One Night: Denied (6 page)

‘Fucking hell,’ he curses again, working his mouth across my cheek while I pant up at the ceiling. ‘We should stop.’

‘No,’ I breathe.

‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’ He makes no attempt to halt, finding my mouth again and plunging his tongue in urgently. We’re matching each other in the frenzied stakes. Hands and lips are everywhere as we explore unknown territory. We’re both consumed with desperation to eradicate our woes, neither one of us seeming prepared to stop this. We should halt it. This won’t help.

‘Oh God!’ I yelp, throwing my head back when Gregory cups my breast. I’m squirming beneath him, my whole being tingling with fevered shots of desperate pleasure. Our mouths quickly find each other again and my hand starts venturing downward until I have his hard, hot length in my grasp.

‘Holy shit!’ he barks, his hips bucking forward, prompting a full stroke down his shaft. ‘Oooooh shit.’

Pleasure-filled noises are drowning the room. We’re lost. Gregory pulls back and gazes down at me, his brow shimmering in sweat, his breath spreading across my heated face.

‘Do that again,’ he breathes, pushing his hips forward.

I pull an even swipe of my palm down his hardness and he draws an uneven breath. His head drops briefly, only for a second, before he lifts again and falls back to my lips, swirling his tongue through my mouth. It shouldn’t, but this feels nice. I’m focused only on my best friend kissing me, his hands feeling me, and his body pushed against mine.

‘You taste like strawberries,’ he whispers hoarsely.

Strawberries.

The word hits me like a sledgehammer, and I’m suddenly dropping him from my grasp and wriggling beneath him. ‘Greg, stop!’

He freezes, pulling back to look down at me. ‘Are you okay?’

‘No! We should stop.’ I scramble up and pull the sheets over me, covering my naked body, feeling ashamed . . . guilty. ‘What are we thinking?’

Gregory sits up and rubs his palms frantically over his face, groaning, but now it’s in regret. ‘I don’t know,’ he admits. ‘I wasn’t thinking, Livy.’

‘Me neither.’ I meet his eyes, pulling the protective sheeting closer, while Gregory remains uncovered and quite unbothered by it. He’s still . . . ready . . . and I try to divert my eyes anywhere except at the hard length of muscle jutting from his lap. It’s difficult. It’s like a magnet to my eyes. I’ve never allowed myself to look at my gay friend like this, but when he’s totally exposed and looking so ripped, it’s impossible. He’s everything a man could ask for, and a woman, for that matter. He’s hot, so kind, and totally genuine. But he’s my best friend. I can’t lose him to the awkwardness that will descend if we continue – if it’s not too late already. But that isn’t the only reason. No man could ever fill the gaping hole in my heart, nor could they sate my desire. Only one man can do that.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say quietly, guilt consuming me. I don’t know why. I have nothing to feel remorseful for, except for jeopardising my friendship with Gregory. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Hey’ – he pulls me onto his lap and squeezes me – ‘I’m sorry, too. I think we both got a little carried away.’

I snuggle deep, searching for the comfort I need. It’s nowhere to be found. ‘It was my fault.’

‘No, I instigated that. It’s my fault.’

‘I beg to differ,’ I whisper, letting him attempt to rub some life back into me.

The rise and fall of his chest under me indicates his heavy sigh. ‘What a pair,’ he muses. ‘A couple of sad-arse losers pining after something we can’t have.’

I nod my agreement. ‘You won’t go off and screw another woman, will you?’ I ask, knowing it’s what generally happens when he’s dumped by a bloke and probably why things went too far just now. ‘I don’t want you to do that.’

‘I’m swearing off men
and
women for a while.’ He chuckles, making me smile a little.

‘Me too.’

‘So you’re basically returning to reclusive, then?’ he quips lightly.

‘Look where being the alternative has got me.’

‘Not all men are like that cocksucker.’ He pulls me from his chest and clenches my cheeks fiercely. ‘Not every man will shit all over you, baby girl.’

‘I’m not going to give them the chance.’

‘I hate seeing you like this.’

‘I hate seeing
you
like this,’ I counter, his anguish suddenly very obvious and real, now that the information has filtered through my fuzz of misery. ‘And I’m stealing “cocksucker” to use for Ben, because he really is a cocksucker, even if he won’t admit it.’

Gregory smiles, his eyes twinkling. ‘That’s fine by me.’

I nod my approval and let my eyes wander down to Gregory’s lap. He starts laughing and quickly snatches the sheet to cover himself, leaving me stark naked. I gasp and yank it back, and so a wrestling match with the sheets begins. We’re both laughing, pulling back and forth, our earlier ease as friends fully restored . . . even if we’re now both naked. Not that either of us seem bothered as we battle for possession of the sheets.

But we both freeze when the sound of creaking floorboards muscles in on the happy laughter, and then Nan’s curious voice creeps through the door. ‘Gregory, Olivia? What’s going on in there?’

‘Oh shit!’ I blurt, jumping up from the bed and sprinting across the room. I flatten my naked front against the door. ‘Nothing, Nan!’

‘It sounds like a herd of elephants are doing the cancan up here.’

‘We’re fine!’ I squeak, my forehead hitting the door, my eyes clenching shut as I tense and brace myself for a counter-attack.

‘Well, you sound like you’re coming through the ceiling!’

‘Sorry. We’re on our way down.’

‘We’re off to the dance now.’

‘Have a nice time!’

‘Are you okay?’ she asks more softly.

I smile a little. ‘I’m fine, Nan.’

She doesn’t say any more, and then I hear the creaking floorboards, telling me she’s on her way back downstairs. I turn around, my back pushed up against the door, and find Gregory’s eyes making continuous up and down motions as he sits on the bed with the sheets concealing him.

‘Good view.’ He grins, reminding me that I’m still nude. ‘But you’re far too skinny.’

I make a vain attempt to cover my modesty, making Gregory fall back on the bed in laughter. He’s helpless, while I’m blushing furiously. ‘Stop it!’

‘I’m sorry!’ he chuckles. ‘Really sorry.’

My colour increases as I scan my room for the nearest thing to save my dignity, settling on a T-shirt draped over the back of my chair in the corner. I dart over and make quick work of throwing it on, feeling better instantly, like I’ve regained some self-respect after throwing myself at my best friend. Gregory isn’t so concerned by his state of undress, though, and is currently rolling around laughing, tangled among the blankets of my bed. It makes me smile more, my head cocking in admiration, musing at his tight backside, but more at his hysterical, carefree state.

‘Come on,’ he says, pushing himself up and patting the mattress next to him. ‘I won’t grope you, promise.’

I roll my eyes and join him on the bed, resting my back against the headboard next to him. I fiddle with my ring, wondering what on earth to say. I really don’t know, so I say the only thing that I should – the only thing I’m concerned about. ‘This won’t change things, will it?’ I ask. ‘I can’t be without you, Greg. I don’t want what happened to change us.’

‘Aaah, baby girl.’ He drapes his arm around my shoulders and cuddles me close. ‘Never, because we won’t let it. I guess that twenty per cent got the better of me.’

I smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘No, thank you,’ he sighs. ‘Let’s make a pact.’

‘A pact.’ I frown. ‘What kind of pact?’ I’m suddenly concerned that Gregory is about to propose an arrangement that says we marry each other if we haven’t found our soulmate by the time we’re thirty.

‘We stay strong,’ he whispers, ‘for each other.’

I look up and see a face pleading with me to help him.

‘I’m struggling, too, Livy.’

I feel terrible. ‘I’m sorry.’ I’ve been so consumed in my own misery, I’ve not stopped to truly consider my best friend’s turmoil, not seen the extent of his own unhappiness. I’ve been blindsided by my own pitiful state. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘We can do it together,’ he continues. ‘I’ll help you and you can help me.’

‘Does that mean confiscating your phone?’ I tease.

‘No, but it does mean you can delete his number.’ He grabs his mobile and shoves it in my hand. ‘Go on.’

I scroll through his contact list, deleting Ben’s number before going to his text messages – sent
and
received – and deleting any traces of Ben from there, too. Happy I’ve extinguished him from Gregory’s mobile altogether, and hopefully his life, too, I hand it back and watch as my friend raises expectant eyebrows at me. He wants to return the favour.

‘I told you, my phone’s broken.’

‘And you’ve not replaced it?’

‘No,’ I reply, sounding rather proud and feeling it as well. I won’t be charging the phone William bought me, or any other phone, in fact. Unobtainable. Anyway, I want Gregory to be able to delete Miller Hart from my brain, not just any phone I might be using.

‘So we’re both free of cocksuckers.’

‘Cocksucker is reserved for’ – I pause for a moment – ‘you know who.’

‘Okay.’

‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.’ I wince immediately, and Gregory frowns, clearly wondering what the problem is. I shake my head and settle back into his side, feeling a little better, despite the strangeness of the past half-hour and despite familiar words falling from both of our mouths without thought or awareness.

Chapter Six

Gregory and I aren’t doing a very good job of helping each other through our turmoil. The next evening, and in an attempt to move on with our lives, we’ve had a quiet Italian meal together, which was lovely, but the wine has taken hold and we’re now falling towards the doors of Ice, both giggling, both staggering a little. My drunken mind has become vengeful and is stamping all over the fact that Miller is away and he will likely watch all of the
CCTV
footage from the club when he returns. And I’m going to give him something interesting to view.

‘How do you know he’s away?’ Gregory asks, taking us to the back of the line, since this time we lack an invite or our names on the guest list.

‘Text before my phone broke.’ I can’t tell him about William.

‘How did it break?’

‘Dropped it.’ I distract Gregory from the reason for the premature demise of my mobile phone by flashing my membership card to Ice.

He grins and takes it from my hand, giving it a quick inspection. ‘Not much to it, is there?’

I shrug and snatch it back as we near the front. I get a look from the doorman, but he doesn’t refuse me entry when I flash my card. He does, however, call Tony to notify him of my arrival. But I’m feeling brash and brave, probably assisted by the three glasses of wine that I drank throughout dinner. Neither one of us is guilty of forcing the other to Miller’s club. We just ended up here after I mentioned my membership card and free entry, and neither of us protested – me, because I’m feeling cruel and this is the only way I know how to hurt him, and Gregory because I know he’s silently hoping Ben will be here tonight. How long will we continue to torment ourselves?

Calvin Harris’s ‘Feel So Close’ greets us as we enter and we find our way to the bar, ordering champagne automatically once we’re there, which is daft. What are we celebrating? Being complete idiots? I ignore the strawberry in my flute and sip while gazing around the bar, expecting Tony to appear from somewhere, but after a few minutes of scanning the club, no Tony.

Gregory doesn’t tell me to take it easy, probably because he’s hell-bent on dulling down his own hurt with alcohol. This is a dangerous position for us both to be in, for the combination of alcohol and our determination to heal our broken hearts is sure to land us in trouble. I can see cameras everywhere. I can also see men watching me, my eyes like a hawk’s trying to attract the attention that I’m usually so uncomfortable receiving. I take a deep breath, push all thoughts of disgrace to the very back of my mind, and lose myself in the crowd of London’s elite. I shy away from nothing. I accept drinks, I talk with confidence, and I let men rest their hands on my waist or lower back when they get close to talk over the loud music. My cheek is kissed by countless men, and Gregory, although watchful and a little wary, smiles each time.

He moves in when I step away from a tall preppy-type. ‘You look comfortable. What’s changed?’

‘Miller Hart,’ I say nonchalantly before finishing off my champagne. Gregory hands me another and we make the most of our time alone, taking a few moments to drink in our surroundings. Heads are thrown back in laughter and continental-style kisses are exchanged everywhere. In reality, Gregory and I really don’t fit in among these social elitists.

But Ben does.

And he’s here.

I know what I should be doing. I should be dragging Gregory away, but just as I convince my alcohol-drenched brain to do exactly that, Ben spots us and starts making his way over.

Shit
, I curse to myself, weighing up my options. My drunken mind isn’t allowing me to think quickly enough, so before I can haul my friend away, Ben is standing in front of us and Gregory is shifting awkwardly on the spot. I still feel mad, especially when Ben glances at me with high eyebrows. I gather breath to hit him with another torrent of abuse, but he beats me to it and launches into an apology speech. My mouth snaps shut as I flick my eyes from Ben to Greg, back and forth, wondering how this is going to play out.

‘I was a total dick,’ Ben begins quietly, just loud enough for us to hear over the music. He’s still in the closet. ‘I don’t want anyone to know before I’m ready to . . . share.’

‘When might that be?’ Gregory snaps, shocking me. I was certain he’d turn to mush all over the dopey-eyed Ben. I’m pleasantly surprised.

Ben shrugs sheepishly and drops his eyes to the glass of champagne in his grasp. ‘I need to prepare myself, Greg. This is a huge deal.’

‘You’re making it a bigger deal by pretending and dragging it out.’ Gregory takes my elbow. ‘We’re done here,’ he says, pulling me towards the dance floor. I let him take me, and I peer over my shoulder as I’m escorted away, seeing Ben standing lonely and looking a little lost, until an over-the-top woman approaches, throwing her arms over him, and he switches straight back to smiley, people-pleaser Ben. Any ounce of sympathy I had for him diminishes instantly.

‘I’m proud of you,’ I say as we arrive on the dance floor and get a little taster of Jean Jacques Smoothie.

He grins and discards our glasses before taking me in his hold and twirling me out on a spin. ‘I’m proud of me, too. Let’s dance, baby girl.’

I don’t argue, but as I’m twirled around the floor, I’m mindful that Gregory’s massive smile and forced carefree appearance is for the benefit of Ben, who’s standing at the edge of the floor talking to a different woman but doing a terrible job of engaging, his eyes nailed to my friend. This is good, as long as Gregory continues to hold his own and doesn’t let Ben muscle his way back into his life.

I fulfil my role perfectly, laughing along with Gregory and letting him swing me about and grind into my waist seductively, but then the music cuts abruptly before the track ends, not even mixing into another. Everyone halts dancing, looking around a little bemused. The only sounds now are of confused chatter.

‘Is it a power cut?’ I ask, but quickly realise the stupidity of my question when I register all of the blue lights still glowing at every turn.

‘I’m not sure,’ Gregory replies, confused. ‘Maybe the fire alarm will kick in.’

I gaze around the club, seeing motionless forms everywhere, all looking confused by the sudden quiet. Even the doormen have entered from outside to find out what’s happening, and when I cast my eyes over to the
DJ
, I see him shrug at the security guy next to him, who’s obviously asking what’s going on.

Unease sets in, strangeness settles in my gut, and the hairs at the back of my neck rise. William’s words are suddenly all I can hear. I reach over to take Gregory’s hand, feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet with no explanation except a silly power cut.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask, casting my eyes around the club, looking for . . . I’m not sure.

‘I don’t know.’ Gregory shrugs, not in the least bit concerned.

But then the club is suddenly filled with music again, and everyone seems to sag around me, including Gregory, who starts laughing. ‘I think the
DJ
might be getting sacked.’ He turns to me, his smile dropping when he registers my blank face and static form. I can’t move. ‘Livy, what’s up?’

The words to the track soak through the haze of alcohol, punching me in the stomach . . . hard. ‘Enjoy the Silence’. My eyes close.

‘Livy?’ Gregory shakes me a little, prompting my eyes to fly open and shoot around the club. ‘Olivia?’

‘I’m sorry.’ I force a smile, trying to appear fine, but my heart is crashing against my breastbone, set on fighting its way from my chest. He’s here. ‘I need the toilet.’

‘I’ll come.’ He starts leading me off the floor.

‘No, honestly. Get the drinks. I’ll meet you at the bar.’

Gregory relents easily, letting me find my way to the toilets alone while he orders more drinks. But I don’t head for the ladies’. I divert once I’m out of Gregory’s sight and hurry towards the front of the club, taking the stairs fast, down to the maze of corridors beneath Ice. William told me to run, but I doubt he wanted me moving
towards
the danger. I’m a woman possessed as I follow the passageway, taking too many wrong turns and shouting my frustration when I land in front of a storeroom. I can still hear the music – the words distressing me, reminding me, as I rush back the way I came and try a different route. The sight of the metal keypad outside Miller’s office fills me with relief and dread all at once as I charge for it. I have no clue what the code is or what I’ll find . . . or what I’ll do if I find anything – if I find him.

I don’t need the code. The door is ajar and one tiny push swings it open.

Internal fireworks explode.

He’s standing in the middle of the room, suit adorned and expressionless, just watching me as I hover on the threshold of his office. My eyes instantly fill with tears as I breathe erratically and watch him watching me. My knees feel weak. The music is relentless. I drink him in, his dark suit pristine, his hair seeming longer, the soft waves flicking out from below his earlobes. There are no words, just intense eye contact. There’s no facial expression or body language to tell me what he’s thinking. He doesn’t need to tell me what he’s thinking, though. His eyes are doing that. And they’re angry. He’s been watching the club’s
CCTV
footage. He’s been watching me being hit on by countless men. I take a worried pull of breath. He’s been watching me encourage and accept it.

‘Did you let any of them taste you?’ He steps forward, and I instinctively step back, wary.

This isn’t going to be a happy reunion. He has a nerve to ask such a question after he’s been in another country with another woman. My shock from his presence is turning into irritation fast. ‘That’s none of your business.’ He’s jealous again, and this gives me an unreasonable thrill.

His perfect jaw is ticking. ‘When you’re in my club, it’s my business.’

‘It’ll never be your business again.’

‘Wrong.’

I shake my head as I step back further, hating my uncooperative body for staggering slightly. ‘I’m right.’

He runs displeased eyes up and down my tight, short-dressed form. ‘You’re drunk.’

I ignore his accusation, remembering something. ‘Which means you can’t fuck me.’

‘Shut up, Olivia!’

‘Because you want me to remember every kiss, every touch, every—’

‘Livy!’

‘Except I don’t want to remember every moment. I want to forget them all.’

His neck veins bulge to bursting point. ‘Don’t say things you don’t mean.’

‘I mean it!’

‘Shut up!’ he roars, sending me back a few more paces, his ferocity stunning me into silence. I gather myself fast, but my wide eyes are undoubtedly displaying all of the shock I’m feeling. Shock that I came here, shock that
he’s
here, shock that he’s so fuming mad. He has no right to be, despite my provoking him. I knew what I was doing. And he knows that, too.

‘You told Tony to let me in if I came, didn’t you?’ It’s suddenly very clear. He anticipated this. ‘You told Tony to monitor me.’

‘I have over two hundred cameras in this club to do that.’

‘How dare you!’ I spit, feeling my blood heat with rage, rather than the usual desire when I’m within touching distance of Miller Hart. I thought my presence would shock him, but no. He fully expected it.

He steps forward again, but I keep my distance. I’m now in the corridor, not that it deters him. His long strides have him in front of me in seconds, his hand taking my nape and guiding me to his desk determinedly. I’m pushed down into his office chair, where I’m confronted with image after image of me in his club – all with men hovering around me. While I’m ashamed of myself, I’m also quietly delighted. The whole point was to torture him the only way I know how. And it looks like I’ve succeeded. The apparently emotionless man is furious. Good. I just didn’t expect to be around when he watched the footage.

‘There are five dead men on these screens,’ he seethes, leaning down next to me, smashing a button on his remote control. The images all change, but they’re all still me . . . and men. ‘There are six on these ones.’ He proceeds to flick through the footage, adding up the men he’s going to be slaughtering. ‘Does that make you happy?’

‘They never tasted me,’ I say quietly.

‘They want to! And you’re doing nothing to discourage it!’ he yells next to me, making me jump in his chair. I can feel the fury pouring from him. He’s right. His temper isn’t something I want to toy with. ‘Where’s your fucking self-respect?’

Those words ricochet around my head like a bullet. ‘My self-respect?’ I shout, flying up from the chair, letting my bag tumble to the floor and my fear of his temper tumble away. I feel pretty lethal myself right now. ‘My self-respect?’ My palms collide viciously with his chest, sending his tall frame staggering back. My strength shocks me. ‘My fucking self-respect!’

His eyes have widened slightly at my tiny fuming body and foul mouth.

‘You’re a joke!’ I shout in his face, resisting the urge to lash his cheek with my palm. But I
do
smack him in the chest again. This time my wrists are seized and I’m swung around, my back crashing to his body and my arms secured tightly. His mouth is at my ear, breathing hot, angry bursts of air. I hate the desire ripping through my anger. I hate it.

‘The joke isn’t on me, Olivia Taylor.’ He pushes his lips to my cheek and then bites down, leaving me whimpering in desperation. ‘The joke is on you. You’re the one fighting a battle you cannot win, sweet girl.’

‘I’m stronger than you give me credit for,’ I breathe, clenching my eyes shut, knowing my words carry no strength whatsoever.

‘I’m banking on it.’ His teeth clamp down on my earlobe, sending my backside shooting back and colliding with his groin. I cry out. He growls. ‘I
need
you to be strong for me.’ I’m spun around and grabbed behind the thighs, then yanked up to straddle his lean hips with one easy pull. He thrusts me up against his office door, one of his hands keeping me secured by the back of my thigh, the other slamming into the wood by my head. I don’t even flinch. Nothing will power through the lust attacking every fibre of my being.