One Night: Denied

‘You might be right.’

  ‘I know I’m right,’ I say to myself. I’m living proof.

  ‘And knowing what you know, you still feel the same?’

  ‘I know he hasn’t been with another woman since he met me.’

  ‘He’s had dates, Olivia, and please don’t try to tell me otherwise. Don’t forget, there’s nothing I don’t know.’

  ‘Then you’ll know that he hasn’t slept with any of them,’ I grate, feeling my patience wearing thin.

  ‘And I’d love to know how he avoided it,’ William muses. I don’t reply to that, quietly pleased that he hasn’t challenged my claim. ‘I have a question. Probably the most important question.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Does he love you?’

  I wilt on the inside at William’s perfectly reasonable enquiry. Nothing less than a yes should be good enough here. William knows it. I know it. I shouldn’t even entertain the idea of exposing my fallen heart to more hurt without that confirmation. ‘He’s fascinated by me.’ I turn to look out the window, feeling young and stupid.

  ‘Does fascinate equal love?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I murmur, barely audibly, but I know he’s heard me when his palm rests on my knee and squeezes gently.

  ‘Do your talking,’ he says quietly. ‘Then do your thinking.’

  I nod in acceptance and feel strangely comforted by William’s affectionate touch. I’ll talk and I’ll think, but I don’t actually think anything Miller could tell me will lessen or diminish my fascination with London’s most notorious male escort. I want it to, but I’m being real. I’m caught up in his confounding, dark world, and I have no faith that anything can free me from it, not even William, no matter how hard he tries.

  The driver doesn’t drop me off around the corner as agreed. He pulls up right outside the restaurant, and William doesn’t point out his error. I start to voice the mistake, but then I spot Miller standing on the pavement waiting, and the wary look he’s giving the Lexus tells me he knows the car. But he doesn’t know I’m in it.

  ‘Please’ – I turn to William, panicked – ‘ask your driver to pull into the next street.’

  ‘There’s no need.’ He dismisses my concern and exits the car swiftly and confidently and with the utmost superiority. I want to crawl under the seat and hide. I haven’t looked out to see Miller’s reaction to William’s appearance. I don’t need to. I can feel the air freeze around me, and he hasn’t even seen me yet. ‘Hart,’ I hear William say tightly. Then my door is opening and William is looking down at me and extending his hand for me to take. I want to scream at him for his underhandedness. He’s being threatening and I’ve seen Miller under threat. It’s frightening.

  Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath of confidence, I reject William’s offering and step out, slowly straightening my body until I’m engulfed in the glacial air that has nothing to do with the poor weather conditions. Then I turn and face him. Blue eyes have slightly widened and his shadowed jaw is tense, but he remains quiet as William escorts me to him. Miller, as ever, looks unfathomably stunning in a dark grey three-piece suit, pale blue shirt – tie perfectly knotted – and tan brogues. His eyes, although shocked, are shimmering as I approach, his dark hair a tousled array of waves and his tall body striking. As I near, he flicks William a cold look before returning his eyes to mine and sliding his palm around my nape, tugging me forward. The icy air is still rife, but now it’s mixed with a delicious warmth being injected into me from our joining. Dipping slowly, he gets his face level with mine and gives me a hint of a smile. It reminds me that Miller Hart has the most beautiful beam and it’s been too long since I’ve seen it.

  He blinks slowly, another of his lovely traits, and gently rests his lips on mine. I know William is twitching behind me, but nothing will prevent me from absorbing Miller. Not even me. ‘You put perfection to shame, my gorgeous girl.’ He pecks my lips and pulls back to get my eyes. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  I feel utterly stupid with William playing minder behind me, so I turn and find him watching us closely. ‘You can leave now.’ I feel Miller’s arm snake around my waist and pull me into his chest. He has completely ignored my request of no touching and tasting, and I’ve done nothing to stop him. He’s staking his claim, marking his territory.

  The tall, mature, grey-haired male steps away slowly, not taking his eyes from Miller until he’s at his car. ‘I know morals are something you struggle with, Hart, but I’m asking you nicely to do the right thing now.’ William may be asking nicely, but his tone is drenched in threat.

  ‘Don’t question my morals when it comes to Olivia Taylor, Mr Anderson.’ Miller’s grip on me increases. ‘Never do that.’

  The animosity bouncing between these two powerful men is intoxicating. My head is awash with questions of associations and worlds colliding, and that’s on top of the list I have ready for Miller.

  ‘Do the right thing,’ William says before turning greys onto me. ‘You’ll call me.’ He slides effortlessly into the car without waiting for my agreement and pulls away fast, leaving me on the pavement, tense and bracing myself for a round of questions from Miller.

  It’s a few silent moments before he speaks, and when he does, it’s not at all the reaction I’ve been bracing myself for. ‘Well that was a surprise,’ he muses quietly, making me frown. ‘How did you come to keep company with William Anderson?’

  I’m totally perplexed. ‘He was my mother’s pimp,’ I remind him, holding back on the information that I’ve recently been enlightened on. And I know Miller won’t appreciate the reminder of my encounter with William during my reckless spell, so I omit that, too. ‘And while we’re on the subject,’ I fire, turning in his arms and stepping away from him, ‘how did I come to be keeping company with you?’

  He looks at me a little bemused. ‘You’ve already defaulted on your no touching and tasting rule.’ Stooping down, he lands me with a cheeky peck on my lips. Damn me, I don’t shy away from it. ‘It would be silly to reinstate it now.’ His eyes are sparkling wildly, his face full of unseen victory. Silly because it was a given that I’d fail, or silly because of where I might end up should I give in, which is ultimately in Miller’s bed being worshipped.

  ‘It wouldn’t be silly at all,’ I counter with grit. While Miller-style worshipping is the ultimate escape from my troubles, I need to maintain my strength, no matter how much I want him to indulge me and swallow me up in his mind-blowing world of pleasure. ‘Are we having dinner?’

  ‘Yes.’ He gestures across the road and, when I glance over, I see his car. ‘After you.’

  My brow puckers, but I turn towards the restaurant instead. I don’t get very far.

  ‘Wrong way,’ he says simply, taking my nape and guiding me in the direction of his car with a little twist of his hand on my neck.

  ‘Dinner and a talk,’ I remind him. ‘You agreed to meet me for dinner and a talk.’

  ‘Yes, I agreed to meet you at the restaurant. You never specified that the eating and talking should happen there.’

  I laugh nervously, wondering where he plans on doing the eating and talking. ‘You can’t twist my words.’

  ‘I’ve not twisted anything.’ He guides me across the road with ease and places me in his car. ‘We’re having dinner at my apartment.’ The door shuts on me and the locks click into place.

  Now I’m freaking out. Being at Miller’s is a bad, bad idea. I try the door, to no purpose whatsoever. I heard the locks. Then I hear them again and I try the handle once more but get nowhere. He slides in beside me. ‘This is kidnapping!’ I protest. ‘I don’t want to go to your apartment.’

  ‘Why?’ he asks, starting the engine and pulling his seat belt on.

  ‘Because . . . I . . . because . . . it will . . .’

  ‘Be natural for us to make love?’ He slowly turns his eyes to me. Serious eyes. br />
  The words alone send my pulse into overdrive. I’m feeling hot, lustful and helpless, and that’s a dangerous situation to be in with Miller Hart. ‘Talk,’ I murmur weakly.

  He shifts in his seat and rests his forearm on the wheel. He can see my wanton condition. I’m breathless. ‘I’ve always promised that I’d never make you do anything I know you don’t want to. Haven’t I?’

  I nod.

  He smiles a little and reaches over to rearrange my wild blond hair. ‘Do you know how hard it is to refrain from touching you, especially when I know that you want me to?’

  ‘I want to talk,’ I affirm, finding my very last scrap of strength to utter my demand, leaving me defenceless should he choose to ignore my request.

  ‘And I want to explain, but I’d like to do it in the comfort of my own home.’ He says no more and returns his attention to the road, pulling away from the kerb. There’s no speaking or even any glances across the car to me. The only thing I have to focus on, except my racing mind, are the words of Portishead’s ‘Glory Box’ that echo in the enclosed air around us.

  They sink into my mind, making it spin, and then I hear Miller utter two words to himself, so quietly I barely hear. ‘I will.’

  Chapter Ten

  I’m regretting insisting on the no tasting and touching rule. I’m close to collapsing by floor nine as we climb up to his penthouse, and Miller’s knowing look is a clear sign that he can detect my regret. But my hot face and aching calves also remind me of the first question I’d like to ask.

  He unlocks his black shiny door and stands to the side, holding it open for me and revealing the inside of his palatial apartment. The urge to run overwhelms me.

  ‘I’m not allowed to physically restrain you, so I beg you don’t run away from me.’

  I turn my face up to his and find blue eyes full of pleading. He’s being that respectful, loving man, the one I love most of his split personalities. ‘I won’t run,’ I promise, stepping over the threshold and tentatively rounding the table in the entrance hall. The front door shuts behind me and Miller’s fancy shoes click on the marble as he approaches.

  ‘Would you like some wine?’ he asks, removing his jacket and draping it neatly over the back of a chair.

  ‘Water, please.’ I’m dehydrated after my marathon stair climb, and I need a clear head.

  ‘As you wish,’ he says, disappearing into the kitchen and quickly returning with a bottle of spring water and a glass. He walks over to his drinks cabinet, pours two fingers of Scotch, and then turning to face me, he brings the glass to his lips slowly, making me avert my eyes to avoid the pleasurable sight. He knows what those lips do to me, and he’s brandishing them unethically. ‘Don’t deprive me of your face, Olivia.’

  ‘Don’t deprive me of your respect,’ I retort calmly.

  He has nothing to say to that, so instead he says, ‘Sit,’ as he makes his way over with my water.

  ‘I thought we were having dinner?’

  He falters midstride. ‘We are.’

  ‘In the lounge?’ I ask, my voice loaded with sarcasm. I know Miller Hart and his obsessive world of perfection, and there is not a chance in hell he would eat off his lap.

  ‘There’s no need—’

  ‘Yes, there is,’ I sigh. ‘I assume we’re eating in the kitchen.’ I take the water being offered and leave Miller to head for the kitchen, coming to an abrupt halt at the doorway on a little gasp.

  ‘You didn’t give me a chance to add the finishing touches,’ he murmurs from behind me. ‘Candles, music.’

  The smell of something delicious permeates the room and the table is laid Miller-perfect. I could have wandered into the Ritz by mistake. ‘It’s . . . perfect,’ I breathe.

  ‘It’s not perfect at all,’ he says quietly, inching past me. He sets his drink down, tweaks its position, then lights the candles running up the centre of the table. Moving across the kitchen, he puts his iPhone in the docking station before playing with a few buttons. I just stare at him as Ellie Goulding’s ‘Explosions’ seeps from the speakers and he slowly turns to face me. ‘It’s still not perfect,’ he says, wandering slowly over. He lifts his hand hesitantly and looks to me for permission. I nod, letting him gently take my hand, and follow his steps across the kitchen. The chair at one end is pulled out and he releases me, indicating for me to take a seat. I follow his request and let him tuck me neatly under. ‘Now it’s perfect,’ he whispers in my ear, stealing a nip of my lobe and throwing me into desire desolation. I’m tense everywhere, and he knows it. After ensuring I get a few unbearably gratifying moments of his heated breath in my ear, he takes his time ripping his bended body from my seated frame. ‘Wine?’ he asks.

  I close my eyes briefly to gather some abandoned strength. ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Being free from alcohol won’t sate your desire for me, Olivia.’

  He places a cloth napkin across my lap before taking the chair at the other end. He’s right, of course, but avoiding alcohol might help me think clearer.

  ‘The distance is acceptable?’ he asks, indicating between us with a sway of his hand.

  No, it’s not; he seems so far away, but it would be foolish to tell him so. Not that I need to tell him a thing. He knows very well. I nod and scan the table before me, my usual nerves present whenever I’m presented with a table set by Miller. ‘What are you feeding me?’

  He restrains a grin and pours some red wine into one of the larger wine glasses. ‘I can’t feed you anything from over here.’

  I bite my lip and resist the urge to fiddle with the fork at my place setting, knowing I’ll never replace it accurately.

  ‘Do you like me feeding you?’ he asks, pulling my eyes from the perfect table to his perfect face.

  ‘You know the answer to that question.’ Images of strawberries and puddles of dark chocolate jump all over my mind.

  ‘I do,’ he agrees. ‘And I don’t need to tell you how much I enjoy nourishing you.’

  I nod in silent acknowledgment, remembering the satisfaction on his face.

  ‘And worshipping you.’

  I squirm in my chair, fighting off the throb threatening to attack me between my thighs. No matter what persona he takes on, he has me every time. ‘We’re supposed to be talking,’ I point out, eager to steer away from thoughts of worshipping, strawberries dipped in warm chocolate, and Miller’s general magnetism.

  ‘We are talking.’

  ‘Why are you so terrified of elevators?’ I go for the jugular but feel immediately guilty when his face drops just a tiny bit. He quickly gathers himself, though.

  ‘I have a phobia of enclosed spaces.’ He swirls his wine thoughtfully while he watches me. ‘Which is why you’ll never convince me to hide in a closet.’

  My guilt is increased by his confession and my unwitting demand in my bedroom that time. ‘I didn’t know,’ I whisper, also reminded of his terrified face when I refused to get out of the elevator. I’d worked it out as I fled the hotel and I used it against him.

  ‘Of course you didn’t. I didn’t tell you.’

  ‘Where does it stem from?’

  His shoulders jump up a little and he looks away, evading my eyes. ‘I don’t know. Many people have phobias of certain things with no explanation.’

  ‘You have an explanation, though, don’t you?’ I press.

  He won’t look at me.

  ‘It’s polite to look at me when I’m talking to you, and it’s polite to answer someone when they ask you a question.’

  Blue eyes filled with irritation slowly find mine. ‘Overthinking, Olivia. I have a phobia of enclosed spaces, and that line of conversation will finish right there.’

  ‘What about your freakish tidiness?’

  ‘I have an appreciation for my possessions. That doesn’t make me a freak.’

  ‘You have
more than that,’ I reply. ‘You have obsessive-compulsive disorder.’

  Miller’s mouth drops open a little. ‘Because I like things a certain way, I have a disorder?’

  I exhale a wary breath and stop my elbows from hitting the table just in time. He won’t acknowledge his freakish obsessiveness, and it’s clear I’m getting nothing on the claustrophobia front, either. But these are trivial issues in the grand scheme of things. There are more important things to address. ‘The newspaper. Why was the title changed?’

  ‘I realise how that looks, but it was for your benefit.’

  ‘How?’

  His lips fix in a straight line. ‘To protect you. Trust me.’

  ‘Trust you?’ I fight off the urge to laugh in his face. ‘I trusted you with everything! How long have you been London’s most notorious male escort?’ The words feel like acid burning my tongue as I spit them from my mouth.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like some wine?’ He lifts the bottle from the table and looks at me hopefully. It’s a pathetic attempt to avoid my question.

  ‘No, thank you. An answer would be nice, though.’

  ‘How about some appetisers?’ He stands and strides over to the fridge, without waiting for my answer. I can’t eat with my stomach in such knots and my brain a fuzz of unanswered questions, and I doubt my appetite will appear once I finally squeeze the answers from him.

  He opens the huge mirrored fridge and pulls out a platter of something. Then he shuts the door but doesn’t return to the table, instead messing with whatever’s on the tray, poking and shifting things around. He’s trying to buy time, and when he glances cautiously up to the mirror, he catches me watching him in the reflection. He knows I know his game.

  ‘You said you’re ready to answer my questions,’ I remind him, keeping my determined stare on him in the mirror.

  His eyes drop to the tray briefly, and then he slowly turns on a deep breath and makes his way back to the table, pushing that dark lock of hair off his forehead en route. I nearly choke when the platter is placed with utter accuracy, revealing a pile of oysters.