A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

Anger rose above a litany of other emotions, most importantly for possibly jeopardizing my personal and financial security. I stood before the items packed on the shelves, fighting to regain some control over my wayward emotions. Absentmindedly, I grabbed a couple of things and went to pay.

“Oh,” I frowned. “I’m…sorry. You can remove these three items,” I said in French to the store clerk.

An herbal laxative.

Hemorrhoid cream.

And men’s deodorant.

After he rang me up, I turned to leave but the clerk’s voice checked me. I had forgotten the bag on the counter. He gave me a commiserating half-smile while I rolled my eyes.

Through the store window, I could see the rain coming down in buckets. The sky had turned angry, as dark as pitch. I stepped outside and found his car still out front. For some reason, I wasn’t surprised. The passenger side window slid down half way and our eyes met through the blur of water. “Get in,” he shouted.

I shook my head. Weakly, I argued, “I don’t want to get your car wet.”

“I don’t give a fuck-all about the car. Get in!”

It was futile arguing with him. I would only get “more wet” and stood a very good chance of being struck by lighting. Quickly yanking the door open, I jumped in and the window sealed shut.

The icy mask did nothing to conceal the pent up emotion blazing in his eyes. “What would you have done? Walk home in the dark? In the middle of a thunderstorm?” He nearly growled out the words.

“I’m ruining your beautiful car.” That was an understatement. I sat there a bedraggled, soaked lump, my clothes plastered to me indecently, dripping all over the fine leather upholstery.

He reached into the back seat and grabbed a clean white dress shirt. “Here,” he said, handing it to me. It was perfect and beautiful and probably cost a fortune. “Take it,” he insisted.

I had heard that implacable tone before. He was thoroughly intimidating when he was like this, and I was too baffled by his reaction to put up a fuss.

When our fingers touched, he pulled away quickly. I patted my face and throat, soaking the super fine cotton, and caught a trace of his delicious scent still clinging to it. Dear God, this is torture. The craving to bury my nose in it and inhale deeply was almost unendurable. I placed the shirt on my lap.

Visibility being near zero, he drove slowly as the heavens opened up and unleashed the worst of it. The only sound in the small space was his steady breathing coupled with the hiss of the windshield wipers working frantically to keep up with the heavy downpour. There was something perversely reassuring about the sound of his breath. It reached deep into my bones and chased the chill away.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I walked home in the rain,” I mumbled. The answer escaped my lips unintentionally.

“Are you trying to piss me off?” He wouldn’t look at me as he spoke, glared at the road instead and gripped the steering wheel with two hands tight enough to turn his knuckles pale.

“No. I…I don’t really understand why you are…and can you please stop using that language around me,” I demanded, clutching the shirt to my throat as a child would a safety blanket. He turned towards me with a probing glance. The anger dissipated and amusement appeared in his brandy colored eyes. Exhaling slowly, the tension drained out of his shoulders and his grip on the steering wheel relaxed.

“What’s wrong with my language?”

“I don’t care for profanity. It’s the tool of an undisciplined mind.”

His lips quirked. “Who said that?”

“I did.” When I glanced at him again, I found him watching me with an intensity that made me quickly avert my eyes.

We pulled up to the back entrance of the house a short while later. The worst of the storm behind us, only a few scattered showers remained as the sun struggled to break through the wall of steel blue clouds.

He put the car in park, brooding silently, while I sat there perfectly still. My nerves raw. All my senses completely locked on him. Prey in the presence of a predator. Except you want to be caught, the dark, deranged part of my psyche taunted.

I waited for him to say something but he kept staring ahead, his eyebrows pinched together in deep concentration. If we could only find some middle ground and coexist amicably. I tried to bridge the uncomfortable gap between us.

“What does the B stand for? Bossy? Belligerent? Bellicose?”

“Bentley.”

“Oh…I’m sorry about your car. Can it be fixed?”

“Enough about the damn car. Promise me next time you want to go anywhere you’ll get a ride from Theo or one of the guys.”

“If they’re not busy.”

He turned to me with such a withering glare I’m surprised I didn’t turn to stone on the spot. “Let me be perfectly clear. If I find out they let you walk again, they will all be looking for new employment.” The last words were uttered in a deadly calm voice that left no room for doubt.