Promised

‘I want to feel you.’ I lower my face to his, the sensation of him pulsing under me injecting more confidence. I’m losing my mind, my body acting without instruction.

He shakes his head lightly and homes in on my lips, kissing me adoringly. I might be teasing and tormenting him, but he’s the one in control. ‘That can’t happen, Livy.’

‘Please,’ I breathe, finding his hair. ‘Let me.’

‘Oh, Jesus, you’re ruining me.’

I take his weak, breathless words as defeatism and reach down between our bodies while keeping up our kiss. ‘It is me who’s ruined.’ I bite his tongue gently. ‘You’ve ruined me.’ My hand finds what it’s looking for, and I lift to position him at my opening.

‘I haven’t ruined you, Livy.’ I feel his hand wrap around my wrist, halting my reckless intention. ‘I’ve awakened a desire in you that only I can satisfy.’ He pulls my hand away, his lips straight in warning. ‘And it seems one of us needs to keep our head before we find ourselves in a situation.’

I’m pent-up on lust, but his cautionary face soon drags me back to reality. ‘Your fault,’ I mumble, embarrassed and feeling unreasonably rejected.

‘So you keep telling me,’ he says, rolling his blue eyes. It’s a sign of exasperation, a rare show of emotion. In an attempt to restore my slighted state and distract Miller from scorning me further, I start to shift down, keen to taste him again. But I don’t get very far.

He halts me, looking almost nervous, and pulls me up, completely crowding me with his body and falling back against the bath, settling me on his chest. ‘Thing.’

Despite my confusion at his decline, I hum happily and embrace his iron hold, clinging onto him everywhere and relishing the sound of his breathing as the water around our bodies laps gently. ‘I have a request, too,’ I whisper, feeling brave and comfortable asking.

‘Hold your thought.’ He turns his head and kisses my wet cheek. ‘Let me have my thing.’

‘I can ask while you’re having your thing,’ I counter on a smile.

‘Probably, but I like to see you when we’re conversing.’

‘I think cuddling might be my thing now, too.’ I squeeze some more, causing our bodies to slip. The comfort and peace that engulfs me during these moments makes me want to superglue myself to him.

‘I hope you mean with me.’

‘Exclusively,’ I sigh. ‘Can I voice my request yet?’

I’m reluctantly released from his chest and pushed up on his lap. ‘Tell me what you want.’

‘Information.’ My bravery diminishes at the sight of his straight lips and tight jaw, but I find the courage to continue. ‘Your habits.’

‘My habits?’ He raises his eyebrows, almost in warning.

I push on carefully. ‘You’re very . . .’ I stop myself to choose my words wisely. ‘Exact.’

‘You mean tidy?’

This is more than tidy. This is obsessive, but I’m getting the feeling that he’s sensitive about this subject. ‘Yes, tidy,’ I relent. ‘You’re very tidy.’

‘I make sure I take care of what’s mine.’ He reaches forward and pinches my nipple, making me jerk on top of him. ‘And you are now mine, Olivia Taylor.’

‘I am?’ I sound shocked, but I’m secretly delighted. I want to be possessed by him every moment of every day.

‘Yes,’ he says simply, taking my waist and pulling me down until our foreheads meet. ‘You are also my habit.’

‘I’m a habit?’

‘You’re an addictive habit.’ He kisses my nose. ‘A habit that I never plan on giving up.’

I don’t hesitate to let him know my thoughts on him and his new habit. ‘Okay.’

‘Who said you have a choice?’

‘You said you’d never make me do anything I don’t want to,’ I remind him.

‘I said I’d never make you do anything that I know you don’t want to do, and I know that you really want to be my habit. So this is a pointless discussion, wouldn’t you agree?’

I scowl at him, stumped for any comeback. ‘You’re cocky.’

‘You’re in trouble.’

I retreat on his lap. ‘What do you mean?’ I ask. Is he warning me?

‘Let’s talk about yesterday evening,’ he suggests, like we might be discussing where to have dinner. I’m instantly on my guard, and my chest falling onto his and my face hiding in his neck is evidence of this.

‘We’ve already talked about it.’

‘Not at length. I’m none the wiser as to why you behaved so recklessly, Livy, and it makes me uncomfortable.’ He wrestles me out of his chest and holds me in place. ‘When I’m talking to you, you look at me.’

I keep my head down. ‘I don’t want to talk to you.’

‘Hard luck.’ He’s moving, making himself more comfortable. ‘Explain yourself.’

‘I got drunk, that’s all.’ I don’t mean to, but I’m gritting my teeth and looking up at him through pissed off eyes. ‘And stop talking to me like I’m a delinquent child.’

‘Then stop behaving like one.’ He’s deadly serious. I’m stunned.

‘You know what?’ I push up and get out of the bath, and he does nothing to stop me. He just lies back, all relaxed and completely unaffected by my little tantrum. ‘You might make me feel incredible, say some beautiful things when you make love to me, but when you behave like this, all . . . all . . . all . . .

‘All what, Livy?’

‘You’re a self-righteous prick!’ I spit desperately.

He’s not at all fazed. ‘Tell me why you disappeared. Where did you go?’

His demanding questions only heighten my fury . . . and my desperation. ‘You said you’d never make me do anything I didn’t want to.’

‘That I know you don’t want to. I can see a burden weighing down my sweet girl.’ He reaches for me with his hand. ‘Let me ease it.’

I look at his hand for a few moments, my mind racing with only one worry. He’d leave me again if I ever told him. ‘You can’t.’ I turn on my bare feet and stalk away. I can’t stand this. Miller Hart is a roller-coaster ride, tossing me from untold pleasure to indescribable anger, from confident to timid and nervous, from pure joy to painful hurt. I’m being constantly pulled in two directions and while I know full well how I felt when he abandoned me before, at least the despair was consistent. At least I knew where I was. I’ll make the decision this time.

Cold and wet, I pull open the bottom drawer of the chest and take my knickers, bag and shoes, then hurry into his wardrobe and grab the first shirt that I lay my hands on, tossing it over my shoulders and dropping my shoes to the floor. Once I’ve slipped my knickers on and my feet into my heels, I make my escape, running across his bedroom, down the corridor and into the lounge, desperate to hide from his pressing questions and disapproving tones. I know that I was reckless last night. My mistakes are plentiful, but none as big as the man who I’ve just left in the bath. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking. He won’t understand.

Dashing towards the front door of his apartment, I begin to relax when my hand makes contact with the handle. But I can’t turn it. It’s not locked, I can leave if I want to, but my muscles are ignoring my brain’s faint order to open the door. And that is because there’s a more powerful command drowning it out, telling me to go back and make him understand.

I look down at my hand, mentally willing it to turn the knob. But it doesn’t. It won’t. My forehead meets the shiny black door, my eyes clamping shut as I battle the conflicting commands and stamp my heel on the floor in pure frustration. I can’t leave. My body and mind are not prepared to pass this door and leave behind the only man who I’ve ever connected with. I didn’t allow this to happen. It was unstoppable.

I roll my body around until my back is stuck to the door and I’m staring at Miller. He’s standing quietly watching me, completely na**d and dripping wet. ‘You can’t leave, can you?’

‘No,’ I sob, my knees becoming as weak as my falling heart and refusing to hold my body up any longer, leaving me sliding down the door until my bottom hits the floor. My anger turns to tears, and I cry silently to myself, the last of my defences melting away. I let my hopelessness pour into my hands and my barricades completely diminish under the scrutiny of the confounding Miller Hart. It feels like a lifetime, but I know it’s only mere seconds before he’s gathering me up and carrying me back to his bed. He doesn’t say a word. He sits me on the edge and slips my shoes and knickers off, and then pushes his shirt from my shoulders and down my arms, leaning into me and resting his lips on my cheek as he does. ‘Don’t cry, sweet girl,’ he whispers, uncharacteristically throwing his shirt to the floor before taking me gently down to the bed. ‘Please don’t cry.’

His plea has the opposite effect and more tears flow, his bare chest becoming as sodden as my face as he presses me into him, tenderly kissing the top of my head every now and then, while he hums that peaceful harmony above me. It starts to soothe me and my sobs begin to abate under the hard warmth of his body holding me and the calming hum of his voice seeping into my ears.

‘I’m not a sweet girl,’ I whisper into his chest. ‘You keep calling me sweet girl, but you shouldn’t.’

His humming fades out and the tender kissing of my head stops. He’s thinking about my declaration. ‘You are very much a sweet . . . woman, Livy.’

‘It’s not the reference to “girl” so much,’ I whisper. ‘It’s the sweet part that bothers me most.’ I feel him stiffen a little before he encourages me from his chest. We’re conversing, he wants eye contact, and when he finds it, he wipes my damp cheeks with his thumbs and gazes at me, his eyes full of pity. I don’t want pity, and I don’t deserve it.

‘You’re my sweet girl.’

‘You’re mistaken.’

‘No, you’re mine, Livy,’ he asserts, almost showing annoyance.

‘I don’t mean that,’ I sigh, dropping my eyes, but soon bringing them back up when he shifts his hands from my cheeks to my neck and tilts my head back.

‘Elaborate.’

‘I want to be yours,’ I murmur, and he smiles. He gives me that rare, beautiful smile, and my heart skips with happiness for a split second, but then I remember the conversation direction. ‘I really want to be yours,’ I affirm.

‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.’ He drops his lips to mine and kisses me delicately. ‘But you really don’t have a choice in the matter.’

‘I know,’ I agree, aware that it’s not just because Miller says that I don’t have a choice. I tried to leave, and I couldn’t. I really tried.

‘Listen to me,’ he says, sitting up and dragging me onto his lap. ‘I shouldn’t have pressed you. I said that I’d never make you do anything I know you don’t want to. That will always stand, but please know that whatever you fear will change my opinion of my sweet girl is wasted anxiety.’

‘What if it isn’t?’

‘I’m never going to know unless you choose to tell me, and if you don’t, then that’s fine, too. Yes, I would prefer it if you confide in me, but not if it’s going to make you sad, Livy. I can’t see you sad. I want you to trust me that it won’t make any difference to how I feel about you. Let me help you.’

My chin starts to tremble.

‘Your mother,’ he says quietly.

I nod.