A Million Different Ways (A Horn Novel Book 1)

by Dangelico, P.

  Sebastian stood much too close to me while sipping his drink. Sensing her window of opportunity had closed, Yvette begrudgingly grabbed her bag and began to walk out. Her eyes narrowed in my direction as she bid him goodbye.

  “You’re late.”

  “I can’t protect you from every woman that’s attracted to you. That’s a full time job and an impossible task,” I snickered.

  “Very funny. Maybe I’ll hire you to guard by body.” He reached out but I leaned away in time to avoid his grasp. Looking over my shoulder, I checked the open doorway.

  “You already have three bodyguards. Besides, you can’t afford me.”

  “Darlin’, I may be the only man that can.”

  That lazy drawl never failed to turn me on. That’s what too many reruns of Dallas will do to you. I slapped his hand away as he stroked my breast through the wool of the uniform, then laughed at his adorable frown…I had it bad.

  “Hitting an injured man, Dr. Sava? Your bed side manner needs polish.”

  “I need to check the stitches after you shower.”

  “I think I’ll need your assistance in the shower, doc, wouldn’t want to re-injure myself.” Grabbing my wrists, he brought them around and clasped them to my lower back. My giggle turned into a moan when I felt, first his lips, then teeth on the curve of my neck.

  “I love that sound,” he mumbled between kisses.

  “What sound?” I asked, panting.

  “Your laugh.”

  His unabashed sweetness left me feeling vulnerable. Caught by the urge to shrink back, I redirected the conversation. “Why do you train with her if she makes you uncomfortable?”

  “Because she’s the best available trainer around here.”

  “She really likes you. You’re very popular with the brunettes.”

  “It’s because I’m blonde.”

  I wriggled my wrists and couldn’t pry loose. He was always so careful with me that I often forgot how large and powerful he was.

  “You’re not that blonde––mostly dark blonde.”

  He released my wrists. Taking my hand, he placed it on his erection and pushed it down its swollen length. “Let me remind you where I’m real blonde,” he purred, while I squirmed and laughed.

  “I almost feel bad for her.”

  “Don’t. She doesn’t like me, she wants me––like a stag head on the wall.”

  “My goodness, you don’t like being objectified, huh. What about me? I want you.”

  He walked forward, backing me up in an awkward dance towards the wall. “Then I’ll make you like me.” His sweaty chest pushed against my wool gabardine uniform. He cupped the back of my head. His hooded eyes filled with lust, and need, and a shade of aggression.

  “Stop, you’re all sweaty.” My breathy voice held not an ounce of conviction. That scent that was distinctly him––full grown male, soap, and God knows what else––was a powerful cocktail. Heat shot right between my thighs.

  “I’m getting some very good ideas about these straps and what we could do with them, besides you’re going to be sweaty in a minute, too.”

  I was trapped between the hard curves of his body and the wall. His shaft pressed against my belly as he raised my wrists over my head, to where the straps hung down. “Yes, but not here…and definitely not now. Anybody can walk in.”

  “I’m done sneaking around like a fifteen year old at boarding school. I’m a grown ass man in my own fucking house. I will make love to my woman when and where I want.”

  Make love? I pretended not to hear that.

  “First of all, your language is atrocious. Second, I will not permit you to out me. And since when am I your woman?” It was close to impossible to sound determined when he kissed my neck and nudged his erection into my sweet spot with the accuracy of a world class marksman.

  “First, get used to it,” he murmured in my ear. “And lastly, you’ve been mine since the day I found out you existed.”

  The last few words bounced around my brain. Then we both heard it––the gasp coming from the doorway. Our heads popped up in unison to find Charlotte standing there with her fingers resting like the bars of a prison over her full lips, and her eyes as large as a cartoon character’s. She turned on her heels and fled. Sebastian’s body sagged against mine.

  “Let go. I have to speak to her.” I struggled in his firm grip, anxious to get going.

  “Wait a second. This gives us the perfect opportunity to stop this cloak and dagger bullshit. I’m fed up. I want everybody to know we’re together.”

  “Absolutely not. We agreed. I need to convince her to keep this quiet.”

  He flinched, releasing me instantly. “We never agreed. You insisted. And what are you saying? That you’re embarrassed to be with me?” The set of his shoulders was rigid, his hands sat on his hips in a defiant stance.

  “I can’t discuss this with you now. I have to find Charlotte.” I stood on my toes and kissed his stern lips.

  “Be in my room by ten.”

  “Not tonight.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Be there by ten––or I’ll come looking for you.” He may have said looking, however, his eyes clearly meant hunting. I knew arguing would get me nowhere, he was relentless when he wanted something, so I nodded and left to chase after Charlotte.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I found her in the vegetable garden with a cigarette in her hand, her thumbnail worrying the nail of her pinky finger. I was mortified. Unsure of how to begin, I walked up quietly and stood there fidgeting with my apron as I searched for the right words to break the uncomfortable silence.

  “I’m so sorry, Charlotte.”

  She looked over her shoulder for only a moment before returning her absent gaze to the dusky horizon. “There’s no need to apologize to me.”

  “Yes, there is. You’ve been a terrific friend to me and I…I haven’t been to you. Trusting people is difficult for me. I’ve been burned before. It’s no reflection on you, I just didn’t know what to say,” I explained.

  She turned to me, a sympathetic expression gracing her cherubic features. “I know what that feels like, Vera, believe me.”

  I leaned against the brick wall, next to her, and watched the early evening fog roll in. The words came out before I realized what was happening. “I was engaged six and a half years ago. But before we could be married––my father was caught up…there was a scandal.” Her brows were knit, her eyes patient. I took a deep breath before continuing. “Before the trial, Aleksander, my fiancée, decided that we should move to Belgium, that the stress of the trial would be too much to deal with. He wanted a fresh start. I couldn’t leave my father, of course…the last time I saw him he was boarding a train for Brussels and promised to send for me once the trial was over––I never heard from him again.”

  “Bloody bastard!” She threw down the cigarette and stomped it out under her foot.

  “My thoughts exactly,” I agreed, smiling at her dramatics. I felt lighter. Having unburdened myself a little bit of the load felt good. “Anyway, I’m over it. Nobody knows Charlotte, not even Sebastian, not anybody.”

  “Your secrets are safe with me…are you in love with him?” I knew she was dying to talk about him. Her face gave away her every thought and emotion.

  “It’s…we’re both lonely. It’s just sex.” Liar. You’re lying to her again.

  “That doesn’t seem to be true,” she murmured. Crafty Charlotte––she was on to me. I turned to her with a resigned look.

  “It has to be. I can’t afford to be wrong again.”

  “You can do that? Stop yourself from falling in love?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted, my convictions as ambiguous as the gray mist that marked the horizon. “But I do know one thing––if I don’t fly too high, I’ll survive the crash landing.”

  With sympathy permeating her expression, she reached for my hand, laced her fingers through mine, and gave me a gentle squeeze in sisterly support.

&n
bsp; * * *

  It was after eleven when I stepped into his bedroom. He was sitting in his oversized armchair near the fireplace, wearing a pair of ancient looking jeans and an optic white t-shirt that made the tan on his face look deeper. His injured leg lay straight on the ottoman. With his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, he leaned his handsome face on the triangle of his thumb and index finger. His eyes were sulky and irritated, promising retribution.

  If you asked me he was even more irresistible when he was dressed casually, a little unkempt. He had so much natural sex appeal that he didn’t need all the gadgets and expensive clothes. Sebastian didn’t have a vain bone in his body. Even when he dressed, it seemed he played a part for business, for everybody but himself. And there was no question he was much more comfortable naked. If the servants didn’t live in the house, I was certain he would’ve roamed around as naked as the day he was born all the time. That he didn’t like being pursued by women had been an unexpected discovery. There was no hope for him there––unless he wanted to wear a paper bag over his head. But there’s no accounting for how people view themselves. When I looked in the mirror, I saw someone strong, resilient––not fragile, not in need of rescuing. I guess when he looked in the mirror he saw an inconvenience.

  “Charlotte promised she’d keep quiet.”

  His eyes narrowed at the declaration. He threw his head back against the chair cushion and stared at the ceiling as he spoke.

  “Why are you dressed?”

  “Because we need to speak, and I can’t do that wearing my nightgown.”

  “I’m going to take every piece of your God-awful wardrobe and incinerate it first thing tomorrow.”

  My whole body stiffened in embarrassment. I knew my clothes were pitiful, but to hear it from his lips was something else altogether. I was too tired to quibble with him. “I don’t even know how to respond to that ridiculously rude comment. You know I can’t afford to buy clothes right now.”

  “And then I’m going to call every fucking store from London to Paris and have them send me everything in your size… I hope they bankrupt me.”

  The low simmer of anger in his voice warned me to tread lightly. I walked over and sat down on the ottoman, next to his leg. His expression didn’t change, until I rubbed his kneecap. Then his thick lashes fluttered. We could read each other so easily. I don’t know when that happened––that mastery over each other. He knew exactly where to touch me to render me speechless, which words would cut deep and which would spark my temper. I learned quickly when to back off, how to soothe him, where to touch him to bring him to ecstasy.

  “Lover, listen to me. I know why you want to do that, but it wouldn’t be right. It makes me feel…beholden. Do you understand why?”

  He brushed my cheek with the back of his fingers, a note of…was that pity in his expression? I pushed his hand away.

  “I understand how you came up with that absurd idea. Why can’t you let me take care of you? Why would you deny me that? Because your pride will suffer?”

  A restless discomfort coursed through me because he may have had a point. Was it about my pride? Was I doing it so I could look in the mirror one day and say I gave pleasure and took pleasure equally, and nothing else? If I let my guard down he would trample me into letting him have his way. I was already perilously close, incapable of resisting him when he put his mind to something. And what would happen when it ended? And it had to end sooner or later; he could never know what had happened in Tirana. What would Cinderella’s new wardrobe mean then? A reminder of dashed hopes? Payment for services rendered? I didn’t dare contemplate where my dark thoughts could lead me.

  “This isn’t about money.”

  “The hell it isn’t.”

  “I don’t want to argue about this. Can’t you just respect my wishes?” I could see the focused intensity building in his eyes. He was digging in for a fight. This did not bode well for me.

  “Let me ask you something––do you remember when I found you under the wisteria tree?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Why did you touch me? Why did you touch my leg?” I stalled, trying to discern where this train of thought was headed. “Answer me, damn it!”

  “Because you were in a great deal of pain, and I wanted to help you. I wanted to take away your suffering.”

  His breathing was deep and quick, emotions raw and on the surface. “How would you feel if I had denied you? If I wouldn’t let you touch me?”

  “It would bother me,” I said, and frowned at the thought. “I would feel frustrated, helpless.”

  He stood up and closed the distance between us quickly. Wrapping his powerful arms around me, he pressed me to him as if he could absorb my body into his. “Let me take care of you,” he pleaded, his amber eyes determined and serious. “I’ve given a great deal of thought to this. I want you to hear me out before you say anything else. I don’t want you working here anymore. I want you living here, with me––” He paused at the look of shock on my face. “Be with me.”

  “You can’t be serious. We’ve known each other barely two months––and half that time we’ve spent fighting.”

  A flash of pain appeared in his eyes. Tucking it away quickly, he pressed his case, “We can stay at the apartment during the week and come here on weekends.”

  I was beyond shocked. I didn’t want it to end yet, but I didn’t know how to slow him down, how to make him back off. I was in uncharted waters, drowning in anxiety. “Let me go.”

  “That won’t ever happen,” he stated tenderly. Ruthless man. He knew what it did to me when he spoke like that.

  I felt split in two, and fought back tears spilling from my heart. Part of me wanted desperately to believe this could work. However, the small part of me that could still reason knew better. I pushed against his shoulders and he released me. “You don’t know me! You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know what you’re asking. I can’t afford to rely on anyone!”

  I had never raised my voice to him like that before. It surprised him. He reached out to grab my wrist, and I stepped away just in time to evade him. Raising his hands in surrender, he begged softly, “Okay, easy…please let me hold you, please. You’re killing me, lover.” His face was a mixture of fear, affection, and intense awareness. I ran into his open arms, the only place I wanted to be, and let him hold me, let him chase away the fear and sadness with his magic touch. I closed my eyes and soaked in the feeling, burning it in my memory so I could look back on it one day and treasure it. “It’s okay, we’ll work it out. We’ll take it slow,” he murmured in my ear.

  Laying me down on the bed, he fitted himself snuggly between my thighs. My hips, as if summoned by their master, hitched up to meet his. He teased my mouth with his own, nibbled, licked, and petted until I was clay in his hands. I kissed him back passionately, pouring all the love I had for him into that connection. Would this heat between us ever recede? Would we ever get enough of each other?

  His expression was worshipful when he broke the kiss and stroked the hair off my forehead. “I want you to let me in. I want you to trust me.”

  The weight of all the words I couldn’t say pressed down painfully on my chest. How could I tell him that was an impossible request? I didn’t have the heart to drive the stake through his fragile hopes. I couldn’t respond so I did the only thing I could, I kissed him until all thought ceased and only pleasure existed between the two of us.

  We moved with the grace of two people in synch with each other. Those expressive, liquid pools of fire trained on every sigh, every twitch. My hands stroked the silky skin of his well-muscled back, traveled lower, over the dip at the base of his spine and underneath his jeans, where I discovered that he was naked. His lips kicked up on one side. I squeezed the globes of his backside, and he nudged me in answer with his aroused body.

  “Let me in,” he whispered, as he made love to me. I didn’t know how to respond because he was already there, fastened onto my heart
.

  * * *

  “What does that mean? Now that Argentina defaulted.”

  We fell into a comfortable routine, meeting in his bedroom after eleven. We spoke for hours at night, in between wild sex and gentle lovemaking. Sometimes I didn’t know what was better, the mind blowing orgasms or the mind blowing conversations. I wouldn’t have wanted to do without either one.

  “It’s not the first time they’ve defaulted,” he said as he loosened his tie. Work had kept him at the office late all week. It was costing him. I could tell from the shade under his eyes that the pain in his leg was bothering him.

  “It’s just crazy that one hedge fund can hold so much Argentine debt that they can decided to sink an entire country…it sounds like extortion.”

  “Negotiations broke down when the hedge fund refused to take pennies on the dollar,” he explained. “It’s getting ugly…they’ve been shut out of foreign capital markets for too long. Inflation is over twenty-five percent.”

  When he sat on the bed to remove his pants, I instinctively reached for him and raked my fingers through his hair. A weary sigh escaped his lips and his eyelids grew heavy, fluttering shut.

  “This sounds like some far-fetched Hollywood thriller. Can’t the American government do something? Isn’t that what they do? Save the world from all villains?”

  “You don’t have anything against Americans, do you?” he asked, smirking.

  “I happen to love all things American,” I replied softly, then stiffened, realizing I had inadvertently used the word ‘love’. He stood up and wrapped me in his arms, as if he sensed my impulse to retreat.

  “So what is there to do for poor Argentina?” I asked, trying to pivot away from the serious moment.

  “The president can bail Argentina out under a principal known as comity. He needs to inform the federal judge handling the case that the suit brought by the hedge fund against the Argentine government interferes with his ability to conduct foreign policy and the judge will dismiss the suit.” He placed a delicate kiss on the tip of my nose, released me and continued undressing.