‘How dare you!’ I spit, feeling my blood heat with rage, rather than the usual desire when I’m within touching distance of Miller Hart. I thought my presence would shock him, but no. He fully expected it.
He steps forward again, but I keep my distance. I’m now in the corridor, not that it deters him. His long strides have him in front of me in seconds, his hand taking my nape and guiding me to his desk determinedly. I’m pushed down into his office chair, where I’m confronted with image after image of me in his club – all with men hovering around me. While I’m ashamed of myself, I’m also quietly delighted. The whole point was to torture him the only way I know how. And it looks like I’ve succeeded. The apparently emotionless man is furious. Good. I just didn’t expect to be around when he watched the footage.
‘There are five dead men on these screens,’ he seethes, leaning down next to me, smashing a button on his remote control. The images all change, but they’re all still me . . . and men. ‘There are six on these ones.’ He proceeds to flick through the footage, adding up the men he’s going to be slaughtering. ‘Does that make you happy?’
‘They never tasted me,’ I say quietly.
‘They want to! And you’re doing nothing to discourage it!’ he yells next to me, making me jump in his chair. I can feel the fury pouring from him. He’s right. His temper isn’t something I want to toy with. ‘Where’s your f**king self-respect?’
Those words ricochet around my head like a bullet. ‘My self-respect?’ I shout, flying up from the chair, letting my bag tumble to the floor and my fear of his temper tumble away. I feel pretty lethal myself right now. ‘My self-respect?’ My palms collide viciously with his chest, sending his tall frame staggering back. My strength shocks me. ‘My f**king self-respect!’
His eyes have widened slightly at my tiny fuming body and foul mouth.
‘You’re a joke!’ I shout in his face, resisting the urge to lash his cheek with my palm. But I do smack him in the chest again. This time my wrists are seized and I’m swung around, my back crashing to his body and my arms secured tightly. His mouth is at my ear, breathing hot, angry bursts of air. I hate the desire ripping through my anger. I hate it.
‘The joke isn’t on me, Olivia Taylor.’ He pushes his lips to my cheek and then bites down, leaving me whimpering in desperation. ‘The joke is on you. You’re the one fighting a battle you cannot win, sweet girl.’
‘I’m stronger than you give me credit for,’ I breathe, clenching my eyes shut, knowing my words carry no strength whatsoever.
‘I’m banking on it.’ His teeth clamp down on my earlobe, sending my backside shooting back and colliding with his groin. I cry out. He growls. ‘I need you to be strong for me.’ I’m spun around and grabbed behind the thighs, then yanked up to straddle his lean h*ps with one easy pull. He thrusts me up against his office door, one of his hands keeping me secured by the back of my thigh, the other slamming into the wood by my head. I don’t even flinch. Nothing will power through the lust attacking every fibre of my being.
His blue eyes search mine for a few moments, taking in every detail of my face, before he crashes our mouths together on a yell. I accept his violent kiss. My hands are a knotted jumble in his mess of waves, my body arching into him as he pushes me up the door on continuous moans and muffled words. While the contact is in one sense soothing me, in another it’s frightening me, bringing back too many bad memories of our hotel encounter. I start to wriggle beneath him, pulling at his suit jacket, but he mistakes my actions for equal impatience and fights free of his jacket, not breaking our fused lips.
‘Miller.’ I turn my face, yet he manages to find my lips again within a nanosecond. Things are getting out of hand and panic’s beginning to flood me. ‘Miller!’
‘You taste so f**king good.’
‘Miller, please!’
‘Fuck!’ he barks, finding the strength he needs to release me, letting me slide down the door before he steps away and wipes his brow with his cuff. He looks dazed. We’re both panting and sweating.
‘This isn’t happening.’ I run and snatch my bag from the floor, then hurry to the door, thinking I need to calm down before I find Gregory.
‘Olivia!’
I swing around, finding him wrestling his jacket on. ‘No!’ I scream. ‘This is it, Miller!’ He didn’t just worship me. If I let this go further, there will be no worshipping. There will be only f**king. He’s been fighting his instincts all this time, and now he’s exhausted, desperate. I take my membership card for Ice from my bag and throw it at him, and then watch as he follows its journey to the floor at his feet. ‘I said you’d never get to taste me again, and I meant it!’
‘I just tasted you, and I want more. I want more hours. A lot f**king more.’
‘You’re ruining my life!’