Promised
Page 97

‘I’ll never do anything less than worship you. I’ll never be a drunken fumble. Every time I take you, Livy, you’ll remember it. Each and every moment will be etched on that beautiful mind of yours for ever. Every kiss. Every touch. Every word.’
Miller’s loud roar pulls me straight back into a room that’s cold and unwelcoming, despite the warmth and luxury of the surroundings. And something strange happens – something out of my control. I’m shocked, my body taking on a mind of its own and responding to his vicious strikes. I orgasm. But it passes with no element of pleasure attached. I’m attacked by one last round of thundering strikes before he raises me slightly to gain more leverage, then finishes on an ear-piercing bellow that resounds around the room. He holds himself inside me and drops his head back, his chest expanding at a crazy rate and sweat pouring down his neck. I’m numb. I can’t feel the pain of the leather or the agony in my heart.
‘Any man who’s done anything less than worship you should be f**king shot!’
My legs are pushed down from his waist, and he pulls out of me quickly, but he doesn’t start to release me. He leaves me on a quiet curse and goes into the bathroom, slamming the door viciously behind him.
All of the missing emotion from that encounter is made up for when I begin to weep. My head goes limp, my chin hitting my chest, and I can’t even find the strength to relieve the pain in my wrists by getting myself back on the bed. I’m just hanging lifelessly, my body jerking from my sobs.
Destroyed.
Empty.
I hear the door open, but I keep my head down. I can’t look at him and I can’t let him see that I’ve fallen apart. I goaded him, pushed his boundaries. He’s hidden this man from me. He’s fought his control the whole time.
‘Fuck!’ he roars, and I drag my heavy head up to see his face pointed towards the ceiling. His features are distorted . . . disturbed. He lets out another ear-piercing bellow and swings around, sending his fist crashing into the bathroom door and splintered wood crashing to the floor.
A suppressed sob escapes my mouth and my chin falls back to my chest.
‘Livy?’ His voice is softer but doesn’t ease my wretched state as I feel his hands working around my wrists. He wraps an arm around my stomach to hold me up while he unravels the belt, and I hiss in pain when my arms drop lifelessly to my side. ‘Livy, you let go of the f**king bar!’ He sits me on the end of the bed and kneels on the floor before me, pushing my hair away so he can see me. I pull my eyes up to meet his. My face is soaked with tears and Miller is just a blur through my glazed eyes, but the horror on his face is clear, even through my distorted vision. ‘Oh Jesus.’ He grabs my wrists, lifting my hands to his mouth, and kisses my knuckles repeatedly, but I flinch, pain searing my flesh from his hold, making his face fall further. Shifting his grip to my forearms, he studies the angry welts silently until I pull my arms away from him and stand on shaky legs. ‘Livy?’
I ignore the anxiety in his voice and pick up my knickers, pulling them on as fast as my wobbly limbs will allow.
‘Livy, what are you doing?’ he asks, moving in front of me to get in the field of my vision.
I glance up, seeing panic and uncertainty. ‘I’m going.’
‘No.’ He shakes his head and rests his hands on my waist.
‘Don’t touch me!’ I shout, jumping back to escape him. I can’t bear it.
‘Oh God, no!’ He swipes my dress up from the floor and holds it behind his back. ‘You can’t go.’
He’s wrong. For once I will find it very easy to walk away from him. ‘Can I have my dress?’
‘No!’ He chucks it across the room and takes my waist again. ‘Livy, that man isn’t who I am.’
‘Get off!’ I pull out of his hold and start towards the spot where my dress has landed, but he beats me to it. ‘Please, give me my dress.’
‘No, Livy. I’m not letting you leave.’
‘I never want to see you again!’ I shout in his face, making him wince.
‘Please don’t say that,’ he begs as I try to win my dress back. ‘Livy, I’m not letting that be your last memory of me.’
I snatch my dress, collect my bag and heels, and run half na**d from the room, leaving Miller fighting his way into his boxer shorts. My head is spinning and my body trembling as I dive into the lift and smash my fist on every button in sight, not prepared to take the time to find the one I need.
‘Livy!’ His thumping footsteps come charging down the hotel corridor as I continue to hit the buttons.
‘Come on!’ I shout. ‘Shut!’
‘Livy, please!’
I sag against the back wall when the doors begin to shut, but they don’t close fully. Miller’s arm appears, forcing them open again. ‘No!’ I shout, backing into a corner of the lift.
He’s heaving, sweating, panic clear on that perfect, usually expressionless face. ‘Olivia, please, get out of the lift.’
I wait for him to step in and seize me, but he doesn’t. He’s just hovering on the threshold, persistently cursing and forcing the doors open each time they try to close.
‘Livy, get out.’
‘No.’ I shake my head, clutching my belongings to my chest.
He reaches in, but there’s at least two feet between his outstretched hand and me. ‘Give me your hand.’
Why isn’t he getting in to pull me out? He’s looks afraid, and I’m beginning to realise that it’s not just because I’m running away from him. He’s scared of something else. The horrible realisation slams into my frantic mind, accompanied by countless flashbacks of him carrying me up endless stairs. He’s scared of the lift.
He takes a slow look around the inside of the lift until his eyes slowly fall back to mine. ‘Livy, I beg you. Please, give me your hand.’ He thrusts his hand forward again, but I’m too stunned to take it. He’s truly petrified. ‘Livy!’
‘No,’ I say quietly, pressing the buttons again. ‘I’m not getting out.’ My clouded eyes release the pools of tears that have been building and they begin to trickle down my cheeks.
‘Fuck!’ His hold of the door releases and his hands delve into his dark waves.
Then the doors start to close again.
And this time he doesn’t stop them.
We stare at each other for the short time it takes for them to meet in the middle, and the very last image I see of Miller Hart is what I have come to expect. A straight face. Nothing to tell me what he’s thinking. But I don’t need expressions from him to tell me how he’s feeling any more.
I stare at the door in silence, my mind awash with so many thoughts to process, but a chime from the lift makes me jump and the doors begin to open. It’s only now I realise that I’m standing in my underwear with my dress, shoes and bag still clutched to my chest.
I hurry to dress myself as a corridor comes into view, relieved that there’s no one awaiting the lift’s arrival. Then I stop at every floor on the way down until the doors open onto the lobby. My strained heart is working overtime, smashing against my breastbone as I dart out of the lift, desperate to escape this hotel. Images of Miller escorting many women through this foyer engulf my mind and the woman on reception catches my eye as I hurry across. She knows Miller, she knew the drill, handing him a room key without question or payment, and now she’s looking at me with a knowing look. I can’t bear it.