A Million Different Ways (A Horn Novel Book 1)

by Dangelico, P.

  A dark flush stretched across his high cheekbones.

  “So much has changed so quickly,” I added, forging ahead. “I need some time to adjust. Please, Sebastian.”

  Even though the water coming down in buckets from the pan shaped shower head was steaming hot, my entire body trembled uncontrollably. The sight of me wrapping my arms around myself snapped him out of deep thought. He turned the water off and pulled me out of the shower. His love filled eyes didn’t leave mine for a second while he covered me in a soft, white robe that was much too big.

  “Okay––” he replied in that raspy timbre that had become an addiction.

  I exhaled a major sigh of relief. This was progress. He rarely conceded anything. He rubbed my back, my arms, while he stood before me dripping wet and looking absurdly sexy.

  “I’ll give you a week to come to terms with it.”

  Well––baby steps. It was four more days than I had gotten last time.

  * * *

  The rest of the staff was already treating me differently and it rankled––everyone except Mrs. Arnaud, Charlotte, and Bentifourt, who particularly never missed an opportunity to dispense a heavy dose of condescension and snobbery. Things were changing quickly and it seemed that there wasn’t anything I could do to slow it down to a speed I was comfortable with. There was still so much unsettled, so much at stake.

  I was in the middle of scrubbing a particularly stubborn scuff mark on the walnut floors when the image of Sebastian in the shower skipped through my mind. I schooled the grin that seemed to spread easily on my face lately. Coupled with the stars in my eyes, I looked like I was suffering from either a concussion or a bad case of idiocy.

  The possessiveness in Sebastian’s expression wasn’t about ego. It was born out of fear. He guarded me as he would guard his own heart. I couldn’t blame him; love made me feel vulnerable, too. It was no mystery that his insecurities were a result of being raised by a woman that did worse than neglect her only child. She was around just long enough to teach him that love was painful and nothing good came out of trusting women.

  However, I still couldn’t figure out his relationship with his dead wife. His confession about never having been in love before had shocked me. I was still grappling with it. So why did he marry her? Sebastian was not a social creature by nature. Like the tiger he resembled, he was solitary, self-contained. Something about it bothered me, though I was too much of a coward to ask him about it. I was afraid of what I might discover.

  By early afternoon he had texted, informing me that he had arranged for Gideon to drive me in so he could take me shopping, adding in the text not to waste his time objecting or I would get spanked for it later. I was sitting in the Mercedes, outside his building, when Gideon received a phone call. “What do you have for me?” he asked in French, his clipped voice indicating it was important. “Is he willing to deal? …I can send a man to Lyon first thing tomorrow.”

  Sebastian opened the door, and for a brief moment a flicker of something that resembled doubt appeared on his face, a peculiar distrust of what he witnessed with his own eyes. I love you desperately… you sweet, beautiful man. He slid in next to me and my body succumbed to the gravitational pull of his much larger one. A moment later I was being kissed senseless. Any embarrassment I had about Gideon’s presence was easily forgotten.

  “I just heard from my contact.” Gideon’s unique accent pierced the lust filled bubble surrounding us. Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as they connected with Gideon’s in the rear view mirror. “We have a lead,” Gideon continued.

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  “Is it about the shooting?” I asked, my voice loaded with concern.

  “Yes.” Sebastian’s remote gaze swung away, directed absently at the passing scenery. Then, just as suddenly, it returned to me warm and affectionate. “Don’t think about that now. Ready to have some fun?”

  “Not really.”

  Smiling, he gave me a sideways glance. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  When we walked into Akris, I was surprised to find the store empty. There were two perfectly groomed shop girls that looked ready to swoon over my man, and an older woman, the manager, who I was certain wouldn’t swoon under any circumstance. Not even mortal injury.

  “It’s empty,” I whispered.

  “Because the store is closed,” he clarified with a mischievous wink. Gripped by self-consciousness, my steps slowed to a stiff crawl. Being the center of attention is not my thing, never has been. Sebastian looked over his shoulder when he realized I was no longer walking beside him, a query in his eyes. I stared back with a blank expression, too proud to articulate my discomfort. He read me perfectly, however. Tilting my chin up, he brushed his lips on mine and ran his warm hands up and down the sides of my arms––soothing me into compliance.

  “Come on, lover,” he softly urged, and pulled me further into the store, the shop girls now staring bullet holes through me.

  The clothes hung from neat racks, color coordinated and perfectly spaced apart. I had to admit they were to die for. The richness of the fabrics. The stunning simplicity of the design. I was scared to touch anything. All of a sudden what I was wearing embarrassed me. I turned to Sebastian and realized he was busy on a phone call. He must have noticed the lost look on my face because he motioned to the manager and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, beaming up at him.

  Another one falls. Scratch that about her not swooning. Note to self––never underestimate this man’s charms.

  The warmth remained on her features as she turned and addressed me. “Mademoiselle, let me show you some pieces you may like,” she said, throwing a motherly arm around my shoulders.

  Sebastian sat in a leather armchair, watching me parade in and out of the dressing room, while the shop girls tripped over each other to please him. A slow trickle of possessiveness started to seep into my blood. He was polite but barely spared them a glance. Every suggestion they made was met with a dismissive head shake. God, I loved him.

  I chose two pieces. A cotton shirt that crossed over the front and a pair of light wool, skinny, ankle length pants. Utterly elegant and completely practical. That didn’t satisfy his Highness, who frowned and shook his head at the manager when I said that’s all I needed. Then took it upon himself to choose a whole lot more.

  A black, pencil skirt and a cream one.

  A short, pleated navy skirt.

  A sunflower yellow, dolman sleeve silk shirt (that I had to admit looked amazing with my coloring).

  An emerald, crêpe silk dress with cap sleeves.

  A white cotton shirtdress with a wide, cognac crocodile belt…and on and on. In other word––an entire wardrobe. And more clothes than I had owned in total the last ten years. Looking over the clothes he had chosen, I added ‘impeccable taste’ to the long list of his virtues.

  “If I didn’t know first hand what an insatiable lover you are, I would think you were gay. You have a knack for women’s fashion. I love everything you chose.” He stepped inside the narrow dressing room. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m ‘bout to prove what an insatiable lover I am,” he answered, grabbing my hand and pressing it against his impossibly hard erection.

  “Sebastian––” I giggled, trying to push him away as his arms snaked around me. “Stop that this instant. I have expended a great deal of energy satisfying your baser needs.” He held on, rubbing himself against me and fumbling with the zipper of my new skirt as I tried in vain to dress. “No…wait…this is…they can hear us. How embarrassing!” I finally got the words out between burst of laughter.

  He ducked his head out the curtain of the dressing room and said, no joke, “Some privacy, ladies,” to the shop girls. I could just imagine the look on their faces, and felt a small stirring of triumph that really was beneath me. That’s right, ladies, he’s mine.

  Spinning me around, he placed my hands against the wall of the dressing room and pushed my
back down so that my rear end arched up, seeking him. No, he couldn’t possible think… “You’re not doing what I think you’re doing,” I said, breathless. He flipped up my short skirt and hooked the lace thong with his fingers, exposing my feminine folds to the cool air conditioning. Gently, he skated around my clitoris in a taunting rhythm that had me pushing back for more. My mind went silent while every nerve ending in my body was wide awake. As my eyes fluttered shut, a sudden realization hit me.

  This man owned me. I would do anything, be anything for him.

  “I want you to watch us in the mirror,” he purred. Then proceeded to drive me insane by rubbing the soft wool of his trousers against my primed body. In the mirror, the woman I had become stared back at me. Eyes heavy-lidded, cheekbones rosy, hair a curtain of dark silk around pale shoulders. Completely wanton. My lips parted as he pushed his thumb inside my mouth, withdrew it and found my clit. I bit my bottom lip to stifle a moan. Pushing back against him, I heard a sharp intake of breath; he was just as affected as I was.

  “Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” he murmured. “I’m going to fuck you hard, baby.”

  Yes! Yes! I begged silently, shocking myself once again. I couldn’t believe how erotic it was, seeing him standing in the dressing room with his legs spread apart, bent over me––all that testosterone crowded into that small feminine space.

  He unzipped his pants and his sex sprang free, jutting up provokingly towards his stomach. As he rolled on a condom, our eyes locked in the mirror. Pure love stared back at me, the connection so profound I was on the verge of tears. I knew then that I could never leave him––even if it cost me everything.

  He entered me slowly. His long lashes fluttered as he pushed in all the way. I loved watching him, loved seeing that unguarded look of unbelievable relief growing on his face when he was fully fitted inside of me. His head dropped, his forehead resting between my shoulder blades. “How much do you want me?” His voice was raw and needy, with a pronounced rasp.

  “More than anything…ever,” I answered truthfully, way past the ability to guard my thoughts.

  Pressing his fingers into newfound softness, he gripped me tightly and began pumping his hips. Momentum built quickly, sharply surging before crashing. He pinched my nipple and a lush orgasm hit me. I caught only every other word of praise and encouragement whispered in my ear. A few muffled curses followed and then he exploded into my yielding body.

  I don’t even know how we managed to get dressed and not stumble out of the small dressing room. But as always, he seemed much more in command of himself than I was. Naturally, I was embarrassed beyond anything. Adding to my mortification, Sebastian was wearing an indecent grin on his face. And I could have sworn I heard him whistling at one point. The manager wouldn’t look at me when Sebastian handed her his black Amex.

  Outside the store, I stood with my arms crossed while he carried armloads of garment bags to the car. “A little subtlety wouldn’t kill you,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

  There was a brief quirk of his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That ridiculously smug look on your arrogant face.”

  Gideon took the bags from him and loaded them in the trunk. When he turned to face me, I noticed the mischief in Sebastian’s expression had changed into something softer.

  “I’m happy––” he said quietly, “let me enjoy it, please… let me enjoy you,” and dropped a sweet peck on my swollen lips.

  My fit of pique quelled instantly. He sliced me open with a couple of words and he didn’t even know that he was doing it.

  I love you, please be happy. I want you to be happy. My heart sang while my lips stayed silent. I nodded and kissed him back.

  We stopped by Chanel and Lavin before heading home. After the workout I had gotten in Akris, I was too spent to argue when he started pointing at items and looking at me for approval or rejection. Yes, to the tiny quilted handbag in black and one in a larger size in nude at Chanel. Yes, to a couple of pairs of flats in different colors at Lanvin. Who knew shopping could be so exhausting. In the end, I begged him to stop––unbelievable but true.

  We drove home without uttering a word. I crawled onto his lap and tucked my face into the curve of his neck, inhaling the comforting scent of him while he stroked my back. A small, satisfied smile played on his lips as he stared out the window. The weight of my stare drew his attention.

  “I love you,” I mouthed.

  “I love you more.”

  Wrapped in each other’s arms, we fell asleep quickly that night. All was right in the world for once. The moment unmarred by reason, regret or worse yet––reality. But it wouldn’t last long. A ribbon of grey, pink and orange marked the horizon. A storm was brewing and neither one us noticed, too blinded by love to see it coming.

  * * *

  The next day Charlotte and I tackled polishing the silver flatware. No small task. We sat at the kitchen counter with what seemed like thousands of pounds of silver.

  “So what will you do? When you’re not working. Have you thought about it?” Charlotte’s face was a funny mix of curiosity and apprehension. She kept watching the open doorway for Mr. Bentifourt.

  “I don’t know,” I answered, uncertainty written all over my face.

  “Will you live here with him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does his mother know?”

  “I don’t know,” I repeated with a pinch of my brow. His mother…crap. I had studiously avoided thinking about her.

  “Well what do you know?” she asked, two apostrophes marking the confusion on her brow.

  “I don’t know anything, Charlotte…except that I love him and I don’t want anything to harm or embarrass him in any way. But Sebastian is as stubborn as a mule and won’t listen to reason.”

  Charlotte’s frown melted into a wistful smile. “You love each other, that’s all that matters.”

  “You sound as impractically romantic as Sebastian.”

  “Who the hell would have thought that that man was a romantic.” She shook her head, muttering, “Never in a million years.”

  “I asked him about that,” I said, a smile threatening to bust wide open.

  “About what?”

  “About why he’s so standoffish with you.”

  “And?”

  “And he said…his words exactly, ‘because every time she sees me, she looks at me like I just took a shit on her favorite shoes’.”

  One look at Charlotte’s shocked expression and I erupted in laughter.

  “That’s not true!” She stood up and slammed the counter with her fist, the silverware jangling. I remained silent while her mind chewed on that for a while. “Well, maybe it’s a little bit true. Just a tiny amount.” I said nothing. “Okay, maybe he’s right,” she finally admitted and sat back down.

  “I suggest you both make an effort to know each other better since you’ll probably be in each others company more often.”

  Her gaze caught mine. “We can still be friends then?” she asked, a sweet, shy uncertainty in her voice.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, of course we’re still friends. Nothing has changed between us, Charlotte. The only thing that’s changed is the room I’m sleeping in,” I clarified, and squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Speaking of change, Ben will be back this weekend.”

  She stiffened instantly.

  “Would you please explain why you two can’t be in the same room without scratching each other’s eyes out. What the hell is going on?”

  Charlotte’s lips pursed. “I just don’t like him.”

  “You’re sticking with that excuse?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, let me know when you’re ready to talk about it.”

  Tipping her face down, she inspected a silver fork as if it were the long lost eighth wonder of the world.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  By midnight, I was seriously worried. I hadn’t heard from him since he had texted me at
six saying he would be home late. The text was terse––that was unlike him. Instinctively, I knew something was wrong, my mind conjuring a million dreadful scenarios as I lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. For a fleeting moment, it crossed my mind that he was playing some stupid, vengeful game. Maybe he was trying to teach me a lesson about how nerve wracking it is to be kept wondering. But I knew we were past playing games. That’s what worried me the most.

  I put on my silk robe and headed downstairs, determined to find out more. I figured Ben would know something. And if he didn’t, I was going to throw him out of bed and send him to retrieve my missing lover.

  As my foot hit the last step of the marble staircase, I noticed a dim light escaping under the door of the library. Once inside, I shut the door quietly behind me and walked towards the windows. There was a funny flutter in the pit of my stomach as I passed the last of the bookcases…and then I found him.

  Something was very wrong.

  His shirt was crumpled, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie hung loose. He was slumped forward with his head in his hands, gripping his hair tightly by the roots. Goosebumps exploded on my skin. The space was filled with a miasma of emotion so dense that I had trouble breathing. He looked up abruptly, his golden eyes locking onto mine, and my heart froze.

  His face was ravaged with pain, his eyes haunted. He was that wounded creature again, the one I had met months ago. My gaze shot to the glass of liquor by his feet…Oh God.

  I willed my legs to work, to walk over to him. Moving slowly, afraid to startle him, I sat down and reached up to brush the hair near his ear back. He squeezed his eyes shut, his large body shuddering as if it pained him.

  “What’s wrong, darling? Talk to me,” I whispered. And then waited for what felt like an excruciatingly long amount of time until he spoke in a broken, rough-hewn voice.

  “Interpol came to see me at the office today.” His hands clenched into tight fists. He looked like he was preparing himself for some imaginary battle. My heart beat viciously. I thought the force of it would split my chest open.