A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

As I stepped back into the kitchen, my pulse jumped, my heart registering the charge in the air. I turned my head and there he was, with his back to me, dwarfing the stool he sat on. His posture was graceful, elegant when relaxed. His injured leg was extended straight and the other bent, an expensive driving moccasin perched on the bottom rung. My eyes moved appreciatively over his broad shoulders while they had the opportunity to indulge themselves, soaking in every detail.

The pale blue dress shirt I had noticed earlier was half tucked in his jeans, as if he had dressed in a hurry. With his elbows resting casually on the counter, the breathtaking swells of his wide shoulders stretched taut the silky fine cotton of his shirt.

His interest was fixed on an object. I leaned in to get a better look and realized he was holding my scarf, playing with it, pulling the worn silk through the circle of his index finger and thumb. Mesmerized, I watched him do it again and again.

I was in the middle of wondering what it would feel like to have those big hands on my body, when he suddenly looked over his shoulder and found me standing there. Surprise flickered in his eyes before he quickly concealed it.

“Mr. Horn?”

Turning in his seat to face me, he said, “Maybe we can dispense with the formalities since you’ve already had your hands on me.” His voice was low and measured, but something in his tone made me uneasy, penetrating the dulling effects of alcohol.

My smile faded. Pouf. In only a fraction of time all the ease we had shared earlier in the day evaporated.

“My scarf, please.” I held out my hand. It hung between us vulnerable and alone while he stared at it. I didn’t feel up to another sparring match with him so I pulled it back. We were dancing around something I was in no condition to deal with.

What did he want with me anyway? Certainly a man with his looks, power, and wealth didn’t go lusting after housekeepers. It seemed ridiculous to even consider. Still, I couldn’t deny that inexorable pull between us. It was present as always, getting under my skin, unsettling my nerves, and making a general mockery of my self-control.

“Come get it,” he murmured, “I don’t bite.”

My eyes widened and irritation loosened my tongue. “Yes, you do. You can get quite vicious actually.”

Although his lips quivered, there was no amusement in his eyes. The dim light did nothing to conceal all that smoldering intensity living there. That didn’t bode well for me.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

“That’s none of your business––but as a matter of fact, I did,” I answered curtly.

He stared back silently for an excruciating amount of time. When he spoke again, his voice dropped lower. “You enjoy making a spectacle of yourself? Rubbing up against men you don’t know like a cat in heat?”

I sucked in a breath, shocked by his outrageous comment as if he had slapped me. Ground control, we have a direct hit. My entire body flushed crimson. My neck was on fire. His cynical smile vanished when he noticed the horrified expression on my face.

I held out my hand again with my gaze focused over his shoulder because I would’ve rather died than let him see that he had any effect on me. “My scarf,” I demanded, forcing out the words past the dry lump of anger and embarrassment stuck in my throat.

Before I knew what hit me, he wrapped his palm around my wrist and yanked me forward into the unforgiving wall of his chest, trapping me securely between his thighs. His fingers raked through my hair, gripping the roots tightly while his other hand cradled my neck. I felt the lightest brush of his thumb along the edge of my jaw right before his mouth crashed onto mine.

Maybe it was the aftereffects of the alcohol. Maybe it was the shock. However, I didn’t move a muscle for a full minute trying to decipher what was happening. Then my instincts finally kicked in.

I squirmed and struggled to get loose. My hands pushed against the uncompromising hardness of his shoulders, but it was like trying to budge the Matterhorn, an exercise in futility.

The kiss was at first painful, desperate. Then, catching himself, he backed off and began seducing me with a gentle insistence that disarmed me completely. A nip, a dry brush. He slanted his lips in search of the perfect angle. His mouth caught at mine, teasing me until I succumbed to the temptation and stopped fighting him. It didn’t take much for me to surrendered and kiss him back. Everything about him was a siren’s song I had zero power to resist.

He stood slowly. One hand left my face and traveled down my back, coaxing me flush against the hard swells of his body. The heat radiating from him erased any lingering contrary thoughts. I lost dominion over myself and melted into his touch.