‘I’ll take your reluctance to answer as an indication that it’s been a while.’ He cocks his head and that lock of hair falls onto his forehead, momentarily distracting me from my humiliation. ‘Well?’
‘Seven years,’ I whisper. ‘Happy?’
‘Yes.’ His response is swift and genuine, yet the stunned eyes are evident. ‘I have no idea how that’s possible, but it pleases me immensely.’ He grabs my chin and lifts. ‘And I’m talking to you, Livy, so look at me.’ I follow through on his instruction until our eye contact is restored. ‘I guess that means I’ll be breaking you in.’
I don’t gasp this time but my blood instantly heats, sending my pulse rate through the roof, replacing embarrassment with want. I want him more than I know I should.
Meeting his intoxicating stare with my own driven gaze, I send instructions to the muscles in my arms to lift and feel him, but before I can engage them, my phone starts squealing from my bag.
‘You should answer it.’ He sits back, giving me space to leave the intimacy of his closeness. ‘Let her know that you’re still alive.’ There’s no amusement on his face, but I hear it in his tone.
I stand quickly, keen to reassure my inquisitive grandmother that all is well. I don’t look at the screen before I answer, but I should’ve. ‘Hi!’ I greet, way too chirpy, given my circumstances.
‘Livy?’ The voice on the end of the line prompts me to pull my phone from my ear and look at the screen, even though I know damn well who it is.
I sigh, picturing Nan frantically dialling Gregory to inform him of the events earlier this evening. ‘Hi.’
‘That man. Who is he?’
‘My boss.’ I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping he buys it, but he scoffs disbelievingly, which quickly tells me I’ve failed to fool him.
‘Livy, give me a break! Who is he?’
I’m stuttering all over my words, frantically searching my mind for some rubbish to feed him. ‘Just . . . he’s . . . it doesn’t matter!’ I snap, starting to pace. Gregory won’t be happy, not after our conversations about Miller Hart.
‘It’s the coffee-hater, isn’t it?’ His tone is accusing, spiking my irritation.
‘Maybe,’ I retort. ‘Maybe not.’ Why I’ve added that is a mystery. Of course it’s the coffee-hater. Who else would it be?
I’m so busy trying to fob off my friend I don’t notice the coffee-hater looming behind me until his chin is on my shoulder, his breath heavy in my ear. I gasp as I turn around and, stupidly or not, I hang up on Gregory.
Miller’s brow is a knot of confusion. ‘That was a man.’
‘It’s rude to eavesdrop.’ I stab at the reject button of my phone when it starts ringing again.
‘That may be so.’ He holds his drink up, one finger detached from the glass and pointing at me. ‘But like I said, that was a man. Who is he?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ I say, fidgeting and diverting my eyes from his accusing blues.
‘If I’m taking you to my bed, then it is my business, Livy,’ he points out. ‘Will you please look at me when I’m speaking to you?’
I don’t. I keep my eyes on the floor, silently wondering why I don’t just tell him who it was. It’s not who he thinks it is, so what does it matter? I’ve got nothing to hide but his demand for the information is unearthing a childish rebelliousness in me. Or it could be my sass. I don’t need to find it because it seems to come out to play willingly around this man, which is undoubtedly a good job.
‘Livy.’ He hunkers down and captures my eyes, his brow raised in authority. ‘If there’s an obstruction then I’ll happily eliminate it.’
‘He’s a friend.’
‘What did he want?’
‘To know where I am.’
‘Why?’
‘Because my grandmother has obviously told him that you were at the house and he has put two and two together and come up with Miller.’ My mortification is growing by the second.
‘He knows about me?’ he asks, those dark brows showing no sign of lowering.
‘Yes, he knows about you.’ This is getting stupid. ‘Can I use your bathroom?’ I ask, wanting to escape and gather myself.
‘You may.’ His glass extends from his body and points toward a corridor leading off the lounge. ‘Third door on the right.’
I don’t waste time absorbing his questioning look. I follow his pointed glass, turning my phone off when it rings again, and let myself into the third door on the right, immediately collapsing against the back. But my exasperation is interrupted as I take in the colossal space in front of me. It’s not a bathroom. It’s a bedroom.