One Night: Denied (32 page)

He shrugs those perfect shoulders, and those perfect eyes lose a little exhaustion, finding mischievousness instead. I smile warily at the signs of playful Miller. ‘I don’t know,’ he muses. ‘Maybe you’d like to discuss my buns.’

The stupidest grin stretches to my cheeks. ‘I’d do that in your company.’

‘You shouldn’t. I get all embarrassed.’

‘No, you don’t!’

A bright smile diminishes any lingering gloom that may have remained, sending me giddy. ‘Call your nan, sweet girl. I want to bathe and get my habit under the sheets.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

I can hear talking. It’s faint, but it’s there. The room is illuminated only by spots of London’s night-time light on the skyline. If I didn’t know better, I would think I was outside on a balcony staring out across the city, but I’m not. I’m on Miller’s worn sofa in front of the huge glass window, naked and with a cashmere throw draped over me – somewhere better.

I sit up, dragging the blanket with me, and blink back my tiredness, yawning and stretching as I do. The view and my sleepiness distract me from the voices I heard a few moments ago, but then Miller’s slightly raised and agitated tone reminds me of his absence from the couch. I pull myself to my feet and make the best job of wrapping the blanket around me before I pad across the wooden floor to the door, pulling it open soundlessly and listening for him. He’s speaking quietly again, but he sounds irritated. The last time he took a call in the night he disappeared. Flashbacks of our hotel encounter ricochet around my head like a bullet, making me wince. I can’t think of him like that. The man I faced in that hotel room wasn’t the Miller Hart I know and love. He needs to change his number, make it impossible for these women to get hold of him. He’s not at their disposal any more, although I begrudgingly note that they don’t know this yet.

I start towards the sound of his muffled voice, his words becoming clearer the closer I get until I’m standing at the doorway of his kitchen staring at the scratch marks Cassie left on his naked back.

‘I can’t,’ he says, resolute and completely fixed. ‘It’s just not possible.’ His words fill me with pride, but then he collapses to his arse on a chair, revealing another person in the room.

A woman.

My spine lengthens.

‘What?’ she asks, her surprise evident.

‘Things have changed.’ He reaches up and drags his palm through his hair. ‘I’m sorry.’

I gulp. Is this it? Is this him officially quitting?

‘I won’t take no for an answer, Miller. I need you.’

‘You’ll have to find someone else.’

‘Excuse me!’ she laughs, flicking her eyes past Miller’s seated form and catching me at the doorway.

I jump back out of sight, like she hasn’t already seen me. She’s mature, but very attractive, her ash-blond, perfectly styled bob fixed in place and her fingers wrapped around a wine glass. She has long, red talons for nails. That’s about all I got a glimpse of before I stupidly hid and, feeling very foolish about it, I turn to make my way to the bedroom, trying in vain to steady my erratic heartbeat. He’s declining her. My intervention isn’t needed and I distinctively recall Miller saying the fewer people who know about me, the better. I hate it, but I have to follow his lead, given that I have no clue where we’re headed.

‘Well, well.’ I hear her smooth voice as I’m making my escape, my shoulders jumping up to meet my earlobes. I know she saw me, but a silly little part of me was hoping my stealthy movement removed my body from view before her beady eyes captured me.

Wrong.

Now I feel like a peeping Tom, when she’s the one who has invaded Miller’s apartment in the middle of the night. Is she going to hand me his card, too, and tell me to keep it safe? Is she going to offer a share? After everything, I might skin her alive.

‘What?’ Miller’s voice tenses my shoulders further.

‘You didn’t say you had company, darling.’

‘Company?’ He sounds confused and, knowing I’m completely rumbled, I back up and turn to face the music, showing my face just as Miller looks around to see what’s captured his guest’s attention. ‘Livy.’ His chair scrapes across the marble floor as he stands hastily.

I feel awkward and stupid, standing in a blanket with my hair all over my face and my bare feet shifting nervously.

Miller looks edgy, which isn’t surprising, but the woman in his kitchen looks interested as she relaxes back in her chair and holds her wine glass to her deep-red lips. ‘So we’re entertaining at home now?’ she purrs.

Miller ignores her question and approaches me quickly, turning me in his arms and pushing me gently from the kitchen. ‘Let me put you in bed,’ he whispers.

‘Is she one of them?’ I ask, letting him lead me away. I already know she is. I can tell by the air of superiority surrounding her confident persona and her designer clothes.

‘Yes,’ he answers tightly. ‘I’ll get rid of her and come and join you.’

‘Why is she here?’

‘Because she takes liberties.’

‘She has,’ I agree.

‘Darling!’ Her cocky, self-assured voice has the same effect as the last time one of Miller’s clients spoke. I tense under Miller’s hold, and he tenses, too. ‘Don’t hide her away for my benefit.’

‘I’m not hiding her,’ he spits over his shoulder, striding on. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, Sophia.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

It’s only at the mention of her name and the follow-up of her overconfident words that I realise she has an accent. European, definitely. It’s mild but detectable. She’s like the woman from Quaglino’s, except brasher and more confident, and I wouldn’t have thought that possible.

When I’ve been directed into his room, he pulls back the neat covers and lifts me into bed, gently laying me down and resting his lips on my forehead. ‘Go back to sleep.’

‘How long will you be?’ I ask, uncomfortable with him going back out to that woman. She’s arrogant. I don’t like her, and I definitely don’t like the potential of her drooling all over Miller.

‘You’re in my bed and you’re naked.’ He pushes my hair from my face and nuzzles into my cheek. ‘I want to have my
thing
with my habit. Please let me deal with this. I’ll be as quick as I can, I promise.’

‘Okay.’ I resist latching on to him with my arms because letting go when he leaves will be too hard. ‘Stay calm, please.’

He nods his acknowledgment. One more kiss on the lips and he slips out of the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving me with only the darkness and my thoughts – unwanted thoughts, thoughts that if I give too much time to will drive me positively insane.

Too late.

I’m tossing and turning, burying my head under the pillow, sitting up and listening for a commotion and deliberating returning to Miller, my anger bubbling. But when I hear the door handle shift, I’m lying back down again, pretending I haven’t just spent the last ten minutes driving myself nuts with thoughts of rules, restraints, hard cash and worrying about Miller’s temper.

Dusky light floods into the room and within only moments he’s pressed up against my back, moving my hair from my neck and saying hello with a wet lick up the column of my throat.

‘Hi,’ I whisper, shuffling over until I’m happy to have his face close to mine.

‘Hello.’ He kisses my nose tenderly and strokes my hair.

‘Has she gone?’

‘Yes,’ he answers swiftly and assertively, but says no more, which is fine by me. I want to forget she was ever here.

‘What are you thinking about?’ I ask when a long silence has stretched between us, him seeming happy to keep it that way but me breaking it to try and drag my mind away from night visitors.

‘I’m thinking how lovely you look in my bed.’

I smile. ‘You can barely see me.’

‘I can see you just fine, Livy,’ he argues quietly. ‘I see you everywhere I look, whether it’s dark or light.’

His words and warm breath on my face settle me completely. ‘Messy?’

‘A little.’

‘Hum to me.’

‘I can’t hum on demand,’ he objects, looking a little shy.

‘Can you try?’

He thinks for a few moments and then tucks me further into his chest, resting his chin on top of my head. ‘You’ve put too much pressure on me.’

‘Pressure to hum?’

‘Yes,’ he confirms simply, kissing my hair instead. It’s a good compromise, but as the silence stretches and we’re lost in a world of peace and comfort, holding each other, he overcomes the pressure of my request and begins to hum quietly, sending me into a deep, peaceful slumber.

‘Livy.’ His quiet whisper stirs me, and I try to roll over but go nowhere. ‘Olivia.’

My eyes creep open, finding sparkling blues and his signature shadow covering his jawline, now even longer. ‘What?’

‘You’re awake.’ He lifts onto his forearms and rubs his groin into mine, indicating his current hard condition. ‘Shall we?’ he asks, the potential of some Miller-style worshipping waking me up as if Big Ben were ringing from the side of the bed.

‘Condom,’ I breathe.

‘Done.’ His hand wanders down my hip until he’s at my entrance spreading my heated wetness on a little gasp of gratification. ‘Were you dreaming of me?’ he asks surely, replacing his hand on the mattress and rearing back.

‘Might have.’ I’m nonchalant, but then he’s pushing into me and my attempts to appear casual diminish with one smooth thrust. ‘Ooh,’ I groan, lifting my arms and linking my fingers around his neck, the delicious fullness of him within me taking me to places beyond pleasure – just as Miller has promised.

I really was dreaming of him. I was dreaming that this was for ever, and not just a lifetime, but beyond that, too – a life of perfect preciseness in everything, especially when he makes love to me. I’m over his finicky nature. It’ll always fascinate me but, more significant than that, I’m irrevocably head over heels, painfully and utterly in love with him – no matter who he was, what he did, and how damn obsessive he is.

The gliding of our bodies together exceeds pleasurable. He’s looking down at me with total devotion, bolstering my feelings more and more with each and every careful pump of his hips. I’m ablaze, rippling, breathing sharp gasping breaths in his face as my palms dampen from the sweat riddling his nape.

‘I’m desperate to kiss you,’ he mumbles, pushing deep, holding himself as he reins in his laboured breathing. ‘So desperate, but I can’t deprive my eyes of your face. I need to see your face.’

I squeeze my internal muscles instinctively, feeling him pulse steady and slow.

‘Jesus, Livy, you put perfection to shame.’

I want to counter his claim, but all of my concentration is going into matching the meticulous tempo of his dreamy hips, each drive firm and flawless, each retreat steady and controlled. The stirrings in the pit of my tummy are preparing to travel further down, preparing to erupt and send me wild with overwhelming sensations, and not just of the physical kind. My heart is bursting, too.

I’m suddenly moving, being pulled up carefully to his kneeling lap and guided around time and time again. ‘You fit me just right,’ he groans, slowly closing his eyes. ‘The only thing in my life that has ever been truly perfect is you.’

In my blissed-out state, I manage to comprehend what that means, especially for a man who craves exactness. ‘I want to be perfect for you,’ I pledge, pushing my body into his, planting my face in his neck. ‘I want to be everything you need.’ I have no issue with admitting that. In moments like this, I see a man who’s relaxed and content, not uptight and broody or unpredictable and dangerous. If I can help to shift some of these attributes from the bedroom into Miller’s life when he’s not worshipping me, then I will, every day for the rest of my days. The middle part of yesterday was a perfect start.

I feel hypnotised as I pull back and stare into his eyes, clinging to his hair and moving exactly where guided. The power he exudes from being so gentle is incredible, his speed and measure mind-blowing. He gasps, touching our foreheads. ‘Sweet girl, you already are.’ His head rolls, taking his lips down to mine, and we kiss fervently, tongues clashing and rolling as I’m lifted and grounded continuously. ‘You’re too special, Livy.’

‘So are you.’

‘No, I’m a fraud.’ His hips buck a little, enticing a collective cry from us both. ‘Good God!’ he yelps, raising his arse from his heels and kneeling, holding me against him with no strain at all. My head falls back as I grapple at his back, my ankles linking to gain more stability. ‘Don’t deprive me of your face, Livy.’

My head is too heavy and rolling freely as the pressure accumulates and buzzes. I’m going to burst. ‘I’m coming.’

‘Please, Livy. Let me see you.’ He delivers the words on a lazy grind. ‘Please.’

I force myself to fulfil his plea, using what energy I have to pull against his neck to help me. I cry out.

‘Lie back.’

‘What?’ I yell, closing my eyes, feeling my muscles contracting persistently. I can’t control it any more.

‘Lie back.’ His palm rests at the base of my spine, letting me lean against it, and he eases me down until my upper back is on the mattress and my lower body is held against his kneeling frame. ‘Comfortable?’

‘Yes,’ I gasp, bowing my back and plunging my fingers into my blond, knotted waves.

‘Good,’ he rumbles.

The strain in his face tells me he’s close, too, the rippling of his stomach an indication of the tension building. ‘Are you ready, Livy?’

‘Yes!’

‘Oh Jesus, I’m so ready.’ His hips seem to take on a mind of their own as he shudders into me, the smooth fluidness long gone. He’s shaking, clearly trying to hold his restraint, and I wonder again if it’s a continual battle for him to prevent the hard fierceness that I bore witness to in the hotel.

That line of thought requires a clear mind, which I don’t have right now. I’m coming.

‘Miller!’

He pulls his hips away and delivers a thrust that sends us both over the edge, Miller on a tight bark, me on a suppressed scream. His fingers are digging into my flesh as he pushes that little bit further into me, twitching, jerking and groaning.

I’m wiped out, completely useless, struggling to even keep my eyes on Miller’s post-climax, sweaty face. I welcome his weight when he drops onto me, keeping my eyes closed but making up for my loss of seeing him by feeling him everywhere. He’s soaking wet and panting in my hair, and it’s the most amazing feeling and sound ever.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers out of the blue, and I frown through my exhaustion.

‘For what?’

‘Tell me what I’m going to do without you.’ He squeezes me ridiculously hard, putting a strain on my ribs. ‘Tell me how I’m going to survive.’