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“Are you still keeping red tails?” Mr. Hightower asked. He swirled the Bordeaux in his glass before lifting it to his lips.
Sebastian’s turned his attention to Charles Hightower and his gaze shifted from detached to warm in an instant. It was amazing to watch. I wondered if anyone else noticed although it didn’t seem so.
“Just the ones I rescued,” Sebastian answered.
“Fearsome creature, the red tail hawk, also hardier than the peregrine.”
“Yes, as you know my father preferred peregrines.”
“You’re father resisted progress in many ways. I have no doubt that you’ll do what it takes.”
Sebastian didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his words were measured. “My father didn’t understand the pace that the financial world operates in today. But I’ll give him credit, we may not have grown exponentially, like some other institutions, but we also aren’t stuck holding a large share of Greek debt. And we never bought into the derivatives scam. Our reputation worldwide is intact…I owe that all to him.”
Charles Hightower raised his goblet of wine in the air and tapped the glass gently. “A toast to Heinrich. May he rest in peace knowing he left the Horn family legacy in skilled and capable hands. To another hundred years of prosperity.”
* * *
Once the table was cleared and all the contents of the bar were safely put away, Mrs. Arnaud insisted I rest. As I made my way to my bedroom, I heard uneven footsteps echoing down the hallway and noticed Sebastian up ahead. He was walking stiffly. Something didn’t feel right. Without a second thought, I followed him into the library, watching him grimace with every step he took. He entered and immediately turned left, walking past the rows and rows of bookcases to where the cobalt blue couches sat under a wall of windows. It had started raining shortly after lunch and was still coming down gently, tapping on the glass, filling the room with a soft rhythmical lullaby. I shouldn’t have followed him but I knew he was in pain and too proud to let anybody see him in that condition. I just wanted to reassure myself that he didn’t need any help.
By the time I reached him, he was spread out with his injured leg resting straight on the couch and the other foot flat on the ground, his arm covering his face. I bit my lip, uncertain if I should disturb him.
“Sebastian?” His arm came down. The spark of surprise in his eyes turned thoughtful. “Can I get you anything? Your pills?”
He shook his head. “Come here,” he said, as I turned to leave. When I hesitated, he held out an outstretched hand. “Please.”
My steps were tentative as I walked over and sat on the ottoman in front of the sofa. He took my hand, gently stroked my knuckles with his thumb, and placed it on his injured knee. I looked up into wide pleading eyes and a thousand unspoken words crossed between us. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, yet trusting me to understand––the moment exponentially more intimate than if he had kissed me.
Shifting, I sat between his legs, closer to the injured one, and began massaging it. His lashes fluttered before his eyes closed. I felt his hand come to rest possessively on my knee, completing a circle, anchoring himself to me.
“The recoil of the gun––” he said softly. “You have to stand with your knee bent and absorb the force.”
“And naturally you had to take more turns than everyone else.” His lips twitched in amusement. A fiercely competitive man, there was no way he would have let anyone outdo him, even at a considerable cost to his health. The tension drained from his muscles as he relaxed into my touch. I watched his expression transform from tense to blissfully serene and felt a surge of triumph, knowing I could do that for him. I liked that he needed something from me…I tried not to examine that too closely. “When did you last take your pain medication?”
He didn’t open his eyes, just sighed deeply. “An hour ago.”
“Oh.”
“This is better than the oxy.”
“You’re building tolerance to this dose too quickly.”
“I know.” The hand resting on my knee started to travel higher up the inside of my thigh. I covered his hand to stop him, and the corners of his mouth crept up in a sexy smile.
“I see you’re feeling better,” I scolded, fighting a grin of my own. “I should be going. They’re probably wondering where I am.”
He grasped my wrist to stop me. “Not yet.” The boyish whine in his voice was impossible to resist.
Then the door opened and voices entered the room. My anxious gaze snapped to his relaxed one. Panic stricken that we would be discovered, I tugged on my wrist but he wouldn’t let go. The shameless seducer knew I was in no position to make a fuss. Pulling me closer, he pressed his index finger to his lips and shook his head. I came crashing down on top of his chest. He wrapped one arm around my waist and shoved the other hand in my hair, destroying the neat arrangement of my bun. A huge white grin spread across his face as I struggled in vain to push up, no match for his strength.
