One Night: Promised

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  ‘I’m an amateur in the gym compared to Ben. We’re talking every day, sassy lady.’

  ‘Are you going to go over?’ I ask.

  ‘No.’ He almost laughs. ‘I don’t do the chasing, Livy.’

  ‘But you’ve been on dates. He invited you and put you on the guest list.’

  ‘Yes, he’s chasing.’

  ‘Playing hard to get?’

  ‘Treat them mean and all that.’ He places his fingertip on the base of my glass and applies a little pressure. ‘You’ll get that strawberry now.’

  I look down and find I’ve sipped my way through my first glass and I can, indeed, get to the strawberry. I tilt and sigh as I sink my teeth into the sweet fruit. ‘Delicious.’ Just like the ones . . .

  ‘Another?’ He doesn’t wait for my answer. He takes my hand and leads me to the bar, which is a giant plank of clear glass, displaying bottles of champagne on ice beneath. ‘Two more.’ He signals to the waiter, who swiftly presents Gregory with two full glasses, before our empties are taken and I’m being led away.

  ‘Don’t you have to pay?’

  ‘Launch night. It’s all free, but don’t get too carried away.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Oh, he’s spotted us.’ Gregory starts to mildly fidget, and I look across the bar, finding Ben on his way over, smiling brightly. ‘Remember, sassy lady. It’s Greg.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I say, keeping my eyes on Ben’s big frame approaching.

  ‘Greg,’ Ben says formally when he arrives. ‘Glad you could make it.’ He extends his hand and Gregory takes it, shaking firmly.

  ‘Good to see you,’ my friend replies, dropping Ben’s hand and shoving his in his pocket. ‘This is Livy.’

  I can’t help my brow from wrinkling in confusion. ‘Hi.’

  ‘The famous Livy.’ He leans in and kisses my cheek. ‘Thank you for coming.’ He pulls away, and I get my first proper look at him as I focus on his face and not his formal actions or bulked physique. He’s handsome in a rugged kind of way.

  ‘Thank you for inviting me.’

  ‘No problem.’ He slaps Gregory on the shoulder. ‘I wish I could talk a bit more, mate, but there are a million people here to speak to. Maybe later?’

  ‘Later.’ Gregory nods.

  ‘Great.’ Ben smiles warmly at me. ‘Pleasure to meet you, Livy.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say quietly, flicking my eyes from one man to the other before watching Ben’s back disappear into the crowd. ‘He’s not come out!’ I swing my body towards Gregory. ‘No one knows he’s gay!’

  ‘Shhhh,’ Gregory hisses. ‘He’s waiting for the right time.’

  I’m stunned. Gregory has been upfront and honest about his sexuality ever since he came out in high school, and he’s ridiculed those who haven’t been true to themselves. ‘These dates: you didn’t go out at all, did you?’

  Gregory refuses to meet my eyes, his fidgeting becoming less mild. He looks downright uncomfortable. ‘No,’ he replies quietly.

  My heart squeezes a little for my best friend. This is no different from a woman seeing a married man, who constantly assures her that he’ll leave his wife for her. And my role tonight is suddenly too clear. What a shitbag! ‘How old is he?’ I ask.

  ‘Twenty-seven.’

  ‘How long has he known himself?’ I press, not liking what I’m hearing.

  ‘He says he’s always known.’

  Gregory’s answer only cements it for me. If he’s always known and he still hasn’t revealed his true sexual status, then what makes Gregory think that he will now? I don’t say that, though, because judging by the look on my friend’s face, he’s already asked himself that question. Gregory doesn’t act camp or feel the need to display his sexual preference for all to see, but he’s not ashamed of it, either. After spending just a minute with Ben, I can tell it’s not the case for him, and when I look across the bar and see him making an over-the-top display of greeting a woman, my thoughts are only confirmed.

  I glance back to Gregory and see that his line of sight is pointed that way too, and in an attempt to distract him, I ask for another drink by waving my empty glass under his nose.

  ‘More?’

  ‘It’s going down very well.’ I go to hand my glass over, but quickly notice the strawberry. ‘Oh, wait.’ I tilt and catch the fruit, then give up my glass.

  While Gregory fetches more drinks, I wander over to the glass-panelled gallery and lean over, observing the masses of well-groomed men and chicly dressed women below. This place is an exclusive, high-end club and reserved only for London’s elite. This should make me feel even more uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. I’m just glad I came, because with Ben avoiding Gregory in public places, he would’ve been floating around on his own like a plum.

  ‘Here.’ A flute appears over my shoulder. ‘What are you looking at?’

  ‘All of these rich people.’ I turn around and rest my bum against the glass. ‘Is it a private club?’

  Gregory laughs. ‘What do you think?’

  I hum my acknowledgement. ‘And Ben organised the opening?’

  ‘Yes, he’s renowned in his field.’ He leans his elbows on a tall glass table close by. ‘Don’t you notice it?’ he asks.

  I look around. ‘Notice what?’

  ‘The looks.’ He nods to a group of men close by, all staring over at us, not bothering to hide their interest, even though I have male company. Gregory could be my boyfriend for all they know.

  I turn my back on them and find Gregory still looking over at the group, but for a whole different reason. ‘Stop gawking,’ I say, taking another sip of champagne.

  ‘Sorry.’ His eyes land on me. ‘Shall we go and explore?’

  ‘Yes, let’s.’

  ‘Come on, then.’ He straightens and places his palm in the small of my back to lead me.

  On our way up a flight of glass stairs, I look down to the bottom floor and notice Ben has gone, and I wonder whether that’s why we’re on the move.

  ‘There’s a garden bar,’ Gregory tells me.

  ‘Then why are we going up?’

  ‘It’s on the roof.’ He directs me to the left and up some more stairs, where a wall of glass comes into view, and beyond, London by night in all of its glory.

  ‘Oh wow!’ I breathe. ‘Look at that!’

  ‘Impressive, eh?’

  It’s more than impressive. ‘Would you de-friend me if I took pictures?’ I ask, ready to hand him my drink so I can riffle through my bag for my phone.

  ‘Yes, I would. Let’s just do what everyone else is doing – drink and enjoy the view.’

  I feel cheated, wanting to snap away just in case my memory doesn’t store an accurate image of what I’m looking at. I’m used to London, its architecture and its grandeur, but I’ve never seen it looking quite like this. ‘So how did you meet Ben?’ I ask, tearing my eyes away from the stunning view. Gregory gestures around us with a how’d-ya-think look all over his handsome face, and for the first time, I take in the garden where we’ve landed. I gasp a little. ‘You did this?’

  ‘I did.’ His chest swells proudly. ‘Designed it, created it, and finished it. It’s my best project to date.’

  ‘It’s incredible,’ I muse, starting to absorb all of the little but significant details – the small touches that really bring it to life. The side walls are nothing more than compacted box plants, the tiny leaves lush and green, with ice-blue twinkle lights embedded in the shrubbery. And the topiary trees are all trimmed into neat circles with lights woven through the foliage. ‘Is the grass real?’ I ask, padding my feet and noticing my heels aren’t sinking in.

  ‘No, it’s imitation, but so authentic you’d never know.’

  ‘It is,’ I agree. ‘I love the furniture.’

  ‘Hmmm. The theme was ice, as you’ve probably gathered. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to create a lush, functional outside space on that brief, but I’m pretty pleased.’

  ‘You should be.’ I re
ach up and kiss his cheek. ‘It’s fabulous, just like you.’

  ‘Stop it,’ he laughs. ‘You’re making me blush.’

  I giggle with him, and then cast my eyes over to take another hit of the outlook, but my eyes don’t make it to the open air and view beyond because they find Ben first. And they find him stuck to a woman’s mouth. I wince and quickly try to work out my best move, but I can think of nothing except downing my fresh drink and shoving it in Gregory’s face.

  ‘Another?’ he asks incredulously. ‘Calm down, Livy.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I assure him, taking his elbow, but he doesn’t shift, and as I glance up, I see that he’s found what I’m trying to get him away from. ‘Greg?’ His eyes slowly fall to mine, and I see too much misery to take the softly-softly approach, so I tug at him until he’s forced to move. ‘Let’s get a drink.’

  ‘Yes, let’s.’ He grinds the words out, shifting his arms from my grip and taking my hand.

  I’m led with purpose back down the two flights of stairs and to the bar where Gregory orders two champagnes. In the short time that we’ve been away, the atmosphere has cranked up a few notches and people are starting to move to the round dance floor, drinks in hand. The music seems louder, too, and there’s definitely a shift in the reserved environment as the champagne flows freely – and for free – and Daft Punk, featuring Pharrell Williams, pumps through the speakers.

  ‘Drink up.’ Gregory doesn’t pass me just a flute this time. It’s a shot, and my eyes dart to his. ‘Come on,’ he pleads.

  My reluctance is clear. I’ve had a few glasses of champagne and I feel okay, but that shouldn’t be a green light to start throwing shots down my neck. ‘Greg . . .’

  ‘Come on. I won’t let anything happen, Livy,’ he assures me, and stupidly or not, I take the glass and knock it with his before tipping the contents down my throat. The burn is instant and so is the reminder of all the times I’ve drunk before.

  I gasp and slam my shot glass down before taking the flute and downing the more pleasant champagne. ‘That was nasty.’

  ‘That was tequila, but you forgot the salt and lemon.’ He holds up a salt shaker and a wedge of fresh lemon before carrying out the practice the right way, licking the back of his hand, sprinkling the salt, licking again, downing the liquid, and sinking his teeth into the wedge. ‘It’s much better this way.’

  ‘You should’ve stopped me,’ I complain, struggling to rid my mouth of the rancid taste.

  ‘You didn’t give me a chance,’ he laughs. ‘Let’s do another.’ He orders another and this time I see through the sequence correctly, following Greg’s lead.

  I shudder at the lingering flavour, but then I’m shuddering for a whole other reason when a familiar beat takes over the current track. I instantly look to see Gregory’s wide, delighted eyes.

  ‘Carte Blanche,’ I whisper, my mind bombarded with memories of Gregory creating a disco in my bedroom all of the times I refused to go to an actual club.

  ‘How apt,’ Gregory confirms, a grin spreading across his face. ‘“Veracocha”! Our tune, baby girl!’ We both down another champagne before my hand is grasped and I’m being dragged to the floor. I don’t object. I wouldn’t. Gregory’s smiling, and after what has just transpired, this is a good thing.

  He pushes us through the crowd until we’re joining the flurry of other dancers who all appreciate the classic anthem as much as we do. Strobe lighting darts around us, flitting across the faces of people and intensifying my feel-good mood. We both slip into the groove, hands in the air, bodies swaying, twisting and twirling each other around the floor, laughing as we do. It’s a novelty and a good one. I’m having fun.

  Gregory pulls me into his chest and puts his mouth to my ear so I can hear him over the music and cheering. ‘I’m giving it three minutes for a bloke to move in on you.’

  ‘I’m dancing with a man,’ I laugh. ‘He’d have to be pretty cocksure.’

  ‘Give me a break,’ he scoffs. ‘We’re clearly not dating.’

  I’m about to disagree, but I see Ben approaching behind Gregory, smiling and greeting people as he passes through the dance-floor crowd. I want to drag my friend away, but I’m also curious how this will play out. Ben doesn’t know that we saw him, and I’m wondering how Gregory will handle it. Breaking away from him, I move back, ensuring I keep my smile and Gregory’s attention.

  As Ben nears, I watch him studying Gregory’s body discreetly, still greeting people, still smiling. There’s no mistaking the intended body contact as he passes my friend, his arm sliding around his waist in a subtle gesture made to look like he’s trying to pass without bumping into him, but the look on Ben’s face is screaming desire and the sudden shift in Gregory from easy, fluid movements to stiff awkwardness is obvious. Will he push him away or give him a dirty look?

  No. He loosens up immediately when he sees Ben and falls right back into his previous ease as the tracks slows momentarily before dramatically cranking up ten gears and blasting the clubbers into complete elation. We’re in a triangle, both Ben and Gregory smiling and dancing, but the sexual sparks flying off each man is tangible. They’re not touching, nor are they looking at each other all lusty, but it’s there and it’s obvious. Ben is playing it risky.

  Gregory moves towards me, smiling. ‘There’s a man about to take hold of you.’

  ‘Is there?’ I go to turn, but I’m stopped when Gregory grabs my shoulders.

  ‘Trust me on this. Let him.’ He fans his face and releases me, and I tense from top to toe, bracing myself. Gregory has great taste in men, but shouldn’t I at least get a say in who takes hold of me? Or should I just let this happen – stay in control, but let it happen?

  It’s his hips I feel first, pushing into my lower back. Then there’s his hand sliding around my stomach. My moves fall straight into his set pace without thought, and my hand rests over his on my navel. Gregory is smiling brightly, but I have no compulsion to turn and get a glimpse of my dance partner because – probably due to the alcohol – he feels good . . . comfortable . . . right.

  My eyes close when I feel hot breath at my ear. ‘Sweet girl, you’ve floored me.’

  Chapter 17

  I’m very suddenly aware of internal sparks firing off wildly. I gasp, my eyes flying open, and I try to turn, getting absolutely nowhere. His groin pushes into my lower back, his grip of my waist firming up, as is what’s beneath his trousers. I’ve been thrown into panic, all the feelings that he provokes attacking me relentlessly.

  ‘Don’t try to escape me,’ he whispers. ‘I won’t let it happen this time.’

  ‘Miller, let me go.’

  ‘Over my dead body.’ He sweeps my hair to one side and wastes no time getting his lips on my neck, injecting fire through my flesh, straight into my bloodstream. ‘Your dress is very short.’

  ‘And?’ I breathe, digging my fingernails into his arm.

  ‘And I like it.’ His hand slides over my hip, onto my bum and down to the hem of my dress. ‘Because it means I can do this.’ He kisses my neck, skating his hand under my dress and pushing his finger past the seam of my knickers. My bottom flies back on a small cry, colliding with his groin. He bites my neck. ‘You’re drenched.’

  ‘Stop it,’ I beg, feeling all rationality running away from me under his touch.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please, stop it, stop it, stop, it.’

  ‘No . . . he breathes. ‘No . . . He circles his groin confidently. ‘No, Livy.’

  His finger enters me and my face distorts with a mixture of pleasure and desperation, my internal muscles grabbing onto him. My head is drifting to one side, letting him at me, and the fingers of my hand resting over his are squeezing hard, prompting his palm to shift and his fingers to lace through mine, constricting firmly. I know I’m falling, and through my desperate desire I look for Gregory for help. But he’s gone.

  And so is Ben.

  Fury flames, Gregory’s promise to not let anything happen only sto
king it further. He’s let something happen, and he’s let it happen with the worst man. I struggle in Miller’s hold until he’s left little option but to release me or manhandle me to the floor, and I swing around, my hair whipping my face. I glare at him, ignoring his impossible beauty. He’s in his usual finery, minus the jacket, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up in the most casual, unlike-Miller fashion. His waistcoat is still buttoned, though, and his hair is a stunning mop of waves. His piercing blue eyes are stabbing at my flesh accusingly.

  ‘I said no,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘Not now, not for four hours, not ever.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he retorts confidently, stepping forward. ‘You might be repeatedly saying the word no, Olivia Taylor. But this . . .’ he runs his fingertip over my breast and onto my stomach, forcing me to gulp down air to control my shakes, ‘this is always telling me yes.’

  My legs are in motion before my brain sends any instruction, which quickly makes me conclude that this is natural instinct. Escape. Get away before I lose my mind and my integrity and let him cast me aside again. I find myself at the bar before I’ve even registered what direction I’m headed in. I order a drink, quickly taking it from the barman’s hand and turning as I take a swig.

  Miller is standing right in front of me. His jaw is tense as he nods over my shoulder to the barman. Then, as if by magic, a tumbler is passed over my shoulder into Miller’s waiting hand. My gaze falls to his lips as he takes a slow sip while he watches me, as if he knows what that mouth does to me. I’m mesmerised by it. Totally rapt. Then he licks his lips and not knowing what else to do, but knowing that I’m likely to kiss him if I remain here, I run again, this time up the stairs and around the galleried walkway, looking through the glass for any sign of Gregory. I need to find him, the stupid pain in the arse that he is.

  I’m so busy looking for my friend in the space below I don’t notice where I’m going and walk straight into a body. The sharp angles of the chest under the shirt and waistcoat are too familiar. ‘Livy, what are you doing?’ he asks, almost tiredly, like I’m fighting a losing battle. I fear I might be.