One Night: Promised

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  ‘Thank you very much.’ Nan flashes George a wide-eyed, excited stare, and then turns her navy blues onto me. She’s getting way too excited, just like I knew she would, and it’s playing heavily on my mind for the brief moments that I’m distracted from Miller. Like right now when Nan is beaming at me, so elated by our guest’s presence and impeccable manners.

  Miller makes his way around the table, filling George’s glass too, before he reaches me. He doesn’t ask me if I’d like some, he just goes right ahead and pours, despite knowing damn well that I’ve politely declined all alcohol when it’s been offered to me previously. I’m not going to pretend that he’s ignorant to it. He’s too smart – way, way too smart.

  ‘Right.’ George stands as Miller takes his seat. ‘I’ll do the honours.’ He takes the carving knife and starts to neatly slice through Nan’s masterpiece. ‘Josephine, this looks spectacular.’

  ‘It really does,’ Miller agrees, taking a sip of his wine and replacing it, his fingers scissoring and resting on the base of the glass, the crystal stem towering from between his middle and index finger. I study his resting hand closely, concentrating hard, waiting for it.

  And there it is. It’s minuscule, but he shifts the glass a very tiny bit to the right. It’s probably barely noticeable to anyone except my scrutinising stare, and I smile as I raise my eyes, finding him watching me studying him.

  He cocks his head, his eyes narrowing but twinkling wildly. ‘What?’ he mouths, drawing my attention to his lips. The bastard licks them, prompting me to make a grab for my glass and take a sip – anything to distract me. It’s not until I swallow that I realise what I’ve done, the unaccustomed taste making me shudder as it slides down my throat. My glass hits the table a bit too harshly, and I know Miller has just glanced at me curiously.

  A piece of beef Wellington lands on my plate. ‘Help yourself to potatoes and carrots, Livy,’ Nan says, holding her plate up for George to transfer some crumbly pastry to. ‘Let’s fatten you up.’

  I spoon some carrots and potatoes onto my plate before putting some on Miller’s. ‘I don’t need fattening up.’

  ‘You could gain a few pounds,’ Miller declares, pulling my incredulous face back to him as George finishes his plate off with the Wellington. ‘Just an observation.’

  ‘Thank you, Miller,’ Nan huffs smugly, raising a glass to toast their agreement. ‘She’s always been skinny.’

  ‘I’m slender, not skinny,’ I argue, lobbing Miller a warning look and getting a hint of a smile. In a very juvenile fit of revenge, I discreetly reach over and casually start twisting his wine glass by the stem, pulling it a fraction towards me. ‘Is that nice?’ I ask, nodding at his forkful of beef.

  ‘It’s delicious,’ he confirms, placing his knife perfectly perpendicular with the edge of the table, and then resting his hand over mine, slowly removing it and repositioning his glass. He picks his knife back up and resumes with his dinner. ‘The best Wellington I’ve tasted, Mrs Taylor.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Nan blushes, a rarity, but my heart’s nemesis is making my nan’s heart flutter, too. ‘It was very easy.’

  ‘It didn’t look it,’ George grumbles. ‘You were flapping all afternoon, Josephine.’

  ‘I was not flapping!’

  I start picking at my carrots, chewing slowly as I listen to Nan and George quarrel, leaving one hand free to move Miller’s wine glass again. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, and then places his knife down again before reclaiming his glass and putting it where it needs to be. I’m restraining my grin. He even eats precisely, cutting his food into perfectly sized pieces and ensuring all of the prongs of the fork are pushed into each piece at a right angle before taking the fork to his mouth. He chews slowly, too. Everything he does is with such thought, and it’s spellbinding. My hand creeps across the table again. I’m intrigued by this anal need to have things just so, but this time I don’t make it to the glass. My hand is seized midway across the table and held between us, looking nothing more than a loving hold of my hand. His grasp is firm, though, not that anyone would notice unless they were on the receiving end of the grip. And I am. And it’s a very harsh grip – a warning grip. I’m being told off.

  ‘What do you do for a living, Miller?’ Nan asks, delighting me. Yes, what does Miller Hart do for a living? I doubt he’ll tell my sweet grandmother that he doesn’t want to get into personal talk when he’s sitting at the head of her dinner table.

  ‘I won’t bore you with that, Mrs Taylor. It’s mind-numbing.’

  I was wrong. He hasn’t directly brushed her off, but he’s succeeded in a roundabout way. ‘I’d like to know,’ I push, feeling brave, even when his grip on my hand tightens by another notch.

  He blinks slowly, then raises his eyes slowly. ‘I like to keep business and pleasure separate, Livy. You know that.’

  ‘Very sensible,’ George mumbles around his food, pointing his fork at Miller. ‘I’ve lived by that saying my whole life.’

  My pluck is being beaten down by Miller’s look and worst of all, by those words. I’m pretty much a business transaction – a deal, an agreement or an arrangement. Call it what you like, it doesn’t change the meaning. So, technically, Miller’s words are a pile of shit.

  I flex my hand in his grip and he eases up, raising his eyebrows as he does. ‘You should eat,’ he prompts. ‘It really is delicious.’

  Taking my hand out of his, I follow through on his order and resume my meal, but I’m not at all comfortable. Miller shouldn’t have accepted my grandmother’s dinner invitation. This is personal. He’s invading my privacy, my security. He is the one who made his intention to keep things physical clear, yet here he is, immersing himself in my world, albeit a small world, but it’s my world, nevertheless. And this is not being physical.

  Just as I think that, I feel his leg brush against my knee, snapping me from my wandering mind and bringing me back to the table. I gaze up at him as I try to eat, seeing him looking at Nan, listening intently to her rambling on. I don’t know what about because all I can hear are replays of Miller’s words.

  ‘For as long as you do this to me, you’re obliged to remedy it.’

  ‘All of my rules were obliterated the second I laid my hands on you.’

  What rules, and how long will I do that to him? I want to affect him. I want to make his body respond to me like mine does to him. Once I’m past the moral pull that’s trying to yank me away from his potency, it’s all very easy – too easy . . . frighteningly easy.

  ‘That was bloody scrumptious, Josephine,’ George declares, the clatter of his cutlery against his plate breaking the distant hum of chatter. I’ve been dragged back to the present, where Miller is still here, and Nan is now scowling at her friend for his clumsiness. ‘Sorry,’ George says timidly.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me.’ Miller’s cutlery gets placed accurately on his empty plate, before he dabs at his mouth with his embroidered napkin. ‘Would you mind if I use your bathroom?’

  ‘Of course!’ Nan sings at him. ‘It’s the door at the top of the stairs.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He stands, folding the napkin and placing it to the side of his plate before tucking his chair under the table and leaving the room.

  Nan’s eyes follow Miller as he leaves. ‘Would you look at the buns on that,’ she muses, just as his back disappears.

  ‘Nan!’ I splutter, mortified.

  ‘Tight, perfectly formed. Livy, you are letting that man take you to dinner.’

  ‘Will you behave!’ I look down at my plate, noting my barely touched beef. I can’t possibly eat. I feel like I’m in a trance. ‘I’ll clear the table,’ I say, reaching over for Miller’s plate.

  ‘I’ll help.’ George makes to stand but I place my hand on his shoulder and apply a little pressure, encouraging him to remain seated.

  ‘It’s fine, George. I’ll take care of it.’

  He doesn’t argue, instead topping up the wine glasses.

  ‘Get the
pineapple upside-down cake!’ Nan calls to my back.

  With a handful of stacked plates, I make my way to the kitchen, eager to escape the lingering presence of Miller, even though he’s no longer in the room. I didn’t refuse when he told me that I’ll be going home with him tonight, and I should’ve. What will I say to Nan? There’s no getting away from the fact that he’s the cause for my recent mood swings. My mind has never been so jumbled. I’m not in control, nothing is making sense, and I’m not accustomed to any of these feelings. But what is most mystifying to me is the man who’s the cause of my derailment. An unfathomable, beautiful man who screams heartache on every level.

  Physical.

  No feelings.

  No emotion.

  Just one night.

  Twenty-four hours, of which I still owe him sixteen. That’s twice as long as what I’ve already experienced – double the sensations and desires . . . double the pain when we’re done.

  ‘I can hear you think.’

  I jump and swing around, still with the stack of plates in my hand. ‘You startled me,’ I breathe, placing the crockery on the work surface.

  ‘I apologise,’ he says sincerely, strolling over to me. I don’t mean to, but I back up. ‘Are you overthinking things again?’

  ‘I call it being prudent.’

  ‘Prudent?’ he asks, standing in front of me now. ‘I wouldn’t call it that.’

  I’m looking up at his face but desperately trying to avoid those eyes. ‘No?’

  ‘No.’ He takes a gentle hold of my chin, encouraging me to look at him. ‘I call it being foolish.’

  Our eyes connect and so do our lips, but he only rests them over mine. There would be nothing foolish about avoiding Miller Hart. ‘I can’t read you,’ I say quietly, but my words don’t make him pull away with concern.

  ‘I don’t want to be read, Livy. I want to be flooded in the pleasure you give me.’

  I liquefy against him, despite the fact that his words have only reinforced what I already know. I want to be flooded in the pleasure that he gives me, too, but I don’t want the feelings that come afterwards. I can’t cope with them. ‘You’re making this really difficult.’

  His arm creeps around to my lower back and strokes up until he’s on my neck. ‘No. I’m making it all very simple. Overthinking makes it difficult, and you’re overthinking.’ He kisses my cheek and nuzzles into my neck. ‘Let me take you to bed.’

  ‘By doing that, I’ll be something I swore I’d never be.’

  ‘What’s that?’ He spreads delicate kisses across my neck, and he’s doing it because he knows I’m torn. He’s a smart man. He’s scrambling my senses, but worst of all, my mind.

  ‘At a man’s mercy.’

  There’s definitely a slight falter in the trailing of his lips. I’m not imagining it. He removes himself from the sanctuary of my neck and studies me thoughtfully. So much time passes – enough for my mind to linger on many of the touches he’s blessed me with, the kisses we’ve shared and the passion we’ve created together. It’s like I’m watching it all in his eyes, making me wonder if he’s reliving those moments, too. He eventually reaches up and runs his knuckles softly down my cheek. ‘If there is anyone at the mercy of someone here, Livy, then it is me at yours.’ His eyes divert to my lips and lazily start moving in. And I do nothing to stop him.

  I don’t see a man at my mercy. I see a man who wants something and seems prepared to do anything to get it.

  ‘We should get back to the table.’ I try to break away from him, turning my face away from his.

  ‘Not until you say you’re leaving with me.’ He surprises me by lifting me from my feet and sitting me on the counter. Laying his hands on the tops of my thighs, he leans in and looks at me, waiting for my agreement. ‘Say it.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘Yes you do.’ He gets nose to nose with me. ‘You’ve never wanted anything so much in your life.’

  He’s right, but that doesn’t make it wise. ‘You’re very confident.’

  He shakes his head on a mild curve of his mouth and reaches up to drag his thumb across my bottom lip. ‘You may be trying to convince both of us with words, but everything else is telling me different.’ He slips his finger into his mouth and sucks it, then runs a moist trail down my throat, over my breast and onto my stomach before his hand disappears up my dress and between my legs. My jaw tightens, my back straightens and my core starts pulsing, willing him to touch me there. My body is betraying me on every level, and he knows it. ‘I think I’ll find warmth.’ He inches closer to the apex of my thighs, and my head falls forward, meeting his forehead. ‘I think I’ll find wetness,’ he whispers, his finger slipping into the side of my knickers and spreading that wetness around. ‘I think if I enter you now, your greedy muscles will grab on and never let go.’

  ‘Do it.’ The words leave my mouth without thought, my hands lifting and grabbing the tops of his arms. ‘Please do it.’

  ‘I’ll do anything you want me to, but I’ll be doing it in my bed.’ He kisses me hard on the lips and removes his hand, pulling the hem of my dress down. ‘I have manners. I’m not about to disrespect your grandmother by taking you here. Can you control yourself while we eat pineapple cake?’

  ‘Can I control myself?’ I ask on a breathy whisper, looking down to his groin. I don’t need to see it to know it’s there. He’s solid and rubbing against my leg.

  ‘I’m struggling, believe me.’ He readjusts himself and lifts me down from the counter, then sets about arranging my hair neatly over my shoulders. ‘Let’s see how fast I can eat pineapple cake. Do you want to get an overnight bag?’

  No, actually, I don’t. I want him to lose his manners. I attempt in vain to compose my pent-up state, but all of the heat from down below is rising to my face at the thought of facing Nan and George. ‘I’ll grab some things after dessert.’

  ‘As you wish.’ He takes my nape and directs me from the kitchen, the warmth of his hold intensifying my want. I want him so badly. I want this enigmatic man, who conducts himself so well but contradicts every gentlemanly act in the next breath. He’s a fraud, that’s what he is.

  An actor.

  A conceited man, cleverly disguised as a gentleman.

  Which makes him the worst kind of enemy that my heart could find.

  ‘Here they are!’ Nan claps, jumping up. ‘Where’s the pineapple upside-down cake?’

  ‘Oh!’ I go to turn but quickly realise that with Miller still holding my neck firmly in his grasp, I’m going nowhere.

  ‘No matter.’ Nan waves her hand at my empty chair. ‘Sit down, I’ll get it.’

  Miller practically places me on the chair before tucking me in, almost like he has a compulsion to have me just so, as well as everything else that he touches. ‘Comfortable?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ He takes his seat beside me and rearranges everything at his place setting before taking his recently shifted glass of wine and taking a slow sip.

  ‘Oohhh, pineapple upside-down cake!’ George rubs his hands together and licks his lips. ‘My favourite! Miller, you might die of pleasure.’

  ‘You know, George, we bought the pineapple from Harrods.’ I shouldn’t be telling him this. Nan will kill me, but she’s not the only one who can play matchmaker. ‘She paid fifteen pounds for it, and that was before she invited Miller for dinner.’

  He gasps, but then a thoughtful smile spreads across his face. It warms me to the core. ‘She knows how to spoil a man. Wonderful woman, your grandmother, Livy. Wonderful woman.’

  ‘She is,’ I agree quietly. She’s as annoying as hell, but a wonderful woman.

  ‘Pineapple upside-down cake!’ Nan calls, walking in proudly with a silver platter in her hands. She places it in the middle of the table and everyone cranes their necks over, admiring the masterpiece. ‘This is my best to date. Would you like to try some of my pineapple upside-down cake, Miller?’ she asks.

&nbs
p; ‘I would love to, Mrs Taylor.’

  ‘It’s so good you’ll inhale it in a second,’ I say casually, picking up my spoon and flicking my eyes to Miller. He takes the bowl from Nan when she hands it over the table and places it down before turning it a few millimetres clockwise.

  ‘I’ve no doubt I will.’ He doesn’t look at me and he doesn’t begin eating. He waits politely for Nan to serve everyone else before she takes a seat and picks up her spoon. His manners won’t allow him to fulfil his suggestion to eat quickly either. He just can’t help himself.

  His spoon is lifted and sunk into the cake, breaking a piece away. Then he scoops it up with ultimate precision and pops it in his mouth. My eyes make the journey, following his spoon from his bowl to his lips, my own spoon hovering in front of me. His whole being is a ridiculously strong magnet to my eyes and I’m beginning to give up trying to resist him. It seems my eyes are craving him as much as my body.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, studying me staring at him as he takes another bite. Not even his awareness to my shameless gawking deters me.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking that I’ve never seen anyone eat one of my grandmother’s cakes so slowly.’ I’m shocked by my suggestive observation and Miller coughing, his hand flying to his mouth, is an indication that he is, too. I’m glad. I have a feeling that I’ll need to match his poise if I’m devoting another sixteen hours to him, so I may as well start now.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Nan’s concerned voice hits my ears. I’m sure her old face will display concern, too, but I won’t look to confirm it because seeing Miller flustered is too much of a novelty to miss any of it.

  He finishes chewing, sets his spoon down and wipes his mouth. ‘I apologise.’ He picks up his glass and gazes over to me, lifting it to his lips. ‘Beautiful things should be savoured, Livy, not rushed.’ He sips his wine, and I feel his foot brush up my leg under the table. I shock myself further by flashing him a secret smile and remaining composed.

  ‘It really is beautiful, Nan.’ I mimic Miller and take a mouthful, chewing slowly, swallowing slowly, then licking my lips slowly. And I know my unabashed string of actions have had the desired effect because my skin is being singed by his blue glare. ‘Did you enjoy it, George?’