One Night: Denied, Page 24

  The loss of his hold leaves me unsteady, and I watch through my haze of tears as he stalks to the stairwell. His dignity is concealed only by his boxer shorts, but his lack of cover only enhances the fury emanating from his lean, naked physique. He’s quaking with anger, the muscles of his back rolling in waves, appearing to be flexing in preparation for what he might find beyond that door. He shoves it open with no caution or care, and passes the threshold, disappearing from my sight quickly. I attempt to get my breathing under control so I can listen, but I can’t hear a thing.

  Then life seems to stop as a high-pitched ding rings out in the corridor air.

  The lift.

  The broken lift.

  My heartbeat begins to pulse in my ears as I remain frozen, my eyes casting slowly over to the lift. The doors begin to slide open. I start to back away, terrified.

  Then I gasp, my back hitting the wall as a man falls out. It seems to take an age for his boiler suit and tool belt to register in my distraught mind.

  ‘Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to startle you.’

  I sag, my palm pressing into my chest as I exhale my held breath and watch him disappear back into the lift.

  ‘Nothing.’ Miller appears, pacing towards me, looking no less angry than when he left. He takes my nape, guiding me into his apartment, and I hear the door slam, making me wince. He’s buzzing with anger. ‘Sit,’ he instructs, releasing me and indicating the couch.

  ‘I saw someone this time,’ I say, lowering myself to the sofa.

  ‘This time?’ He recoils. ‘Why haven’t you said anything? You should have said something!’

  My hands meet in my lap, my gaze dropping to them as I thumb my ring. ‘I thought I was being silly,’ I confess, now realising that my inner alarm bells are working and they’re working well.

  Miller is standing above me, twitching. I can’t look at him. I know he’s right, and now I’m feeling more foolish than ever.

  Firm hands land on my thighs and I force my eyes to lift a fraction in an attempt to gauge his expression. He’s crouched before me, his hands have begun a soothing caress, and he’s reinstated his impassive demeanour. All of these things restore my lost comfort. ‘Tell me when,’ he encourages me with an easy, gentle tone.

  ‘On my way to work the other day when you dropped me off. In the club.’ I’m watching Miller, and I’m not liking what I’m seeing. ‘Do you know who it could be?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he replies, replacing my returned comfort with a little disbelief.

  ‘You must have some idea. Who would want to follow me, Miller?’

  His eyes drop, hiding from my questioning glare.

  ‘Miller, who?’ I’m not letting this drop. ‘Am I in danger?’ When fear should be slicing me, I find anger brimming instead. If I’m at risk, then I should know about it. Be prepared.

  ‘You’re in no danger when you’re with me, Olivia.’ He keeps his eyes down, refusing to face me.

  ‘But I’m not always with you.’

  ‘I’ve told you’ – he grates the words slowly – ‘you’re probably the safest woman in London.’

  ‘I beg to differ!’ I blurt, shocked. ‘I’m mixed up with you and William Anderson. I think I’m intelligent enough to figure out that that probably places me in the high-risk category.’ Good God, I dread to think of the enemies these two men have between them.

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Miller says quietly but insistently. ‘Anderson and I may not like each other, but we have one key interest.’

  ‘Me,’ I answer for him, but I don’t see how that makes me safe.

  ‘Yes, you, and with Anderson and me being on, let’s say, rival teams, it places you in safe hands.’

  ‘Then who the hell has been following me?’ I yell, yanking Miller’s startled face up. ‘I don’t feel safe. I feel very unsafe!’

  ‘You don’t need to worry.’

  I can see the strength it’s taking for him to remain calm. I’m past that. I’m pissed off and annoyed that he’s attempting to brush off my warranted fear with excuses of being in safe hands.

  I stand abruptly, forcing Miller back on his heels. His steel-blue gaze regards me closely as I try to pull a valid claim together, something to put his claim to shame. It’s quite easy. ‘I didn’t feel very safe when I was being chased down out there,’ I yell, throwing my arm out to the side to point at the door.

  ‘You shouldn’t have left without me.’ He stands and holds my hips, keeping me in place, then hunkers down, unleashing his curl and sinking into my angry eyes with worried blue ones. ‘Promise you’ll never go anywhere alone.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just promise me, Olivia. Please don’t hit me with your sass.’

  My sass is the only thing holding me up right now. I’m angry but frightened. I feel safe but exposed. ‘Please tell me why.’

  His eyes close, clearly trying to gather some patience. ‘An interferer,’ he whispers on a sigh, his whole body deflating but his grip of my hips firming up to steady me when I wobble on a gulp. ‘Now promise.’

  My eyes are wide and I’m frightened, no words coming to me.

  ‘Olivia, please, I beg you.’

  ‘Why? Who’s the interferer and why are they following me?’

  He holds my eyes, speaking to me through the intensity of his gaze as well as his words. ‘I don’t know, but whoever it is can obviously predict my next move.’

  His next move? Realisation sucker-punches me in the gut. ‘You haven’t stopped?’ I gasp.

  It’s not as easy as just quitting.

  His clients. They’ve all had him at the drop of a hat and a few thousand quid. Not any more, and it’s obvious that some won’t give him up easily. Everyone wants what they can’t have and now, because of me, he’s even more unobtainable.

  ‘I’ve not officially quit, Olivia. I know the upset this will cause. I need to do this right.’

  It’s abruptly very clear. ‘They’ll hate me.’ Cassie hates me, and she’s not even a client.

  He huffs an agreeable puff of sarcastic air. Then he sinks into me with reassuring eyes. ‘I’m not sleeping with anyone else.’ He articulates the words slowly and precisely, a desperate attempt to make himself clear, and I don’t doubt for a moment that he’s telling me the truth. ‘Olivia, I’ve not tasted anyone or let anyone taste me. Tell me you believe me.’

  ‘I believe you.’ I don’t hesitate. My faith is profound, despite my muddle, with no evidence except Miller’s say-so. I have no explanation for why this might be, but something deep and powerful is guiding me. It’s instinct, and instinct has served me well up to this point. I’m sticking with it. ‘I believe you,’ I affirm again.

  ‘Thank you.’ He takes me in his arms and hugs me with the most incredible amount of relief. I’m confused and shocked. Women scorned and following me? They can predict his next move. They know he’s going to quit and they don’t want him to.

  ‘I have a request,’ he breathes into my neck, his hands skating every inch of my back.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never stop loving me.’

  I shake my head, wondering if he recalls making that request last night when alcohol and tiredness were consuming him, and that makes me wonder whether he recalls my reply. ‘Never.’ My confirmation is as resolute as it was before sleep took us last night, despite my short delay in delivering it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nan’s waiting on the doorstep when we pull up outside the house, arms crossed over her bosom and guarded sapphire eyes set firmly on Miller. I check for a tapping slipper as she follows our path to the house, anything to avoid the risk of meeting her gaze. She may have been understanding and compassionate on the telephone last night, but I don’t mistake that as being the end of it. We’re face to face now. There’s no escaping. She’ll be pouncing on Miller, and judging by h
is quiet thoughtfulness since we left his apartment, he’s fully expecting it.

  His warm palm slides onto my neck as we approach and begins massaging gently, his attempt to rub the nerves out of me. He’s wasting his time. ‘Mrs Taylor,’ Miller says formally, bringing us to a stop.

  ‘Hmmm,’ she hums, not relenting on her threatening glare. ‘It’s past nine.’ She’s speaking to me now but still holding Miller in place with suspicious eyes. ‘You’ll be late.’

  ‘I’m—’

  ‘Olivia isn’t going to work today,’ Miller cuts me off. ‘Her boss has agreed to give her the day off.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Nan asks, grey eyebrows high in surprise. I feel like I should be the one explaining, but instead I’m a spare part between these two while Miller continues to speak.

  ‘Yes, I’m taking her out for the day. A bit of respite and quality time together.’

  I find it easy to suck back the condescending laugh that’s threatening. Miller insisted that I needed a break, and the opportunity to spend a whole day with him is rare and should be seized with both hands. But I’m not naive enough to believe that that’s the only reason.

  Miller looks down at me with a little reassurance in his gaze. ‘Go and take a shower.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say reluctantly, knowing there’s no avoiding leaving Miller to handle Nan on his own. His insistence that I didn’t have time to shower at his apartment this morning now makes sense. It gives him the perfect opportunity to speak with Nan while I’m out of the way.

  ‘Go,’ he encourages me softly. ‘I’ll be here.’

  I nod, nibbling on my lip, not in any rush to part company with them. In fact, I’d like to turn, run, and take Miller with me. Nan subtly cocks her head, her way of saying scoot. There’s no avoiding the inevitable, but if it wasn’t for Miller’s desire to apologise, then I wouldn’t now be taking the stairs slowly and leaving them behind to talk. I’ve given Miller the low-down on my conversation with my grandmother last night, and he smiled fondly when I relayed what Nan had told me about special love. But Nan doesn’t know the gruesome details, and it has to remain that way.

  I glance over my shoulder when I reach the top of the stairs, finding them watching me, neither prepared to speak until I’m out of earshot. Nan is radiating authority and my finicky, fine Miller is oozing respect. It’s an amusing sight. ‘Chop-chop,’ Miller calls on a mild grin. He finds my worry amusing? Rolling my eyes on an exasperated sigh, I resign myself to the fact there’s nothing I can do.

  I take myself into the bathroom and shower in record time. The water is cool, but I’m not prepared to wait until it’s more tolerable, and the conditioner barely touches my hair before I’m rinsing it off. My mind has plenty of things to focus on, all unpleasant and worrying, but it’s hijacked by images of Nan’s finger waving in Miller’s face and her asking prying questions that I hope to God he can wriggle out of answering.

  Flinging a towel around my cold, sopping body, I dart across the landing to get dressed, listening briefly for heated words – Nan’s mainly – before I charge into my bedroom and throw my towel to the side.

  ‘Well, hello.’

  I jump back against the door, my hand clutching my heart. ‘Jesus!’

  Miller’s sitting on my bed, phone to his ear, with a devilish grin on his perfect face. He doesn’t look like he’s just been verbally terrorised. ‘Apologies,’ he says into the phone, eyes on me. ‘Something’s just come up.’ Clicking to end the call, he lets his phone slide to the centre of his palm while he taps his knee pensively with his fingertips. ‘Cold?’

  His one-word question and the area that his twinkling eyes are focused on pulls my eyes downward. Yes, I am, and it’s plain to see, but my chilly nipples start to tingle with something other than coldness as I remain under his examination. ‘A little,’ I concede, cupping my boobs, hiding them from view. ‘Where’s Nan?’

  ‘Downstairs.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ He’s calm and collected, not displaying any signs of unease after dealing with my protective grandmother.

  ‘Well, because . . . it’s just . . .’ I stutter and stammer all over my words, stupidly uncomfortable. This is ridiculous. I roll my eyes and drop my hands. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘You mean while she was tapping her biggest carving knife on the table?’

  ‘She wasn’t,’ I laugh, but halt my nervous giggling when Miller remains completely serious. ‘Was she?’

  He tucks his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket and stands, resting his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘Olivia, I’m not prepared to go any further with this line of conversation while you’re wet and naked.’ He shakes his head, like he’s shaking away wicked thoughts. He probably is. ‘Either get dressed or shimmy that gorgeous little body over here so I can taste it.’

  My spine lengthens and I fight off the shots of desire that fire like bullets across the room, from Miller to me. ‘You wouldn’t disrespect my nan,’ I stupidly remind him.

  ‘That was before she threatened to remove my manhood.’

  I laugh. He’s serious and there’s no question that Nan was, too. ‘So now the rule doesn’t apply?’

  He pouts, a wicked glint in his stunning eyes. ‘I’ve assessed and mitigated the risks associated with worshipping you in your nan’s home.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Yes, and the best thing is that you can put measures in place to lower a risk.’ He’s talking like he’s negotiating a business transaction again.

  ‘Like what?’

  Miller’s lovely lips press into a straight line as he considers my question; then he wanders over to my chair and picks it up. ‘Excuse me,’ he says, waiting for me to move from the door, which I do without complaint, watching in amusement as he wedges the top of the backrest under the handle. ‘I believe we may be close to a risk-free worshipping session.’ A huge smile spreads across my face as I watch him checking the stability of the chair before he jiggles the handle. ‘Yes,’ he concludes on a satisfied nod of his handsome head. ‘I believe I’ve covered every eventuality.’ He turns towards me and spends a few moments burning my naked skin with his scorching gaze. ‘Now I get to taste you.’

  My libido responds fast. I’m in full-on responsive mode, and I’m delighted to see Miller is, too. I can see the evidence through his trousers.

  ‘Olivia!’ Nan’s screech slices straight through the sexual tension and kills it dead. ‘Olivia, I’m putting on a white wash. You have any?’ The creaking floorboards indicate her close proximity.

  ‘Fucking perfect,’ Miller grumbles with one hundred per cent frustration. ‘Just . . . fucking . . . perfect.’

  I grin and dip to retrieve my towel. ‘You missed a risk,’ I muse, wrapping myself up.

  Adjusting his groin area, he drills holes into me, unmistakably unamused. ‘I didn’t anticipate a white-wash day.’ He removes the chair from the door and pulls it open, revealing Nan with her arms full of white material. Miller plasters an insincere smile on his face, but it’s still a smile and it’s still relatively rare, even if it’s fake. Not that Nan would know. ‘You should have someone to do that for you, Mrs Taylor.’

  ‘Pfft! You rich people!’ She shoos him out of the way and stalks around my room, collecting anything white on her travels. ‘I’m not scared of hard work.’

  ‘Neither is Miller,’ I pipe up. ‘He cleans and cooks.’

  Nan halts, shuffling the masses of white material between her arms. ‘Oh, so it’s just my age that suggests I should have some help, then, hmmm?’

  I smirk when I see Nan hit Miller with a contemptuous look, making him shift awkwardly on his expensive shoes. ‘Not at all,’ he says, flicking pleading eyes to mine. I’m smug. Now he’s getting the gist. She can be a pain in the royal arse and I’ll remind him of this little scene when he chastises m
e for saying it as it is. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘Save it, mister,’ she spits, marching past him and giving me a devious wink. Then she stops in front of me and runs old eyes up and down my white towel. The one that’s covering my dignity. ‘I’m doing whites,’ she muses, holding back an impish grin.

  ‘Well this can go in the next load.’ I pull my towel in, narrowing my eyes in warning.

  ‘But this doesn’t make a full load.’ She gestures to the pile of washing in her arms with a minuscule nod of her head. ‘It’ll be a terrible waste of water and energy. I should fill the machine.’

  My lips purse and hers curve. ‘You should fill your mouth so you can’t speak,’ I retort, making her grin widen. She’s incorrigible, the old minx.

  ‘Miller!’ she gasps. ‘Do you hear how she speaks to an old lady?’

  ‘I do, Mrs Taylor,’ he replies speedily, rounding her short, plump body until he’s standing behind me, looking at Nan’s now serious face over my shoulder. She’s a bugger, playing the old, sweet lady. I know better, and I’ll make sure Miller does, too. He bends and rests his chin next to my ear, his arm curling around my waist so his hand is splayed on my towel-covered tummy. ‘I have an apple in the car that’ll fit your mouth perfectly. Should do the trick.’

  ‘Ha!’ I laugh.

  She gasps in horror, her face contorting in irritation. ‘Well!’

  ‘Well what?’ I ask. ‘Quit the defenceless old bird act, Nan. It’s past its sell-by date.’

  She huffs and puffs on the spot, looking back and forth to me and Miller, whose chin is still settled on my bare shoulder. I take his hand on my tummy and squeeze, craning my head to get his delicious face in eyeshot. He smiles brightly and kisses me hard on the lips.

  ‘Respect!’ Nan squawks, snapping us out of our moment. ‘Give me that!’ She yanks the towel from my body.