Denied (One Night #2) by Jodi Ellen Malpas
Prologue
William Anderson replaced the phone slowly and thoughtfully, then reclined in his big office chair. His large hands formed a steeple in front of his mouth as he ran over the ten-minute conversation repeatedly until he was on the brink of craziness. He didn’t know what to think, but he knew he needed a drink. A large one. He strode over to his drinks cabinet and lifted the old-fashioned globe-style lid. He didn’t stop to consider which malt he fancied; any alcohol would suffice right now. Pouring a tumbler to the brim with bourbon, he downed half and immediately topped it back up. He felt hot and sweaty. The usually composed man had been knocked for six by today’s revelations, and now all he could see were beautiful sapphire eyes. Everywhere he turned they were there, torturing him, reminding him of his failure. He yanked at his tie and unfastened the top button of his dress shirt, hoping the extra room at his neck would help him breathe. No such luck. His throat was closing up on him. The past had returned to haunt him. He’d tried so hard not to get attached, not to care. And now it was happening again.
In his world, decisions needed to be made with a clear head and objective mind – something he was usually an expert at. Usually. Things in William’s world happened for a reason, and that reason was typically because he said so – because people listened to him, respected him. Now he felt all sense of control slipping away, and he didn’t like it. Especially where she was concerned.
‘I’m too old for this shit,’ he grumbled, collapsing onto his chair. After taking another long, healthy glug of his bourbon, he rested his head back and stared up at the ceiling. She’d sent him into a tailspin before, and he was about to let her do it all over again.
He was a fool. But having Miller Hart added to the complicated equation left him little choice. And neither did his morals . . . or his love for that woman.
Chapter One
My destiny has been steered by someone else. All of my effort, my cautious approach, and the protective shields I worked hard to put in place were obliterated the day I met Miller Hart. It fast became obvious that I’d reached a point in my life where it was paramount I maintained my sensible life strategies, kept my calm fa?ade, and stayed vigilant. Because that man was unquestionably going to test me. And he did. He still is. Trusting a man, confiding in a man, and giving myself to a man was the ultimate. I did it all, and now I wholeheartedly wish I hadn’t. Being frightened that he would leave me because of my history was wasted concern. That should have been the least of my fears.
Miller Hart is a high-class male prostitute. He said ‘escort’, but you can’t pretty it up by selecting a less taboo word.
Miller Hart sells his body.
Miller Hart lives a life of debasement.
Miller Hart is the male equivalent of my mother. I’m in love with a man I can’t have. He made me feel alive when I’d spent too long just existing, but he took away that invigorating feeling, replacing it with desolation. My spirit is more lifeless now than it ever was before my encounters with that man.
The humiliation of being proved wrong is being drowned out by the hurt. I can feel nothing but crippling hurt. It’s been the longest two weeks imaginable, and I have the rest of my life to soldier through. The thought is enough to make me want to close my eyes and never open them again.
That night at the hotel plays over and over in my mind – the feel of the belt Miller put on my wrists, the cold impassiveness of his face as he expertly made me come, the look of raw anguish when he realised the pain he’d caused. Of course I had to flee.
I just didn’t realise I’d be running right into an even bigger problem. William. I know it’s only a matter of time before he finds me again. I saw the surprise on his face when he registered me, and I saw the recognition when he spotted Miller. William Anderson and Miller Hart know each other, and William will want to know how I know Miller and, God forbid, what I was doing at that hotel. Not only have I spent two weeks in hell, but I’ve also spent two weeks looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to appear.