One Night: Denied (26 page)

Miller’s arm slips around my waist and pulls me closer. I can feel the tightness of his strung-out muscles, and panic makes me want to remove him from the store before they release and knock this old guy on his plump arse. ‘Would it matter if she wasn’t?’ Miller asks tightly.

The man shifts and shuffles in his tweed, laughing nervously. ‘I thought I was being helpful,’ he insists.

‘You weren’t,’ Miller retorts. ‘She was shopping for me, not that it should matter.’

‘Of course!’ Stout Man gives Miller a quick appraisal, nodding his approval before carefully pulling down a white shirt. ‘I believe we have much that you would find appealing, sir.’

‘Probably.’ Miller shifts his hand to my neck and starts rubbing that reassurance back into me. He never fails. I’m warm and feeling less exposed to the demeaning words that have been directed at me, despite him being perfectly polite in his insult. Miller steps forward and runs a fingertip over the luxury material of the shirt, humming his approval. I watch him cautiously, still sensing those coiled muscles and knowing for damn sure that
that
hum of approval was entirely fake.

‘Wonderful piece,’ the assistant says proudly.

‘I beg to differ.’ Miller returns to my side. ‘And it could be made of the finest material money could buy, but I wouldn’t buy it from you.’ I’m turned by a gentle flex of his hold. ‘Good day, sir.’ We exit the store, leaving a dumbfounded man with a lovely white shirt hanging from his limp hands. ‘Fucking prick,’ Miller spits, pushing me onward.

I keep my mouth shut. I can’t even locate the need to be annoyed that I haven’t managed to get Miller interested in some casual clothes, and after that scene, my determination should be stronger. But I never want to face another confrontation such as that, not just because it was humiliating, but also because of my lingering worry about Miller’s temper. He looked feral, bordering on becoming that frightening creature who takes leave of his senses and doesn’t seem able to control himself.

I’m marched down the street, my heart sinking with each step we take when it becomes apparent that we’re heading for his car. That’s it? Our quality time together consisted of a reality check in a posh clothes store?
Disappointed
doesn’t cover it.

We arrive at Miller’s Mercedes, where he places me neatly in the passenger seat. I watch silently with careful eyes, not daring to voice my discontent as he steams around the front of the car and throws himself into the driver’s side.

I’m nervous.

He’s pissed off.

I’m silent.

He’s breathing erratically.

The anger seems to be intensifying rather than dulling. I’m struck stupid, not knowing what to say or do. He slams the key into the ignition on a hiss, turns it, and revs the engine so hard I think the car might blow up. Sinking further into my seat, I start toying with my ring.

‘Fuck!’ he roars, smashing his fist into the centre of the steering wheel. The punch alone startles me, making me fly back in my seat, but the horn sounding off drags out my alarm. That nasty fear bolts through my speeding heart, but I keep my eyes on my lap. I can’t look at him. I know what I’ll see and Miller’s rage isn’t a pretty sight.

It seems like for ever before the echo of the horn fades to nothing, leaving a ringing in my ears, and it’s even longer before I find the courage to glimpse at him. His forehead is resting on the steering wheel, his palms gripping the circle of leather, and his back is rising and falling erratically.

‘Miller?’ I say quietly as I lean forward a fraction, cautious, but I soon retreat when his palms lift and smash back down on another shout. He flings his body back into the seat, falls silent for a few, long moments, and then he yanks at the handle of the door, getting out and slamming it behind him. ‘Miller!’ I shout as he paces away from the car. ‘Shit!’ He’s going back to the shop! I blindly feel for the door handle, watching his long legs eat up the pavement, but then I halt my frenzied grappling when he comes to a sudden standstill and his hands fly into his hair. I’m frozen, weighing up the merits of trying to calm him down. I don’t relish the thought. Not at all. My heart continues to clatter in my chest, threatening to break free as I wait for his next move, praying he doesn’t push onward because there isn’t a chance on earth that I can stop him from doing whatever he intends to do.

My whole being relaxes a tad when I see his arms drop, and a little more when I see his head fall back on his shoulders, looking up to the heavens. He’s calming down, letting rationality push through the fuzz of rage. I swallow and follow his steps to a nearby wall, then relax even more on an inward sob when his palms meet the bricks and he braces himself, head dropped and his back rising and falling in a controlled, steady manner. He’s taking deep breaths. My hands relax in my lap and my back against the leather seat as I watch quietly, leaving him undisturbed while he gathers himself. It doesn’t take as long as I anticipated, and the relief that floods my seated form when he begins to straighten out his suit and hair is beyond comprehension. Enough air to fill a thousand balloons leaves my lungs on a thankful exhale. He’s pulled it back, although why he lost it so badly in such a silly situation is beyond me.

After spending a few minutes ensuring he’s presentable, Miller makes his way back to the car, opening the door calmly, sliding into the seat like liquid, calmly, and relaxing back in his seat,
very
calmly.

I wait cautiously.

He thinks deeply.

Then he turns to me with tortured blues and takes both of my hands, bringing them to his lips and closing his eyes. ‘I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please.’

A hint of a smile traces the edges of my lips at his plea and at his ability to revert from gentleman to madman to gentleman, all in the space of a few minutes. His temper is a worry that our relationship doesn’t need. ‘Why?’ I ask simply, pulling his eyes open and up. ‘That man wasn’t trying to interfere. He wasn’t driving a wedge between us or threatening our relationship.’

‘I beg to differ,’ Miller counters quietly. My brow wrinkles at his claim, more so when he insists on me joining him on his side of the car by tugging me over. He’s crumpled enough after his little flip-out, even though he’s spent plenty of time ironing himself out again. I’m positioned on his lap, my knees straddling his thighs, and my hands placed on his shoulders before he circles my waist with his palms. Drawing a deep breath, he firms up his grip of my waist and locks eyes with mine. They have lost their wildness and are now serious. ‘He most certainly
was
driving a wedge between us, Livy.’

I try to hold back my confusion but my face muscles let me down and I’m awash with perplexity before I can retract it. ‘How?’

‘What were you thinking?’

‘When?’

He sighs deeply, frustration starting to brim. ‘When that pri—’ He snaps his mouth shut and rethinks his words before continuing. ‘When that undesirable gentleman was speaking to you, what were you thinking?’

I catch his drift immediately. He really doesn’t want to know what I was thinking. It’ll make him mad again, so I shrug, dropping my eyes and keeping my mouth firmly sealed. I’m not risking it.

Miller lightly digs into my flesh with a flex of his fingertips. ‘Don’t deprive me of that face, Olivia.’

‘You know what I was thinking.’ I refuse to look at him.

‘Please look at me when we’re talking.’

I take my eyes straight to his. ‘I fucking hate your manners sometimes.’ I’m cranky because he’s nailed me
and
my thought process, and I’m thrilled because his soft lips are batting off the threat of a smile at my sass.

‘What were you thinking?’

‘Why do you want me to say it?’ I ask. ‘What point are you trying to prove?’

‘Okay, I’ll say it. I’ll explain why I very nearly returned to teach that man some manners.’

‘Go on, then,’ I goad.

‘Every time someone makes you unhappy or speaks to you in such a way, it makes you overthink. You know how I feel about overthinking.’ He nudges me again, reinforcing his point.

‘Yes, I know.’

‘And my gorgeous, sweet girl already overthinks too much all on her own.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘So when these people get your lovely little mind racing further, I get mad because you start doubting
us
.’

I narrow my eyes on him, but I can’t deny it. He’s one hundred per cent right. ‘Yes, I know.’ My teeth are clenched.

His voice drops. ‘And that heightens the risk of you leaving me. You’ll conclude these people are right and leave me. So, yes, they are driving a wedge between us. They are interfering, and when it comes to people poking their noses into our relationship, then I have something to say about it.’

‘You have more than something to say!’

‘I concur.’

‘Well, that’s a relief.’

He frowns. ‘What is?’

‘Your agreement.’ I remove my hands from his shoulders and lean back against the steering wheel, keen to put as much distance between us as possible. It’s hardly worth it, in all honesty. ‘I think you need anger management or therapy or something.’ I blurt it all before I can chicken out. Then I brace myself for his scoff.

But it doesn’t come. In fact, he laughs a little. ‘Olivia, enough people have intruded on my life. I’m not going to invite a stranger in to interfere some more.’

‘They won’t interfere. They’ll help.’

‘I beg to differ.’ He gazes at me fondly, like I’m naive. ‘I’ve been there. I think it was concluded that I’m beyond help.’

My heart dies a little. He’s already tried therapy? ‘You’re not beyond help.’

‘You’re right,’ he answers, surprising me and filling me with hope. ‘All the help I need is sitting on my lap.’

My optimism is sucked up in a second. ‘So you behaved like a loon before you met me?’ I ask doubtfully, already knowing that he’s never touched rage like he has since I’ve been in his perfect life. That little line of thought is laughable. Perfect life? No, Miller tries to
make
it perfect by keeping everything surrounding him perfect – namely his appearance and his possessions, and given that it has been established that
I
am also one of Miller’s possessions, then that means me, too. And that’s the problem. I’m not perfect. I’m not impeccably dressed or impeccably mannered, and it’s sending my finicky Miller and his perfectness spiralling into chaos. I’m all the help he needs? He’s putting an obscene amount of pressure on my shoulders.

‘I’m a loon now?’

‘Your temper really isn’t something to toy with,’ I say quietly, remembering Miller delivering those words and now appreciating his warning fully.

His palm slips around my neck and pulls me gently forward until we’re forehead to forehead. He’s already distracted me from my undesirable thoughts with his touch on my skin and his eyes stuck to mine, but I can tell that I’m about to be distracted further. ‘I’m madly fascinated by you, Olivia Taylor.’ He ensures our eyes hold. ‘You fill my dark world with light and my hollow heart with feelings. I’ve persistently informed you that I’ll never go down easily.’ Soft lips meld to mine and we share the most incredibly soft, slow kiss. ‘I’m not prepared to be immersed constantly in that darkness again. You are my habit. Just mine. I need only you.’

On an agreeable sigh and a happy skip of my heart, I encase Miller in my hold and spend a few blissful moments expressing my understanding. And he accepts. The fluidity of our joined mouths yanks me from the harsh reality we’re faced with and puts me firmly back into Miller’s realm, where comfort, anxiety, safety and danger all conflict with one another. In Miller’s eyes, everyone is trying to interfere, and sadly he is probably right. I’ve taken the day off work under Miller’s instruction so we can spend some quality time together after yesterday’s diabolical events and this morning’s fright. He’s trying to repair the mess of the past couple of days, and I need
no one
to interfere – not just today, but ever.

‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up,’ Miller mumbles, nibbling at my lips. He pulls his head back and leaves me a worked-up pile of hormones on his lap. Hot. Wanton. Blinded by perfection. ‘Let’s be on our way.’ My lithe body is transferred to the passenger seat with care before he starts the engine and pulls into the traffic.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask, the disappointment of our day being cut too short still rife.

He doesn’t answer, instead twiddling a few buttons on his steering wheel, prompting the Stone Roses to join us in the car. I smile, rest back in my chair while humming to ‘Waterfall’, and let him take me wherever he likes.

Chapter Twenty

I look up at the posh windows of Harrods, remembering my last visit here with Nan. I remember Cassie. And I remember a pink silk tie cascading down Miller’s chest. All are things I’d like to forget, and I groan my annoyance at the reminders. But I’m ignored, and Miller slips from the car and rounds it to collect me. He opens the door and offers his hand, and I let my eyes slowly climb up his body until my exasperated gaze settles on his contented one. He flashes me an expectant look as his hand thrusts forward in prompt. ‘Chop-chop.’

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I say coolly, ignoring his demand for my hand. ‘Let’s get something to eat.’ I may win with this diversion because with all of the palaver at the previous shop, Miller hasn’t fulfilled his insistence for me to eat yet. And I can think of nothing worse than assisting Miller in buying more masks.

‘We’ll eat soon.’ My hand is claimed and I’m pulled from the car before he transfers his hold to my nape. ‘I don’t plan on this taking long.’

Optimism gushes into my unenthusiastic mind as I’m led into the store, where I immediately feel overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle and flurry of activity. ‘It’s so busy,’ I moan, following Miller’s purposeful strides. My gripe is brushed off as we weave through the masses of shoppers, mostly tourists.

‘You wanted to shop,’ Miller reminds me, coming to a stop at the men’s fragrance counter.

‘Would you like any help, sir?’ a painted lady asks, smiling brightly. She’s definitely checking him out. It makes me even grumpier.

‘Tom Ford, original,’ Miller orders shortly.

‘Certainly.’ She indicates the shelf behind her. ‘Would sir like the fifty or the hundred millilitres?’

‘Hundred.’

‘Would you like a tester?’

‘No.’

‘I would,’ I cut in, moving closer to the counter. ‘Please.’ I smile and watch her eyebrows rise in surprise before she spritzes some onto a card and hands it to me. ‘Thank you.’

‘Most welcome.’

I hold the card to my nose and sniff. And very nearly die of pleasure. It’s like Miller has been bottled. ‘Hmmm.’ My eyes close and I keep the card to my nose. Heaven.

‘Good?’ he whispers in my ear, his closeness adding to my delighted sense of smell.

‘Out of this world,’ I say quietly. ‘It smells just like you.’

‘Or
I
smell like
that
,’ Miller corrects me as he hands a credit card to the women, whose eyes are now bouncing back and forth between us. She runs the transaction through and smiles as she hands the bag over to me. It’s a fake smile.

‘Thank you.’ I accept it, finally relenting and removing the fragranced card from my nose, popping it in the bag. Then I claim Miller’s hand. ‘Have a good day.’

He leads me away to the escalators, Miller choosing to walk the stairs instead of letting them carry us to the top.

We leave the escalator and Miller fights our way through more people, guiding us onto another set of stairs, and then through more people and departments.

I’m all disorientated, the buzz of activity and the twists and turns through the giant store sending me dizzy. I’m just following Miller’s lead, gazing around blankly while he strides on with purpose, clearly knowing exactly where he wants to be. This doesn’t sit well. If I see a suit, I might rip it up.

‘Here we are.’ He stops on the threshold of an area designated for men and drops my grasp, sliding his hands into his pockets. My eyes widen at the array of clothes before me. Heaps of them. Things are jumping out already, my legs eager to take me off in one direction, but then my eyes spot something else I quite fancy and halt me. There’s too much.

And it’s predominantly casual.

His breath hits my ear. ‘I believe this is what you are looking for.’

Happiness and exhilaration sail through me and I turn to look up at him, finding a satisfied glimmer in his brilliant blue eyes. ‘You must be soaring in your second favourite pleasure,’ I tell him, because I’m beside myself with glee. He’s going to let me dress him. He’s like a human clothes-horse, every inch of his physique just perfect and ready for me to grace it with something other than a three-piece suit.

‘Indeed I am,’ he confirms, making me want to squeal in excitement when he scrambles my elation further by smiling.

I hold my breath to stop the screech of joy and grab his hand. Then I practically haul him through the department, my eyes darting everywhere, looking for perfect casual pieces to dress my perfect Miller in.

‘Livy!’ he gasps in alarm as he virtually staggers along behind me. But I don’t stop. ‘Olivia!’ He’s laughing now, and that does snap me out of my dogged march through Harrods, having me flying around to catch a glimpse of it.

I nearly pass out at the sight . . . nearly. My wooziness is an improvement on bursting into tears. ‘Oh shit, Miller,’ I whisper, my hand gliding across the back of my neck and stroking . . . soothing . . . doing what Miller usually does. I’m missing it. I’m like a kid in a candy shop with too many appealing things surrounding me – Miller smiling, Miller laughing, and an abundance of casual wear to dress him in. I’m getting all confused by it, not knowing whether to soak up the pleasure of seeing Miller so animated or drag him into the dressing rooms before he changes his mind.

His face gets closer to mine, his eyes still shimmering and his lips still stretched into a smile. It leaves me with my usual dilemma.

Eyes or mouth.

‘Earth to Olivia.’ He speaks softly, displaying enjoyment at my muddled state. ‘Do you need my
thing
?’ His delicate touch ghosts my pale cheek, and I nod for fear of wailing on him again. I feel emotional, which is stupid. He’s making me happy, even if a fraction of the reason why we’re here is guilt because of his outburst at the previous store.

Miller holds my eyes with his as he moves in closer until his scent drowns me and his nose is nuzzling my cheek. Then he presses the firmness of his body into me and slowly lifts me from my feet and moves his nuzzle into my neck. I cling on tightly. Very tightly. And so does he.

We remain entwined, lost in each other’s embrace, right in the middle of Harrods, and neither of us is bothered by any potential observers. I suddenly don’t care so much for trying to strip down Miller’s suit-clad façade. I want him to take me home, put me in his bed, and worship me.

‘I said I didn’t want to be long,’ he whispers into my neck, still holding on to me securely.

‘Hmmm.’ I muster the strength from somewhere to release him and find my feet. ‘Thank you.’ I spend a few seconds brushing down the sleeves of his suit while he watches me.

‘Don’t ever thank me, Livy.’

‘I’ll always be grateful for you.’ I finish up with my smoothing hands and step back. He’s brought me back to life, even if that life is questionable and stressful. But I have my fastidious part-time gentleman and his perfect, precise world now.

Superb shoes appear in my downcast vision, prompting my eyes to flip up to his. He’s still smiling, but it’s subsided a little. ‘You have thirty minutes.’

‘Right!’ I snap from my thoughtfulness and immediately stride off towards a wall of shelves with piles and piles of jeans filling them. Miller in jeans just seems . . . weird, but I’m desperate to see the back of those suits, or at least reduce their appearances. And the potential of his perfect arse encased in perfect denim is far too appealing to resist. I scan the tags that describe the fit of each style and finally snatch down a stonewash pair that claim to be a relaxed fit. Which sounds perfect. ‘Here.’ I turn as I shake them out, trying to gauge the size. The legs of these are way too short for Miller’s long, lean limbs. I quickly fold them back up and swap them for a longer leg. ‘There.’ I hold them up against my front, smiling to myself when I have to raise the waist to the base of my chest just to get the hem of the legs off the floor. ‘These should fit.’

‘Would you like to know my size?’ he asks, pulling my stare from the blue denim to the blue of his smiling eyes. They’re nearly a perfect match.

My lips press together and I make a quick scan of his physique.

‘This body should be carved onto that lovely mind of yours, Livy.’ His voice is low, seductive, and sexy as sin.

‘It is’ – I shuffle on the spot – ‘but I couldn’t put numbers on it.’

‘Those are perfect.’ He takes them from my hands and gives the garment a dubious look. ‘And what would my gorgeous girl have me wear with them?’

I grin at his willingness to humour me and pivot, spotting a T-shirt across the way. ‘That.’ I point and watch from the corner of my eye as Miller follows my gesture.

‘That?’ he questions, a hint of alarm in his tone.

‘Yes.’ I wander over and unhook the faded, vintage-look T-shirt from the rail. ‘Plain, casual, laid-back.’ I hold it up. ‘Perfect.’

He doesn’t think it’s perfect at all, but he still joins me and takes it from my hand. ‘Feet?’

I glance around on a frown. ‘Where’s the shoe department?’

A heavy sigh engulfs my hearing. ‘I’ll show you.’

It’s a strain for him, but I’m utterly stunned by his willingness, not that I’ll show it. Right now, I’m in my element. ‘Lead the way.’ I swoop my hand out on a grin and immediately follow him when he strides off. My hands are twitching at my sides, desperate to grab a few more items on our travels, but I know this is taking all of his patience and the risk of him running out of it deters me. One step at a time.

I watch Miller with interest as we pass through another department, this one bursting at the seams with suits. They’re everywhere, teasing him, and it takes everything in me not to laugh when I catch him having a cheeky peek. ‘Ralph Lauren does some exquisite suits,’ he remarks quietly, forcing himself to push on.

‘He also does lovely casual wear,’ I counter, knowing Miller wouldn’t know that.

‘Miller!’ The high-pitched shrill eats away at the flesh on my shoulders and when I turn to see an annoyingly preened woman approaching, a sour expression replaces my happy face. She’s glowing, hurrying her steps to make it to him faster. She’s near-on perfect, just like the rest of them, all shiny hair, flawless make-up, and expensive clothes. I’m bracing myself for another reality check. I immediately hate her.

‘How are you?’ she sings at him, not giving me a second glance. No, her attention is rooted on my perfect Miller. ‘You look as dashing as always.’

‘Bethany,’ Miller greets, flat and cold, all evidence of the ease that was delighting me disappearing in a flash of red lips and perfectly styled hair. ‘I’m very well, thank you. Yourself?’

She pouts her lips and transfers her weight onto one hip, tilting her body to the side. Her body language is throwing off vibes of attraction left, right, and full-force centre. ‘Always well, you know that.’

I roll my eyes and bite my tongue, wilting on the inside. Another one. Now she just needs to spot me and finish me off with one of those looks or the delivery of some mocking words. And if she pulls out one of his cards, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.

‘Excellent,’ he replies, short and sharp, despite being perfectly polite. I can sense his restlessness, all of the signs of Miller and his need to repel people surfacing, and it’s in this moment that I wonder why these women are so taken by him when he can be so hostile. He’s a perfect gentleman on dates – he said so himself – but what’s the pull beyond that? How would they respond to him if he were to bless them with his worshipping ways? I inwardly laugh. They’d be like me. Non-functioning without him. Doomed. Dead.

Miller clears his throat and shifts the clothes in his hands. ‘We’ll be on our way,’ he says, sidestepping Bethany, obviously expecting me to follow, but when I feel a pair of inquisitive eyes land on me, I’m unable to convince my legs to move. Here it comes.

‘Oh,’ she breathes, running interested eyes down the full length of me. ‘Looks like someone beat me to him today.’ My mouth drops open and she smiles, clearly unperturbed by my affronted state. ‘I’m sorry, you are?’

I’m going to tell her exactly who I am.
Accept it or learn to deal with it better.
Those are my options. I have sass, that’s been confirmed, and I need to start using it wisely. This woman, just like the rest of them, makes me feel inferior, yet Miller isn’t showing signs of anger at the potential of this woman driving a wedge between us or making me doubt my worthiness. ‘Hi, I’m Oli—’

‘Sorry, we’re late,’ Miller cuts me off, just when I’ve located my sass and am about to unleash it. ‘Always a pleasure.’ He nods at Bethany, who now looks
really
interested, and gently pushes into my back rather than take his customary hold of my neck.

‘Oh, it is,’ Bethany purrs. The rigidity that dominates Miller’s entire being is instant. ‘Hope to see you soon.’

I’m pushed away fast, both of us silent, the tension palpable.
Always a pleasure.
I bristle on the inside
and
out. We round a corner, arriving at the men’s shoe department, and Miller immediately grabs the first pair in sight and presents them to me. I don’t look. Bethany has undone all of our progress this morning. ‘These?’ He’s desperately trying to divert me. It won’t work. The sass I was about to hit that woman with is now bubbling, a bit of anger mixing in for good measure, and there’s only one other person to release it on.

I bat the shoes away. ‘No.’

He recoils, eyes wide and perfect lips slightly agape. ‘I beg your pardon?’

My eyes narrow into angry slits. ‘Don’t start with the begging,’ I warn. ‘She was a client. Could she be following me?’

‘No.’ He almost laughs.

‘Why didn’t you just let me introduce myself? And why didn’t you put her straight?’

Miller places the shoe carefully back onto the display stand and even tweaks the damn thing into position before stepping into me thoughtfully. My body’s response is irritating and unwanted, but a given. ‘I’ve told you before, I don’t want anyone interfering, so the fewer people who know, the better.’ The pad of his index finger brings my tense chin up to his dark stubbled face. I can see annoyance hovering on the edges of his beauty. ‘When I say there is only
us
– no
me
or
you
– I also mean no
them
.’