‘Did I ever!’ He leans back in his chair and rubs his belly on a satisfied huff of air. ‘I may need to undo my top button.’
‘George!’ Nan hisses, reaching over and slapping his arm. ‘We’re at the dinner table.’
‘Never usually bothers you,’ he grumbles.
‘Yes, well, we have a guest.’
‘This is your home, Mrs Taylor,’ Miller interjects. ‘And I’m privileged to be welcomed into it. That was the best beef Wellington I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting.’
‘Oh.’ Nan waves a dismissive hand over the table. ‘You’re too kind, Miller.’
He’s a brown-noser, that’s what he is. ‘Better than my coffee?’ I’m throwing innuendos all over the place, but I simply cannot help it.
‘Your coffee was like nothing I’ve tasted before,’ he retorts softly, raising his eyebrows at me. ‘I hope you’ll have one ready for me tomorrow around noon when I’m passing.’
I shake my head on an amused smile, enjoying our private exchange. ‘Americano, four shots, two sugars and topped up halfway.’
‘I look forward to it.’ He gives me a hint of the smile I long to see again, the one I’ve seen only a few times since I’ve known him. ‘Mrs Taylor, would you object if I were to ask Olivia to join me for drinks at my home?’
I’m staggered by his confidence, and why didn’t he ask me? My grandmother wouldn’t say no, anyway. No, she’ll probably try desperately to find a silk negligee in my underwear drawer to stuff into my bag on my way out. She’ll be looking in vain.
‘I’d love to,’ I answer, halting the potential of the decision being made for me. I’m a grown woman. I make my own decisions. I’m the master of my own destiny.
‘How very chivalrous of you to ask.’ Nan’s excitement is clear but a bit of a gut wrench. She’s building hopes on the basis of what very little she knows of the man sitting at her table. The whole story would put her in an early grave. ‘We’ll clear up and you two go and have fun!’
My chair is being pulled out from behind me before I can drop my spoon, and I’m on my feet, being directed towards Nan and George’s end of the table without delay. ‘Mrs Taylor, thank you.’
‘Not at all!’ She stands and lets Miller peck each of her cheeks while she widens her eyes at me. ‘It’s been a wonderful evening.’
‘I concur,’ he says, holding his spare hand out to George. ‘It’s been a pleasure to meet you, George.’
‘Yes.’ George is on his feet, taking position beside Nan and the opportunity, while she’s in such a good mood, to slip his arm around her waist. ‘Lovely evening.’ He takes Miller’s hand.
I’m silently begging them to hurry with the polite exchanges. Dinner has been a painfully long process of secret, suggestive remarks and sneaky touches. The pent-up lust in me is both unfamiliar and quite unsettling, but the overwhelming need to release it all is blocking any intelligence that I have, and I have lots of intelligence to block. I’m a smart woman . . . except when Miller is around.
I feel the soothing kneading of his fingers into my nape, completely obliterating that intelligence. I’m not going to try and find it because it’s long gone, leaving me vulnerable and desperate.
I kiss Nan and George and allow Miller to guide me from the dining room. He doesn’t let his hold of me drop as he takes his jacket from the stand, and then unhooks my denim jacket, too. ‘Do you want to get some things?’
‘No,’ I answer quickly, not wanting to delay things further.
He doesn’t argue, swiftly opening the front door and pushing me onward. He opens the door of his car and places me in the seat, shutting it quickly and pacing around the front to get in. Starting the engine, he pulls smoothly away from the kerb, and I look up to my house, seeing the curtains twitching. I can only imagine the conversation going on between George and Nan right now, but that thought trails off when Depeche Mode’s ‘Enjoy the Silence’ creeps from the speakers, making my brow knit as I remember him telling me to do exactly that.
‘You were extremely naughty during dinner, Livy.’
My head swings to face him. Naughty? ‘You’re the one who cornered me in the kitchen,’ I remind him.
‘I was securing my evening’s prospects.’
‘I’m a prospect?’
‘No, you’re a foregone conclusion.’ He keeps his eyes on the road, his face straight. Does he realise what he’s saying?
‘You make me sound like a tart.’ My jaw is clenched and so are my fists, my lust dissipating in a split second at those words. I may have stamped all over my rules in recent weeks, but I am not, and never will be, a tart. ‘I’d like you to take me home.’
He takes a hard left, prompting me to grab the door, and we’re suddenly driving down an alleyway, flanked by loading bays for shops on either side. It’s dusk, it’s eerie and it’s deserted. ‘You’re my foregone conclusion, Livy. No one else’s.’ Skidding to a halt, he unbuckles his seatbelt, then mine, and I’m quickly being yanked across the car onto his lap.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, shocked, the track making me shudder as it continues to invade my hearing as Miller invades all my other senses.
Eyes.
Nose.
Touch.
And soon taste.
His seat is shifted back, giving him more room to pull my dress up to my waist. ‘I’m doing what you’ve been begging me to do throughout dinner.’
‘I wasn’t begging.’ My voice has dropped to a husky whisper. I don’t recognise it.
‘Livy, you were most certainly begging. Lift yourself up,’ he orders, taking my hips, encouraging me.
I put up no resistance, pushing on my knees and rising. ‘I thought you were waiting to put me back in your bed.’
‘I would have, had you not teased and tortured me for the past hour. There’s only so much I can take.’ A condom appears from nowhere and he takes it between his teeth before reaching down and unfastening his trousers. ‘I realise how cheap this is but I really cannot wait.’ His penis breaks free from his trousers, hard and ready, and he makes fast work of ripping the packet open with his teeth and rolling it on.
I can’t find my breath. My hands are holding the seat on either side of his head and I’m completely rapt as I watch him sheathe himself. Fizzles of heat are stabbing at the pit of my belly, working their way down to my groin, and I’m mentally egging him on, wanting him to hurry. I’ve lost control and my impatience is evident, more so when I gaze up at him and find misty blue eyes and moist, parted lips.
Pulling my cotton knickers aside, he guides himself to my opening, brushing the inside of my thigh, making me pull in a sharp breath. ‘Lower slowly,’ he whispers, replacing one hand on my hip.
Trying to rein in the temptation to crash down, I slowly inch my way down, letting the air from my lungs gush from my mouth, my head falling back, my fingers digging into the leather on the seat behind him. ‘Miller!’
‘Good God!’ he barks, his hips shaking. ‘I’ve never felt anything like it. Stay where you are.’
I’m completely impaled on him. I can feel the tip of his arousal in the deepest part of me, and I’m shaking like a leaf. Uncontrollable shakes. My body is alive, desperate to fly into action and instigate further pleasure. ‘Move.’ My head drops, finding Miller’s head resting back, his eyes low and staring into our laps. His hair is a wavy, damp mess, crying for me to feel it. So I do. I lace my fingers through his waves and play with it, stroking and pulling. ‘Please move.’
‘I’ll do whatever you want, Livy.’ He clenches my hips and grinds deeply, spiking a low, alluring moan from me. ‘Jesus, that damn sound you make.’
‘I can’t help it.’
‘I don’t want you to,’ he says, circling firmly, making me moan some more. ‘I could listen to it for the rest of my days.’
I’m a fevered mess of longing. He even makes love precisely, each rotation, circle and grind a perfectly executed move, building me up perfectly. I’ll never get enough
of this. ‘Miller,’ I pant, pushing short, uncontrolled breaths through my lips.
‘Tell me what you want.’ He lifts me and pulls me back down slowly, his eyes clenching shut. ‘Tell me how you want me, Livy.’
I don’t care. Each time he’s worshipped me it has been perfectly perfect. He can do no wrong. ‘I want it all,’ I breathe, meaning so much more than just movement. I want to feel this good for ever, and I’m not sure that any other man will do it for me. ‘Kiss me,’ I beg as he slides me back up and guides me down, rotating his hips, grinding firmly. I’m losing my mind. My hands are tightening in his hair, my knees on his waist.
His eyes lift, his hand finds its place on my nape, and I’m pulled forward slowly, accurately, with no rush or impatience. I don’t know how he’s doing it. ‘You’ve knocked me sideways, Olivia Taylor,’ he murmurs, claiming my lips gently. ‘You’re making me question everything I thought I knew.’
I want to agree because I feel the same, but my mouth is too busy relishing the attention of his soft, worshipping lips. I do, however, note that his declaration can only be a good thing. Maybe he won’t let me walk away after our time is up. I’m hoping he won’t let me walk away because I’ve given myself up to him again, despite my better judgement. But saying no to Miller Hart doesn’t seem to be something I can do . . . or I simply won’t do.
‘Can you feel it, Livy?’ he asks between tentative, delicate circles of his tongue. ‘Doesn’t it feel like nothing else?’
‘Yes.’ I bite his lip and plunge my tongue back into his mouth, moaning and pushing my body into him, feeling twinges in the tip of my sex, the hints of an orgasm powering forward. It makes me harden our kiss as the desperation to nail it down derails my determination to follow his leisurely lead.
‘Calm,’ he moans. ‘Take it easy.’
I try, but he’s starting to thump inside me, swelling and throbbing, pushing me on. I start shaking my head against his lips. ‘You feel too good.’
‘Hey.’ He breaks our kiss but maintains the flow of his body into mine, taking over completely to stop me hurrying things along. ‘Savour it.’
My eyes close and my head rolls back on my shoulders as I try to gather the strength required to follow his guidance. I’m amazed by his self-control. Every piece of him is gushing with desperation to match mine – his eyes smoking, his body shaking, his sex throbbing, his face damp with sweat. Yet he seems to find it so easy to tolerate the painful pleasure that he inflicts on us both.
‘Shit, I wish I had you in my bed,’ he moans. ‘Don’t hide your beautiful face from me, Livy. Show me.’
My body starts to spasm with an orgasm I couldn’t delay even if I wanted to. My hand flies out, my palm slapping against the window, but it instantly starts slipping all over the condensation on the glass, doing nothing to stabilise me.
‘Livy!’ He grabs my hair and yanks my head forward. Things are frantic, but his rhythm is still slow and exact. ‘When I ask you to look at me, you look at me!’ His hips thrust up, and I gulp back air as my hearing is flooded by the rush of roaring blood to my head, slightly distorting the music surrounding us. ‘Here it comes.’
‘Please, faster,’ I beg. ‘Make it happen.’
‘It’s happening.’ His grip tightens and he directs me back to his mouth, kissing me to my peak as I grapple with the sleeves of his shirt. My world implodes and every nerve ending pulses viciously as I groan, low and satisfied into his mouth while Miller throbs within me.
‘Another sixteen hours isn’t enough for me,’ I confess quietly, my intense physical feelings only enhancing my emotional state of mind. ‘You can’t do this to me.’ My overworked lips drag across his stubble until they’re glued to his neck, my head heavy, my body limp.
‘Have you considered what you’re doing to me?’ he asks quietly. ‘You seem to be under the impression that this is all very easy for me.’
I remain with my face hiding in the crook of his neck, finding it easier to offload my thoughts when I don’t have to look at him. ‘I’m surrendering myself to you. I’m doing what you’ve asked of me.’ My voice is low and weak, a mixture of exhaustion and timidity.
‘Livy, I’m not going to pretend I know what’s happening.’ He pulls me from my hiding place and cups my hot cheeks in his hands. His face is serious and there’s unquestionably a hint of confusion. ‘But it’s happening and I think we’re both powerless to stop it.’
‘Are you going to walk away from me?’ I feel stupid asking this question of a man I’ve known for such a short time, but something is pulling us both together, and it’s not just his persistence. It’s something invisible, powerful and determined.
He takes a long pull of breath and tugs me down to his chest, giving me his thing. His strong arms surrounding me easily put me in the safest place that I’ve ever been. ‘I’m going to take you home and worship you.’
It’s not an answer, but it’s not a yes either. This is special, I’m sure. I’ve found it incredibly easy to avoid these feelings for so long, but I’m incapable of stopping myself from falling for Miller Hart, and even though I don’t quite understand him, I want to pursue this. I want to discover myself. But most of all, I want to discover him – all of him. The morsels he’s fed me so far have mostly irritated me or angered me, but there’s more than meets the eye with this part-time gentleman.
And I want to know it all.
Breaking free of his chest, I slowly lift myself from his lap, his semi-erection slipping free as I do. That alone makes me feel half complete. I settle in the passenger seat and gaze out of the window to the murky, litter-crowded alleyway while he sorts himself out next to me and the music fades to nothing. A small part of my mind is willing me to walk away now before he has the opportunity to do just that to me, but I find it easy to ignore it. I’m not going to be walking anywhere unless I’m forced to. There’s only one thing that I’ve ever been determined to do, and that’s avoid putting myself in this situation. Now I find myself determined to stay here, no matter what the cost to my falling heart.
Chapter 12
I have the stamina to get to the seventh floor this time, before Miller carries me up the rest of the stairs. It’s no wonder his physique looks like it belongs to a mythical god.
‘Would you like a drink?’ He’s returned to sharp and formal, but his manners are still intact. The door is held open for me, and I slip in, immediately noticing a huge spray of fresh flowers on the round table.
‘No, thank you.’ I circle the table slowly and break the threshold into the lounge, glancing around at the paintings adorning the walls.
‘Water?’
‘No.’
‘Please, sit.’ He indicates the sofa. ‘I’ll just hang these,’ he says, holding up our jackets.
‘Okay.’ Things are strained, our honest words causing a friction that I want to be rid of. Then soft music is with me and I look around, wondering where it’s coming from while absorbing the calmness of the beats and the gentle tones of the male’s voice. I recognise it. It’s Passenger’s ‘Let Her Go’. My mind starts racing.
Miller returns, his waistcoat and tie removed, his collar unbuttoned. He pours some dark liquid into a tumbler, and I notice the label this time. It’s Scotch. He takes a seat on the coffee table in front of me again and sips slowly, but then he almost frowns at the glass before tipping the neat alcohol down his throat and placing the glass on the table.
As I knew he would, he tweaks the position then clasps his hands together, looking at me thoughtfully. I’m immediately wary of that look. ‘Why don’t you drink, Livy?’
I was right to be worried. He keeps saying he doesn’t want to get personal, yet he has no problem asking me personal questions or invading my personal space, namely my home and my dinner table. I don’t say that, though, because what I actually want is for this to get really personal. I don’t just want to share my body with him. ‘I don’t trust myself.’
His eyebrows jump up, surprised. ‘You don’t
trust yourself?’
I’m squirming, my eyes darting around the room, despite my desire to share this with him. It’s just finding the courage to form the words that I’ve refused to utter for so long.
‘Livy, how many times do we need to go through this? When I’m talking to you, you look at me. When I ask you a question, you answer.’ He takes my jaw gently and forces me to face him. ‘Why don’t you trust yourself?’
‘I’m a different person with alcohol in my system.’
‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’ He didn’t need to tell me that. His eyes are telling me all by themselves.
I feel my face flush, probably heating the tips of his fingers. ‘It doesn’t agree with me.’
‘Elaborate,’ he demands harshly, his lips pursed.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ I try to pull my face from his grip, suddenly not so keen to share a part of my personal, his approach to my news the reason for my change of heart. I don’t need to feel any more ashamed.
‘That was a question, Livy.’
‘No, that was an order,’ I snap defensively, managing to break free from his hold. ‘One that I’m choosing not to elaborate on.’
‘You’re being cagey.’
‘You’re being intrusive.’
He recoils a little but quickly gathers himself. ‘I’m being intuitive here, and I’m going to suggest that the only times you’ve had sex were when you were intoxicated.’
My colour deepens. ‘Your instincts are correct,’ I mutter. ‘Is that all, or would you like a run-by-run account of who, what, where and when?’
‘There’s no need for insolence.’
‘With you, Miller, there is.’
He narrows bright blues on me, but doesn’t scold me for my bad manners. ‘I want a run-by-run account.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘Your mother.’ Those words make me instantly stiffen, and by the look on his face, he’s noticed. ‘When I was forced to hide in your room, your grandmother mentioned your mother’s history.’
One Night: Promised Page 18
