One Night: Promised

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  ‘I would be delighted if you would reconsider.’ Miller’s soft rasp halts my battle with Nan’s motionless form, and I hear her sigh dreamily, gazing at the annoyingly handsome man who’s cornered me. But then her dreamy gaze turns into slight confusion and I follow her stare to see what’s caused her sudden change in expression. There’s a well-manicured hand resting on Miller’s shoulder with a dusky-pink silk tie suspended from it, cascading down Miller’s chest.

  ‘This one will go perfectly.’ The silky-smooth voice is familiar. I don’t need to see the stunning face to confirm who that hand belongs to, so I lift my gaze from the silk tie to Miller’s eyes instead. His jaw is tight, his tall body still. ‘What do you think?’ she asks.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Miller replies quietly, keeping his eyes on me.

  Nan is silent, I’m silent, and Miller is saying very little, but then the woman steps out from behind him, stroking the tie and the silence is broken. ‘What do you think?’ she asks Nan, who nods, not giving the tie a glance, instead keeping her eyes on this beautiful woman who has appeared from nowhere. ‘And you?’ She directs her question at me, toying with the diamond-encrusted cross that’s always suspended from her delicate neck. I can see a threatening look through the layers of expensive make-up. She’s marking her territory. She’s no business associate.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I whisper, dropping the basket and deciding to abandon my nan in favour of retreat. I’m not being held to ransom in front of my old grandmother and I’m not being subjected to looks of inferiority by that perfect woman. Every corner I turn, he’s there. This is hopeless.

  I weave my numb body through the various departments until I break free of the confinements of the colossal store and drag in some fresh air, resting my back against the wall outside. I’m angry, sad and irritated. I’m a jumbled bag of mixed emotions and confusing thoughts. My heart and my head have never disagreed or battled so furiously.

  Until now.

  Hyde Park sorts me out. I sit on the grass with a sandwich and a can of Coke and watch the world go by for a few hours. I think about how lucky the people wandering past me are to have such a beautiful place to roam. Then I count at least twenty different breeds of dog in less than twenty minutes and think how lucky they are to have such a wonderful stomping ground. Children are squealing, mothers are chatting and laughing, and runners are prancing by. I feel better, like something familiar and desired has successfully eliminated something unfamiliar and undesired.

  Undesired, undesired . . . completely desired.

  I sigh and unfold my seated body from the ground, swinging my satchel onto my shoulder and throwing my rubbish in the litter bin.

  Then I take the familiar journey home.

  Nan’s frantic by the time I fall through the front door. Really frantic. I feel guilty, even if I should actually be feeling rather mad with her. ‘Oh my goodness!’ She dives on me, not giving me the chance to dump my bag by the coat stand in the hall. ‘Livy, I’ve been so worried. It’s seven o’clock!’

  I embrace her hold, the guilt taking a firmer grip. ‘I’m twenty-four years old,’ I sigh.

  ‘Don’t disappear on me, Olivia. My heart can’t take it.’

  Now guilt is crippling me. ‘I had a picnic in the park.’

  ‘But you just left!’ She separates us and holds me at a distance. ‘It was incredibly rude, Livy.’ I can see from her sudden annoyance that her earlier panic has completely diminished.

  ‘I didn’t want to have dinner with him.’

  ‘Why not? He seemed like such a gentleman.’

  I resist snorting my disgust. She wouldn’t think that if she knew the ins and outs. ‘He was with another woman.’

  ‘She’s a business associate!’ she gushes, almost excited to clear up the misunderstanding. ‘Nice woman.’

  I cannot believe she bought that. She’s too cute. Business associates don’t shop for silk ties together. ‘Can we leave it there?’ I drop my bag and skulk past her, making my way to the kitchen, getting a waft of something delicious as I enter. ‘What are you cooking?’ I ask, finding George at the table. ‘Hi, George.’ I sit next to him.

  ‘Don’t turn your mobile telephone off, Livy,’ he scolds quietly. ‘I’ve endured hours of Josephine repeatedly dialling and cursing in between cooking supper.’

  ‘What is it?’ I ask again.

  ‘Beef Wellington,’ Nan chirps up as she follows behind me. ‘With dauphinoise potatoes and steamed baby carrots.’

  I throw a confused look at George, but he just shrugs and picks up his paper. ‘Beef Wellington?’ I ask.

  ‘That’s right.’ She doesn’t give my questioning tone the attention it deserves. What happened to stew and dumplings or a chicken roast? ‘Thought I’d try something new. I hope you’re hungry.’

  ‘A little,’ I admit. ‘Is that wine?’ I ask, clocking two bottles of red and two bottles of white on the worktop.

  ‘Oh!’ She flies across the kitchen and grabs the white bottles, shoving them quickly in the fridge before opening the red. ‘These need to breathe.’

  Shifting in my chair, I chance a glance at George, hoping to get something from him, but he’s undoubtedly doing what he’s been told by sitting still and shutting up. He knows that I’m looking at him. I can tell because his eyes are running too quickly across the text of the paper for him to truly be reading it. I knock his knee with mine, but I’m flat-out ignored, Nan’s male companion choosing to shift his legs to avoid another purposeful nudge.

  ‘Nan—’ The doorbell interrupts me, my head swinging towards the hallway.

  ‘Oh, that’ll be Gregory.’ She opens the oven and sticks a long metal stick in the middle of a huge chunk of pastry. ‘Will you answer it, please, Livy?’

  ‘You invited Gregory?’ I ask, pushing my chair away from the table.

  ‘Yes! Look at all of this food.’ She removes the rod from the meat and purses her lips as she checks the temperature on the dial. ‘Nearly done,’ she declares.

  I leave Nan and George and jog down the hallway to let Gregory in, hoping Nan hasn’t been gossiping with him again. ‘Am I missing a special occasion?’ I ask as I throw the front door open.

  My smile falls away immediately.

  Chapter 11

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ That damn irritation flares dangerously.

  ‘Your grandmother invited me.’ Miller’s arms are filled with flowers and a Harrods bag. ‘Are you going to invite me in?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ I step outside and pull the door shut so Nan can’t hear our conversation. ‘What are you doing?’

  He’s completely unruffled by my ruffled state. ‘Being polite and accepting a dinner invitation.’ There’s no humour in his tone. ‘I have manners.’

  ‘No.’ I step closer, my shock and exasperation crossing the line into anger. My damn conniving grandmother. ‘You have a nerve, that’s what you have. This has to stop. I don’t want you for twenty-four hours.’

  ‘You want longer?’

  I recoil. ‘No!’ How much longer?

  ‘Oh . . .’ He looks unsure of himself and it’s the first time I’ve seen this in him. It straightens my back and makes my eyes narrow questioningly.

  ‘Do you?’ I whisper the question on a skip of my heartbeat, my mind going into overdrive.

  His uncertainty flashes to frustration in a nanosecond, making me wonder if it’s directed at me or whether he’s frustrated with himself. I’m hoping it’s the latter. ‘We agreed no personal.’

  ‘No, you declared that part of the deal.’

  His eyes fly up, shocked. ‘I know.’

  ‘And does it still stand?’ I ask, trying so hard to appear confident and strong, when I’m crumbling on the inside, bracing myself for his answer.

  ‘It still stands.’ His voice is resolute, but his expression isn’t. That’s not enough for me to build my hopes on, though.

  ‘Then we’re done here.’ I turn on my Converse and push my defeated bo
dy through the door, meeting Nan as I do. ‘It’s a salesman,’ I say, not letting her pass me. My plan is never going to work, I know that. She invited him, and she knew the second the doorbell chimed who it was.

  I put up little resistance when I’m barged from her path, letting her open the front door, where Miller is striding slowly away from the house. ‘Miller!’ she calls. ‘Wherever are you going?’

  He turns and looks at me, and as much as I’m willing a threatening look to materialise on my face, it’s just not happening. We just stare at each other for the longest time before he gives Nan a small nod. ‘It was really very kind of you, Mrs Taylor, but—’

  ‘Oh no!’ Nan doesn’t give him the opportunity to make his excuses. She marches down the path, not in the least bit intimidated by his tall, powerful frame, and takes his elbow, leading him into the house. ‘I’ve prepared a blinding supper, and you’ll stay to eat it.’ Miller is pushed into the narrow hallway where, with three people, it’s all very cosy. ‘Livy will take your jacket.’ Nan leaves us and marches back to the kitchen, barking a short instruction at George as she enters.

  ‘I’ll leave if you want me to. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.’ He makes no move to drop the things from his hands and remove his jacket. ‘Your grandmother is quite a woman.’

  ‘She is,’ I answer quietly. ‘And you always make me feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘Come home with me and I’ll put some shorts on.’

  My eyes widen at the thought of Miller bare-chested and barefoot. ‘That didn’t make me comfortable,’ I point out. He knows that.

  ‘What I did to you following the removal of my clothes did, though.’ That lock of hair slips down on cue, as if backing up his words, making them more suggestive.

  I shift on the spot. ‘That won’t happen again.’

  ‘Don’t say things you don’t mean, Livy,’ he counters softly.

  My eyes fly to his, and he moves in, the flowers that he’s holding touching the front of my tea dress. ‘You’re using my own grandmother against me,’ I breathe.

  ‘You leave me no choice.’ He dips and rests his lips over mine, sending a delicious warmth to my core to match the heat of his mouth on mine.

  ‘You’re not playing fair.’

  ‘I’ve never claimed to play by the rules, Livy. And anyway, all of my rules were obliterated the second I laid my hands on you.’

  ‘What rules?’

  ‘I’ve forgotten.’ He takes my mouth gently, pushing the flowers further into my chest, the cellophane encasing them crinkling loudly, but I’m too consumed to care whether the noise attracts the attention of my nosy nan. My senses are saturated, my blood is heated, and I’m reminded of the incredible feelings that Miller Hart draws from me. ‘Feel me,’ he moans against my mouth.

  Without thought, my hand slowly moves down between our bodies, bypassing the flowers and Harrods bag, until I’m brushing my knuckles over the long, hard length of him. His deep groan emboldens me, my hand turning to feel, stroke and squeeze over the top of his trousers.

  ‘You do that,’ he growls. ‘And for as long as you do this to me, you’re obliged to remedy it.’

  ‘It wouldn’t happen if you didn’t see me,’ I gasp, biting at his lip, not bothered by his arrogant declaration.

  ‘Livy, I only have to think of you and I’m solid. Seeing you makes me ache. You’re coming home with me tonight, and I’m not taking no for an answer.’ His lips press harder to mine.

  ‘That woman was with you again.’

  ‘How many times do we have to go over this?’

  ‘Do you often go clothes shopping with female business associates?’ I ask around his unrelenting lips.

  He pulls away, panting, his hair in disarray. Those blue eyes will be the death of me. ‘Why can’t you trust me on this?’

  ‘You’re too secretive,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t want you to have this hold over me.’

  He leans in and kisses my forehead tenderly, lovingly. His words don’t match his actions. It’s so confusing to me. ‘It’s not a hold if you accept it, sweet girl.’

  I’d be inconceivably stupid to trust this man. It’s not so much the woman; my conscience seems quite happy to overlook her. It’s my destiny. My heart. I’m falling too hard and too fast.

  He steps away, glancing down at his groin area before adjusting himself. ‘I have to face a sweet old lady with this, and it’s entirely your fault.’ He lifts almost mischievous eyes to mine, throwing me off course again. It’s another expression from Miller Hart that’s alien to me. ‘Ready?’ he asks, sliding his palm around my neck and turning me towards the kitchen.

  No, I don’t think I am ready, but I say yes anyway, knowing what I’m going to find in the kitchen. And I’m right on the money. Nan is smiling smugly and George’s eyes have just popped out of his head at the sight of Miller guiding me. I gesture to my nan’s long-suffering male companion. ‘Miller, this is George, my nan’s friend.’

  ‘Pleasure.’ Miller offloads the flowers and bag, rather than letting go of me, and accepts George’s hand, giving it a firm, manly shake. ‘That’s a rather dashing shirt you have on there, George.’ Miller nods at George’s striped chest genuinely.

  ‘You know, I think so, too,’ George agrees, stroking down his front.

  I don’t know why I didn’t notice this before. George is in his Sunday best, usually reserved for bingo or church. Nan really is a conniving old bat. I cast my eyes over to her, noticing her floating, floral, button-up dress, also usually reserved for Sunday best. Looking down at myself, I note that I am far from practically dressed in my creased tea dress and hot-pink Converse, and suddenly uncomfortable with that, I pipe up.

  ‘I’m just going to use the bathroom.’ I’m not going anywhere until Miller releases me from his grasp, but he doesn’t seem in much of a hurry to do so.

  Instead, he picks up the bouquet, a mass of yellow roses, and hands them to Nan, followed by the Harrods bag. ‘Just a few things to say thank you for your hospitality.’

  ‘Oohh!’ Nan shoves her nose into the bouquet, then her face into the bag. ‘Oh my, caviar! Oh, George, look!’ She drops the roses on the table and presents George with the tiniest jar. ‘Seventy pounds for that little thing,’ she whispers, but I don’t know why because we’re standing mere feet away and can hear her perfectly. I’m horrified. The plum is a distant memory and so is her decorum.

  ‘Seventy quid?’ George chokes. ‘For fish eggs? Well, slap me sideways!’

  I sag under Miller’s hold, and then feel him start to massage my nape over my hair. ‘I’m going to use the bathroom,’ I repeat, twisting myself out from his grip.

  ‘Miller, you shouldn’t have.’ Nan removes a bottle of Dom Pérignon and flashes it at George with a gaping mouth.

  ‘It’s my pleasure,’ Miller replies.

  ‘Livy.’ Nan pulls my attention back to the table. ‘Have you offered to take Miller’s jacket?’

  Turning tired eyes onto him, I smile, sickeningly sweetly. ‘Can I take your jacket, sir?’ I resist curtsying, and detect an amused glint in his eyes.

  ‘You may.’ He shrugs out of his jacket and hands it to me, while I marvel at his shirt and waistcoat-covered chest. He knows that I’m staring at him, picturing his naked chest. He leans in, dropping his mouth to my ear. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Livy,’ he warns. ‘I can barely contain myself as it is.’

  ‘I can’t help it.’ I’m honest in my quiet reply as I leave the kitchen, fanning my face before neatly draping his jacket over mine on the coat stand. I smooth it down and take the stairs, falling into my bedroom and darting around like a woman possessed, stripping, spraying, re-dressing and freshening my make-up. Glancing in the mirror, I think about how far removed I am from Miller’s business associate. But this is me. If it goes with my Converse, then it’s a contender, and my white shirt dress, scattered with red rosebuds, matches my cherry-red Converse perfectly. There’s another woman and what’s worrying is my abil
ity to ignore the obviousness of the situation. I want him. Not only has he fractured my sensibility, he’s also chased away my conscience.

  Giving myself a mental stinger of a slap, I ruffle my mass of blond and hurry downstairs, suddenly worried by what Nan and George might be saying to Miller.

  They’re not in the kitchen. I backtrack, heading for the lounge, but that’s empty too. I hear chatter coming from the dining room – the dining room that’s only used on very special occasions. The last time we ate in the dining room was on my twenty-first birthday, over three years ago. That’s how special we’re talking. I make my way to the oak-stained door and peer in, seeing the huge mahogany table that dominates the room is beautifully laid, using all of Nan’s Royal Doulton crockery, cut crystal wine glasses and silver cutlery.

  And she’s put my heart’s nemesis at the head of the table, where nobody has had the pleasure ever before. That was my granddad’s place at the table, and not even George has been allowed the honour.

  ‘Here she is.’ Miller stands and pulls out the empty chair to his left. ‘Come, sit.’

  I walk slowly and thoughtfully over, ignoring Nan’s beaming face, and take my seat. ‘Thank you,’ I say as he tucks me under the table before resuming position next to me.

  ‘You’ve changed,’ he observes, turning the plate at his setting a few millimetres clockwise.

  ‘I was a little creased.’

  ‘You look beautiful.’ He smiles, nearly making me pass out at the sight of it, that lovely dimple making a rare appearance.

  ‘Thank you,’ I breathe.

  ‘My pleasure.’ He doesn’t take his eyes off me, and even though mine are firmly set on his, I know Nan and George are watching us.

  ‘Wine?’ Nan asks, interrupting our moment and distracting Miller’s eyes from mine. I’m instantly resentful.

  ‘Please, allow me.’ Miller rises and my gaze rises with him, my eyes seeming to lift for ever until his body has straightened. He doesn’t lean across the table to reach for the wine. No, he steps out and circles, collecting the wine from the ice bucket and standing on my grandmother’s right side to pour.