One Night: Promised Part 13

I smile, knowing my best friend is talking complete sense. 'I do.'

Gregory nods and winks, sitting back in his chair, just as my phone starts ringing from my bag. I grab my satchel from the chair next to me and start rummaging through.

'That'll be Nan,' I moan. 'She's driving me loopy.'

Gregory laughs, prompting a sn.i.g.g.e.r from me, too, but I soon halt my happy t.i.ttering when I note the caller's not Nan. My wide eyes fly to Gregory's.

He soon stops laughing, too. 'Is it him?'

I nod, glancing back down to the screen, my thumb hovering over the b.u.t.ton that'll connect me to Miller. 'I've not returned his call.'

'Be wise, baby girl.'

Be wise. Be wise. Be wise. I take a deep breath and answer. 'h.e.l.lo.'

'Olivia?'

'Miller,' I counter coldly and calmly, despite my speeding heart rate. The slow, rounded p.r.o.nunciation of my name spikes a vivid image of his slow-moving lips.

'We need to pick up where we left off. I have an engagement to keep this evening, but I'll keep tomorrow free.' He sounds formal and short, making my heart race that little bit more, but more out of irritation than desire. What am I, a business transaction?

'No, thank you.'

'It wasn't a question, Livy. I'm telling you that you'll be spending the day with me tomorrow.'

'That's very kind of you, but I'm afraid I have plans.' I sound hesitant when I was aiming for sureness. I'm aware that Gregory is watching and listening intently, and I'm glad because I'm certain that if he wasn't here to monitor the conversation, then I'd be agreeing. Hearing his smooth voice, even though there's no element of friendliness to it, is bringing back all of the feelings that came before the anger of being abandoned.

'Cancel them.'

'I can't.'

'For me, you can.'

'No, I can't.' I hang up before I cave and quickly turn my phone off. 'Done,' I declare, shoving it in my bag.

'Good girl. You know it makes sense.' Gregory smiles across the table at me. 'Drink up and I'll walk you home.'

We say goodbye on the corner, Gregory heading off to get ready for a night out, me to go and hide in my bedroom from my prying grandmother. As I'm inserting my key quietly into the lock, the door swings open and two pairs of old eyes look at me with interest Nan trying to read me, George peering over her shoulder with a mild grin on his face. I can only imagine what's gone down in this house since I left this morning and George arrived. He'll do anything for Nan, including listening to her harp on about her boring, withdrawn granddaughter. Except this time I'm not boring. And George's delight at this news is written all over his round face.

'Your phone's off,' Nan fires accusingly. 'Why?'

My arms drop to my sides on an over-the-top sigh before I push my way past them, heading toward the kitchen. 'The battery died.'

Her scoff indicates her thoughts on that lie as she tracks me. 'Your boss stopped by.'

I swing around, horrified, finding straight lips and George still grinning over her shoulder. 'My boss?' I ask tentatively, my d.a.m.n heart pounding against my chest.

'Yes, your real boss.' She watches for my reaction and she won't be disappointed. I'm trying my hardest not to, but I'm blus.h.i.+ng furiously and my body has completely sagged. 'Nice c.o.c.kney man.'

'What did he want?' I breathe, gathering myself together.

'He's been trying to call you.' She fills the kettle and signals for George to sit, which he does without delay, still grinning at me. 'Something about a charity gala this evening.'

'He wants me to work?' I ask hopefully, retrieving my phone and quickly turning it on.

'Yes.' She continues with tea-making duties, her back to me. 'I did point out that it might be too much after your long s.h.i.+ft yesterday evening.'

I'm scowling hard at her back, and I know George's grin has just widened. 'Give it a rest, Nan,' I warn, stabbing at the b.u.t.tons of my phone. She doesn't turn around and she doesn't answer. She's made her point, as have I.

Putting my phone to my ear, I take the stairs to escape to the sanctuary of my room. Del needs me to waitress this evening and I accept eagerly, before I'm told where to be and when. I'll do anything to distract myself.

Pus.h.i.+ng my way through the staff entrance of the hotel, I'm immediately greeted by a pacing Sylvie. She's on me like a wolf, like I knew she would be. 'Tell me everything!'

I walk past her, heading for the kitchen. 'There's nothing to tell.' I brush her off, reluctant to confirm that she was right. I take my ap.r.o.n from a smiling Del and start putting it on. 'Thank you.'

He hands one to Sylvie, too, who s.n.a.t.c.hes it and doesn't thank our boss. 'So you told him where to go?'

'Yes,' I say very convincingly, probably because it's part truth. I have, in effect, told him where to go. I start loading my round silver tray with gla.s.ses. 'So you can quit with the nagging because there's nothing to nag me about.'

'Oh,' she says placidly, starting to help me. 'Well, I'm glad. He's an arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

I neither deny nor confirm it, instead opting to change the subject completely. I'm supposed to be busying my wandering mind, not feeding it. 'Did you go out last night?'

'Yes, and I still feel like c.r.a.p,' she admits, pouring the champagne. 'My body has craved junk food all day, and I necked something close to two litres of fat c.o.ke.'

'That bad?'

'Horrendous. I'm not drinking again . . . until next week.'

I laugh. 'What makes you bad . . .'

'Don't! The smell of this is turning my stomach.' She gags and holds her nose as she continues to fill the flutes. It's only now that I take a good look at her, noticing her usually s.h.i.+ny black bob looks a little dull, as do her usually rosy cheeks. 'I know. I look like s.h.i.+t.'

I return to the tray. 'You really do,' I admit.

'And I feel worse than I look.'

Del appears, looking his usual happy self. 'Girls, we have members of parliament in tonight and a few diplomats. I know I don't have to tell you, but remember your manners.' He looks at Sylvie when he speaks, frowning. 'You really do look like c.r.a.p.'

'Yes, yes, I know. Don't worry. I won't breathe on them,' she quips, breathing onto her palm and smelling. I grimace, watching her face screw up in disgust before she rootles through her pocket and shoves a Polo mint in her mouth.

'Don't speak unless necessary.' Del shakes his head, leaving me and Sylvie to finish up with the champagne and transfer the canapes from the Tupperware to the trays.

'All set?' Sylvie asks, swinging her tray onto her shoulder.

'Lead the way.'

'Great. Let's feed and water some elitists,' she grumbles, smiling sweetly at Del when he throws her a cautionary look. 'Would you prefer sn.o.bs?'

He points his finger at her, fighting a fond smile. 'No, I'd prefer to have enough staff so I didn't have to resort to drafting you in. Get your a.r.s.e in gear.'

'Yes, sir!' She salutes him seriously and marches on, me following behind, laughing.

I don't get very far, though. And my laughing is sucked up in a second.

His face is impa.s.sive as he watches me, while I'm frozen on the spot, body shaking, pulse racing. But he seems completely composed, the only clue of his thoughts being how closely he's studying me.

'No,' I whisper to myself, trying to gain control of my shaking tray as I reverse my steps, backing up into the kitchen. He's with that woman, and she's adorned in cream silk and dripping with diamonds, her hand glued to his a.r.s.e, her smiling face beaming at him dreamily. Business? I feel sick sick with jealousy, sick with pain and sick with delight at how beautiful he looks in a taupe three-piece suit. His flawlessness defies reality on every level.

'Livy?' Del's concerned voice seeps into my ears and his hands rest gently on my shoulders from behind. 'You okay, sweetheart?'

'Pardon?' I rip my eyes away from the painful sight across the room, and turn blankly towards my boss, registering a face to match the concern in his voice.

'Christ, Livy, you're as white as a ghost.' He takes the tray from me and feels my forehead. 'And you're cold.'

I need to leave. I can't work all night in the close proximity of Miller, especially with her draped all over him, and definitely not after last night. I'm s.h.i.+fting on the spot, my eyes darting all over the place, my heart showing no sign of letting up. 'I think I might have to leave,' I whisper pitifully.

'Yes, go home.' Del ushers me through the kitchen and shoves my satchel in my arms. 'Get in bed and sweat it out.'

I nod lamely, just as Sylvie comes steaming into the kitchen with a tray full of empties, her wide eyes looking frantic and worried, even more so when she clocks my pathetic, sweating form. Her mouth opens to speak but I shake my head, not wanting her to give me away. What will Del think if he finds out that I'm in this pickle because of a man?

'You'll have to work that little bit harder, Sylvie. I'm sending Livy home. She's feeling ill.' Del turns me and pushes my shaking body towards the exit.

I glance over my shoulder, giving Sylvie an apologetic smile, grateful when she brushes off my guilt with a dismissive wave of her hand. 'Hope you feel better,' she calls.

I'm sent to the mews at the back of the hotel, where deliveries are taken and the staff pop out to smoke. It's dusk and the air is heavy, just like my heart. Finding a step away from the chaos of the loading bays, I lower my backside and slump my head onto my knees, attempting to calm myself down before I drag my feet home. Forgetting my encounters with Miller Hart and the feelings I had during those encounters might be easier if I never have to see him again, but it's going to be impossible if he's around every corner that I turn.

Returning to solitary confinement seems like my best option, but I've been teased, fed something new and appealing, and I want more. The important question, though the question I should ask and consider seriously is whether I'm hungry for more with just Miller, or if I can find these tingling, stimulating, alive feelings with someone else, a man who wants me for longer than one night, a man who can maintain these feelings, not spike them, then quickly and cruelly replace them with inadequacy and misery.

I won't hold my breath.

I force my reluctant body to stand, looking up and coming face to face with Miller Hart. He's standing just a few feet away, legs spread and hands in his pockets. His expression is still blank, telling me nothing, but this takes nothing away from his impossible beauty. There are many things I want to say, but saying them will only prompt conversation, which will almost certainly cast me further under his spell. The only sensible move I should make right now is escaping his presence. And set on doing just that, I start walking away from him.

'Livy!' he shouts, his footsteps trailing me. 'Livy, it's simply business.'

'You don't have to explain yourself to me,' I declare softly. That was no body language of a business a.s.sociate. 'Please don't follow me.'

'I'm talking to you, Livy,' he warns.

'And I'm choosing not to listen.' My nerves are keeping my tone timid and weak when I really want to inject some s.p.u.n.k into it, but the strength required to do so is being used to walk away.

'Livy, you owe me sixteen hours.'

His cheek makes me falter mid-stride, but doesn't stop me completely. 'I owe you nothing.'

'I beg to differ.' His body lands in front of me, blocking my path, so I quickly sidestep him, not allowing my eyes to divert from their focus point: the main road ahead. 'Livy.' He's grabbing at me now but I shake him off, silent but firm. 'Where are your f.u.c.king manners?'

'I don't care for them with you.'

'Well you should.' He takes hold of me, more forcefully this time, and secures me in place. 'You agreed to twenty-four hours.'

I refuse to look at him, and I'm also refusing to speak. There's plenty I want to say, but showing my emotions physically and audibly would be a grave mistake, so I remain still and silent while he stares down at my non-responsive form. I'm frustrating him. His overpowering hold on the tops of my arms is confirming it, and so is the rise and fall of his suit-covered chest. I've crawled into a sh.e.l.l, and I don't plan on coming out. I'm safer here safe from him.

He drops his face into my line of sight, so I drop my gaze further to the ground to avoid him. Looking into his crystal-clear blues will derail me in a split second. 'Livy, when I'm talking to you, I'd like you to look at me.'

I don't. I ignore his request and concentrate on remaining unreceptive, hoping he'll get bored, decide I'm not worth the effort, and leave me alone. I need him to leave me alone. There's a beautiful woman inside, clearly willing, so why is he wasting time out here on me?

'Livy,' he whispers.

My eyes close, picturing those lips speaking my name quietly . . . slowly.

'Please look at me,' he orders gently.

My head starts shaking in my own private darkness as I battle to keep my protective s.h.i.+eld in place the Miller s.h.i.+eld.

'Let me see you, Olivia Taylor.' He stoops further, pus.h.i.+ng his face into my neck. 'Let me have my time with you.'

I want to stop him. I don't want to stop him. I want to feel alive again but I don't want to feel lifeless again. I want him more than I know I should.

'I haven't had nearly enough. I need more.' His lips find my cheek and his palm feels out the back of my head, his fingers combing through my hair and holding me in place. 'I want to drown in you, Livy.' His lips reach mine and the feel of them catapults me instantly to the night before. The s.h.i.+eld shatters and a suppressed sob slips past my lips, my eyes squeezing shut to prevent the tears from trickling down my cheeks. 'Open your mouth,' he whispers.

My jaw relaxes at his gentle demand, giving him free rein on my senses, and his tongue slips slowly and softly past my lips, sweeping a sweet circle of my mouth, his body moving in closer to mine. There's not a part of my front that's not touching him. I go slack, my head tilting to give him better access, and my hands lift of their own accord, feeling up his sides until they're on his shoulders. He's set a painfully slow, tender pace, and I'm following, ma.s.saging his tongue with mine and failing to do what I know I should.

'See how easy it is?' he asks, slowly pulling away and pecking my lips.

I nod, agreeing, because it really is, but now his lips are off mine, sensibility seems to kick in. 'Who's that woman?' I ask, stepping back. 'Was this the prior engagement that you were talking about? A date?'

'It's business, Livy. Just business.'

I step back again. 'And business involves having her hand glued to your backside?' I have no right to sound so accusing. He's played his cards.

His head c.o.c.ks, a tiny hint of a frown surfacing. 'Sometimes I have to accept a bit of familiarity in the name of business.'

'What business?'

'We've spoken of this before. I don't think it's a good idea to get personal.'

'We've had s.e.x. You don't get more personal than that,' I argue.

'I mean emotionally, not physically, Livy.'

His words confirm my thoughts. d.a.m.n women and their deepness, and d.a.m.n men for their hollowness. Just s.e.x; I must remember that. These feelings are spiked by l.u.s.t and nothing more. 'I'm not this kind of person, Miller. I don't do things like this.' I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince here.

He steps forward and runs his hand behind my neck, taking his signature hold. 'Maybe that's what I find so fascinating.'

'Or perhaps you're just finding it an entertaining challenge.'