Promised (One Night 1)

‘I said no,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘Not now, not for four hours, not ever.’

‘We’ll see,’ he retorts confidently, stepping forward. ‘You might be repeatedly saying the word no, Olivia Taylor. But this . . .’ he runs his fingertip over my breast and onto my stomach, forcing me to gulp down air to control my shakes, ‘this is always telling me yes.’

My legs are in motion before my brain sends any instruction, which quickly makes me conclude that this is natural instinct. Escape. Get away before I lose my mind and my integrity and let him cast me aside again. I find myself at the bar before I’ve even registered what direction I’m headed in. I order a drink, quickly taking it from the barman’s hand and turning as I take a swig.

Miller is standing right in front of me. His jaw is tense as he nods over my shoulder to the barman. Then, as if by magic, a tumbler is passed over my shoulder into Miller’s waiting hand. My gaze falls to his lips as he takes a slow sip while he watches me, as if he knows what that mouth does to me. I’m mesmerised by it. Totally rapt. Then he licks his lips and not knowing what else to do, but knowing that I’m likely to kiss him if I remain here, I run again, this time up the stairs and around the galleried walkway, looking through the glass for any sign of Gregory. I need to find him, the stupid pain in the arse that he is.

I’m so busy looking for my friend in the space below I don’t notice where I’m going and walk straight into a body. The sharp angles of the chest under the shirt and waistcoat are too familiar. ‘Livy, what are you doing?’ he asks, almost tiredly, like I’m fighting a losing battle. I fear I might be.

‘Trying to get away from you,’ I say calmly, making his jaw tense in annoyance. ‘Please move.’

‘No, Livy.’ He mouths the words extra slowly, making it impossible to rip my eyes away from his lips. ‘How much have you had to drink?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘It’s my business when you’re drinking in my club.’

My mouth falls open, but he maintains his straight, unhappy expression. ‘This is your bar?’

‘Yes, and it’s part of my responsibility to ensure my clients are . . . behaving.’ He moves in again. ‘You’re not behaving, Livy.’

‘Throw me out, then.’ I challenge him. ‘Have me escorted from the premises. I don’t f**king care.’

His eyes narrow fiercely. ‘The only place you’re being thrown is in my f**king bed.’

It’s me who moves in now, getting my face up close to his, like I’m going to kiss him. It takes every effort not to connect our mouths, like I’m fighting a powerful magnet hauling me in. He’s thinking that, too. His lips have parted, and he’s looking down at me, his eyes full of desire. ‘Go to hell,’ I say evenly and calmly, almost on a murmur.

I’m surprised by my own coolness, not that I let it be known. I meet his shocked eyes with confidence, not backing down, and take another slow, long glug of my drink. But it’s quickly snatched from my hand. ‘I think you’ve had enough.’

‘Yes, you’re right. I have had enough. Of you!’ I turn on my stilettos and walk away, on a mission to find Gregory, rescue him from a stupid situation, and leave to escape my own diabolical position.

‘Livy!’ he calls after me.

I blank him, walking on, venturing down some stairs, around a few corners, into the toilets, and the whole time he’s tailing me, just following me as I pace calmly around his club.

‘What are you doing?’ he shouts over the music. ‘Livy?’

I ignore him, thinking of where else I can possibly look. I’ve been everywhere, except . . .

I don’t even think about what I’m doing when I viciously yank the door of the disabled toilet open. Not until I hear the sound of the metal lock hitting the tiled floor and I’m standing staring at Gregory bent over the sink with his jeans around his ankles. Ben, who has a firm hold of my friend’s hips, is pounding forward on constant barks. Neither one seems to have noticed me, nor the rise in noise level, both men utterly consumed in each other. My hand flies to my mouth in shock and I walk back, meeting Miller’s chest, but he pushes me in and slams the door behind us, snapping Ben and Gregory from their private euphoria. It’s not private now, and both men seem to pull themselves together, fear, embarrassment, shame, discomfiture all taking hold, with each of them rushing to make themselves decent.

I turn to Miller. ‘We should go,’ I prompt, pushing my hands into his chest. ‘Miller.’

He’s just staring at Gregory and Ben, brows heavy, lips straight. ‘I have a cheque for your work on the roof terrace in my office, Greg.’

‘Mr Hart.’ Gregory nods, his face flushing.

‘And I have one for you, too.’ Miller looks to Ben, who’s clearly mortified. I feel for them both, and I hate Miller for making them feel so small. ‘I would kindly ask you not to use the washrooms of my club as a knocking shop. This is a private, exclusive establishment. Your respect would be greatly appreciated.’

I nearly choke. Respect? He’s just had his hand up my dress in the middle of the dance floor. I need to leave before I gun for one of these three men. I have a grievance with them all. I let myself out, shocked by so many things in such a short space of time. My head is swimming with alcohol, the feeling of losing control beginning to worry me.

As I stagger down the corridor, I see a man approaching, his roving eye trailing lustfully up and down my body. I know that look. And I don’t like it. It’s smarmy. He brushes past me and smirks. ‘I’ve been watching you,’ he purrs, eyes burning with want.