Promised
Page 20

‘What’s the matter, Livy?’ Miller asks, reaching over to rest his hand on my thigh. ‘Tell me.’
My eyes are on his big, manly hand, my flesh burning beneath it. ‘You shouldn’t have come in,’ I say quietly. ‘You may have found it amusing, but you’ve just made this even harder.’
‘Livy, it’s polite to look at someone when you’re speaking to them.’ He clasps my chin and pulls, making me face him. ‘I apologise.’
‘It’s done now.’
‘Nothing about the next twenty-four hours is going to be difficult, Livy.’ His hand slides across my cheek tenderly, pushing me to nuzzle into it. ‘I know being with you will be the easiest thing that I’ve ever done.’
It might very well be easy, but I can’t see the aftermath being easy. No, I foresee a mountain of hurt on my part and easiness on his. I’m not myself around him. The sensible woman I’ve moulded myself into has gone from one extreme to the other. Nan’s at that window, Miller’s hand is stroking my cheek sweetly, and I can’t even muster up the energy to stop him.
‘The windows are tinted,’ he whispers, slowly moving forward and resting his soft lips on mine.
That may be so; however, he’s not my boss, and my cute nan knows that very well. But I’ll deal with the interrogation when I get home tomorrow. I’m suddenly not so concerned. I’ve been distracted from my sensible self again.
‘Are you ready?’ He asks the question again, but this time I just nod against him. I’m not ready to be heartbroken at all.
The drive back to Miller’s apartment is quiet. The only sound in the air surrounding us is Gary Jules singing about a mad world. I don’t know much about Miller, but I’ve figured out that he must come from good stock. His speech is refined, his clothing of the highest quality, and he lives in Belgravia. He pulls up outside the building and is out of the car and on my side without delay, opening my door and ushering me out.
‘Have it cleaned,’ he orders, detaching his car key from the key ring and handing it to the green-suited valet.
‘Sir.’ The valet tips his hat, then climbs into Miller’s car, immediately pressing a button that brings him closer to the wheel.
‘Walk.’ He takes my bag and settles his hand on the base of my neck again as he guides me through the giant glass revolving door and into a mirror-invested lobby. Everywhere I look, we’re there, me being guided, looking petite and apprehensive, and him pushing me onward, looking tall and powerful.
We bypass the rows of mirrored elevators, heading for the stairwell. ‘Are the lifts broken?’ I ask as I’m steered through the doors and pushed up the stairs.
‘No.’
‘Then why—’
‘Because I’m not lazy.’ He cuts me off, leaving no room for further questioning, and continues to hold my nape as we take the stairs.
He might not be lazy, but he’s seriously crazy. Four flights of stairs in and my calf muscles are burning again. I’m struggling to keep up. I battle on for one more flight, and I’m just about to call for a break when he turns and picks me up, obviously aware of my breathlessness. My arms around his neck feel right, as comforting as they did before, as he continues with me draped across his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Our faces are close, his smell manly, and he keeps his eyes set firmly forward until we’re outside his shiny black front door.
Miller drops me to my feet, hands me my bag and takes hold of my nape, using his free hand to get the door open, but as the view inside his apartment hits me, I suddenly want to run away. I see the art, the wall where he restrained me, and the couch where he sat me. The images are all vivid, and so are my feelings of helplessness. If I cross this threshold, I’ll be at Miller Hart’s mercy and I don’t even think my long-lost sass will assist me . . . if I manage to find it.
‘I’m not sure I—’ I start backing away from the door, uncertainty abruptly plaguing me, sensibility worming its way into my confused brain. But the fiery determination in his clear eyes is telling me that I’m going nowhere and so does the increased grip of his hand on my nape.
‘Livy, I’m not going to jump you as soon as I get you inside.’ His hand shifts down to my upper arm but he doesn’t restrain me now. ‘Calm down.’
I’m trying to, but my heart won’t let up and neither will the shakes. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ He steps away from me, giving me access to the entrance of his apartment. ‘I’d like you to go inside, but only if you want to spend the night with me,’ he says slowly, pulling my gaze to his. ‘And I want you to turn and leave if you’re not sure because I can’t do this unless I know you’re one hundred per cent with me.’ His face is straight but I detect an element of pleading behind the impassive blue gaze of his eyes.
‘I just don’t understand why you want me,’ I admit, feeling insecure and vulnerable.
I know what I look like; I’m reminded every time someone stares at me or comments on my unique eyes, but I also know that I have very little to offer a man, apart from something pleasant to look at. My mother’s beauty was her downfall, and I never want it to be mine. I’m at risk of losing my self-respect, just like she did. I’ve made it so there’s nothing to know. Who would want to give any attention to a girl who offers no intrigue or interest beyond her looks? I know exactly who: men who want nothing more than a pretty woman in their bed, which is exactly why I deprive myself of the potential of being loved. Not lusted after, but loved. I never want to be my mother, yet here I am, tinkering too close for comfort on the edge of debasement.
I can tell that he’s thinking hard about how to answer my question, like he knows it’ll influence my decision to stay or leave. I’m willing him to make his next words count. ‘I’ve told you, Livy.’ He gestures me inside. ‘You fascinate me.’
I don’t know whether that’s the right answer but I slowly walk into his apartment, and I definitely hear a quiet, relieved exhale of breath from behind me. I circle the round table in his entrance hall, placing my bag on the white marble as I pass, before coming to a stop, not knowing whether to sit myself on the couch or go into the kitchen. There’s an air of awkwardness surrounding us and despite his words in the car, it’s difficult.
He walks ahead of me and shrugs off his suit jacket, laying it neatly over the back of a chair before making his way to the drinks cabinet. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he asks, pouring some dark liquid into a tumbler.
‘No.’ I shake my head, even though he’s not facing me.
‘Water?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Sit down, Livy,’ he orders, turning and gesturing towards the couch.
I follow his pointed hand and take my reluctant body to the large cream-coloured leather couch while he leans against the cabinet, slowly sipping his drink. No matter what he does with those lips, whether it’s speaking or simply taking a sip of a drink, it’s distracting. They move so slowly, almost sensuously . . . deliberately.
I’m desperately concentrating on regulating my thundering heartbeat but I lose the battle completely when he moves towards me and sits on the coffee table in front of me, his elbows braced on his knees, his drink suspended in front of his lips, his eyes simmering with all sorts of promises. ‘I need to ask you something,’ he says quietly.