Denied - Page 45/64

‘Don’t cry,’ he murmurs, closing the distance between us.

I shake my head, feeling silly. ‘I’m sorry.’

My forehead meets the crook under his chin when he’s near enough, holding my distraught body up, and strong arms surround me in his safety. ‘Give him money and he’ll likely buy drugs, alcohol or cigarettes,’ he tells me quietly. ‘Give him food and a blanket, then he’ll sate his hunger and keep warm.’ He kisses the top of my head and breaks away from me, quickly wiping the stream of tears trailing down my cheeks. ‘Do you know how many lost children there are on the streets of London, Olivia?’

I shake my head a little.

‘It’s not all opulence and grandeur. This city is beautiful, but tainted by a dark underworld.’

I absorb his quiet words, feeling ignorant and incredibly guilty. I know he speaks the truth. And I know because not only have I skimmed the edge of it, but also because Miller has been immersed in it his whole life.

His eyes remain focused on mine, a million messages passing between us. Him telling me. And me understanding. ‘I’ve had a wonderful afternoon, thank you.’ He ghosts my eyebrow with his thumb and leans in to kiss my forehead.

‘Me too.’

He smiles and takes his customary hold of my neck, turning me and taking us towards the exit of Hyde Park. ‘We’re going to get caught in the coming downpour if we’re not careful,’ he says, looking up to the sky.

Following his indication, I see the grey clouds have now turned black, and then the huge splash of a fat raindrop on my cheek confirms that Miller is probably right. ‘We’d better run,’ I say quietly. Miller’s suit is already a pile of creases. Sodden material to boot will tip him over the edge.

And with that thought, the heavens open.

‘Oh shit!’ I gasp as I’m suddenly pelted with cold, giant raindrops. ‘Bloody hell!’ It’s relentless, pounding the ground at our feet and splashing up our legs, the sound deafening.

‘Run!’ Miller shouts, but I’m so shocked by the sudden chilliness attacking me, I can’t figure out if he’s alarmed or laughing. But I do run. Fast. Miller grabs my hand and pulls me, and I look up through my wet hair to see his dark waves flattened against his head, water beads coating his face and emphasising his long, dark lashes.

The sight makes me stop dead in my tracks and causes Miller to lose grip of my wet hand, our skin slipping apart. He skids to a halt and turns the most incredibly bright blues onto me. ‘Olivia, come on.’ He’s saturated, wet through, totally drowned. He looks obscenely handsome, if a little panicked.

‘Kiss me,’ I demand, remaining static, ignoring the pounding of rain that’s now making my flesh numb from the cold.

His stunning brow furrows. It makes me smile. ‘What?’

‘I said kiss me!’ I shout over the thundering rain, wondering if he really didn’t catch it.

He laughs a little, widening his stance, and then casts his eyes around us and relaxes in his standing pose. I keep my eyes on him. Nothing will pull them away. I wait for Miller to absorb our surroundings, now unbothered and unaffected by the relentless rain.

It’s only a few moments before glimmering blue eyes return to me.

‘Don’t make me ask again,’ I warn, and then take the longest inhale of breath when he strides towards me, conviction and a ton of pure, raw love overflowing from his mesmerising orbs. He lifts me up, squeezes me to his wet suit, and takes me dramatically. His palm slides to the back of my head to hold me in place and my legs part and find their way around his waist. It’s a no-holds-barred, passionate kiss – full of want, lust, adoration, and comfort, and it signifies everything I feel for Miller Hart.

Our wet lips slip across each other with ease, our tongues battle furiously but gently, and my palms encase his neck, my body pushing into his. I could kiss him for ever like this. The cold has been chased away by the heat of our mingling bodies, leaving no room for discomfort, just acres of space for serenity.

I have that serenity, and I know Miller does, too.

‘You taste even better in the rain,’ he says between our hectic tongues, not prepared to stop. ‘Jesus, f**king divine.’

‘Hmmm.’ I could never find any words to describe how he’s making me feel right now. There are none. So I show him by hardening my kiss and squeezing him tighter.

‘Savoured,’ he mumbles weakly. I hum again as he slows our kiss until our tongues are barely moving. ‘It turns out that I can worship you in Hyde Park.’ He pecks my lips and pushes my wet hair from my face.

‘Not to your full ability.’ I keep myself coiled around his drenched body. I’m not ready to let go yet.

‘I concur.’ He turns and starts an unhurried stride out of the park as the rain continues to beat down. ‘So I need to get finished at the club and get you home so I can show you my full ability.’

I nod and bury my face in his neck, letting him carry me back to the car.

If there is perfect beyond Miller’s perfect world, then this is it.

I’m squelching in the leather seat of Miller’s Mercedes, sensing a growing concern from beside me at the soggy state of his fine car. The dual temperature control displays a medium sixteen degrees, the right number to keep Miller calm, but the wrong number given how damn cold I am. I’m dying to turn the dial up, but mindful that I’m pushing Miller’s boundaries already – what with wet suits, picnics in Hyde Park, and unexpected shopping exhibitions. Turning that dial might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I shiver and sink further into my seat, catching Miller out of the corner of my eye sweeping his waves off his forehead.

Tracy Chapman coos about fast cars, which makes me smile as Miller is driving incredibly slowly. The air of calm and the serenity floating around our wet bodies is tangible. No words are spoken and they don’t need to be. Today has been better than I could ever have imagined, hiccups earlier in the day aside. Miller has worked through some tough issues, and not only has it filled me with the most incredible amount of pride, but it’s also enriched the feelings I have for him. And most satisfying of all, I know that Miller has stepped outside his perfect box and liked where he’s found himself. The fact that I am now freezing in my seat and dare not touch the temperature control of his swanky car is irrelevant.

‘Are you chilly?’ Miller’s concerned tone doesn’t grab my attention, but his question does. He’s surely not going to give me heat as well as a picnic, almost casual clothes, and a kiss in the rain?

‘I’m fine,’ I lie, forcing myself to stop shaking.

‘Olivia, you are far from fine.’ He reaches forward and rotates each dial in turn, ensuring they match, taking the car’s temperature to a toasty twenty-five degrees.

My elation soars and I reach over to catch a feel of his lovely stubble, all coarse and scratchy, but familiar and soothing. ‘Thank you.’

He pushes his cheek into my touch, then takes my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers before placing our joined hands in his lap and holding them there, choosing to drive one-handed.

I never want this day to end.

Chapter Twenty-Two

‘Tony.’ Miller nods in greeting, directing me past his bar manager by my neck and not seeming to notice the worried look on his face. He looks really worried, and while Miller appears fine with ignoring it, I’m not.

‘Livy?’ Tony says it like a question, like he’s surprised to see me. He once said Miller was happy in his own precise little world. But I know better. Miller wasn’t happy. He may have pretended to be, but I know – because he told me so himself – that he had a lovely time today.

It’s clear that Tony doesn’t know what to think of this soaking wet, dishevelled man before him. I don’t speak, just giving a small smile of acknowledgment as we disappear from view.

‘He doesn’t like me,’ I muse quietly, almost reluctantly, wondering if my time will be wasted asking why that might be.

‘He worries too much.’ Miller’s reply is short, sharp and final as he guides me through the maze of corridors to his office. I know Tony is against us, just like everyone else, so I’m not sure why his disapproval bothers me more than the rest of the interferers. The looks? The words? And why isn’t Miller more upset about it, like he gets with the others?

Miller taps in the code for his office and pushes the door open, and I’m immediately faced with the extreme precision of his office. Everything is how it should be.

Except us.

I look down at my soaking state, then to Miller’s, thinking how wrecked we both look. Strangely, now that I’m surrounded by the familiarity and exactness of Miller’s world, I feel all uncomfortable and . . . wrong.

‘Olivia?’ I look across to Miller, who’s at his drinks cabinet pouring a Scotch while yanking at his tie.

‘Sorry, daydreaming.’ I shake myself out of my silly reverie and close the door behind me.

‘Go and sit.’ He indicates his office chair. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘No.’

‘Sit,’ he prompts again when I’m still standing by the door a few seconds later. ‘Go.’

I look down at my dress, then to Miller’s fancy office chair. It was a trial and a concern sitting in Miller’s car while all soggy, and now I’m faced with his lovely leather office chair. ‘But I’m all wet.’ I pull at the hem of my dress and release it, letting it slap against my thigh in demonstration. I’m not just wet; I’m dripping.

His glass pauses at his lips as his eyes skip over my body, absorbing the mess I’m in. Or maybe not. His eyes land on my chest and then flip to mine. They’ve gone all smoky. ‘I quite like you wet.’ His glass points at me, his fiery gaze slicing through my chilliness and igniting my dormant desire. My body lights up and my breathing stutters under the heat of cool blues.

He starts to slowly wander over to me, casually, calm, and with a million emotions sparkling in his eyes. Want, lust, desire, resolve, and a ton of others, but I don’t get the chance to continue my mental list because his free arm slides under my bottom and lifts me to his mouth. I smell and taste Scotch, reminding me of a drunken Miller, but it’s easily dismissed under the attention of his divine mouth. Our wet clothes stick together, and my fingers delve into the messy array of his hair. This kiss is slow, meticulous and soft. He moans his pleasure and nibbles gently on my bottom lip each time he pulls away before lazily pecking me softly and pushing his tongue back into my mouth.

‘I need destressing,’ he mumbles, making me laugh. He’s probably the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘You.’ I pull back and take my time feeling his face – relishing in the harshness of his stubble. ‘You are funny, Miller.’

‘I am?’

‘Yes, you are.’

He cocks his head in thought as he carries me over to his desk in one arm. ‘I’ve never been called funny before.’ I’m placed in his leather seat and turned to face his pristine desk, finding a stupid sense of calm when I note everything is in its rightful place, namely the solitary item that always graces Miller’s desk – a phone. ‘You don’t have a computer?’ I ask.

He taps the section of desk that hides all of the screens, and I mildly smile my acknowledgment. How . . . tidy.

‘I promised I’d be quick.’

‘You did,’ I agree, relaxing back in his chair. ‘What do you need to do?’ It’s only now I wonder where any paperwork is kept, too, or stationery and files.

The silver tie gracing his neck is removed along with his suit jacket, leaving him in his waistcoat and shirt. ‘A few calls, this and that.’

‘This and that,’ I whisper as I watch him place his drink accurately on his desk and kneel on the floor on the other side. He rests his forearms on the white surface and looks at me thoughtfully. It makes me sit further back in his chair. What’s he going to say?