Denied

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  me. Nothing was precious.’

  I smile wistfully. ‘You were an orphan.’ I state it as a fact, because Miller has just told me in his own little way. The photo doesn’t need to be mentioned.

  He nods. ‘I was in a home for boys for as long as I can remember.’

  ‘What happened to your parents?’

  He sighs, and I immediately fathom that this is something that he has never spoken of. ‘My mother was a young Irish girl who ran away from Belfast.’

  ‘Irish,’ I breathe, seeing Miller’s bright blues and dark hair for what they are – typically Irish.

  ‘Have you heard of the Magdalene Asylums?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I gasp, horrified. The Magdalene nuns were folk of the Catholic Church who claimed to be working for God to cleanse the young women who were unfortunate enough to fall into their clutches – or who were sent there by their ashamed relatives, often pregnant.

  ‘She escaped, apparently. She came to London to give birth to me, but my grandparents eventually tracked her down and took her back to Ireland.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘They dumped me in an orphanage so they could return home, free of the disgrace. No one need know I existed. I’ve never been a people person, Olivia. I was a loner. I didn’t get along with others, and I spent a lot of time in a black cupboard as a result.’

  My eyes widen in realisation. I’m disgusted, but most of all I’m sad. Especially since I can detect the shame he feels. He has nothing to be ashamed of. ‘They locked you in a cupboard?’

  He nods lightly. ‘I didn’t mix well.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say on a guilty gush of air. He still doesn’t mix well, only with me.

  ‘Don’t be.’ He smooths his palms up my back. ‘You’re not the only one who was abandoned, Olivia. I know how it feels, and that is only a very small part of why I will never leave you. A very small part.’

  ‘And because I’m your possession,’ I remind him.

  ‘And because you are my possession. The most treasured possession I’ve ever owned,’ he confirms, lifting his head to find my dejected eyes. Everything was taken away from him. I get it. He smiles mildly at my sadness. ‘My sweet girl, don’t be sad for me.’

  ‘Why?’ Of course I will be sad for him. It’s an incredibly sad story, and just the beginning of Miller’s wretched life up to this point. It’s all disjointed – the orphan, the homeless man, and the escort. There are things that connect these stages of Miller’s life and I’m scared to death of hearing them. What he’s told me, both vocally and emotionally, has taken me to the front line of agony and sadness. What connects these dots may be an enlightenment that will break my fallen heart beyond repair.

  Warmth slides across my wet back, onto my hips, and up my sides, until his grip is creeping onto my collarbones and he’s encasing my neck. ‘If my twenty-nine-year tale of misery has led me to you, then that makes every unbearable part of it worthwhile. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat, Olivia Taylor.’ He dips and sweetly kisses my cheek. ‘Accept me as I am, sweet girl, because it’s so much better than what I was.’

  The lump in my throat swells, making breathing too difficult. It’s too late. My heart is already broken, and so is Miller. ‘I love you,’ I utter pitifully. ‘I love you so much.’

  The gaping hole in my chest rips even more when Miller’s unshaven chin quivers the tiniest bit. He shakes his head in wonder before rising to claim my whole body, pulling me into him and giving me the most fierce thing in the history of things. ‘I thank everything holy for that, and I’m not a religious man.’

  Breathing into the wet hair sticking to his neck, I close my eyes and sink into the lean planes of his body, taking everything he has to give and returning it. My strength is restored, stronger than ever before, and determination is rushing violently through my bloodstream. He hasn’t agreed to seeing a therapist or a counsellor, but my widened knowledge of this confounding man and his confessions is the best start. Helping him, pulling him from his self-professed journey to hell will be easier now that I’m armed with the knowledge I need to understand him.

  The interfering would seem inconsequential if it wasn’t for Miller’s extreme reaction to the interferers. He sees me as his possession, and he sees them as wanting to take me away from him. In an ideal world, all of the meddling idiots would disappear with a magic click of my fingers, but being as we don’t exist in a mystical realm, other options need to be explored. And the primary one is getting Miller’s temper under control, since it has become glaringly obvious that all of these meddling idiots are not only meddling, but persistent too. He’ll always see interference as people trying to take his possession – his most treasured possession. It’s natural for him to react this way.

  My bones are being constricted to crumbling point under Miller’s embrace, my lungs being squeezed, too. I’m soaking up the luxury of his thing and savouring it, but my depleted body and exhausted mind is also desperate for rest. We’re still at Ice, meddlers are loitering, we’re both still wet and dishevelled, and Miller hasn’t done a thing work-wise.

  I squirm a little in his hold, encouraging him to ease up so I can look at him. I find eyes matching my tiredness. ‘I’d like you to put me in your bed,’ I say quietly, and drop a delicate kiss on his soft lips.

  He swings into action instantly, releasing me and steadying me before stalking off into his office and returning before I have a chance to follow, fastening a dry shirt – all the buttons in the wrong holes. ‘Do you want a shirt?’ he asks, running a quick check over my body. ‘Yes,’ he answers for me, turning and disappearing from view again. I sigh and follow him, this time meeting him in the doorway. ‘Put this on,’ he orders, flapping a shirt out.

  ‘I have no bottoms.’

  ‘Oh.’ He frowns at my dress and turns undecided eyes onto the shirt. I wouldn’t walk out of here in just one of Miller’s shirts, even if he allowed it, which I highly doubt he would.

  I take the shirt and place it on a nearby sideboard. ‘Just take me home.’ I’m on the brink of collapsing.

  He sighs, taking up his usual hold of me. ‘As you wish.’

  I’m guided out of the club, knowing we’re being watched by Cassie and Tony, but our clear closeness speaks for itself – no words or smug smile of victory required. I’m placed in Miller’s Mercedes, the heat is cranked up, although with matching temperatures on both sides of the car, and I’m driven to Miller’s in silence. He’s touching me almost the whole way, not prepared to lose contact, until we’re in the underground car park of his apartment block and he has to release me to exit the vehicle. I stay where I am, warm and snug in the passenger seat, until Miller collects me in his arms and carries me the ten flights of stairs to the shiny black door that’ll take us into privacy.

  ‘Call your grandmother,’ he instructs, placing me on a stool. ‘Then we’ll have a bath.’

  My hopefulness dissipates at the suggestion. Bathing with Miller is beyond blissful, but so is him holding me in his thing in his bed, and I’m favouring the latter option right now. ‘I’m so tired,’ I sigh, reaching for my phone from my bag. I’ll barely muster the energy to speak with Nan.

  ‘Too tired to bathe?’ he asks, disappointment invading his face. I don’t even have the energy to feel guilty.

  ‘In the morning?’ I try, thinking my hair will have dried into something beyond wild by the time I’ve slept on it, and Miller’s will have, too. The mental image brings a small smile to my lifeless face.

  He thinks for a few moments, and the pad of his thumb smooths across my eyebrow, his tired eyes following its path. ‘Please, let me clean us.’ His face is beseeching. How could I possibly refuse?

  ‘Okay,’ I agree.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll give you some privacy to call your grandmother while I draw the bath.’ Dropping a kiss on my forehead, he turns to leave.

  ‘I don’t need any privacy,’ I protest, wondering what he thinks we might speak about. My declarati
on stalls his escape, and he nibbles at his lip thoughtfully. ‘Why would you think I need privacy?’

  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.