A Million Different Ways To Lose You (The Horn Duet Book 2)

by P. Dangelico

  “Marianne…Olivier,” I said in greeting, a huge smile stretching across my face. “Have you seen––”

  “The gym.” Olivier spoke before I could finish.

  My stride didn’t falter. Turning immediately in the direction of the stairs, I hurried up the steps, taking two at a time. From down the hall I could hear two voices coming from the gym. The raspy one spoke forcefully.

  “Get your hands off me…I know what you’re doing.” That bored, languid voice was laced with contempt. “Yeah, I do––drop the pretense…we’re done. I won’t be needing your services anymore…you’re fired, Yvette. Do I need to say it in French?”

  It was moments like these, when he didn’t know I was watching and listening, when he was most under duress, that my love for him felt like an unstoppable force of nature, gathering strength and growing larger and larger. His moral compass was never in question––it never wavered. I had learned the hard way that he could be counted on to do the right thing without thought, or hesitation.

  I stepped into the gym to find Yvette gathering her things and putting them in her gym bag. She wore a cowed look on her face, and shorts so small and tight they were practically nonexistent, barely covering her butt cheeks. Her dark eyes darted from me to Sebastian.

  Is she wearing fake eyelashes––to work? Yes, she was. Without a word, she quickly scooted past me and exited.

  Sebastian stood across the room with his hands resting on his hips, fingers tapping anxiously. His expression was one of utter exasperation. Our eyes met, and his softened. My admiring stare descended to a naked chest deliciously covered in sweat. He scraped his wet hair back and grabbed a towel.

  I didn’t waste a second running into his arms. My unbridled excitement took him by surprise. He caught me in time, then chuckled while I spread kisses all over his sweaty face. God, I wanted to lick him like a lemon popsicle on a hot and humid day.

  “Babe, I’m covered in sweat,” he murmured, sandwiching the words in between kissing me and laughing at my enthusiasm.

  “Yes, I know,” I purred, and wrapped my legs around his hips to let him know exactly what I thought of that.

  The red jersey Max Mara wrap dress I was wearing fell open up to my waist. His hands slipped under the edges of my lace boy shorts, gripped my butt cheeks, and squeezed. I broke the kiss for a moment to look into his brandy colored eyes, and found a blaze of lust swirling and burning out of control. Against my intimate parts, I could feel every inch of him, rock hard and ready for me. My pelvis rubbed against his, my calves frantically trying to shove his black track pants down over the pronounce muscles of his beautiful rear end.

  “I saw the doctor. We’re good to go.” I couldn’t keep the silly smile off my face. His heavy lidded gaze descended to my lips in a possessive, predatory stare I was delighted to see––it had been way too long since he’d looked at me that way.

  “Birth control?”

  “Depo shot five days ago after I finished my monthly.”

  A switch flipped. “Well in that case…”

  He walked forward, carrying me over to a machine that had nylon straps hanging from it. “Grab those straps,” he ordered. His tone sent a shiver rippling across my skin, putting my senses on high alert. This was the man I fell in love with, before pain and heartbreak came between us, before the seeds of doubt germinated into full blown distrust.

  The craving I had for him was relentless, the anticipation driving me insane. I grabbed the straps over my head and twisted them around my wrists…secured by the straps, anchored to him. I wanted to be taken, used and abused in every way imaginable––something I would not have entertained, not even in my worst nightmares, only six months ago.

  I locked my ankles around his waist and my ballet flats fell one by one with a thud onto the wood floor.

  “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed about this,” he muttered. I mumbled something about making all his dreams come true, and he chuckled before I shut him up with a kiss. Desire exploded between us, turning amusement into ashes. Without warning, he grabbed my dress and ripped it apart. It disintegrated in his hands. My poor underwear met the same fate. I gasped. The shock transformed into a huge grin. For once I didn’t care who walked in on us. There was no contest and no doubt, desire easily trumped prudence.

  Pulling my bra down, under my breasts, he stroked his wide palm over them, then fastened his mouth over my nipples. Drawing on them, teasing them until my eyes slammed shut and my body arched. A thin veil of sweat blossomed on my skin. I could feel his hot tongue on my neck before he scraped the fine skin with his teeth, an animal marking his prize.

  “Stop teasing me,” I muttered like a lust starved teenager, desperate to feel him take me. My eyes fluttered open to find him staring at my naked body with such fascination that it made me self-conscious. “What is it?”

  “Every time I see you…” He shook his head. “It’s like the first time.” The murmur was barely audible, the vulnerable look on his face said he’d revealed too much. A moment later he grabbed my face and kissed me, devouring my mouth as if he hadn’t tasted me in ages, until all thought ceased and passion obliterated everything other than us.

  He pushed his pants down his muscular thighs, and his erection sprang free. Surrounded by a patch of dark blonde hair, it bobbed up towards me, tempting me, wanting me. He gripped the base, and pumped up and down its entire length. Then he positioned himself, the head rubbing against me, the slickness between us easing the way.

  “Wait,” I suddenly said. Startled, he pulled back. As he stared into my eyes, I told him what my heart and my body were screaming, “I fucking love you.” He blinked, surprise and amusement taking turns flashing in his expressive, amber gaze. “I fucking love you,” I repeated, my voice full of conviction, encompassing so much more than what those four simple words meant.

  His mouth curved up. His eyes overflowed with adoration. He looked happy and unburdened for a moment…I would’ve done anything to keep that look on his face.

  “Language,” he said, teasing me.

  “You’re a very bad influence, Mr. Horn.”

  “Damn right, I am,” he muttered in a tone soaked in lust. “And for your information––I fucking love you, too.” With that, he thrust his hips and filled me up. He was home. Where he belonged––and always would.

  Chapter Eleven

  After weeks of negotiations, the Albanian Minister of Justice had agreed to hold the meeting at Horn & Cie. At least, that’s what David Bernard told me when he prepped us for the meeting.

  “Now remember, they will try to goad you into anything that resembles a confession. You must let me handle it.” His neatly combed, silver head swiveled in the direction of Sebastian who was half sitting on the corner of his desk, his face a study in power and confidence. “That means you, too.” Mr. Bernard’s sharp, blue glare brooked no argument. With a scowl fixed firmly in place, Sebastian tossed his Hermés tie over his shoulder and crossed his arms, his silver cufflinks clinking as they brushed together. Watching Sebastian back down was a rare sight––one I took secret pleasure in.

  At present, we were in the conference room, the three of us on one side of the ten foot long conference table, them on the other. The attaché, Mr. Imami, wearing an Italian suit that looked far too expensive for a government official, sat unnaturally still. The two colleagues seated next to him looked bored and useless. It was clear they were only along as a show of force.

  “She will have to admit to some degree of responsibility,” Mr. Imami stated, his English only slightly colored by an Albanian accent.

  I didn’t need to see Sebastian to feel him tense. Stealing a sideways glance, I watched his jaw pulse and his nostrils flare, and I knew he was getting ready to strike back. “Not a chance,” Sebastian replied in an ominously low voice.

  Interjecting before the meeting acrimoniously unraveled, Mr. Bernard clarified, “What my client means to say, Mr. Imami, is that we can all agree that there i
sn’t a shred of evidence to link Miss Sava to the theft.”

  Mr. Imami’s heavy-lidded, dark eyes shifted back and forth between Mr. Bernard and Sebastian. The sharpness of his cheekbones made the heavy, dark bags beneath them more pronounced. But it was the incredible stillness of his body that had my attention. My instincts told me there was cunning behind that stillness, and possibly violence. It had me on edge.

  “Are you suggesting that the missing money be explained as an accounting error?” His lips barely moved when he spoke. I understood the subtext all too well. It would have been an egregious mistake to imply that the Minister of Finance could have bungled something so thoroughly. It would’ve been construed as serious breach of respect, and any negations would have suffered a quick and sudden death.

  “We’re suggesting that Dr. Sava acted alone. That Miss Sava had no knowledge of the crime until his apparent suicide,” Mr. Bernard concluded while stealing a glance in my direction.

  My entire body turned to stone. Under the table, Sebastian squeezed my hand. They were going to pin it all on my father based on a slew of assumptions, without any concrete evidence. Mr. Imami showed no outward display of his consent. However, the tension in the room seemed to lessen by a few degrees.

  “Furthermore, the five million dollars my client has agreed to donate to the university should go a long way to smooth any ruffled feathers the Minister may still have over the details.”

  Five million dollars…sweet Jesus. The shame and guilt I felt at the moment was indescribable.

  “Have you located the account in her name?” Sebastian inquired. Everyone’s attention slid to Mr. Imami who was doing a terrific impression of a statue. Sebastian’s expression altered, a sly understanding replacing his curiosity. Deducing the answer, he announced it to the rest of us still in the dark. “It’s not offshore.”

  “Montenegro,” offered Mr. Imami.

  I stood suddenly, my chair screeching across the marble floor. “My father is innocent!” I heard the words come out of my mouth too late to stop them. “And when I was interrogated the police said it was offshore.” All at once I felt the scorching heat of every pair of masculine eyes in the room. I sat down abruptly.

  “They were bluffing,” Sebastian clarified. Mr. Imami simply stared back, his face a portrait of apathy.

  Mr. Bernard didn’t miss a beat. “Then we can all agree. Miss Sava has clearly proven she had no knowledge of the whereabouts of the money. Let her give you an official statement indicating as such, and let’s have the matter be done with.”

  “There’s still the issue of the money,” Mr. Imami added.

  “Which we are prepared to wire as soon as the case against Miss Sava is dismissed,” David Bernard swiftly countered. “We have no objections if you wish to pursue the case in any other direction.”

  Time seemed to expand as we waited for Mr. Imami’s agreement. Only a little thing such as the course of my life hanging in the balance, but why hurry. And then, there it was, a slow blink signaling Mr. Imami’s consent. That’s all it took to alter my destiny forever.

  David Bernard rose out of his seat and extended a hand across the table to Mr. Imami who also stood. The two men shook hands.

  “I’m curious––” Sebastian started, surprising everyone, including myself. “What evidence did you have against Dr. Sava?” His voice had adopted a nonchalance I recognized as artifice, though I highly doubted anybody else would. “Other than the circumstantial evidence of his suicide, and the money being wired out of the university bank account to one under Miss Sava’s name?”

  Dark, fathomless orbs dueled with whiskey colored ones. I could almost see Mr. Imami’s mind working quickly, throwing up hypotheticals, measuring cost to reward ratios. He cocked his head slightly. “His personal effects held nothing of interest.” It might as well been an admission that there may have been the slight chance that my father had been innocent. “Make no mistake, no one else had access to that money.” Any other time in my life I would have jumped at the chance to argue my case, or more specifically my father’s. But something told me to stay quiet…something that felt a lot like trust.

  “In that case, Miss Sava would love to have her father’s personal things back…sentimental value and all?”

  A beat later Mr. Imami replied with a slow nod. Sebastian had not only negotiated my freedom at great cost to himself, but he had also restored to me what remained of my father. And for the first time in my life, I contemplated the possibility that I may have been the luckiest girl in the world.

  It was midnight when I padded barefoot into the library. The distinct cuckoo of the elaborately carved Black Forest hunting wall clock marked the time. The box full of my father’s belongings remained where I’d left it on the eighteenth century table in the middle of the room. I walked up to it with more caution than necessary, as if it were radioactive. You could definitely make an argument that it was bad for my health. It had been silently torturing me from afar for two days now, denying me even a small measure of peaceful rest. Picking the box up, I sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace that was now cold and dark. Recalling what had happened hours ago put a smile on my face.

  He’d found me in the library, searching for a book to read. The lines on his face put there by the burden he carried alone told me it had been another rough day at the office. Later, he would explain that the Dow had lost over seven hundred points, the consequence of which would be felt around the globe––including at Horn & Cie.

  Such a remarkable man…

  Thousands of people depended on him to steer the ship correctly, to make the right decisions often under pressure, and against questionable odds––their livelihoods depended on it. He made carrying all that responsibility look effortless…and never asked for anything in return.

  As the conversation faded into silence, words became redundant. The longing and hunger in his gaze conveyed all that needed to be said. There was a brief moment of pause, an understanding passing between us, and then we both flew into action. Within seconds, we were both naked. More than one button on his shirt went skipping across the stone floor. My underwear suffered a more brutal and definitive demise. He had me bent forward, over the rolled armrest of the chesterfield sofa before I realized what he had in mind…or more specifically, how he needed it. With my head resting on the cushion, he took me gently, slowly––too gently. I slammed back into his groin, urging him on until the loud slapping sound drowned out my moans and cries.

  The memory alone was making hot so I closed the door on that line of thought and focused on the box before me. Pandora’s box––because I had no idea what I would find inside and what the repercussions would be. Steeling myself for the worst I took the top off and began meticulously retrieving every item inside, placing each one side by side on the antique Persian rug.

  Four flash drives.

  Bank statements.

  A diary.

  His battered, dog-eared personal copy of Plato’s Republic that he was never without.

  A picture of the two of us that had been taken at my engagement dinner.

  And lastly, a picture of my mother…she didn’t look a day older than nineteen.

  I couldn’t stop the tears from falling any more than I could stop the earth from spinning. I missed him desperately. Although I couldn’t deny that there was still a shade of resentment coloring my memories of him. That last conversation we had played over and over in my mind, even after all these years…

  I had picked up the morning paper that day on the way to class, read the headline, and almost cast up my crumpets onto the sidewalk. A picture of my father stared back at me from the front page. The long and the short of it was that he was being indicted for embezzlement. The theft of three million U.S. dollars didn’t go undetected in a country that only has a total GDP of fifteen billion. I willed my legs to run, not just walk me to his office. His longtime secretary, Jerina, saw me rushing down the hall with a bewildered expression. Hers became sympa
thetic almost immediately. Then, something akin to guilt flashed across her face, though it was gone before I had the chance to take a closer look.

  “He went home, Vera. They won’t allow him back to get his things until tomorrow, and only accompanied by an officer of the law,” she told me in a pained voice. An attractive woman in her late forties, I knew she’d been in love with my father for years, and hoped he could return her affection. It never came to be. Whatever he had with my mother was sadly the beginning and the end for him.

  By the time I reached our comfortable but modest apartment, I was sweating bullets. I found him still dressed in his immaculate gray suit, sitting at the kitchen table with his copy of Plato’s Republic next to his cup of espresso, staring out the window absently.

  “Papa?” He didn’t turn to look at me. “Is it true?” I asked in Albanian.

  “Is what true, Zogu?” he replied casually, using an Albanian term of endearment which means birdie. I swallowed the damning words stuck in my throat. It seemed insane to even voice the question out loud, directed at a man I had always held as the standard-bearer of ethics in the world.

  “Did you do what they’re accusing you of?”

  He turned to look at me then. Brown eyes to brown eyes, unwavering, he said, “No.” Something inside of me fell back into place. I knew he would never lie to me. Never. After that, I never once questioned whether he was innocent of the crime he was being accused of…

  “Hey.”

  I turned towards the masculine voice coming from the doorway. He leaned against the frame with his arms crossed in front of him, the sleek lines of his muscles in stark relief, the gray sweatpants he wore hanging low on his slim hips. A sated smile graced his face, his lips swollen and bruised by my hungry kisses. It didn’t seem to be bothering him though. His moods had been so volatile lately it was a relief to see him so relaxed. Amazing what good sex could do to a man’s mood. I only hoped it lasted longer than an evening.