Promised

‘The deal was for one night, Olivia. Twenty-four hours, and I’m annoyed enough at having to lose a few of those. If you’re not in that bed when I get home, then I’ll . . .

I sit up. ‘You’ll what?’ I ask, hearing his panicked, fitful breaths down the line.

‘I’ll . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ll . . .’

‘You’ll what?’ I hiss impatiently, standing and picking up my bag. Is he threatening me?

‘Then I’ll find you and put you back in it!’ he snaps.

I actually laugh. ‘Are you listening to yourself?’

‘Yes.’ His tone has calmed. ‘It’s not courteous to break a deal.’

‘We didn’t shake on it.’

‘No, we f**ked on it.’

I gasp, scowl, and choke all at once. ‘I thought you were a gentleman.’

‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

My mouth snaps shut as I consider his question. Our first meeting never suggested that he’s a gentleman, and neither did our following encounters, but his attentiveness and manners since I’ve been here have. There has been no f**king, not in any sense of the word.

A horrid realisation dawns. I really have been very stupid. He’s seduced me, and he’s done it brilliantly. ‘I have no idea, but I’m clearly mistaken. Thank you for the countless orgasms.’ I hear him shouting my name as I pull the phone away from my ear and hang up. I’m stunned by my own brazenness, but Miller Hart spikes my inner spunk. And that’s dangerous territory to be falling into, but essential to maintain when dealing with this confounding man. Throwing my satchel over my shoulder, I head for his front door, rejecting the incoming call before turning off my phone.

Chapter 9

I didn’t sleep a wink, despite being in the comfort of my own bed. After sneaking into the house like a professional cat burglar, I tiptoed up the stairs, avoided all of the creaking floorboards, and crossed the landing stealthily until I was in the safety of my own room. Then I lay there in the darkness for the remaining few hours of night, looking blankly and blindly up at the ceiling.

Now the birds are tweeting, I can hear Nan downstairs pottering around in the kitchen, and I have no desire to face the day. My mind is awash with images, thoughts and conclusions, none of which I want to waste brain space on. But no matter how hard I’m trying, I just can’t boot him out of my jumbled head.

Leaning over to my bedside table, I unplug my phone from the charger and brave turning it on. There’s another five missed calls from Gregory, one from Miller and a voicemail. I don’t want to hear what either man has to say, but that doesn’t stop me from tormenting myself further and listening to the damn message. It’s my worried friend¸ not Miller.

‘Olivia Taylor, you and I are going to be having some very strong words when I get hold of you. What are you thinking, baby girl? For crying out loud! I thought you were the sensible one out of the two of us. You’d better call me, or I’ll be paying a visit to Nan, and I’ll be telling her of your transgressions! He could be a ra**st, an axe murderer! Holy shit, you stupid woman! I’m not a happy bunny!’

He sounds totally exasperated, the drama queen. And I know he won’t spill to Nan because he knows, just as well as I do, that she’ll be rejoicing, not despairing. Empty threats, that’s all his message is. Part true, but over the top and completely knocked out of perspective.

Kind of.

A little.

Not in the least bit.

He’s one hundred per cent right, and he doesn’t know the half of it. I am an idiot. I call him before he goes into seizure, and he answers immediately, sounding like he may already be suffering meltdown. ‘Livy?’

‘I’m alive.’ I fall back to my pillow. ‘Take a few deep breaths, Gregory.’

‘Don’t take the piss! I’ve been working through the night trying to find out where he lives.’

‘You’re overreacting.’

‘I don’t think I am!’

‘You didn’t find him, then?’ I ask, pulling my quilt up further and snuggling down.

‘Well, I didn’t have much to go on, did I? I googled “Miller” but I don’t think he grinds crops for a living.’

I laugh to myself. ‘I don’t know what he does for a living.’

‘Well it doesn’t matter because you won’t be seeing him again. What went down? Did you shag him? Where are you? Have you lost your f**king mind?!’

I’m not laughing any more. ‘None of your business, none of your business, I’m at home and yes, I have lost my bloody mind.’

‘None of my business?’ he screeches, all high-pitched. ‘Livy, I’ve busted my balls for years, trying to pry you from that stupid shell you hide away in. I’ve introduced you to endless decent men, all of which were mad for you, but you flat-out refused to even entertain the idea of a friendly drink or, at a stretch, dinner. Letting a man wine and dine you doesn’t make you your mother.’

‘Shut up!’ I hiss, the mention of my mother spiking too much venom that’s evident in my tone.

‘I’m sorry, but what is it about this cocksucker that’s turned you into an irresponsible, reckless twat?’

‘You’re the only cocksucker I know,’ I accuse quietly, because I’m at a loss at what else to say. I have been pretty reckless, just like my moth— ‘And he’s not a criminal or a murderer. He’s a gentleman.’ Sometimes, I add to myself.