‘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.
‘Have it cleaned,’ he orders, detaching his car key from the key ring and handing it to the green-suited valet.
‘Sir.’ The valet tips his hat, then climbs into Miller’s car, immediately pressing a button that brings him closer to the wheel.
‘Walk.’ He takes my bag and settles his hand on the base of my neck again as he guides me through the giant glass revolving door and into a mirror-invested lobby. Everywhere I look, we’re there, me being guided, looking petite and apprehensive, and him pushing me onward, looking tall and powerful.
We bypass the rows of mirrored elevators, heading for the stairwell. ‘Are the lifts broken?’ I ask as I’m steered through the doors and pushed up the stairs.
‘No.’
‘Then why—’
‘Because I’m not lazy.’ He cuts me off, leaving no room for further questioning, and continues to hold my nape as we take the stairs.
He might not be lazy, but he’s seriously crazy. Four flights of stairs in and my calf muscles are burning again. I’m struggling to keep up. I battle on for one more flight, and I’m just about to call for a break when he turns and picks me up, obviously aware of my breathlessness. My arms around his neck feel right, as comforting as they did before, as he continues with me draped across his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Our faces are close, his smell manly, and he keeps his eyes set firmly forward until we’re outside his shiny black front door.
Miller drops me to my feet, hands me my bag and takes hold of my nape, using his free hand to get the door open, but as the view inside his apartment hits me, I suddenly want to run away. I see the art, the wall where he restrained me, and the couch where he sat me. The images are all vivid, and so are my feelings of helplessness. If I cross this threshold, I’ll be at Miller Hart’s mercy and I don’t even think my long-lost sass will assist me . . . if I manage to find it.
‘I’m not sure I—’ I start backing away from the door, uncertainty abruptly plaguing me, sensibility worming its way into my confused brain. But the fiery determination in his clear eyes is telling me that I’m going nowhere and so does the increased grip of his hand on my nape.
‘Livy, I’m not going to jump you as soon as I get you inside.’ His hand shifts down to my upper arm but he doesn’t restrain me now. ‘Calm down.’
I’m trying to, but my heart won’t let up and neither will the shakes. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ He steps away from me, giving me access to the entrance of his apartment. ‘I’d like you to go inside, but only if you want to spend the night with me,’ he says slowly, pulling my gaze to his. ‘And I want you to turn and leave if you’re not sure because I can’t do this unless I know you’re one hundred per cent with me.’ His face is straight but I detect an element of pleading behind the impassive blue gaze of his eyes.