Denied (One Night 2)

My bones are being constricted to crumbling point under Miller’s embrace, my lungs being squeezed, too. I’m soaking up the luxury of his thing and savouring it, but my depleted body and exhausted mind is also desperate for rest. We’re still at Ice, meddlers are loitering, we’re both still wet and dishevelled, and Miller hasn’t done a thing work-wise.

I squirm a little in his hold, encouraging him to ease up so I can look at him. I find eyes matching my tiredness. ‘I’d like you to put me in your bed,’ I say quietly, and drop a delicate kiss on his soft lips.

He swings into action instantly, releasing me and steadying me before stalking off into his office and returning before I have a chance to follow, fastening a dry shirt – all the buttons in the wrong holes. ‘Do you want a shirt?’ he asks, running a quick check over my body. ‘Yes,’ he answers for me, turning and disappearing from view again. I sigh and follow him, this time meeting him in the doorway. ‘Put this on,’ he orders, flapping a shirt out.

‘I have no bottoms.’

‘Oh.’ He frowns at my dress and turns undecided eyes onto the shirt. I wouldn’t walk out of here in just one of Miller’s shirts, even if he allowed it, which I highly doubt he would.

I take the shirt and place it on a nearby sideboard. ‘Just take me home.’ I’m on the brink of collapsing.

He sighs, taking up his usual hold of me. ‘As you wish.’

I’m guided out of the club, knowing we’re being watched by Cassie and Tony, but our clear closeness speaks for itself – no words or smug smile of victory required. I’m placed in Miller’s Mercedes, the heat is cranked up, although with matching temperatures on both sides of the car, and I’m driven to Miller’s in silence. He’s touching me almost the whole way, not prepared to lose contact, until we’re in the underground car park of his apartment block and he has to release me to exit the vehicle. I stay where I am, warm and snug in the passenger seat, until Miller collects me in his arms and carries me the ten flights of stairs to the shiny black door that’ll take us into privacy.

‘Call your grandmother,’ he instructs, placing me on a stool. ‘Then we’ll have a bath.’

My hopefulness dissipates at the suggestion. Bathing with Miller is beyond blissful, but so is him holding me in his thing in his bed, and I’m favouring the latter option right now. ‘I’m so tired,’ I sigh, reaching for my phone from my bag. I’ll barely muster the energy to speak with Nan.

‘Too tired to bathe?’ he asks, disappointment invading his face. I don’t even have the energy to feel guilty.

‘In the morning?’ I try, thinking my hair will have dried into something beyond wild by the time I’ve slept on it, and Miller’s will have, too. The mental image brings a small smile to my lifeless face.

He thinks for a few moments, and the pad of his thumb smooths across my eyebrow, his tired eyes following its path. ‘Please, let me clean us.’ His face is beseeching. How could I possibly refuse?

‘Okay,’ I agree.

‘Thank you. I’ll give you some privacy to call your grandmother while I draw the bath.’ Dropping a kiss on my forehead, he turns to leave.

‘I don’t need any privacy,’ I protest, wondering what he thinks we might speak about. My declaration stalls his escape, and he nibbles at his lip thoughtfully. ‘Why would you think I need privacy?’

He shrugs those perfect shoulders, and those perfect eyes lose a little exhaustion, finding mischievousness instead. I smile warily at the signs of playful Miller. ‘I don’t know,’ he muses. ‘Maybe you’d like to discuss my buns.’

The stupidest grin stretches to my cheeks. ‘I’d do that in your company.’

‘You shouldn’t. I get all embarrassed.’

‘No, you don’t!’

A bright smile diminishes any lingering gloom that may have remained, sending me giddy. ‘Call your nan, sweet girl. I want to bathe and get my habit under the sheets.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

I can hear talking. It’s faint, but it’s there. The room is illuminated only by spots of London’s night-time light on the skyline. If I didn’t know better, I would think I was outside on a balcony staring out across the city, but I’m not. I’m on Miller’s worn sofa in front of the huge glass window, na**d and with a cashmere throw draped over me – somewhere better.

I sit up, dragging the blanket with me, and blink back my tiredness, yawning and stretching as I do. The view and my sleepiness distract me from the voices I heard a few moments ago, but then Miller’s slightly raised and agitated tone reminds me of his absence from the couch. I pull myself to my feet and make the best job of wrapping the blanket around me before I pad across the wooden floor to the door, pulling it open soundlessly and listening for him. He’s speaking quietly again, but he sounds irritated. The last time he took a call in the night he disappeared. Flashbacks of our hotel encounter ricochet around my head like a bullet, making me wince. I can’t think of him like that. The man I faced in that hotel room wasn’t the Miller Hart I know and love. He needs to change his number, make it impossible for these women to get hold of him. He’s not at their disposal any more, although I begrudgingly note that they don’t know this yet.

I start towards the sound of his muffled voice, his words becoming clearer the closer I get until I’m standing at the doorway of his kitchen staring at the scratch marks Cassie left on his na**d back.