I never want this day to end.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Tony.’ Miller nods in greeting, directing me past his bar manager by my neck and not seeming to notice the worried look on his face. He looks really worried, and while Miller appears fine with ignoring it, I’m not.
‘Livy?’ Tony says it like a question, like he’s surprised to see me. He once said Miller was happy in his own precise little world. But I know better. Miller wasn’t happy. He may have pretended to be, but I know – because he told me so himself – that he had a lovely time today.
It’s clear that Tony doesn’t know what to think of this soaking wet, dishevelled man before him. I don’t speak, just giving a small smile of acknowledgment as we disappear from view.
‘He doesn’t like me,’ I muse quietly, almost reluctantly, wondering if my time will be wasted asking why that might be.
‘He worries too much.’ Miller’s reply is short, sharp and final as he guides me through the maze of corridors to his office. I know Tony is against us, just like everyone else, so I’m not sure why his disapproval bothers me more than the rest of the interferers. The looks? The words? And why isn’t Miller more upset about it, like he gets with the others?
Miller taps in the code for his office and pushes the door open, and I’m immediately faced with the extreme precision of his office. Everything is how it should be.
Except us.
I look down at my soaking state, then to Miller’s, thinking how wrecked we both look. Strangely, now that I’m surrounded by the familiarity and exactness of Miller’s world, I feel all uncomfortable and . . . wrong.
‘Olivia?’ I look across to Miller, who’s at his drinks cabinet pouring a Scotch while yanking at his tie.
‘Sorry, daydreaming.’ I shake myself out of my silly reverie and close the door behind me.
‘Go and sit.’ He indicates his office chair. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘No.’
‘Sit,’ he prompts again when I’m still standing by the door a few seconds later. ‘Go.’
I look down at my dress, then to Miller’s fancy office chair. It was a trial and a concern sitting in Miller’s car while all soggy, and now I’m faced with his lovely leather office chair. ‘But I’m all wet.’ I pull at the hem of my dress and release it, letting it slap against my thigh in demonstration. I’m not just wet; I’m dripping.
His glass pauses at his lips as his eyes skip over my body, absorbing the mess I’m in. Or maybe not. His eyes land on my chest and then flip to mine. They’ve gone all smoky. ‘I quite like you wet.’ His glass points at me, his fiery gaze slicing through my chilliness and igniting my dormant desire. My body lights up and my breathing stutters under the heat of cool blues.
He starts to slowly wander over to me, casually, calm, and with a million emotions sparkling in his eyes. Want, lust, desire, resolve, and a ton of others, but I don’t get the chance to continue my mental list because his free arm slides under my bottom and lifts me to his mouth. I smell and taste Scotch, reminding me of a drunken Miller, but it’s easily dismissed under the attention of his divine mouth. Our wet clothes stick together, and my fingers delve into the messy array of his hair. This kiss is slow, meticulous and soft. He moans his pleasure and nibbles gently on my bottom lip each time he pulls away before lazily pecking me softly and pushing his tongue back into my mouth.
‘I need destressing,’ he mumbles, making me laugh. He’s probably the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘You.’ I pull back and take my time feeling his face – relishing in the harshness of his stubble. ‘You are funny, Miller.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes, you are.’
He cocks his head in thought as he carries me over to his desk in one arm. ‘I’ve never been called funny before.’ I’m placed in his leather seat and turned to face his pristine desk, finding a stupid sense of calm when I note everything is in its rightful place, namely the solitary item that always graces Miller’s desk – a phone. ‘You don’t have a computer?’ I ask.
He taps the section of desk that hides all of the screens, and I mildly smile my acknowledgment. How . . . tidy.
‘I promised I’d be quick.’
‘You did,’ I agree, relaxing back in his chair. ‘What do you need to do?’ It’s only now I wonder where any paperwork is kept, too, or stationery and files.
The silver tie gracing his neck is removed along with his suit jacket, leaving him in his waistcoat and shirt. ‘A few calls, this and that.’
‘This and that,’ I whisper as I watch him place his drink accurately on his desk and kneel on the floor on the other side. He rests his forearms on the white surface and looks at me thoughtfully. It makes me sit further back in his chair. What’s he going to say?
‘I have a request.’
That doesn’t improve my wariness. ‘What?’
He smiles, obviously at my clear worry as he reaches into his pocket. ‘I’d like you to have this.’ He places something on the desk but holds his hand over it so I can’t see what’s beneath.
My eyes flick up and down, my cautiousness magnifying. ‘What is it?’
His smile slips a little, and I detect nerves. It only escalates mine. ‘A key to my apartment.’ He lifts his palm, revealing a Yale key.
My muscles relax, my mind refusing to centre any attention on where my silly thoughts were heading. ‘A key,’ I breathe on a laugh.