One Night: Promised(98)

‘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 fucking care.’

His eyes narrow fiercely. ‘The only place you’re being thrown is in my fucking 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.

I should continue walking, but flashbacks have halted my movements, my brain not prepared to home in on any instructions to make me walk away and is instead making me see things stored at the back of my mind that I’ve hidden for many years.

He growls and pushes me into the wall. I freeze. Nothing will work. Then he smashes his lips to mine and the bad memories multiply, but before I have a chance to find the mental and physical strength to fight him off, he’s absent and I’m left heaving, propped up against the wall, watching Miller physically restrain the struggling man.

‘What the fuck?’ the guy yells. ‘Get the fuck off me!’

Miller calmly removes his iPhone from his pocket and presses just one button. ‘Outer on floor one. Toilets.’

The guy continues to struggle, but he’s held firmly in place with little effort from Miller, who’s staring at me, his face completely impassive. But he’s mad. I can see it in the steely gloss of his blue eyes. There’s rage – hot rage, and I’m not at all comfortable seeing it. I start an unsteady walk away, moving to the side of the corridor when two huge doormen come barrelling towards me. I glance over my shoulder to weigh up my situation and see them take over Miller’s hold of the guy, leaving Miller to straighten his shirt and waistcoat before his eyes lift and find mine. He’s fuming, a telling sweat shimmering on his brow. He starts to shake his head slowly as he strides forward, his hair now falling onto his forehead from his exertion. I know I won’t get far, but I’ll make it to the bar. I need another drink, so I hurry, quickly reaching my intended destination and ordering a champagne, necking it before the empty is snatched from my grasp and his hand is locked on my nape, leading me away, my feet moving fast to keep up with his long strides behind me.