughter bubbled up.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “We better go to the grocery store. I need food if this is going to keep happening every time I’m around you.”

  The Mercedes SUV crawled next us as we walked the short distance to the grocery store. He draped his arm around my neck. I swung mine around his waist, hooking a thumb through the belt loop of his jeans. We looked like an ordinary couple, doing ordinary things, on an ordinary sunny Saturday morning. If only. When we stepped inside the store, I searched for a cart, looked over at him, and found him looking a bit lost.

  “When was the last time you went food shopping?” He just stared back, unblinking. “Never mind, let’s get a cart,” I added, not wanting to put him on the spot.

  “Let me do that,” he said, commandeering the cart. Only this man could turn a shopping cart into a sexy accessory. When he glanced at me, I schooled my expression, not wanting him to think I was laughing at him. Needless to say, he caused a traffic jam down every aisle we wandered. Women halted their shopping to openly stare as if it were a sighting of the Beatles circa 1960. I might as well have been invisible––and the feeling was not a pleasant one.

  He followed me around, playing the part of the gallant servant. Completely unaware of the uproar he was causing, he waited patiently while I selected fresh vegetables, fruits, eggs, dairy products, and various other items that we needed––even seemed to take pleasure it. Every time he picked up an item and I inspected it before letting him place it in our cart, he smirked. Twice, I had to put something back and explain where the bruise was, or that it wasn’t ripe enough.

  “What’s wrong with this peach?” He held up said fruit.

  “It’ll be days before it’s ripe enough to eat. And it has no scent…here, smell.” I pushed it under his nose, and his eyes danced with mischief.

  “I know where to find a peach that smells real good,” he murmured in a low, sexy voice. Smiling, I tried to push him away but he held me steady for a quick kiss.

  “We’d better go before you cause a stampede,” I suggested, a lazy smile on my lips. A happy sigh rose up my throat as I laced my fingers together around his neck. His brow furrowed in confusion.

  “A stampede?”

  I motioned for him to look around and stifled a laugh. Every pair of female eyes in the store was trained on him.

  Once back in the apartment, the day only got better. I cooked us a hearty breakfast, starting with my signature omelet. Brown, free-range eggs, ripe cherry tomatoes, fresh basil, fresh mozzarella cheese, a dash of freshly grated Parmigiano cheese, a pinch of sea salt, and a nice, fat pat of butter on the skillet. I toasted a brioche for myself, and roasted baby russet potatoes drizzled with olive oil and rosemary for him. We sat side by side at the counter to eat.

  He lifted my leg and draped it over his lap, caressing it as he ate. “Damn, you’re a good cook, woman.” A moan of satisfaction followed every time he took a bite.

  “Don’t you think you’re overdoing it a bit?”

  His eyes grew sulky… scheming. “I’m ‘bout to show you how grateful I am for this meal.”

  Shrieking, I tried to evade his playful grab, but he caught me easily, kissed me soundly, and proceeded to make love to me on every available surface of the apartment.

  “I’m going to get hard every time I walk in the door now,” he said on the drive back to the estate.

  I met his happy, sparkling gaze and smiled. I love you, I thought––words I could never say out loud.

  “Poor baby, you’ll just have to grin and bear it.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Darlin’,” he drawled, reaching over to tuck his hand in between my knees, “you’re the one who’s going to have to bear it.” Then he unleashed one of his megawatt smiles. “But I’ll make damn sure you’re grinnin’.”

  * * *

  It took a week for me to come down from th
e residual high of those two fairytale days at the apartment. I was blending his unsavory protein drink when Isabelle stalked into the kitchen. She eyeballed me with a suspicious look on her face. Annoyed with her scrutiny, I turned off the blender and returned a blank stare.

  “I think it’s funny how he always asks for you, even though you two supposedly hate each other. Funny how I haven’t seen any evidence of that legendary hatred for weeks now. What were the two of you doing in the woods that day, anyway?” Her cold eyes narrowed.

  “Maybe he appreciates the fact that I don’t push a pair of big, fat breasts in his face any chance I get. Maybe he finds it refreshing when I don’t bat my eyelashes, pant and moan, and generally make a fool of myself every time the man takes a breath.”

  I completely ignored her last question and prayed she wouldn’t notice. I knew I shouldn’t be snippy with her, that any show of emotion would say too much, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to endure watching her bend over to serve him breakfast and practically fall into his lap on three separate occasions! She was becoming more and more brazen, while he responded with a small polite smile and carried on as if nothing awkward had occurred. I don’t even think he noticed.

  A number of the employees had remarked on his change of mood lately. I feigned complete ignorance whenever they mentioned it. Poor old Betty almost fell over in shock two mornings ago when she passed him in the kitchen, and he stopped to inquired about her husband’s health.

  As she stalked out of the kitchen, Isabelle spat out, “Some of us aren’t frigid.”

  By the time I reached the gym, Yvette had cornered him into a private conversation. I was greeted by one raised eyebrow. “Vera, my drink please,” he said in a tortured voice.

  I bit the inside of my cheek to stifle a grin. Yvette’s dark head whipped around, her sculpted face dropping at the sight of me. I couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for her. I knew how irresistible he was––maybe better than anyone