‘Huh?’
‘Seasoning.’ He takes his place again, and his salad. ‘What if I required some extra seasoning on this’ – he glances down at the bowl doubtfully – ‘meal.’
I drop my bowl and collapse to my back in exasperation. The sky is blue and clear and I’d usually be captured by it, but the pleasant view is being hampered by a mind crammed with frustration. A picnic. That’s all.
‘What’s wrong, sweet girl?’ His face appears, hovering above me.
‘You!’ I accuse. ‘Quality time, that’s what you said, and this could be it if you’d stop being such a snob and enjoy the scenery, food and company.’
‘I love the company.’ He drops his mouth to mine and blindsides me with his worshipping, soft lips. ‘I’m merely pointing out the drawbacks of picnicking, the biggest drawback being unable to worship you.’
‘You couldn’t do that in a restaurant.’
‘I beg to differ.’ He cocks a suggestive eyebrow at me.
‘For being such a “gentleman”, sometimes your sexual etiquette is questionable.’ I wince at my careless words, but Miller doesn’t acknowledge them, choosing to nudge my thighs apart and cradle himself between them. I’m stunned. He’ll be a crumpled mess.
He clasps my cheeks and his nose meets mine. ‘For a sweet girl, sometimes your sweetness is questionable. Give me my thing.’
‘You’ll be all creased.’
‘I’ve asked once.’
I smile and waste no time embracing Miller’s momentary spontaneity and his body. Soaking up the weight of him, I inhale the fresh air that’s diluted by his scent. My eyes close and I bliss out completely, finally relishing in the quality time that I’ve been promised. He’s warm and soothing and all mine, and as I start to zone out, the hustle and bustle of Hyde Park fading into a distant hum, thoughts start tickling the edges of my contented mind – tickling for a nanosecond, before something so stupidly obvious wraps around my entire brain, leaving no room for contentment and making my relaxed body solidify beneath Miller. He senses it, because probing eyes are gazing up at me in a heartbeat.
‘Share with me,’ he says simply, smoothing my hair from my face.
I shake my head in his hold, hoping to shake away my uninvited thoughts.
And fail.
Miller’s face is close, but all I can see is a grubby, lost little boy. You can’t tell me that the child in the photograph ate like a king, and I know for sure there were no expensive threads adorning his young body, more rags instead.
‘Olivia?’ I detect concern in his tone. ‘Please, share your burden with me.’ There’s no evading him, even less so when he pushes himself up to his knees and pulls me to mine. We’re mirroring each other, our hands clasped and resting in his lap while he rubs gentle circles across my skin with his thumbs. ‘Olivia?’
I make a point of holding his eyes when I speak, searching for any mild reaction to my question. ‘Please tell me why everything needs to be so perfect.’
There’s nothing. No frown, no expression or telling signs in his eyes. He’s perfectly composed. ‘We’ve had this discussion before, and I’m certain we agreed that we’d exhausted that subject.’
‘No, you told me that the subject was exhausted.’ It wasn’t exhausted at all, and now my horrible thought process is stamping all over my conclusions. He’s ashamed of his upbringing. He wants to eradicate it all from his memory. He wants to hide it.
‘For good reason.’ He drops my hands and looks away from me, searching for something to do other than face me and my pressing questions. He settles on messing with his suit jacket, smoothing the already immaculately folded garment.
‘And what is that reason?’ My heart breaks when he glances at me out of the corner of his eye, caution on his handsome face. ‘Miller, what is that reason?’ I inch towards him slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal, and rest my hand on his forearm. He looks down, frozen in position, clearly in a muddle. I’m patient. I’ve drawn my conclusion, yet I’m unable to share it with him. He’ll know I’ve snooped, and I want him to volunteer this information about his history. Share it with me.
It’s merely seconds, but it feels like an eternity, before he shakes himself back to life and stands, leaving my hand falling to the blanket and my eyes looking up at him. He takes his jacket and slips it on, buttoning it fast before pulling at the sleeves. ‘Because it was exhausted,’ he says, insulting my intelligence with his pathetic brush-off. ‘I need to go to Ice.’
‘Right,’ I sigh, and start to collect the remnants of our brief picnic, piling the rubbish into a carrier bag. ‘Actually, no.’ I toss the bag aside and stand, getting up close and personal with Miller’s tall frame. I must look tiny and fragile next to him, but my resolve is huge. He’s constantly demanding I share my burdens, yet he’s happy to shoulder his own. ‘I’m not coming to Ice,’ I say, drilling holes into him, knowing he won’t go without me. Not after this morning. He wants to keep me close, which is fine by me, but not at Ice.
‘I beg to differ,’ he snorts, but his tone is lacking its usual confidence and in an attempt to show he means business, he takes my neck and tries to turn me.
‘Miller, I said no!’ I shrug him off, anger and frustration afflicting me, and hit him with burning eyes of determination. ‘I’m not coming.’ I sit down again, kick my flip-flops off and collapse to my back, swapping the blue of Miller’s eyes for the blue of the sky. ‘I’m going to enjoy some quiet time in the park. You can go to Ice alone.’ I’ll kick and scream if he tries to manhandle me.
I take my arms behind my head and keep my eyes on the sky, sensing him fidgeting over me. He doesn’t know what to do. He loves my sass, supposedly. Bet he doesn’t now. I settle in for the show, getting comfy, determined not to budge, and find my thoughts drifting back to what had my sass rearing its ugly head in the first place. Miller and his perfect world. My conclusion is simple, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. He had a poor upbringing, with shabby rags for clothes, and now he’s obsessive about wearing the finest threads he can buy.
How he came to have the money to buy the millions of suits of armour he possesses is irrelevant. Kind of. Not at all. My conclusion has only led to more questions – questions I dare not ask, not for fear of upsetting him, but for fear of what the answer might be. How did he come to be in ‘this world’? That house was a children’s home. Miller has spoken of no parents and confirmed there is only him. He’s an orphan. My fussy, fine, perfect Miller has been alone for ever. My heart’s breaking for him.
I’m so lost in my sobering thoughts I jump a little when a warm hardness is suddenly pressing into my side. My head falls to the side to find his eyes. He’s snuggled right in and after laying a gentle kiss on my cheek, he rests his head on my shoulder and slides his arm over my stomach.
‘I want to be with you,’ he whispers. His actions and his words have my arms relinquishing cushion duties for my head and wrapping around him where I can. ‘Every minute of every day, I want to be with you.’
My smile is sad, because having reached my assumption, I know that Miller hasn’t had a someone before. ‘Us,’ I confirm, squeezing some comfort into him. ‘I love your bones, Miller Hart.’
‘And I’m deeply fascinated by you, Olivia Taylor.’
I squeeze him harder. We lie on the fleece blanket for ever, Miller humming and painting pictures across my midriff with the tip of his finger, me just feeling him, listening to him, smelling him, and giving him his thing. It is quality time, and it’s the most blissful quality time imaginable.
‘This has been nice,’ he muses, pushing up onto his elbow, resting his perfectly stubbled chin in his palm. He continues to trace faint lines across my tummy, observing his tender motions thoughtfully. I’m happy to watch him. It’s unbelievably pleasurable, total heaven. We’re captured in our own private moment, surrounded by the ramblings of Hyde Park and the d
istant chaos of London by day. Yet totally alone. ‘Are you chilly?’ He looks up at me, then skates his gaze down my little floral dress. The evening is drawing in and a light breeze is whipping up. I look up to the sky and note a few grey clouds slowly drifting over.
‘I’m okay, but it looks like rain is on its way.’
Miller follows my eyes to the sky and sighs. ‘And London casts its black shadow,’ he muses to himself, so quietly I almost don’t hear him. But I did hear him, and I know there’s a deeper meaning to that statement. I draw breath to speak but think better of it, and he pushes himself to his feet before I can ask, anyway. ‘Give me your hand.’
I take his offering and let him pull me effortlessly to my feet. He’s creased as hell, but apparently not too bothered by it. ‘Can we do this again sometime?’ I ask as I gather up our half-finished salads and place them in a bag.
Miller sets about folding the blanket into a tidy bundle. ‘Of course,’ he agrees gladly, with no trace of unwillingness. He really has enjoyed himself, and that warms my contented heart further. ‘I really must stop by the club.’ My delicate shoulders sag and Miller spots it. ‘I’ll be quick,’ he assures me, moving in and dipping to brush our lips lightly. ‘I promise.’
Refusing to let anything more spoil our quality time, I link arms with him and let him walk us across the grass until we hit the pathway. ‘Can I stay with you tonight?’ I’m feeling guilty for my regular absence from home, but I know Nan’s not in the least bit bothered by it, and I’ll call her as soon as we’re back at Miller’s.
‘Livy, you stay with me whenever you choose. You don’t have to ask.’
‘I shouldn’t leave Nan alone.’
He laughs lightly, pulling my eyes up his chest to his face. ‘Your grandmother would put the most ferocious guard dog to shame.’
I return his amusement and rest my head on his arm as we amble along. ‘I concur.’
A strong arm wraps around my shoulder and hugs me to his side. ‘If you’d prefer me to take you home, then I will.’
‘But I want to stay with you.’
‘And I’d love to have you in my bed.’
‘I’ll call Nan as soon as we’re back at your place,’ I affirm, making a point to remember to ask her if she minds, even though I know for sure that she doesn’t.
‘Okay,’ he agrees on a little laugh.
‘Oh, there’s a bin.’ I rustle the bags in my hand and head over to the bin, but my stride falters when I spot a sorrowful-looking man slumped on the bench nearby. He looks tatty, dirty and vacant – one of the many homeless people who frequent the streets of London. My pace to the litter bin slows as I watch him twitching, and I conclude very quickly that drugs or alcohol are probably the cause. Human nature stokes the compassion within me, and when he raises empty eyes to mine, I stop walking completely. I stare at the man, who’s probably barely a man – late teens, perhaps, but life on the streets has taken its toll. His skin is sallow, his lips dry.
‘Spare any change, miss?’ he croaks at me, yanking tighter at my heartstrings. It’s not uncommon to be asked such a question, and I usually find it reasonably easy to walk on by, especially since Nan reminds me every time that by lining their pockets with money, you’re also probably funding their drug or drink habit. But this dishevelled young man with scruffy, ripped clothes and disintegrating sneakers is reminding me of something, and I can’t seem to push my legs on.
After spending far too long staring at him, his open palm extends towards me, snapping me from my miserable thoughts and the flashbacks of a lost-looking child. ‘Miss?’ he repeats.
‘I’m sorry.’ I shake my head and continue, but as I lift the bag to drop it into the bin, a warm palm wraps around my wrist and holds it firm.
‘Wait.’ Miller’s low timbre strokes my skin and pulls my eyes to his. Without another word, he claims the bag and takes the two half-eaten salads out, then places the carrier in the rubbish bin before turning and striding over to the homeless man. I watch in astonished silence as Miller reaches him and drops to his haunches, handing the two bowls over, followed by the fleece blanket. Tentative hands accept Miller’s offering and a heavy head nods its thanks. Tears pinch at the back of my eyes and very nearly fall when my perfect part-time gentleman lays a palm on the man’s knee and rubs a reassuring circle into the dirty leg of his jeans. Miller’s actions are delicate, caring and knowing. They are the actions of someone who understands. He’s telling me his story slowly, but with no words. They are not needed. His actions speak volumes, and I’m shocked by them, but most of all saddened.
That lost little boy was still lost.
Until I found him.
I watch closely as Miller rises to his full height and slips his hands into the pockets of his expensive suit trousers, then slowly turns to face me. He just stands there, regarding me carefully as I draw another gut-wrenching conclusion. An orphan? Homeless? I bite painfully on my lip, anything to prevent the threatening sorrow from gushing from my eyes at the sight of my beautifully broken man.
‘Don’t cry,’ he murmurs, closing the distance between us.
I shake my head, feeling silly. ‘I’m sorry.’
My forehead meets the crook under his chin when he’s near enough, holding my distraught body up, and strong arms surround me in his safety. ‘Give him money and he’ll likely buy drugs, alcohol or cigarettes,’ he tells me quietly. ‘Give him food and a blanket, then he’ll sate his hunger and keep warm.’ He kisses the top of my head and breaks away from me, quickly wiping the stream of tears trailing down my cheeks. ‘Do you know how many lost children there are on the streets of London, Olivia?’
I shake my head a little.
‘It’s not all opulence and grandeur. This city is beautiful, but tainted by a dark underworld.’
I absorb his quiet words, feeling ignorant and incredibly guilty. I know he speaks the truth. And I know because not only have I skimmed the edge of it, but also because Miller has been immersed in it his whole life.
His eyes remain focused on mine, a million messages passing between us. Him telling me. And me understanding. ‘I’ve had a wonderful afternoon, thank you.’ He ghosts my eyebrow with his thumb and leans in to kiss my forehead.
‘Me too.’
He smiles and takes his customary hold of my neck, turning me and taking us towards the exit of Hyde Park. ‘We’re going to get caught in the coming downpour if we’re not careful,’ he says, looking up to the sky.
Following his indication, I see the grey clouds have now turned black, and then the huge splash of a fat raindrop on my cheek confirms that Miller is probably right. ‘We’d better run,’ I say quietly. Miller’s suit is already a pile of creases. Sodden material to boot will tip him over the edge.
And with that thought, the heavens open.
‘Oh shit!’ I gasp as I’m suddenly pelted with cold, giant raindrops. ‘Bloody hell!’ It’s relentless, pounding the ground at our feet and splashing up our legs, the sound deafening.
‘Run!’ Miller shouts, but I’m so shocked by the sudden chilliness attacking me, I can’t figure out if he’s alarmed or laughing. But I do run. Fast. Miller grabs my hand and pulls me, and I look up through my wet hair to see his dark waves flattened against his head, water beads coating his face and emphasising his long, dark lashes.
The sight makes me stop dead in my tracks and causes Miller to lose grip of my wet hand, our skin slipping apart. He skids to a halt and turns the most incredibly bright blues onto me. ‘Olivia, come on.’ He’s saturated, wet through, totally drowned. He looks obscenely handsome, if a little panicked.
‘Kiss me,’ I demand, remaining static, ignoring the pounding of rain that’s now making my flesh numb from the cold.
His stunning brow furrows. It makes me smile. ‘What?’
‘I said kiss me!’ I shout over the thundering rain, wondering if he really di
dn’t catch it.
He laughs a little, widening his stance, and then casts his eyes around us and relaxes in his standing pose. I keep my eyes on him. Nothing will pull them away. I wait for Miller to absorb our surroundings, now unbothered and unaffected by the relentless rain.
It’s only a few moments before glimmering blue eyes return to me.
‘Don’t make me ask again,’ I warn, and then take the longest inhale of breath when he strides towards me, conviction and a ton of pure, raw love overflowing from his mesmerising orbs. He lifts me up, squeezes me to his wet suit, and takes me dramatically. His palm slides to the back of my head to hold me in place and my legs part and find their way around his waist. It’s a no-holds-barred, passionate kiss – full of want, lust, adoration, and comfort, and it signifies everything I feel for Miller Hart.
Our wet lips slip across each other with ease, our tongues battle furiously but gently, and my palms encase his neck, my body pushing into his. I could kiss him for ever like this. The cold has been chased away by the heat of our mingling bodies, leaving no room for discomfort, just acres of space for serenity.
I have that serenity, and I know Miller does, too.
‘You taste even better in the rain,’ he says between our hectic tongues, not prepared to stop. ‘Jesus, fucking divine.’
‘Hmmm.’ I could never find any words to describe how he’s making me feel right now. There are none. So I show him by hardening my kiss and squeezing him tighter.
‘Savoured,’ he mumbles weakly. I hum again as he slows our kiss until our tongues are barely moving. ‘It turns out that I can worship you in Hyde Park.’ He pecks my lips and pushes my wet hair from my face.
‘Not to your full ability.’ I keep myself coiled around his drenched body. I’m not ready to let go yet.
‘I concur.’ He turns and starts an unhurried stride out of the park as the rain continues to beat down. ‘So I need to get finished at the club and get you home so I can show you my full ability.’
I nod and bury my face in his neck, letting him carry me back to the car.
One Night: Denied Page 29
