Promised
Page 41

‘What do you do for a living, Miller?’ Nan asks, delighting me. Yes, what does Miller Hart do for a living? I doubt he’ll tell my sweet grandmother that he doesn’t want to get into personal talk when he’s sitting at the head of her dinner table.
‘I won’t bore you with that, Mrs Taylor. It’s mind-numbing.’
I was wrong. He hasn’t directly brushed her off, but he’s succeeded in a roundabout way. ‘I’d like to know,’ I push, feeling brave, even when his grip on my hand tightens by another notch.
He blinks slowly, then raises his eyes slowly. ‘I like to keep business and pleasure separate, Livy. You know that.’
‘Very sensible,’ George mumbles around his food, pointing his fork at Miller. ‘I’ve lived by that saying my whole life.’
My pluck is being beaten down by Miller’s look and worst of all, by those words. I’m pretty much a business transaction – a deal, an agreement or an arrangement. Call it what you like, it doesn’t change the meaning. So, technically, Miller’s words are a pile of shit.
I flex my hand in his grip and he eases up, raising his eyebrows as he does. ‘You should eat,’ he prompts. ‘It really is delicious.’
Taking my hand out of his, I follow through on his order and resume my meal, but I’m not at all comfortable. Miller shouldn’t have accepted my grandmother’s dinner invitation. This is personal. He’s invading my privacy, my security. He is the one who made his intention to keep things physical clear, yet here he is, immersing himself in my world, albeit a small world, but it’s my world, nevertheless. And this is not being physical.
Just as I think that, I feel his leg brush against my knee, snapping me from my wandering mind and bringing me back to the table. I gaze up at him as I try to eat, seeing him looking at Nan, listening intently to her rambling on. I don’t know what about because all I can hear are replays of Miller’s words.
‘For as long as you do this to me, you’re obliged to remedy it.’
‘All of my rules were obliterated the second I laid my hands on you.’
What rules, and how long will I do that to him? I want to affect him. I want to make his body respond to me like mine does to him. Once I’m past the moral pull that’s trying to yank me away from his potency, it’s all very easy – too easy . . . frighteningly easy.
‘That was bloody scrumptious, Josephine,’ George declares, the clatter of his cutlery against his plate breaking the distant hum of chatter. I’ve been dragged back to the present, where Miller is still here, and Nan is now scowling at her friend for his clumsiness. ‘Sorry,’ George says timidly.
‘If you’ll excuse me.’ Miller’s cutlery gets placed accurately on his empty plate, before he dabs at his mouth with his embroidered napkin. ‘Would you mind if I use your bathroom?’
‘Of course!’ Nan sings at him. ‘It’s the door at the top of the stairs.’
‘Thank you.’ He stands, folding the napkin and placing it to the side of his plate before tucking his chair under the table and leaving the room.
Nan’s eyes follow Miller as he leaves. ‘Would you look at the buns on that,’ she muses, just as his back disappears.
‘Nan!’ I splutter, mortified.
‘Tight, perfectly formed. Livy, you are letting that man take you to dinner.’
‘Will you behave!’ I look down at my plate, noting my barely touched beef. I can’t possibly eat. I feel like I’m in a trance. ‘I’ll clear the table,’ I say, reaching over for Miller’s plate.
‘I’ll help.’ George makes to stand but I place my hand on his shoulder and apply a little pressure, encouraging him to remain seated.
‘It’s fine, George. I’ll take care of it.’
He doesn’t argue, instead topping up the wine glasses.
‘Get the pineapple upside-down cake!’ Nan calls to my back.
With a handful of stacked plates, I make my way to the kitchen, eager to escape the lingering presence of Miller, even though he’s no longer in the room. I didn’t refuse when he told me that I’ll be going home with him tonight, and I should’ve. What will I say to Nan? There’s no getting away from the fact that he’s the cause for my recent mood swings. My mind has never been so jumbled. I’m not in control, nothing is making sense, and I’m not accustomed to any of these feelings. But what is most mystifying to me is the man who’s the cause of my derailment. An unfathomable, beautiful man who screams heartache on every level.
Physical.
No feelings.
No emotion.
Just one night.
Twenty-four hours, of which I still owe him sixteen. That’s twice as long as what I’ve already experienced – double the sensations and desires . . . double the pain when we’re done.
‘I can hear you think.’
I jump and swing around, still with the stack of plates in my hand. ‘You startled me,’ I breathe, placing the crockery on the work surface.
‘I apologise,’ he says sincerely, strolling over to me. I don’t mean to, but I back up. ‘Are you overthinking things again?’
‘I call it being prudent.’
‘Prudent?’ he asks, standing in front of me now. ‘I wouldn’t call it that.’
I’m looking up at his face but desperately trying to avoid those eyes. ‘No?’
‘No.’ He takes a gentle hold of my chin, encouraging me to look at him. ‘I call it being foolish.’
Our eyes connect and so do our lips, but he only rests them over mine. There would be nothing foolish about avoiding Miller Hart. ‘I can’t read you,’ I say quietly, but my words don’t make him pull away with concern.
‘I don’t want to be read, Livy. I want to be flooded in the pleasure you give me.’
I liquefy against him, despite the fact that his words have only reinforced what I already know. I want to be flooded in the pleasure that he gives me, too, but I don’t want the feelings that come afterwards. I can’t cope with them. ‘You’re making this really difficult.’
His arm creeps around to my lower back and strokes up until he’s on my neck. ‘No. I’m making it all very simple. Overthinking makes it difficult, and you’re overthinking.’ He kisses my cheek and nuzzles into my neck. ‘Let me take you to bed.’
‘By doing that, I’ll be something I swore I’d never be.’
‘What’s that?’ He spreads delicate kisses across my neck, and he’s doing it because he knows I’m torn. He’s a smart man. He’s scrambling my senses, but worst of all, my mind.
‘At a man’s mercy.’
There’s definitely a slight falter in the trailing of his lips. I’m not imagining it. He removes himself from the sanctuary of my neck and studies me thoughtfully. So much time passes – enough for my mind to linger on many of the touches he’s blessed me with, the kisses we’ve shared and the passion we’ve created together. It’s like I’m watching it all in his eyes, making me wonder if he’s reliving those moments, too. He eventually reaches up and runs his knuckles softly down my cheek. ‘If there is anyone at the mercy of someone here, Livy, then it is me at yours.’ His eyes divert to my lips and lazily start moving in. And I do nothing to stop him.