‘Fuck.’ He hangs his head in shame, shaking it a little and ruffling his dark mop with a frustrated swipe of his hand. ‘Please, forgive me.’ His eyes lift and gush with genuine regret. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. It was wrong of me.’
‘Yes, it was,’ I agree. ‘I’m not here to be snapped at.’
‘It’s just . . .’ He looks at the fridge and clenches his eyes shut, like it hurts him to see the smears. Then he sighs and walks forward, holding his hands out, silently asking my permission to touch me. Stupidly or not, I nod, and he visibly relaxes. He wastes no time and crowds me, pulling me close and sinking his nose into my damp hair. The comfort it gives me can’t be ignored. When he said that he wouldn’t sleep, he really meant it. He didn’t look at the mess when I hinted at it, but clearly it was playing on his mind, tormenting him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeats, kissing my hair.
‘You don’t like mess.’ I don’t ask it as a question because it’s painfully clear, and I’m not giving him the opportunity to insult me by denying it.
‘I’m house proud,’ he counters, turning me and pushing me back towards the bedroom.
Every step we take, I’m reminded of my palatial surroundings. ‘Don’t you have a cleaner?’ I ask, thinking a businessman who lives in a place like this, dresses like Miller and drives a prestigious car, would at least have a housekeeper.
‘No.’ I’m unwrapped from the sheet and lifted into bed. ‘I like doing it myself.’
‘You like cleaning?’ I blurt, shocked. He really can’t be real.
His lips tip at the corners, making me feel a whole lot better about the events, words and feelings that have come after our intimacies. ‘I wouldn’t say I like it.’ He slips in beside me and pulls me in, tangling our naked legs. ‘I suppose you could call me a domestic god.’
I’m smiling now, too, and my hand is having a field day with free access to his bare chest. ‘I never would’ve thought it,’ I muse.
‘You should try to stop thinking too much. People overthink things, making them bigger deals than they actually are.’ He speaks softly, almost nonchalantly, but there’s more meaning to those words, I know there is.
‘Like what?’
‘Nothing specific.’ He pecks the top of my head. ‘I was just being general.’
He wasn’t being general at all, but I say no more. His reversed mood has calmed my earlier unease, and I’m letting the security of his body encasing me ease me into a peaceful slumber. It’s not long before my eyes slowly close and the last sound I hear is Miller humming something hypnotising and soft in my ear.
In a panic, my eyes snap open and I bolt upright in bed. It’s completely dark. Brushing my wild hair from my face, I take a few moments to backtrack and it all comes back to me . . . or was I dreaming?
I pat around on the bed, feeling nothing but soft bedding and a pillow with no head on it. This bed is enormous, but I wouldn’t lose a whole man in it. ‘Miller?’ I whisper timidly, then feel down my body, noting no clothing. I always sleep in my knickers. I’m not dreaming, and I don’t know whether to be relieved or frightened by that. I stumble out of the bed and feel my way around the wall. ‘Shit!’ I curse, smacking my shin on something hard. I rub away the stab of pain and shift further, meeting something with my head. The crash pierces the silence, and I fumble with something attacking me. ‘Bollocks!’ I lose the battle to hold whatever has hit me and let it fall, wincing when it smashes, before rubbing my forehead. ‘Bloody hell.’
I expect Miller to appear from wherever he’s hiding to investigate the commotion, but after standing in silence for ever, hoping he’ll flick a switch that’ll bless me with light, I’m still blind. I resume my tentative groping of the wall in the darkness until I feel something resembling a switch. I flick it on, blinking back the harsh invasion of artificial light. Of course I’m alone, and I’m also naked. I note the cabinet that I smacked my shin on and the floor-standing lamp that I bumped my head on, which is now resting against the cabinet, smashed into a million pieces. I hurry back to the bed and grab the bedding, wrapping it around me as I walk back towards the door. He’s probably cleaning the fridge again, but once I’ve found my way into the kitchen, I find no Miller cleaning. In fact, I find no Miller at all. Nowhere. I circle his apartment twice, opening and closing doors, or all that will open. There’s one that won’t. I jiggle the handle but it doesn’t shift so I gently tap and wait. Nothing. I head back to his bedroom with a completely furrowed brow. Where’s he gone?
Sitting on the side of his bed, I wonder what to do, and for the first time the full force of my stupidity smacks me hard in the face. I’m in a strange apartment, naked in the middle of the night, after having crazy, no-emotions, reckless sex with a stranger. Sensible, wise Livy has just pulled a stunt worthy of an award. I’ve let myself down.
I look around for my clothes, but they’re nowhere in sight.
‘Fucking hell!’ I curse to myself. What the hell has he done with them? Logic descends too quickly and I find myself in front of the cabinet, removing the lamp and pulling a drawer open, finding neat piles of men’s clothes. It doesn’t deter me. I pull the next open, then the next and the next, until I’m on my knees at the bottom drawer, staring at my clothes, all neatly folded, with my Converse positioned deftly next to them, laces tucked in. I laugh to myself, pull my belongings free from the drawer, and quickly dress myself.
As I turn to exit, I notice a piece of paper on the bed. I don’t want to believe that he’s left me a pillow note, and I should probably leave without reading it, but I’m just too damn curious. Miller makes me curious, and that’s a bad thing because everyone knows that curiosity killed the bloody cat. I hate myself for it but I hurry over and snatch it up, angry before I’ve even read it.
Livy,
I’ve had to nip out. I won’t be long so please do not leave.
If you need me, call me. I’ve stored my number in your phone.
Miller
x
Stupidly, I sigh at the sight of a kiss after his name. Then I get mighty irritated. He’s had to nip out? Who nips out in the middle of the night? I go in search of my phone to establish exactly what time it is. I find my bag and phone on the glass coffee table, and after turning it on and ignoring dozens of missed calls from Gregory and three text messages advising me that I’m in trouble, the screen tells me it’s three o’clock in the morning. Three?
My phone is spun repeatedly in my grasp as I contemplate what could’ve called him away at this time. An emergency, perhaps? Something could’ve happened to a member of his family. He could be at a hospital or picking up a drunken sister from a nightclub. Does he have a sister? All sorts of reasons are dancing in my head, but when my phone starts ringing in my hand and I look down and see his name flashing on my screen, I stop wondering because I’m about to find out.
I connect the call. ‘Hello?’
‘You’re awake.’
‘Well, yes, and you’re not here.’ I sit down on the sofa. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yes, it’s fine.’ He’s speaking quietly. Maybe he is in a hospital. ‘I’ll be back soon so just relax in bed, okay?’
Relax in bed? ‘I was just leaving.’
‘What?’ He’s not whispering any more.
‘You’re not here, so there’s little point in me staying.’ This isn’t being worshipped; this is being abandoned.
‘There’s a big point!’ he argues, and I hear a door slam in the background. ‘Just stay where you are.’ He sounds fretful.
‘Miller, are you okay?’ I ask. ‘Has something happened?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Then what’s called you out in the middle of the night?’
‘Just business, Livy. Go back to bed.’
The word ‘business’ spikes unwarranted resentment in me. ‘Are you with that woman?’
‘What makes you say that?’
His question has transformed that resentment into su
spicion. ‘Because you said “business”.’ With all of the mind-blanking worshipping, I’d forgotten about the black-haired beauty.
‘No, please. Just get back in bed.’
I flop back against the sofa. ‘I won’t sleep. This wasn’t part of the deal, Miller. I don’t want to be alone in a strange apartment.’ The absurdity of my words makes me physically kick myself. Yes, because I’m happier in a strange apartment with a strange man, who makes me lose all sensibility.
‘The deal was for one night, Olivia. Twenty-four hours, and I’m annoyed enough at having to lose a few of those. If you’re not in that bed when I get home, then I’ll . . .
I sit up. ‘You’ll what?’ I ask, hearing his panicked, fitful breaths down the line.
‘I’ll . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ll . . .’
‘You’ll what?’ I hiss impatiently, standing and picking up my bag. Is he threatening me?
‘Then I’ll find you and put you back in it!’ he snaps.
I actually laugh. ‘Are you listening to yourself?’
‘Yes.’ His tone has calmed. ‘It’s not courteous to break a deal.’
‘We didn’t shake on it.’
‘No, we fucked on it.’
I gasp, scowl, and choke all at once. ‘I thought you were a gentleman.’
‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
My mouth snaps shut as I consider his question. Our first meeting never suggested that he’s a gentleman, and neither did our following encounters, but his attentiveness and manners since I’ve been here have. There has been no fucking, not in any sense of the word.
A horrid realisation dawns. I really have been very stupid. He’s seduced me, and he’s done it brilliantly. ‘I have no idea, but I’m clearly mistaken. Thank you for the countless orgasms.’ I hear him shouting my name as I pull the phone away from my ear and hang up. I’m stunned by my own brazenness, but Miller Hart spikes my inner spunk. And that’s dangerous territory to be falling into, but essential to maintain when dealing with this confounding man. Throwing my satchel over my shoulder, I head for his front door, rejecting the incoming call before turning off my phone.
Chapter 9
I didn’t sleep a wink, despite being in the comfort of my own bed. After sneaking into the house like a professional cat burglar, I tiptoed up the stairs, avoided all of the creaking floorboards, and crossed the landing stealthily until I was in the safety of my own room. Then I lay there in the darkness for the remaining few hours of night, looking blankly and blindly up at the ceiling.
Now the birds are tweeting, I can hear Nan downstairs pottering around in the kitchen, and I have no desire to face the day. My mind is awash with images, thoughts and conclusions, none of which I want to waste brain space on. But no matter how hard I’m trying, I just can’t boot him out of my jumbled head.
Leaning over to my bedside table, I unplug my phone from the charger and brave turning it on. There’s another five missed calls from Gregory, one from Miller and a voicemail. I don’t want to hear what either man has to say, but that doesn’t stop me from tormenting myself further and listening to the damn message. It’s my worried friend¸ not Miller.
‘Olivia Taylor, you and I are going to be having some very strong words when I get hold of you. What are you thinking, baby girl? For crying out loud! I thought you were the sensible one out of the two of us. You’d better call me, or I’ll be paying a visit to Nan, and I’ll be telling her of your transgressions! He could be a rapist, an axe murderer! Holy shit, you stupid woman! I’m not a happy bunny!’
He sounds totally exasperated, the drama queen. And I know he won’t spill to Nan because he knows, just as well as I do, that she’ll be rejoicing, not despairing. Empty threats, that’s all his message is. Part true, but over the top and completely knocked out of perspective.
Kind of.
A little.
Not in the least bit.
He’s one hundred per cent right, and he doesn’t know the half of it. I am an idiot. I call him before he goes into seizure, and he answers immediately, sounding like he may already be suffering meltdown. ‘Livy?’
‘I’m alive.’ I fall back to my pillow. ‘Take a few deep breaths, Gregory.’
‘Don’t take the piss! I’ve been working through the night trying to find out where he lives.’
‘You’re overreacting.’
‘I don’t think I am!’
‘You didn’t find him, then?’ I ask, pulling my quilt up further and snuggling down.
‘Well, I didn’t have much to go on, did I? I googled “Miller” but I don’t think he grinds crops for a living.’
I laugh to myself. ‘I don’t know what he does for a living.’
‘Well it doesn’t matter because you won’t be seeing him again. What went down? Did you shag him? Where are you? Have you lost your fucking mind?!’
I’m not laughing any more. ‘None of your business, none of your business, I’m at home and yes, I have lost my bloody mind.’
‘None of my business?’ he screeches, all high-pitched. ‘Livy, I’ve busted my balls for years, trying to pry you from that stupid shell you hide away in. I’ve introduced you to endless decent men, all of which were mad for you, but you flat-out refused to even entertain the idea of a friendly drink or, at a stretch, dinner. Letting a man wine and dine you doesn’t make you your mother.’
‘Shut up!’ I hiss, the mention of my mother spiking too much venom that’s evident in my tone.
‘I’m sorry, but what is it about this cocksucker that’s turned you into an irresponsible, reckless twat?’
‘You’re the only cocksucker I know,’ I accuse quietly, because I’m at a loss at what else to say. I have been pretty reckless, just like my moth— ‘And he’s not a criminal or a murderer. He’s a gentleman.’ Sometimes, I add to myself.
‘What happened? Tell me.’
‘He worshipped me,’ I confess. He’ll nag me stupid, so I may as well come clean. It’s done now. No going back.
‘“Worshipped”?’ Gregory’s voice is barely a whisper, and I see him in my mind’s eye halting whatever he may be doing on the other end of the phone.
‘Yes, he’s ruined it for all those who will come after.’ He really has. Nothing will compare. No man will match his skill, attentiveness and passion. I’m totally buggered.
‘Oh Lord.’ He’s still whispering. ‘That good?’
‘Blissful, Gregory. I feel cheated. While he promised twenty-four hours, I only got eight. I annoyingly want the re—’
‘Whoa! Rewind! Re-fucking-wind!’ he yells, making me jump in my bed. ‘Back the fuck up! What’s this about twenty-four hours? Twenty-four hours for what?’
‘To worship me.’ I turn onto my side, transferring my phone to the other ear. ‘He offered me that time because it’s all he could.’ I cannot believe that I’m divulging all of this information to Gregory. This has to get the gold, especially given that it’s me who we’re juicing it up about.
‘I don’t even know what to say.’ I can see the shock on his face when I close my eyes. ‘I need to see you. I’m on my way.’
‘No, no!’ I sit up urgently. ‘Nan doesn’t know I’m here. I snuck back in.’
Gregory laughs. ‘Baby girl, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your nan knows exactly where you are.’
‘How?’
‘Because she’s the one who called me to say you were home.’ There’s a degree of smugness in his tone.
I look to the heavens for strength. I should’ve bloody known. ‘Then why did you pick my brain about where I am?’
‘Because I wanted to see if my soulmate had developed a habit of lying, as well as being a dumb-arse. I’m glad to have it confirmed that you’re only the latter. I’m on my way.’ He hangs up, and as soon as I drop my phone to the bed, I hear the familiar sound of creaking floorboards, so I hastily crawl under the covers and hold my breath.
The door opens, but I remain like a s
tatue, out of view, eyes clenched shut and holding my breath – not that I expect it to deter her. I bet she’s dying to get the scoop, the nosy old bat.
There’s total silence, but I know she’s there, and then I feel a light brushing tickle on the sole of my foot and my leg lashes out on an uncontrolled burst of laughter. ‘Nan!’ I shout, throwing the quilt back and finding her plump body at the bottom of my bed, arms crossed, and with a dirty smirk on her old face. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ I warn.
‘Your boss, my arse!’
‘He was.’
She scoffs and comes to sit on the edge of the bed, putting me on high alert. ‘Why are you telling me porky pies?’ she asks.
‘I’m not.’ My response is feeble and my eyes, diverted from hers, are a sign of my guilt.
‘Livy, give your grandmother a break.’ She slaps my thigh over the quilt. ‘I might be an old lady, but my eyes and ears work just fine.’
I chance a reluctant glance at her, seeing a grin being held back. I’ll make her day if I confirm what she already knows. ‘Yes, and so does your nosy mind.’
‘I’m not nosy!’ she argues. ‘I’m just being . . . a concerned grandmother.’
I scoff and tug the quilt from under her bum, wrapping it around myself and escaping to the bathroom. ‘You’ve nothing to be concerned about.’
‘I think I have when my sweet granddaughter lives like a recluse, and then suddenly stays out until dawn.’
I cringe, quickening my pace as she follows me across the landing. My work excuse won’t wash now, so I hold my tongue and make quick work of shutting the bathroom door behind me, just catching a glimpse of her grey eyebrows arched and her thin lips curved.
‘Is he your boyfriend?’ she calls through the door.
I turn the shower on and drop my quilt. ‘No.’
‘Was he your boyfriend?’
‘No!’
‘Are you courting him?’
‘What?’
‘Dating. It means dating, dear.’
‘No!’
‘Just having sex, then.’
‘Nan!’ I yell, flashing the door an incredulous look.