Unveiled (One Night 3)

I don’t need to say what we both know. There was no room in his consumed mind to think of protection when he pushed me into William’s office. He was thinking only of marking what’s his in the office of one of his nemeses.

Perverse? Yes. Do I care? No.

He slowly lowers his body over mine and pins me to the desk, seeking out that place on my neck he loves, nuzzling lovingly. ‘I’m sorry.’

The small smile that tickles my lips is probably as perverse as Miller’s unreasonable actions. ‘It’s . . .’

The slamming of a door resonates through the room, cutting me short, and Miller’s face slowly lifts from my neck until he’s staring down at me. The calculating smile that slowly graces that lovely mouth of his makes me bite my lip to prevent mirroring it.

Oh, God help us!

‘You arsehole.’ William’s rich voice is loaded with venom. ‘You fucking immoral arsehole.’

My eyes widen as the enormity of our situation bashes past the sick satisfaction I’m feeling. Although Miller’s sly grin remains firmly in place. He dips and kisses me chastely. ‘It was a pleasure, sweet girl.’ He lifts from my body, keeping his back to William to conceal me as he fastens his trousers. He smiles down at me, and I know it’s his way of saying not to worry. He pulls my knickers into place and arranges my dress, which is a good job because I’m arrested by anxiety, unable to make myself decent. Then he pulls me from the desk and steps to the side, exposing me to the potent anger pouring from William’s powerful frame.

Oh shit, he looks homicidal.

William’s lip curls in disgust. He’s physically shaking. And now I am, too. Not Miller, though. No. He ignores the rage and calmly pulls a chair out and turns me, pushing my unresponsive body onto the seat. ‘My lady,’ he says, making me cough at his continued arrogance. He has a death wish. He must.

I stare blankly forward and start nervously spinning my diamond on my finger, and in my peripheral vision, I see Miller making an over-the-top meal of smoothing his suit down before he takes a chair next to me. I cast him an edgy glance. He smiles. And he winks! He actually winks, making my hand shoot to my mouth as I start to snort all over the place. I try so hard to contain my giggles, try to disguise my laugh as a coughing fit. It’s such a waste of energy. There’s nothing funny about this situation. There wasn’t before Miller violated me on William’s desk, and there most definitely isn’t now. We’re both in big, big trouble. Double than what we were before we arrived.

I remain stiff and pipe down when I hear the sound of footsteps closing in, while Miller makes himself comfy, relaxing back, resting his ankle on his knee and sliding his hands down the arms of the chair. William rounds the desk, pulling my wary eyes in their sockets to follow his path. The atmosphere is just . . . horrible.

Lowering slowly to his chair, keeping pissed off grey eyes on a blasé Miller, he finally speaks. But William’s words stun me.

‘Your hair’s different.’ He turns to me, taking in my new hair, which is most likely a sexed-up mess now. My face feels damp, my body still buzzing.

‘I had it cut,’ I reply. Now that he’s turned his contempt onto me, I can feel my sass igniting.

‘By a hairdresser?’

My body starts to shift awkwardly. This isn’t good. People usually have their hair cut by a hairdresser – it goes without saying – so the fact that he’s asked doesn’t sit well. ‘Yes.’ I’m not lying. I did have my hair cut by a hairdresser . . . the morning after I hacked it off myself.

William’s hands form a steeple in front of his mouth as he watches me continue to fidget and avoid his eyes. I’m soon spared his glacial stare and words, though, when he turns them onto Miller. ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ He’s injected some heat into his tone now, and I chance a glance at him, wondering if he’s questioning what he’s just found or what he undoubtedly knows of last night’s events at Ice.

Miller clears his throat and reaches up to casually dust his shoulder down. It’s an indifferent act and meant to be. He’s pushing William’s buttons, and while I’m guilty of doing this on many occasions, I’m not sure now would be the time. I contained my sass . . . just. Miller needs to rein his impudence in, too. ‘She’s mine,’ he says, looking up to William. ‘I’ll do with her as I please.’

I shrink in my chair, astounded by his pure egotism at such a delicate time. He’s the one who claims we need William’s help, so why the hell is he being such a twat? Rub along just fine? Sure! I know he has a strange way with words. I’ve come to accept it, but that statement is clearly designed to rile William further, and when I brave a peek at my mother’s ex-pimp and see steam virtually bursting from his ears, it’s very obvious, very quickly, that he’s succeeded.

William shoots up from his chair and smashes his palms down on the table, leaning forward, his face twisted with anger. ‘You’re a fraction away from being crushed, Hart! And I’m putting myself in the middle of this fucked-up situation to make sure that doesn’t happen!’

I fly back in my chair to put as much distance between me and William – a vain attempt to dodge the violent vibes shooting from his heaving body. This situation is getting more unbearable by the second. Miller slowly rises from his seat and mirrors William’s pose. It’s about to get worse. I’m not mistaking Miller’s calm, fluid move as a sign of control. His ticking jaw and wild eyes say otherwise. I’m frozen and useless while these two powerful men have a face-off.