Promised

I dial Sylvie, and it rings only once before her fretful voice is piercing my ears. ‘Livy?’

‘It’s me,’ I say quietly, watching as he turns and leans against the cabinet, taking a slow mouthful of his drink.

‘Where are you?’ It sounds like she’s jogging. Her voice is slightly breathless.

‘At his place. I’m okay.’ I feel awkward explaining myself while he’s watching so intently, but there’s no escaping his steel gaze.

‘Who the f**k does he think he is?’ she asks incredulously. ‘And you’re beyond stupid for going, Livy. What were you thinking?’

‘I don’t know.’ I answer honestly, because I really don’t. I’ve allowed him to take me, bundle me in his car, and bring me to a strange apartment. I really am beyond stupid, but even now, when I’m listening to my friend rant and rave down the phone and he’s staring expressionless at me, I’m not frightened.

‘Jesus,’ she huffs. ‘What are you doing? What’s he saying? What does he want?’

‘I don’t know.’ I watch him watching me as he takes another slow sip of his drink.

‘You don’t know a f**king lot, do you?’ she fires, her heavy breathing settling down.

‘No,’ I admit. ‘I’ll call you when I get home.’

‘You’d better.’ Her tone is threatening. ‘If I don’t get a call by midnight, then I’ll be ringing the police. I took his registration.’

I smile to myself, appreciative of her concern but knowing deep down that it’s not required. He’s not going to hurt me. ‘I’ll call you,’ I assure her.

‘Make sure you do.’ She’s still agitated. ‘And be careful,’ she adds more gently.

‘Okay.’ I hang up and immediately dial my nan, keen to finish up and find out why he’s brought me here. It doesn’t take much explaining to Nan. She’s delighted when I tell her that I’m joining a few work friends for a coffee, as I knew she would be.

I finish up and place both my phone and his on the gigantic low glass table in front of me, then I commence twiddling the ring on my finger, wondering what to say. We’re just staring at each other, him taking frequent sips of his drink, me losing myself in that potent gaze.

‘Would you like a drink?’ he asks. ‘Wine, brandy?’

I shake my head.

‘Vodka?’

‘No.’ Alcohol is a weakness he doesn’t need to know about, although I don’t think that I need alcohol to send me into reckless mode with this man. ‘Why am I here?’ I finally ask the operative question. I think I know, but I want him to say the words.

His fingers tap the side of his glass thoughtfully, and he pushes his tall body away from the cabinet, slowly walking towards me. He undoes his jacket button and lowers himself until he’s sitting on the table in front of me, placing his drink carefully and breaking our eye contact to see where his glass has landed before tweaking it slightly and repositioning our mobile phones. My heart rate is speeding up, even more so when he faces me and clasps me under my knees, encouraging me to shift forward on the couch until there’s only a few inches between our faces. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. Our breathy gasps colliding between our close mouths are saying all that needs to be said. We’re both bursting at the seams with desire.

His face moves forward, that lock of hair falling onto his forehead, but he’s not aiming for my lips. He homes in on my cheek, breathing heavy, controlled breaths into my ear. My face pushing into his is involuntary, as is the heaviness settling between my thighs.

‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ he whispers, his grasp of my knees increasing. ‘I’ve tried my hardest, but you’re a constant vision wherever I look.’

I inhale deeply and find my hands rising and seeking out his thick waves, my fingers threading through them, my eyes closing. ‘You said you couldn’t be with me,’ I remind him, stupidly or not. I shouldn’t point out his reluctance because if he withdraws now, I think I’ll lose my mind.

‘I still can’t.’ His face slides across mine until his perfect forehead is resting against my confused one. He can’t have brought me here just to reinforce his previous declaration. He can’t hold me like this, speak to me like this, and then do nothing.

‘I don’t understand,’ I murmur, praying to every god that he doesn’t halt this.

His forehead rolls across mine slowly, carefully. ‘I have a proposition.’ He must sense my confusion because he pulls away and scans my face. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself. ‘All I can offer you is one night.’

I don’t need to ask what he’s talking about. The dull ache in my stomach tells me exactly what he means. ‘Why?’

‘I’m emotionally unavailable, Livy.’ He reaches up to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking smooth circles on my temple. ‘But I have to have you.’

‘You want me for one night and nothing else?’ I ask, the ache transforming into a dull pain now. Just one night? It’s obscene for me to be thinking further than that, though. The best f**k of my life. That’s what he said. Nothing more.

‘One night,’ he affirms. ‘And I’m praying that you’ll give it to me.’

I’m lost in his blues, desperately hoping he’ll say something else – something that’ll make me feel better, because right now I’m feeling cheated, which is ridiculous. I hardly know him, but the thought of only being permitted one night with this man is soul-destroying.