Promised

‘Interfering with what?’ I ask, but I suspect I already know.

‘Everything,’ he breathes.

‘Who’s Cassie?’ I also know the answer to this question.

He stands, lowers me to my feet, and grabs my cheeks. ‘The woman you thought was my girlfriend.’ He hits me with a long, moist kiss, sending me dizzy.

‘Why is she coming here?’ I ask around his lips.

He doesn’t break our kiss. ‘Because she’s a pain in the arse.’ He pecks up my cheek to my ear. ‘And because she thinks that holding shares in my club gives her a right to dictate what happens here.’

I gasp and pull away. ‘So she really is a business associate?’

He almost scowls before yanking me back to his chest. ‘Yes. How many times do I need to tell you? I said trust me.’

This knowledge doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m not completely stupid and I’ve seen the way she looks at him. And me, for that matter.

‘I’ve had a terrible day.’ Miller kisses my cheek softly, distracting me with those soft lips. ‘But you’re going to de-stress me when I get you home.’

I let him take my hand and lead me around his desk. ‘What are we doing?’

He sits me in his chair and turns me to face his desk, and then takes a remote control from the top drawer and crouches beside me, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair. ‘I want to show you something.’

‘What?’ I ask, noting Miller’s desk is as empty as the last time I saw it, the phone its only adornment.

‘This.’ He presses a button and I jump back in my chair on a gasp when his desk starts to shift in front of me.

‘What the . . .’ I’m open-mouthed and gawking like an idiot as five flat screens start to rise from the back section. ‘Bloody hell!’

‘Impressed?’

I might be a little stunned, but there is no denying the proud edge to his tone. ‘So you just watch TV in here?’

‘No, Livy,’ he sighs, pressing another button which prompts the screens to jump to life, revealing image after image of his club.

‘It’s CCTV?’ I ask, letting my eyes travel over the screens, each one sectioned into six images, except the middle screen. That screen is just one large image.

And I’m on it.

I lean forward, seeing myself on Ice’s launch night drinking with Gregory, then the image changes to us walking up the stairs, me looking around in awe. Then I’m on the dance floor. And Miller is on the prowl behind me. I see Gregory whisper in my ear, and me going to turn, and then I watch as he homes in, giving me a thorough inspection before he has his hands on me. The footage is clear, but when Miller reaches forward and touches the centre of the screen, it gets bigger, clearer, and the look on his face makes me instantly wet. I’m tingling, too, and it’s right now I wonder why the hell I’m staring at a screen when the real thing is crouched next to me.

I slowly turn to face him. ‘You sat here and watched me.’ I don’t ask it as a question because it’s obvious. I knew it, but I didn’t consider a club littered with cameras.

He regards me thoughtfully and cocks his head a little. ‘My gorgeous, sweet girl, are you turned on?’

I don’t want to, but I squirm in his big office chair, my cheeks flushing terribly. ‘You’re here. Of course I am.’ I need to try and meet his poise – try being the operative word. I could never match Miller in the intensity stakes or the brooding stakes or the hot stakes or the sexy stakes. I might in the sass stakes, though.

My chair is slowly turned to face him, the remote control placed neatly on the table, and his palms slide under my thighs, pulling me to him until there are only a few inches between our faces. ‘When I watched you on Saturday night,’ he whispers in my face, ‘I was turned on, too.’

An image of Miller reclined in this chair, short in hand, watching quietly as I drank, chatted and wandered around his club, invades my lust-filled mind. The mental visual makes the heat drop from my face, straight into my groin. I’m saturated, and he knows it. ‘Are you turned on now?’ I breathe, moving my face a little closer so our noses meet.

‘Find out for yourself.’ He pushes his lips to mine and rises, forcing my head to drop back to accommodate our kiss. His hands are braced on the arms of his office chair, caging me in, and the satisfied moan that seeps from his mouth into mine is the most pleasurable sound I’ve ever heard.

I waste no time getting my hands on him. I blindly yank his belt undone while our mouths work each other frantically, the softly-softly approach a distant memory in this moment in time. He seems harassed and if I can fix it, then I will.

‘Just your hand,’ he mumbles desperately.

I unzip his fly, unbutton him and slide my hand into his trousers, finding hard heat immediately.

I grasp it loosely, and he gasps, prompting me to flick my eyes up. I’m looking into blinding blues as I pull a slow, smooth stroke, his parted lips letting his shallow pants warm my face. ‘Did you do this to yourself when you watched me?’ I ask quietly, his desperation powering me on, boosting my confidence.

‘I never do this to myself.’

His response shocks me, making my rhythm falter. ‘Never?’

‘Never.’ His h*ps gently push forward.

‘Why not?’ I’m shocked to the core, and even though it sounds unbelievable, I believe him.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He swoops down and takes my lips, halting any further questioning. I’m focusing on working him gently, but with his mouth action getting unusually firm, it seems to influence my hands too, the thrusts of my fist speeding up, coaxing continuous groans from him. ‘Keep it steady,’ he almost begs.

Following his guidance, I slow my pace until I’m evenly gliding up and down his length.

‘Hmmmm, oh God.’ He tenses from top to toe, like he’s cautious, but he’s enjoying it. I can feel him pulsing under my palm, the heat building, his breath hitching further. Maintaining our deep kiss is easy. Holding back from pumping harder with my fist isn’t. My awareness of his building cl**ax is driving my confidence, making my clenched hand ache from tensing to prevent the instinct to fly up and down his shaft.

He bites my lip and pulls away, giving me a perfect view of his perfect face as I continue to work him. His h*ps are starting to thrust with my hand, and I can see the tensing of his arms braced on the chair. But his face is poker straight.

‘Good?’ I ask, wanting something more than his bodily reactions. I want the words he’s so good at during these moments.

‘You’ll never know.’ His head drops a little and small wheezing breaths start to puff from his lips. I take my spare hand and find the hem of his shirt, sliding my hand onto his stomach and feeling the contractions of his muscled abs. ‘Shit!’ he curses.

I take his cue and squeeze harder, but then a loud knock at the door makes me jump, and I’m suddenly dropping him and flying back in my chair.

He gasps. ‘Fucking hell, Livy!’

‘I’m sorry!’ I blurt, not knowing whether to resume my attention of Miller or hide under the desk.

I can see the pain on his face as he pushes himself up from the chair and tries to get his laboured breathing under control. ‘Well, that’s just f**king perfect, isn’t it?’

I press my lips together as I watch him quickly tuck himself away and refasten his trousers and belt. ‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat, not knowing what else to say. He’s still rock solid and it’s obvious through his trousers.

‘So you should be,’ he grumbles, and I lose my attempts to hold back my smile. ‘Look.’ He points to his groin and cocks his eyebrow when he catches my amusement. ‘I have a bit of a problem.’

‘You do,’ I agree, looking to one of his screens and seeing two people standing outside his office door, just as a knock sounds again. ‘Should I let them in?’

‘This is going to be agony.’ He adjusts himself on a groan. ‘Yes, please.’

I jump up and leave Miller settling in his chair, finding my own hyped-up state easy to control with the distraction of Miller’s clear discomfort. Swinging the door open, I come face to face with a lovely looking woman, who immediately gives me the once-over on a frown.

‘You are?’ she says, waving to a man behind her with a camera.

I step back to give her access before I’m barged from her path. ‘Livy,’ I say to myself because she has already passed me and is on her way to Miller’s desk, all smiley and gushy. I’m delighted when I see his mask slip right into place, his cool, business persona replacing his despairing pre-climax state.

‘Hi!’ she sings in his face, practically throwing herself over his desk to get to him. ‘Diana Low.’ She puts her hand out, but I can tell she’s dying to kiss him. ‘Wow, this place is just amazing!’

‘Thank you.’ Miller is as formal as ever, shaking her hand before indicating a chair opposite his desk and discreetly adjusting his groin area. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

She parks her tight arse on the chair and lays her notepad on the table. I’m immediately picking up on the unease emanating from Miller as he looks at the pad. ‘Oooh, I’m not supposed to drink on the job, but you’re my last call of the day. I’ll have a martini on the rocks.’

The photographer passes me, clearly exhausted.

It’s only now I wonder if Miller actually wants me here for this, so I look over to him and gesture to the door, but he starts shaking his head, then nods towards the sofa as he takes Miss Low’s pad and hands it to her. He wants me to stay.

I shut the door and watch the photographer take a seat beside the gregarious woman, dumping his camera on his lap.

‘Drink?’ Miller looks to the man, but I see his head shake from behind.

‘Nah, I’m cool.’

‘I’ll get the drinks,’ I pipe up, opening the door. ‘Martini and a Scotch?’

‘On the rocks!’ The woman swings around, giving me another once-over. ‘Make sure it’s on the rocks.’

‘Rocks,’ I confirm, looking to Miller, who nods his thanks. ‘I’ll be back.’ I slip out, grateful to be free from Diana Low’s irritating voice.

I find the lights have been dimmed and the blue illuminations activated, restoring the bar to the glow I remember. With more than one bar to choose from, I finally plump for the one where Miller met Tony, making my way over and finding a young guy crouched behind, restocking the glass front fridges.

‘Hello,’ I say to get his attention. ‘Can I get a martini on the rocks and a Scotch straight?’

‘For Mr Hart?’

I nod and he flies into action, pulling down a tumbler and giving it an extra polish before pouring a few inches and sliding it across the bar. ‘And a martini?’

‘Please.’

While the barman prepares the drink, I stand feeling a little self-conscious, knowing I’m being regarded with interest by Tony. I look over and receive a small smile, but it’s a poor attempt to make me feel comfortable. His round face is thoughtful.

‘How’s it going down there?’ he asks, breaking the difficult silence.

‘I just left them to it,’ I answer politely and accept the martini.

‘Miller doesn’t appreciate fuss and attention.’

I try to detect a double meaning to Tony’s abrupt declaration. ‘I know,’ I answer, because I suspect he’s implying that I don’t.

‘He’s happy in his own little organised world.’

‘I know,’ I repeat, turning to leave the discomfort of the conversation. He’s not being particularly unfriendly, but I don’t like where this chat is heading.