I relax into my mattress and attempt to find sleep, hoping my dreams don’t bring more nightmares.
I was hoping in vain. My sleep was restless, seeing me waking regularly, sweating, breathless, and mad. I give up come evening. After forcing myself to shower, I lie wrapped in a towel on the bed, trying to rid my mind of Miller and desperately trying to seek something else to focus on. Anything other than him.
I should join a gym. I bolt upright in bed. I have joined a gym. ‘Bollocks!’ I grab my phone and note that I have forty minutes to get myself to my induction. I can do it, and it’s the perfect distraction. They say working out alleviates stress and gets the feel-good pheromones pumping. It’s just what I need. I swing into a rushed frenzy, stuffing some leggings, an oversized T-shirt and my white Converse into a bag. I’ll look like a complete amateur, with no sporty-looking get-up in sight, but it’ll do for now. I’ll go shopping. I bundle my heavy hair up with a hair tie as I scurry down the landing, coming to a stop when my phone declares the arrival of a text message. Walking slowly down the stairs, my heart drops with each step I take when I see it’s him.
I’ll be at Langan’s Brasserie on Stratton St at 8.
I want my four hours.
My arse hits the step halfway down the stairs, and I stare at the message, reading it over and over. He’s had far more than his four hours already. What point is he trying to make here? He’s holding me to a deal which was made weeks ago, and has since been quashed by feelings and too many encounters to list. He even said himself that it was a stupid deal. It really was a stupid deal. It still is a stupid deal.
His unreasonable demand stirs years of anger until it’s fizzing uncontrollably in my gut. I’ve battled years of self-torture. I’ve beat myself up trying to understand what my mother found that was more important than me and my grandparents. I’ve watched the agony she caused affect my dear nan and gramps, and I’ve tinkered too close to causing more agony myself. I still could, if Nan ever discovered where I really was during my disappearing spell. He’s listened to me spill my heart to him, he drowned me in compassion, and all the while he was the king of debasement? I glance back down at his message. He thinks by reverting back to the clipped, arrogant arsehole he’ll have me falling at his feet again? A red mist falls, blocking the questions I want to ask and the answers I need to find. I can see nothing except resentment, hurt and burning anger. I’m not going to the gym to lash out my hurt on a treadmill or punchbag. Miller can take it all.
I jump up and dash to my bedroom, snatching down the third and final dress from my shopping trip with Gregory. Giving it a good inspection, I conclude very quickly that he’ll disintegrate before my eyes. Holy shit, it’s lethal. I have no idea what possessed me to allow Gregory to talk me into buying it, but I’m so glad I did. It’s red, it’s backless, it’s short, it’s . . . reckless.
Once I’ve taken my time to shower again, shaving everywhere and creaming from top to toe, I wriggle into the dress. The design won’t allow for a bra, which, annoyingly, isn’t a problem for me and my sparse chest. I flip my head upside down and blast my masses of blond into perfect waves that tumble freely, then I apply some make-up, concentrating on keeping it natural, just how he likes it. My new black stilettos and bag finish me off and, deciding a jacket will spoil the effect, I’m soon darting down the stairs faster than is safe.
The door swings open before I make it there, Nan and George halting all conversation when they clock me flying towards them.
‘Wowzers!’ George blurts, then apologises profusely when Nan scowls at him. ‘Sorry. Bit of a shock, that’s all.’
‘Are you going out with Miller?’ Nan looks like she’s just hit the jackpot at bingo.
‘Yes.’ I rush past them.
‘Jolly good!’ she sings. ‘See how she rocks the red, George?’
I don’t hear George’s reply, although I gather from his reaction to my red-clad body that it was a resounding yes.
By the time I’ve run halfway down the street to the main road, I’m verging on breaking out in a sweat, so I slow my pace, also thinking that I should be fashionably late – make him sweat. I hover on the corner for a few minutes, ironically feeling like a hooker, before I flag down a cab and tell him my destination.
I check my make-up in the reflection of the window, make a fuss of my hair and brush my dress down, making certain that it won’t be creased. I’m being as precise as Miller, but I bet he hasn’t got butterflies in his stomach, and I’m damning myself to hell for having a whole farm of them fluttering around in my tummy.
When the cabbie turns onto Piccadilly towards Stratton Street, I glance at the dashboard clock. It’s five past eight. I’m not late enough, and I need a cash machine, too. ‘This will do,’ I say, rummaging through my purse and passing over my only twenty. ‘Thank you.’ I slide out as elegantly as possible and stride down a busy Piccadilly, where on a weeknight evening I look ridiculously overdressed. This only heightens my self-consciousness, but remembering what Gregory told me, I try my very hardest to appear confident – like I always make this much effort. Once I’ve found a cashpoint, I withdraw some money and round the corner onto Stratton Street. It’s eight-fifteen, making me a perfect quarter of an hour late. The door is opened for me and I take a deep breath of confidence, entering looking cool and self-assured, when on the inside I’m wondering what the frigging hell I’m doing.
‘Are you meeting someone, madam?’ the maître d’ asks, giving me the once-over, looking both impressed and a little disapproving. It makes me pull my hem down, which I immediately mentally chastise myself for.
‘Miller Hart,’ I inform him with the utmost confidence, making up for the little slip-up of adjusting my hem.
‘Ah, Mr Hart.’ He clearly knows him. It makes me feel like crap. Does he know what Miller does? Does he think I’m a client? My anger burns the nerves away.
He smiles brightly at me and indicates for me to follow, which I do while struggling not to look around the restaurant for Miller.
As we pass through the randomly placed tables, I begin to feel the deep burn on my skin that my heart’s nemesis spikes, just from looking at me. Wherever he is, he’s seen me, and as I slowly cast my eyes around, I see him, too. There would be nothing that I could ever do to stop the increase of my heart rate, nor the hitching of my breath. He may be the male equivalent of a high-class prostitute, but he’s still Miller and he’s still stunning and he’s still . . . perfect. He rises from his chair and fastens the button of his jacket, his dark stubble gracing his inconceivably gifted face, his blue eyes blistering me as I approach. I don’t falter. I meet his gaze with equal resolve, noting immediately what I’m about to encounter. He has an air of determination surrounding him. He’s going to try and seduce me again, which is fine, but he won’t be getting his sweet girl.
He nods at the maître d’, a signal that he’ll take it from here, then rounds the table and pulls my chair out for me. ‘Please.’ He swoops his hand towards the seat.
‘Thank you.’ I sit and place my bag on the table, almost relaxed until Miller lays his hand on my shoulder and pushes his mouth to my ear.
‘You look unimaginably beautiful.’ He pulls my hair to the side and skims his lips across the tender hollow below my ear. He can’t see me, so it doesn’t matter that I close my eyes, but my neck tilting to give him space is a dead giveaway of what he does to me. ‘Exquisite,’ he murmurs, sending a wave of tingles down my spine.
Relieving me of his touch, he appears in front of me again, unbuttoning his jacket and taking his seat. He glances down at his expensive watch and raises his eyebrows, silently observing my lateness.
‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for us.’
I match his raised brow. ‘You were obviously confident that I would be here.’
‘You are, aren’t you?’ He collects a bottle of white wine from the floor-standing wine bucket that’s positioned next to the table and starts to pour. The glasses are smaller tha
n the red ones that we used yesterday, and I’m wondering how Miller will cope with the placing of things on the restaurant table. Nothing is positioned as it would be at home, but he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He’s not twitchy, and weirdly that is making me very twitchy. I almost want to put the wine on the table where it belongs.
Pulling my wandering mind back to the man sitting opposite me, I observe his cool persona for a few moments, then I speak. ‘Why did you ask me to come?’
He lifts his glass and swirls the wine slowly before taking it to those devastating lips and drinking slowly, all the time ensuring his eyes never stray from mine. He knows what he’s doing. ‘I don’t recall asking you to come.’
For a split second, I nearly lose my composure. ‘You don’t want me here?’ I ask cockily.
‘As I recall, I sent you a message telling you that I would be here at eight. I also expressed my desire for something. I didn’t demand it.’ He takes another slow sip. ‘But by you being here, I’m assuming you would like to give me what I desire.’
His arrogance has returned full force. It spikes my own sass, and I know Miller is now wary of my sass. He likes his sweet girl. I reach into my purse and gather the cash I’ve loaded myself with. Then I toss it on the plate in front of him and relax back in my chair, all brash and calm. ‘I’d like to be entertained for four hours.’
His wine glass is floating between his mouth and the table as he stares down at the pile of money, which I’ve diabolically used my savings account to obtain; the savings account which contains every penny that my mother left me, the savings account which I have never dipped into out of principle. How ironic that I’m now using some of the money to have myself . . . entertained. I’ve drawn a reaction, just like I planned, and the words he once said are dancing at the front of my mind, egging me on. Promise me you won’t ever degrade yourself like that again. Me? What about him?
He’s speechless. His eyes are fixed on the money, and I can definitely see his suspended hand begin to shake, the wine rippling as evidence. ‘What’s this?’ he asks tightly, settling his glass down. I’m not shocked when I see him reposition the glass before he raises incensed blues to me.
‘A thousand,’ I reply, completely unruffled by his obvious anger. ‘I know the notorious Miller Hart demands more, but as we’re brokering a deal on just four hours and you know what you’re getting, I figured a thousand was fair.’ I take my glass and sip lazily, making an exaggerated display of swallowing and licking my lips. His blue eyes are wider than usual. His shock probably wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone else, but I know those eyes, and I know that most of his emotion comes from them.
He breathes in deeply and slowly scrapes the money from his plate, tidying it into a neat pile before reaching for my bag and stuffing it back inside. ‘Don’t insult me, Olivia.’
‘You’re insulted?’ I actually laugh. ‘How much money have you made from giving yourself to those women?’
He leans forward, his jaw ticking. Oh, I’m drawing emotion all right. ‘Enough to buy an exclusive club,’ he says coldly, ‘and I don’t give myself to those women, Olivia. I give them my body, nothing else.’
I wince, and I know he catches it, but listening to him speaking like that is turning my stomach. ‘You hardly give me anything else, either,’ I state unfairly. He absolutely has given me something other than his body, and his barely noticeable recoil tells me he knows it, too. He’s hurt by my claim. ‘Buy yourself a new tie.’ I take the money out and throw it on his side of the table, shocked by my own harshness, but his reactions are egging me on, feeding my unreasonable need to prove something, even though I’m not entirely sure what the purpose of my coldness is achieving. I can’t stop, though. I’m on autopilot.
The hollows of his cheeks begin to pulse. ‘And how was it different when you did it?’ He grinds the question out.
I try to conceal my choked breath. ‘I put myself in that world for a reason,’ I seethe. ‘I didn’t relish in the extravagance. I didn’t make a living from selling myself.’
His mouth snaps shut and he lets his eyes fall to the table briefly before he stands and buttons his jacket. ‘What’s happened to you?’
‘I’ve told you before, Miller Hart. You’ve happened to me.’
‘I don’t like this person. I like the girl who I—’
‘Then. You. Should. Have. Left. Me. Alone.’ I speak slowly and clearly, yanking yet more feeling from this apparently emotionless man. He’s barely containing himself. I’m not sure whether he wants to shout or cry.
We’re briefly interrupted when the waiter places a platter of ice and oysters on the table. He doesn’t speak or ask if we require anything else. He skulks off quickly and quietly, aware of the obvious tension, leaving me staring at the platter in disbelief.
‘Oysters,’ I breathe.
‘Yes, enjoy. I’m leaving,’ he says, clearly forcing his body to turn away from me.
‘I’m a paying client,’ I remind him, reaching for one of the shells and dislodging the meat with my fork.
He turns slowly back toward me. ‘You make me feel cheap.’
Good, I think to myself. Expensive suits and luxury living doesn’t make this acceptable. ‘And the other women don’t?’ I ask. ‘Should I have bought you a Rolex?’ I slowly raise the oyster to my lips and tip it down my throat, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth and holding his gaze while I lick my lips seductively.
‘Don’t push me, Livy.’
‘Fuck me,’ I mouth, leaning forward in my chair, getting a strange thrill from seeing him struggle to know what to do with me. He didn’t bargain on this when he set this up. I’m turning this around on him.
He takes a few moments to gather himself before leaning across the table. ‘You want me to fuck you?’ he asks, not bothered about his gentlemanly manners in the presence of nearby diners.
I manage to contain my recoil at his returned confidence, even if I don’t utter any words.
He leans in further, his face deadly serious, all hurt, anger and shock seeming to have disappeared. ‘I asked you a question. You know how I feel about repeating myself.’
For reasons I’ll probably never know, I don’t hesitate. ‘Yes.’ My voice is a breathy murmur and, despite fighting it, my body is flying into full-on responsive mode.
His eyes are burning through me. ‘Get up.’
Chapter 25
I stand immediately and wait for him to round the table and collect me, taking a firm grip of my neck and pushing me out of the restaurant urgently. When we hit the fresh evening air, I’m directed across the road towards a regal, grand hotel where I expect his car is parked, except we don’t head to the car park. The doorman opens the glass door and I’m pushed through, suddenly surrounded by exceptionally traditional decor, with a stone fountain in the centre of the foyer and old worn leather couches scattered everywhere. Character is bursting from every corner. It’s classically stately, like the Queen herself might appear at any moment.
Miller drops his hold of my neck. ‘Wait,’ he instructs shortly, approaching the reception area. He speaks quietly to the woman behind the large, curved counter for a few moments, before taking a key that’s quickly handed to him. He turns and cocks his head towards the stairs, but with his lack of hold on my neck, I’m feeling a little unstable. ‘Livy,’ he grinds, his impatience kicking me into action.
He leaves me free from his grip as we take the stairs, the tension bouncing between us almost unbearable, but I’m not sure whether it’s sexual tension or nervous tension.
It’s both.
I’m nervous now, while Miller is overflowing with sexual craving. He stares blankly forward, displaying nothing, which isn’t unusual, except now it’s making me uneasy. He’s shut down completely, and even though I’m sizzling with desire, I’m also a little apprehensive.
I’m reclaimed by his hold on my neck when we reach the fourth floor and I’m being guided down the extravagant corridor until he’s insertin
g a card into a door and pushing me into a room. I should be overwhelmed by the gigantic four-poster bed and the gushing luxury, but I’m too busy trying to balance my senses. I’m standing in the middle of the room, feeling exposed and vulnerable, while Miller looks poised and powerful.
He reaches up and starts unravelling his tie slowly. ‘Let’s see what a grand gets you with the notorious Miller Hart, shall we?’ His tone indicates complete detachment. ‘Strip, sweet girl.’ His endearment for me is rife with sarcasm.
I search everywhere for my earlier brashness, but I’m struggling to find it.
‘You’re hesitating, Livy. The women I fuck don’t waste time when they have me.’
His words tear at my heart a little, but also inject some courage and reignite my anger. I can’t let him see me wavering. I instigated this, but why I have is now forgotten. I firm up my movements and pull my dress from my body, letting it fall to the ground, the red material pooling at my feet.
‘No bra,’ he muses, shrugging his jacket off and unbuttoning his waistcoat. His eyes are dragging slowly down my body, drinking me in. ‘Take your knickers off.’ His commanding tone has been used plenty before, but the soft edge has long gone. I don’t want to be turned on by it. I don’t want the throb between my thighs to intensify. I don’t want to find the conceited arsehole before me attractive. Yet I can’t prevent my body from responding to him. I’m shaking with anticipation. I’m a foregone conclusion. Even now.
I slowly push my underwear down my thighs and step out, then kick my shoes off. I’m naked, and when I return my eyes to Miller and see he’s now bare-chested, I forget any reluctance, being blinded by the pure extravagance of his torso. There really are no words, but when his trouser and boxers are slowly removed, I find one.
‘Ohhh . . .’ I breathe, my lips parting in an attempt to get some air into my lungs. His clothes are cast aside carelessly and he’s staring at me through his dark lashes as he slides a condom on.