Denied (One Night 2)

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 f**king 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.’