Promised
Page 65

Just as Miller promised, my phone starts bleeping from my bag and I retrieve it from the desk, fishing around and finding Gregory’s name on the screen. ‘Hello.’ I try to sound cool and collected, when I want to scream down the phone, vent and lash out.
‘You’re leaving with him?’
‘I’m okay.’ I don’t need to be worrying him further, and I definitely won’t be leaving with Miller. ‘You didn’t know his name?’
‘No,’ he sighs. ‘Just Mr Hart, uptight f**ker.’
‘You told me to let him take me on the dance floor!’
‘That’s because he’s f**king hot!’
‘Or so you could have your later with Ben?’
‘A little dance, that’s all. I wouldn’t have let it go further.’
‘You did!’
‘I have no excuse,’ he mumbles. ‘I’m pissed off, but regardless of that, it’s a moot f**king point now, isn’t it? He’s the f**king coffee-hater and you’re already in love with the jumped-up twat!’
‘He’s not a twat!’ I don’t know what I’m saying. I can think of far harsher words to use and Miller would be all of them right now.
‘I don’t like this,’ Gregory grunts.
‘I didn’t like what I was subjected to earlier, either, Gregory.’
There’s silence down the line for a few moments before he speaks. ‘Sassy,’ he retorts sullenly. ‘Please hold on to that if you’re giving him more of your time, Livy.’
‘I will,’ I assure him. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ll call you. Is Ben okay?’
‘No, he’s still not got his colour back.’ He laughs, lightening the mood. ‘He’ll live.’
‘Okay. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’
‘You will,’ he confirms. ‘Be careful.’
I exhale deeply and hang up, slumping my arse on the edge of Miller’s desk, where there’s no paperwork, pen, computer or stationery, just a cordless phone set precisely to the side. His chair is tucked under, perfectly straight, and as I gaze around the whole room, the preciseness of everything registers. It’s just like his home. Everything has a place.
Except me.
He owns a nightclub?
My head snaps up when the mechanism on the door sounds and he’s back, looking satisfied, until he sees my face. ‘I asked you to do something.’
‘Will you force me if I don’t?’ I challenge, the alcohol injecting some bravery into me.
He seems confused by my question. ‘I would never force you to do anything I know you don’t want to, Livy.’
‘You forced me down here,’ I point out.
‘I didn’t force you. You could’ve battled with me or struggled from my hold if you’d really wanted to.’ He runs his hand through his hair and takes a deep breath, then brings himself to me and pushes my thighs open, standing between them. His finger slides under my chin and pulls my face to his, but he’s a little blurred. I squint, frustrated that I can’t fully appreciate his features. ‘You’re drunk,’ he says softly.
‘It’s your fault.’ I’m beginning to slur.
‘Then I apologise.’
‘Did you tell your girlfriend about me?’
‘She’s not my damn girlfriend, Livy. But yes, I told her about you.’
The thought thrills me, but if he’s felt the need to tell her, then there’s more to it than business.
‘Is she an ex?’
‘Fuck, no!’
‘Why the need to tell her about me, then? What business is it of hers?’
‘None!’ He’s exasperated. I don’t care. It’s quite satisfying to see something more than a straight face and clipped tone.
‘Why do you keep doing this?’ I ask, pulling away. ‘You’re tender, sweet and affectionate, then hard and cruel.’
‘I’m not ha—’
‘Yes, you are,’ I interrupt him, and I don’t care if I get chastised for my lack of manners. It wasn’t very polite of him to manhandle me down here, but he still did it, and he’s right, I could’ve tried harder to stop him. But I didn’t. ‘Are you finally going to f**k me?’ I ask, barefaced and completely even.
He recoils, repulsion plaguing his face. ‘You’re drunk,’ he hisses. ‘I’m not doing anything to you when you’re drunk.’
‘Why?’
He pushes his face to mine, his jaw ticking. ‘Because I’ll never do anything less than worship you, that is why.’ Taking a moment to calm down, his eyes close briefly and reopen lazily. He hits me with a determined gaze. ‘I’ll never be a drunken fumble, Olivia. Every time I take you, you’ll remember it. Each and every moment will be etched on that beautiful mind of yours for ever.’ He gently taps my temple. ‘Every kiss. Every touch. Every word.’
My heart rate accelerates. It’s too late, but I say it anyway. ‘I don’t want it to be that way.’ He’s already got a permanent residence in my mind.
‘Tough luck, because that’s how it’s going to be.’
‘It doesn’t have to be,’ I goad, wondering where these confident words and tones are coming from and if I really mean them.
‘Yes, it does. It has to be.’
‘Why?’ I’m beginning to sway a little, and he notices because he takes my arm to steady me. ‘I’m fine!’ I slur insolently. ‘And you haven’t answered my question.’
He clenches his eyes shut, and then slowly opens them, blasting me back with blue puddles of sincerity. ‘Because that is how it is for me.’
I swallow, hoping my drunkenness isn’t making me hear things. I have no reply, not now, perhaps not even when I’m sober. ‘You want me.’ My drunken mind still wants him to say the words.
He takes a deep breath and makes a point of burning through my eyes with his gaze. ‘I. Want. You,’ he confirms slowly . . . clearly. ‘Give me my thing.’
I throw my arms around his neck and pull him in, giving him his thing.
A cuddle.
My heart is free-falling.
He holds me for the longest time, stroking my back and combing my hair with his fingers. I could fall asleep. He’s sighing repeatedly into my neck, constantly kissing me and squeezing me to him.
‘Can I take you back to my bed?’ he asks quietly.
‘For four hours?’
‘I think you know that I want a lot longer than four hours, Olivia Taylor.’ He surrenders his thing and palms my bum, sliding me from his desk and up to his body. ‘I wish you had never covered your face.’
‘It’s make-up. It doesn’t cover, it enhances.’
‘You’re a pure, natural beauty, sweet girl.’ He turns and starts for the door, but detours to the drinks cabinet to rearrange the champagne flutes first. ‘I’d like it to stay that way.’
‘You want me to be timid and merciful.’
He shakes his head lightly and opens the door to his office, setting me on my feet and taking his signature hold of my nape. ‘No, I just don’t want you behaving so recklessly and giving those lips to another man to taste.’