He moves forward. ‘Are you ready, Olivia Taylor?’
I get the feeling he doesn’t just mean to leave. Am I ready? And for what? ‘Yes,’ I say, decidedly staunch, not quite knowing where the word spoken with such confidence comes from. I stare at him, unwilling to be the first to look away. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’ll experience while I’m there, but I know that I want to go . . . with him.
His lovely lips give an almost undetectable smile, telling me he knows I’m feigning confidence, but I keep my eyes on his, unwavering. He leans down, getting us nose to nose, then blinks slowly, parts his lips slowly, drops his eyes to my mouth slowly, and then he increases my heart rate further by singeing my bare arm with his delicate touch. Nothing extraordinary, but the feeling is beyond extraordinary, like nothing I’ve felt before . . . until I met him.
He dips his head, coming so close I can’t help closing my eyes. I’m dizzy and exhilarated all at once, feeling his tongue trace my bottom lip.
‘If I start, I won’t stop,’ he murmurs, pulling away. ‘I need to get you in my bed.’ He grasps my nape and twists his hand slightly, forcing me to turn away from him and walk forward.
‘My nan.’ I barely splutter the words out in my wanton state. ‘She can’t see you.’ I’m led across the landing and down the stairs – me cautious, him hasty.
‘I’ll wait in the car.’ He releases me from his grasp and strides to the front door, opening it and shutting it with no regard for my peeking grandmother.
‘Nan!’ I shout, panicked, knowing she’ll have her face squished against the glass of the window looking for him. ‘Nan!’ I need to get her away before Miller appears from the recess of the front door. ‘Nan!’
‘Bloody hell, girl!’ She appears in the doorway with George in tow, looking at my frozen form with worried eyes. ‘What’s the matter?’
With a blank mind and blank face, I step forward and kiss her cheek. ‘Nothing. See you tomorrow.’ I don’t hang around. I leave my nan frowning and George muttering something about a strange woman, and run down the pathway to the shiny black Mercedes, diving in and sinking into my seat. ‘Go,’ I press impatiently.
But he doesn’t. The car remains idle at the kerb, and he remains idle in his seat, showing no sign of rushing away from my house as I’ve demanded. His tall, suited frame is relaxed, one hand draped casually on the wheel as he looks at me, completely serious, his steely blues giving nothing away. What’s he thinking? I break the eye connection, but only because I want to confirm what I already know. I look up to the front window of my house and see the curtains twitching. I sag further in my seat.
‘What’s the matter, Livy?’ Miller asks, reaching over to rest his hand on my thigh. ‘Tell me.’
My eyes are on his big, manly hand, my flesh burning beneath it. ‘You shouldn’t have come in,’ I say quietly. ‘You may have found it amusing, but you’ve just made this even harder.’
‘Livy, it’s polite to look at someone when you’re speaking to them.’ He clasps my chin and pulls, making me face him. ‘I apologise.’
‘It’s done now.’
‘Nothing about the next twenty-four hours is going to be difficult, Livy.’ His hand slides across my cheek tenderly, pushing me to nuzzle into it. ‘I know being with you will be the easiest thing that I’ve ever done.’
It might very well be easy, but I can’t see the aftermath being easy. No, I foresee a mountain of hurt on my part and easiness on his. I’m not myself around him. The sensible woman I’ve moulded myself into has gone from one extreme to the other. Nan’s at that window, Miller’s hand is stroking my cheek sweetly, and I can’t even muster up the energy to stop him.
‘The windows are tinted,’ he whispers, slowly moving forward and resting his soft lips on mine.
That may be so; however, he’s not my boss, and my cute nan knows that very well. But I’ll deal with the interrogation when I get home tomorrow. I’m suddenly not so concerned. I’ve been distracted from my sensible self again.
‘Are you ready?’ He asks the question again, but this time I just nod against him. I’m not ready to be heartbroken at all.
The drive back to Miller’s apartment is quiet. The only sound in the air surrounding us is Gary Jules singing about a mad world. I don’t know much about Miller, but I’ve figured out that he must come from good stock. His speech is refined, his clothing of the highest quality, and he lives in Belgravia. He pulls up outside the building and is out of the car and on my side without delay, opening my door and ushering me out.