Promised
Page 21

‘What?’ I blurt the word quickly, worriedly.
His glass lifts slowly but those eyes stay on mine. ‘Are you a virgin?’ he asks before tipping the tumbler to his lips.
‘No!’ I recoil, mortified that he’s taken my reluctance as an indication of that. But in truth, I wish I was.
‘Why are you so offended by my question?’
‘I’m twenty-four years old.’ I shift uncomfortably in my seated position, diverting my eyes away from his inquisitive stare. I can feel my face heating, and I want to grab one of his fancy silk cushions to cover it.
‘When was the last time you had sex, Livy?’
I’m dying on the spot. What does it matter when I last slept with someone? Running seems like the best option for me but my reason for escaping has changed.
‘Livy,’ he prompts, placing his drink down, the chink of glass on glass making me jump slightly. ‘Will you please look at me when I’m speaking to you?’
His sternness irritates me, and that’s the only reason I do as I’m told and look at him. ‘My history has nothing to do with you,’ I say quietly, resisting the temptation to snatch his drink and down it.
‘I simply asked you a question.’ His surprise at my sudden spunk is clear. ‘It’s usually polite to answer a question when you’re asked one.’
‘No, it’s down to my discretion whether I answer any questions that I’m asked, and I don’t see what relevance your question has.’
‘My question has plenty of relevance, Livy, as will your answer.’
‘And what’s that?’
He looks down at his glass and swivels it on the table for a few moments before slowly returning his eyes to mine. They cut straight through me. ‘It will determine whether I f**k you hard immediately, or break you in first.’
I gasp, my eyes widening at his obnoxiousness, not that he’s affected by my shock or reaction to his crass words. He simply takes his tumbler and has another slow sip of the dark liquid, keeping his unrevealing eyes on me.
‘I don’t like repeating myself, but I’ll make an exception,’ he states. ‘When was the last time you had sex?’
My tongue is knotted in my mouth as I remain under his watchful eyes. I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want him to think that I’m even more pathetic than he must think already.
‘I’ll take your reluctance to answer as an indication that it’s been a while.’ He cocks his head and that lock of hair falls onto his forehead, momentarily distracting me from my humiliation. ‘Well?’
‘Seven years,’ I whisper. ‘Happy?’
‘Yes.’ His response is swift and genuine, yet the stunned eyes are evident. ‘I have no idea how that’s possible, but it pleases me immensely.’ He grabs my chin and lifts. ‘And I’m talking to you, Livy, so look at me.’ I follow through on his instruction until our eye contact is restored. ‘I guess that means I’ll be breaking you in.’
I don’t gasp this time but my blood instantly heats, sending my pulse rate through the roof, replacing embarrassment with want. I want him more than I know I should.
Meeting his intoxicating stare with my own driven gaze, I send instructions to the muscles in my arms to lift and feel him, but before I can engage them, my phone starts squealing from my bag.
‘You should answer it.’ He sits back, giving me space to leave the intimacy of his closeness. ‘Let her know that you’re still alive.’ There’s no amusement on his face, but I hear it in his tone.
I stand quickly, keen to reassure my inquisitive grandmother that all is well. I don’t look at the screen before I answer, but I should’ve. ‘Hi!’ I greet, way too chirpy, given my circumstances.
‘Livy?’ The voice on the end of the line prompts me to pull my phone from my ear and look at the screen, even though I know damn well who it is.
I sigh, picturing Nan frantically dialling Gregory to inform him of the events earlier this evening. ‘Hi.’
‘That man. Who is he?’
‘My boss.’ I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping he buys it, but he scoffs disbelievingly, which quickly tells me I’ve failed to fool him.
‘Livy, give me a break! Who is he?’
I’m stuttering all over my words, frantically searching my mind for some rubbish to feed him. ‘Just . . . he’s . . . it doesn’t matter!’ I snap, starting to pace. Gregory won’t be happy, not after our conversations about Miller Hart.
‘It’s the coffee-hater, isn’t it?’ His tone is accusing, spiking my irritation.
‘Maybe,’ I retort. ‘Maybe not.’ Why I’ve added that is a mystery. Of course it’s the coffee-hater. Who else would it be?
I’m so busy trying to fob off my friend I don’t notice the coffee-hater looming behind me until his chin is on my shoulder, his breath heavy in my ear. I gasp as I turn around and, stupidly or not, I hang up on Gregory.
Miller’s brow is a knot of confusion. ‘That was a man.’
‘It’s rude to eavesdrop.’ I stab at the reject button of my phone when it starts ringing again.
‘That may be so.’ He holds his drink up, one finger detached from the glass and pointing at me. ‘But like I said, that was a man. Who is he?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ I say, fidgeting and diverting my eyes from his accusing blues.
‘If I’m taking you to my bed, then it is my business, Livy,’ he points out. ‘Will you please look at me when I’m speaking to you?’
I don’t. I keep my eyes on the floor, silently wondering why I don’t just tell him who it was. It’s not who he thinks it is, so what does it matter? I’ve got nothing to hide but his demand for the information is unearthing a childish rebelliousness in me. Or it could be my sass. I don’t need to find it because it seems to come out to play willingly around this man, which is undoubtedly a good job.
‘Livy.’ He hunkers down and captures my eyes, his brow raised in authority. ‘If there’s an obstruction then I’ll happily eliminate it.’
‘He’s a friend.’
‘What did he want?’
‘To know where I am.’
‘Why?’
‘Because my grandmother has obviously told him that you were at the house and he has put two and two together and come up with Miller.’ My mortification is growing by the second.
‘He knows about me?’ he asks, those dark brows showing no sign of lowering.
‘Yes, he knows about you.’ This is getting stupid. ‘Can I use your bathroom?’ I ask, wanting to escape and gather myself.
‘You may.’ His glass extends from his body and points toward a corridor leading off the lounge. ‘Third door on the right.’
I don’t waste time absorbing his questioning look. I follow his pointed glass, turning my phone off when it rings again, and let myself into the third door on the right, immediately collapsing against the back. But my exasperation is interrupted as I take in the colossal space in front of me. It’s not a bathroom. It’s a bedroom.
Chapter 7
I straighten up and scan the space, noting the obscene leather-framed bed, the gigantic chandelier suspended from the ceiling, and the floor-to-ceiling windows, with the most amazing view across the city. I shouldn’t be so stunned. I knew his place was palatial, but this is something else. I see two doors across the room, and deciding that one should be a bathroom, I make my way across the squidgy cream carpet and open the first one I come to, forcing my eyes to avoid the huge bed. It’s not a bathroom, but it is a wardrobe, if such a vast space could be classed as a wardrobe. The square room has floor-to-ceiling mahogany cupboards and shelves circling the three walls with a freestanding cabinet in the centre and a couch backing onto it. The surface of the cabinet displays dozens of small jewellery boxes, all open and exhibiting an array of cufflinks, watches and tie pins. I get the feeling that if I moved one of those boxes, he’d know. I quickly shut the door and hurry to the next one, pushing my way into the most ridiculously regal bathroom I’ve ever seen. I gasp, my eyes bugging. A giant claw-foot tub sits proudly by the massive window, with intricate gold taps and steps leading up to it, and the shower walls are adorned in a mosaic of cream and gold tiles. I try to take it all in. I can’t. It’s too much. It’s like a show home. After washing my hands, I wipe up carefully and straighten the towels, not wanting to leave anything out of place.