A Million Different Ways to Lose You (Horn Duet 2)

After a beat he walked past me and into the bedroom, where he began undressing. Yanking off his tie. Unbuttoning his French blue shirt with quick, jerky movements of his hands. It gaped open. He hadn’t worn an undershirt that day and the lines of his cobbled abdomen tugged at my attention. I watched his fingers unsnap his pants and slide the zipper down, exposing a trail of fuzzy dark hair and his black boxer briefs slung low on his lean hips.

Almost instantly my entire body heated. My gaze climbed back up to his face. I found him staring at me with a mix of lust and fury in his eyes.

“I did what I had to to survive.”

“You didn’t answer my question!” he shouted. It startled me. But the anger festering inside of me began churning like a cyclone, gathering power and momentum. I snapped, accusations and blame springing out of me.

“How dare you stand there and judge me! When have you ever missed a meal or lost sleep because you didn’t feel safe? I’ve spent the last six years looking over my shoulder, in a state of high anxiety over something I had nothing to do with and no way to prove it! I’m not lord of any manor. I can’t just throw money at a problem and it disappears! Yes––I bought the passport because it made me feel just a little bit better to know that I had something to fall back on––a way to hide. And this wouldn’t even be an issue if I hadn’t met you. If I’d never fallen in love!”

The silence that followed stretched for miles. We both stood there staring each other down, measuring each other up. He was the one to break the stalemate.

“Who is she?” he asked quietly, his anger conspicuously absent.

The fight left me all at once, the aftertaste of adrenaline making me weak. I walked over to the chaise lounge, near the fireplace, and slumped down on the armrest. “A dead girl,” I confessed. My gaze fell to my hands, palm to palm, fingers laced together neatly. “She looked like me. That’s what the guy I bought it from said anyway.”

Slowly, he walked over and cupped my face, tilting it up to search my eyes. “Do you ever regret…us?”

I’d never seen such stark vulnerability on his face before, as if the fate of his life hinged upon my answer. On their own my hands came up and clasped his wrists. I could feel the anxious beat of his heart under the pads of my fingers.

“When I was on the run, when things seemed completely hopeless and I was certain I would be caught and sent back to Albania, the one thing that gave me peace was you. I could never regret loving you…you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Leaning in, he kissed me with such passion I fell off the armrest. Then he sat in the chaise, and pulled me onto his lap. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my face between his throat and collarbone––in the spot that belonged to me, in the place where I belonged. Pressing my nose against his skin, I breathed in his comforting scent.

“We’re meeting with an attaché from the Albanian government in a few days.”

His casual announced wreaked havoc on me. “What am I going to do?” I breathlessly mumbled.

“You mean what are we going to do?” he corrected. I pulled away far enough to examine his face, and gave him a slight nod because in reality, I was powerless to do anything except admit defeat.

A predatory glint spark in his eyes. His lips curved up slightly. “We’re going to throw money at the problem.” Then, before I could utter another word of objection, he kissed me.

Chapter Five

Although the staff went about their business as if nothing of great consequence had occurred, smiles were tight and eye contact rare and shifty. Even François avoided talking to me, unsure how to approach the subject no doubt. An invisible line now existed between us that never did before and the awkwardness marked the boundary. I’m ashamed to admit I did my best to avoid them, too.

There was no avoiding the two heavily armed men who trailed after me everywhere I went though. The loss of privacy was a serious annoyance. Like when I had to pick up tampons at the pharmacy only to have them standing right behind me, an arm’s length away. I was so irritated I turned and asked Justin what brand he used. The one time I attempted to discuss it with Sebastian I was leveled with a searing gaze that could’ve turned me into a pillar of salt.

My strength had almost fully returned. Less than a week had passed since I’d been out of the hospital, and already I’d stopped needing to take breaks, or naps. That’s why when Mrs. Arnaud informed me that Sebastian’s beloved hawks needed to be fed their lunch, I volunteered.