stand, distressed and disturbed, as his back heaves and the echo of his boom fades. It’s only mere seconds before his shoulders visibly tense and he swings his messy body to face me. The perfection that is Miller is lost. The lump in my throat explodes, choking me, and I bite down on my lip to stop a sob from slipping past my lips. The sweat trailing down his temples is dripping onto his jacket, but he’s unbothered by the potential of his posh suit being dampened. His eyes are wild as he stares at me; then he throws his head back again and yells to the ceiling before collapsing to his knees.
His head drops in defeat.
And Miller Hart cries – massive, body-jerking sobs.
Nothing could cause me more pain. Years of holding his emotions in check are pouring out of him, and I can do nothing more than watch, my heart aching for him. My own agony has made way for the torture this confounding man is suffering. I want to hold him and comfort him, but my legs weigh a thousand tons and refuse to carry me to him. I’m useless. I try to speak his name, but achieve nothing but an agonised gasp.
A lifetime passes. I cry a lifetime’s worth of tears and so does Miller, except for him it’s probably literally. I’m beginning to wonder if he’ll ever stop when his injured hand lifts and roughly brushes over his stubbled cheeks, replacing the tears with smears of blood.
His head rises, revealing a blemished face and blue eyes rimmed in redness. But he won’t allow them to focus on me. He’s doing everything to avoid making eye contact with me. Agitated, he pushes himself from the floor and moves towards me, making me retreat, but he passes me, still avoiding my eyes, and makes for his bedroom. After tossing my weapon on the round table in the hallway, I finally convince my dead legs to move and follow him. He strips out of his jacket, waistcoat and shirt as he strides across his bedroom, heading for the bathroom. His clothes are being tossed aside, his bedroom floor scattered in garments that are being torn from his body. Halting at the foot of the doorway to his bathroom, he kicks his shoes and socks off and then yanks his trousers and boxers from his legs, leaving him naked, his back shimmering in sweat.
He doesn’t venture any further, standing silent in the doorway, his head lowered, his muscled arms outstretched to grip the door frame. Not knowing what to do but knowing I can’t bear to see him in this state any longer, I begin to approach him gingerly, until I’m close enough to smell his manly scent mixed with the clean sweat that’s dripping from his body.
‘Miller,’ I say quietly, lifting my hand and reaching for his shoulder, but when I tentatively rest my hand on his flesh, I have to resist yanking it back on a gasp. He’s boiling hot, but I don’t have to withstand the burning heat for too long. He hisses on a flinch, making me wince at his rejection, and paces to the shower, stepping in and turning it on.
He’s frantic in his task. After grabbing the sponge and loading it with shower gel, he carelessly tosses the bottle to the floor before scrubbing at his skin. I’m alarmed, not only by his uncharacteristic show of untidiness, but also by his urgency to clean his body, and so harshly. He’s scrubbing, working the sponge everywhere, rinsing and reloading with more shower gel. Steam is quickly engulfing the huge space, telling me the shower is far too hot, not that he seems affected. ‘Miller.’ I take a few paces, getting more and more concerned the steamier the room becomes. ‘Miller, please!’ I slap my palm on the glass to try and get his attention. His hair is sopping and hanging all over his face, hampering his vision, but he’s not deterred. There’s a mixture of terror and anger being injected into the desperate motions of the sponge flying across his body. He’s going to blister himself. ‘Miller, stop it!’ I try to enter the shower fully dressed, but jump out when the water makes contact with me. ‘Shit!’ It’s scorching hot. ‘Miller, turn the water off!’
‘I can’t stand it!’ he yells, scooping the shower gel from the floor and squeezing the bottle all over his chest. ‘They make my skin crawl! I can feel them through my clothes!’
My breath catches in my throat, his words registering loud and clear. But that’s the least of my worries. He’s going to injure himself terribly if I don’t get him out. ‘Miller, listen to me.’ I try for a calming tone, but my voice is anxious, and I cannot help it.
‘I have to be clean! I need to remove every trace of them from me.’
I need to get in and shut the shower off, but even from the outside the water is scalding me. ‘Turn the shower off!’ I shout, losing my composure. ‘Miller! Turn the fucking shower off!’ I’m ignored, and when his scrubbing moves from his chest to his arms, I see angry red welts materialising on his pecs. It kicks my scared arse into action and before I can consider the pain I’ll endure, I’m in the shower, feeling the wall for the controls. ‘Shit shit shit!’ I yell as I’m attacked by blisteringly hot water from every angle.
I push Miller’s body out of my way, snapping him from his insanity, and frantically turn the knob to halt the infliction of pain on both Miller and me. When the water dries up above us, I roll my back against the wall, exhausted, my skin stinging and sore, and wait for the steam to disperse, revealing Miller’s naked, motionless form. He’s expressionless. There is nothing on that heart-stopping face, not even a hint of discomfort after tolerating the boiling shower for far longer than I did.
I move towards him and reach up to gently stroke the wet strands of hair out of his face as I gather the depleted air that has been sucked from my lungs. ‘Don’t ever try to push me away again,’ I warn firmly. ‘I love you, Miller Hart. All of you.’
His tortured blue eyes drag slowly up my wet, slumped body and gaze longingly at me. ‘How?’ He asks the simple, reasonable question on a whisper. This man has tested my resilience to the absolute maximum. He’s tossed me from crippling despair to crippling pleasure. He’s made me reckless, stupid, blind . . . and he’s made me brave.
I can love him because he touches my soul.
‘I love you,’ I repeat, feeling no need to justify it to anyone, not even Miller. ‘I love you,’ I murmur. ‘I won’t go down without a fight. I’ll take anyone on and I’ll win against them all. Even you.’ My palm cups his nape and pulls his face to mine, watching as he scans my face with blank eyes. ‘I’m strong enough to love you.’ My lips push to his, instigating our reunion, and my tongue delicately enters his mouth, coaxing a moan before he pulls away.
‘I couldn’t do it,’ he says quietly. ‘I couldn’t do it to you, Livy.’ He lifts me to his body, my thighs curling around his hips, but I’m mindful of his tender skin, keeping my hands on his shoulders. I can’t stop my face from seeking the comfort of his neck, though. I lay my cheek on his shoulder and inhale him into me, feeling the solace he feeds me sink into my body through our contact. He couldn’t do it.
‘I want to worship you,’ I say into his neck, my hot breath colliding with his heated skin. The mixture of the two is almost intolerable. I need to remind him of what we have. I need to show him I can do this. That he can do this.
‘I do the worshipping.’
‘Not today.’ I unwrap myself from his body and lead him from the shower, taking him to his bed and pushing him down to the sheets. His tall body stretches across the mattress as he watches me arrange his limbs until I’m sure he’s comfortable. Then I kiss his impassive face and leave him to relax while I start running a bath. I ensure the water is only tepid and look through his ridiculously neat cupboard, making sure I don’t upset his perfect arrangement of bottles, tubes and pots until I find some bath soak. The horrific mess that I’ve left his wardrobe in is likely to make him disintegrate, but I’ll deal with that later. I’m not delusional enough to think that a picnic in the park and a kiss in the rain have eliminated Miller’s obsessive ways completely.
Leaving the bath running, I remove my sodden dress and wander back into the bedroom, then start to collect his discarded clothes, probably the only ones that he still has intact. I fold them neatly and place them in a pile on a dresser, glancing up when I feel blue eyes burning my naked skin.
‘I’m just thinking how lovely you look tidying my bedroom.’ He shifts onto his side and props his head on his bent arm. ‘Continue.’
The anguish dulls a little more, and I smile, making his blue orbs win a little sparkle back. It’s familiar and comforting. ‘Would you like a drink?’
He nods.
‘Any preference?’
He shakes his head.
I feel my forehead crease as I start to make my way from the room, glancing back over my shoulder, finding him following my path closely until he disappears from view. I’m hasty, rushing down the corridor and across the lounge, landing in front of the drinks cabinet.
I swipe up a short glass, certain it resembles the ones that I’ve seen Miller drinking from. Then I take on a really amateur tactic for picking Scotch, closing my eyes, waving my hand, and pointing at a bottle. Satisfied with my random selection, I pour the glass halfway, spilling some as I do. ‘Shit!’ I swear, clattering the bottle against the others when I put it back too clumsily.
Now I’m hopeless for a whole different reason. The charismatic – if a little messed up right now – man in the room down the hall has refinement down to a fine art. I haven’t.
I roll my eyes to myself and lift the glass to my lips, taking a big glug and immediately gagging at the taste. ‘Oh God!’ My lips smack together, my face screwing up as I hold the glass up and look at the dark liquid with disgust. ‘Vile,’ I mutter, swivelling and trekking back to Miller.
He’s still on his side, looking at the door when I enter. ‘Scotch.’ I hold the drink up and his eyes travel across to the glass before landing back on me with a bang. But he says nothing, maintaining his quiet state.
I wander over to the bed thoughtfully, holding his eyes, and extend my arm once I’ve reached him. His muscled arm lifts slowly and takes the glass. Then he blinks painfully lazily, making me cross my legs in my standing position to stop the pulsing from breaking out into a hard throb. Just the fact that these familiar traits are present is delightful, whether he’s doing it on purpose or not. My huge bag of intensity is back, his messed-up condition aside. I can see bright, hopeful light.
‘I’ve drawn a bath,’ I tell him, watching as he lifts the whisky to his lips and takes a languid sip. ‘It’s not too hot.’
He looks to the glass for a brief moment before making me melt with a slight tip of his wonderful mouth. ‘Come here.’ He flicks his head to follow up his demand, and I slip in beside him, letting him tuck me into his chest so he can sip his drink with one hand and stroke my hair with the other.
‘Your knuckles look sore,’ I say, loving being back in my comfort zone even if the events that have brought me here are killing us.
‘They’re fine.’ He pushes his lips to the top of my head and says no more. I can feel and hear him taking frequent sips of his drink, and while I’m happy tucked closely to his body, I’d like to look after him and try to gently coax an explanation from him.
I reluctantly pull myself away from the hard, warm security of his chest and take his hand. He frowns but lets me help him up and lead him to the bathroom, bringing his drink with him. The giant bath is full enough, so I flick the tap off, then signal for him to climb in. He’s quiet as he sets his drink down on a nearby counter, and I finally feel it appropriate to spend a few silent moments absorbing his nakedness while he’s turned away from me. The muscles of his back are sharp, defined by the spotlights shining down, and the cheeks of his smooth backside are solid, drifting into long, lean thighs, then perfectly formed calves. I ignore the scratch marks. This impeccably formed man is perfectly flawed. He’s damaged, more than me, and he believes he’s destined for hell. I need to know why he’s so adamant about his destiny. I want to be the one who changes his fate.
Miller turns and my gaze that was happily focused on his buns is now staring at something else firm and smooth and . . . ready. My eyes fly up to shimmering blues but a straight face. And I blush. Why do I blush? My cheeks are on fire as he regards me, my bare feet shifting as I’m bombarded by pure, raw, inexorable shots of heated desire. I’ve lost my poise completely. My earlier resolution is being beaten down by his intoxicating presence.
‘I want to worship you,’ I breathe, reaching back with shaking hands and unhooking my bra, letting it drop down my arms and tumble to my feet. His eyes drop to my knickers and I do as I’m silently bid, removing them slowly. Now we’re both naked and his desire mixed with mine is creating a heady cocktail that’s rife in the quiet air around us. I nod to the bath. It’s that or fall to my knees and beg him to indulge me with some Miller-style worshipping, but I need him to see I’m strong, that I can help him.
Licking his lips is his last-ditch attempt to make me fold. I struggle terribly but manage to sustain my strength, nodding to the bath again. His mouth doesn’t smile, but his eyes do. He climbs the steps and settles in the bubbly water.
‘Would you do me the honour of joining me?’ he asks quietly.
I answer by taking the steps unhurriedly, using the time to weigh up my best position, settling on behind him. A cock of my head tells him to shift forward, which he does with a very slight pucker of his brow, allowing space behind him for me to sink into. I spread my thighs, slide my hands over his shoulders, and pull him back to my chest. His dark, wet waves tickle the side of my cheek and his body is a little heavy, despite the water lightening him, but I’m coiled around him, breathing him into me, giving him my thing.
‘This feels so nice.’ His voice is soft and low. Peaceful.
I hum my agreement, encasing his shoulders with my arms, undoubtedly restricting his movement, yet there are no complaints. He answers my constriction by relaxing his head back and feeling out my lower legs that are linked and resting on his stomach.
‘This isn’t going to be easy.’ His words are spoken with an edge of pain. They confuse me. I already know that.
‘It wasn’t easy yesterday or the day before, but you had fight in you. What’s changed?’
‘A reality check.’
I want to see his face, but I worry what I might find in his eyes if I do. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Some decisions I’m not at liberty to make.’ He utters the words quietly, reluctantly. The stiffening of my body is unavoidable, and I know he’s noticed because he squeezes my calves almost in reassurance. I’m not sure Miller feels any reassurance himself, so trying to comfort me is a silly venture.
I try to process what that could mean and come up with no obvious answer. ‘Elaborate,’ I instruct sternly, making him turn his face into my cheek and bite down lightly.
‘As you wish.’
‘I do,’ I affirm.
‘I’m chained to this life, Olivia.’ He doesn’t look at me when delivering his shocking declaration, making me gently cup his rough cheek and pull his face up so I can see him, all the while Tony’s words bouncing around in my head.
I use his one-word demand again. ‘Elaborate.’ Then I kiss him tenderly on his beautiful mouth, hoping I’ll give him back some of the strength he fills me with. Our mouths move slowly together, and I know he’ll make it last for ever if I don’t break it, so I do. Grudgingly. ‘Tell me.’
‘I’m indebted to them.’
I try to keep a brave face, but those words fill me with dread. There are two questions I need to ask in response to his statement and I can’t decide which should take priority. ‘Why are you indebted to them?’
He blinks on an uncomfortable sigh. I can see him becoming more and more reluctant as the conversation progresses and the enlightenments unfold. His minimal answers are a sign. He’s making me ask, rather than openly share. ‘They gave me control.’
Another puzzling answer, leaving a huge hole for further questioning. ‘Elaborate.’ I sound impatient when I’m trying my hardest not to be.
He breaks free from my palm and rests his head back. ‘Remember me explaining about my talent?’
‘My talent earned me a certain amount of freedom.’
‘I don’t understand.’ I’m beyond confused.
‘I was a regular male prostitute, Livy. I had no control nor received any respect.’ He spells it out, making me flinch. ‘I ran away from the orphanage when I was fifteen. Spent four years on the streets. That’s how I met Cassie. I broke into empty houses for shelter.’ I gulp back my shock before I can interrupt his flow, but he turns and catches my stunned face. ‘Bet you never considered your man was an expert lock breaker.’
What does he want me to say to that? No, I didn’t, but I also never considered that he would be an escort, a drug addict . . . I halt that train of thought immediately. I could be here a while. And Cassie. She was homeless, too?
Miller smiles a little and turns back away from my startled face. ‘They found us. Put us to work. But I was beautiful and on top of that, I was good. So I was taken from the lowly and utilised to my full ability. Glamour and sex. I make them a fortune. I’m the Special One.’
I go cold, life itself draining from my body, horrible chills jumping onto my wet skin. It’s happening too often. And I’m struck dumb. Taken from the lowly? ‘You’re my special one.’ I can’t think of anything else to say, other than reinforcing my feelings for him, making him feel like more than a walking, talking pleasure machine. ‘You’re my special one, but special because you’re beautiful and adoring, not because you give me mind-blowing orgasms.’ I roughly kiss the back of his head, squeezing him to me.
‘But it helps, right?’
‘Well . . .’ I can’t say no. How he makes me feel physically is amazing, but it comes nowhere close to how he makes me feel emotionally.
He laughs lightly, annoying me, not because it’s quite inappropriate to find anything about this humorous but because I can’t see it. ‘You can say yes, Livy.’
I yank his face to mine, finding that mild boyish grin. ‘Fine, yes, but I love you for reasons other than your sexual capabilities.’
‘But I’m good.’ His grin widens.
‘The best.’
His grin falls away instantly. ‘Tony called me.’
I’m tense again. Everywhere. The cameras were off, but Tony saw me. Would he have told Miller? I can’t be certain, although Miller’s loss of control outside Ice that time should make Tony’s silence easy. He studies me, assessing my reaction. I must look as guilty as sin. ‘I—’
Denied Page 36
