Promised (One Night #1)

Promised (One Night #1) Page 14

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.

Chapter 7

I straighten up and scan the space, noting the obscene leather-framed bed, the gigantic chandelier suspended from the ceiling, and the floor-to-ceiling windows, with the most amazing view across the city. I shouldn’t be so stunned. I knew his place was palatial, but this is something else. I see two doors across the room, and deciding that one should be a bathroom, I make my way across the squidgy cream carpet and open the first one I come to, forcing my eyes to avoid the huge bed. It’s not a bathroom, but it is a wardrobe, if such a vast space could be classed as a wardrobe. The square room has floor-to-ceiling mahogany cupboards and shelves circling the three walls with a freestanding cabinet in the centre and a couch backing onto it. The surface of the cabinet displays dozens of small jewellery boxes, all open and exhibiting an array of cufflinks, watches and tie pins. I get the feeling that if I moved one of those boxes, he’d know. I quickly shut the door and hurry to the next one, pushing my way into the most ridiculously regal bathroom I’ve ever seen. I gasp, my eyes bugging. A giant claw-foot tub sits proudly by the massive window, with intricate gold taps and steps leading up to it, and the shower walls are adorned in a mosaic of cream and gold tiles. I try to take it all in. I can’t. It’s too much. It’s like a show home. After washing my hands, I wipe up carefully and straighten the towels, not wanting to leave anything out of place.

As I exit his bedroom I freeze, coming face to face with Miller. He’s frowning again. ‘Snooping?’ he asks.

‘No! I was using the bathroom.’

‘That’s not the bathroom; that’s my bedroom.’

I look down the corridor, counting two doors before the one I’m standing outside of. ‘You said third door on my right.’

‘Yes, and that would be the next door.’ He points to the next door, and I look, completely confused.

‘No.’ I turn and point in the other direction. ‘One, two, three.’ I indicate the door behind me. ‘Third door on my right.’

‘The first door is a cupboard.’

I can feel that irritation rising again. ‘It’s still a door,’ I point out. ‘And I wasn’t snooping.’

‘Okay.’ He shrugs his perfect shoulders and slowly blinks those perfect eyes, before taking his perfection in its entirety and strolling down the corridor. ‘This way,’ he calls over his shoulder.

Irritation flares. Who does he think he is? My Converse start a moody march down the corridor in pursuit of him, but when I arrive in the lounge, he’s not there. I gaze around to the various doorways, leading to God only knows where, but he’s nowhere to be seen. All of these unfamiliar emotions are driving me insane.

Irritation, confusion . . . desire, want, lust.

I stomp across to the hallway, yank my bag from the table and head for the door.

‘Where are you going?’ His smooth tone tickles my skin and I turn to see him with a refilled glass.

‘I’m leaving. This was a stupid idea.’

He walks forward, a little surprised. ‘You made a silly mistake by taking the wrong door and that’s a cause to leave?’

‘No, you make me want to leave,’ I counter. ‘The door has nothing to do with it.’

‘I make you uncomfortable?’ he asks. I can detect a little concern in his voice.

‘Yes, you do,’ I confirm. He makes me very uncomfortable, and on so many levels, which begs the question why I’m here.

He walks forward and takes my hand, tugging gently until I allow him to pull me back into the lounge. ‘Sit,’ he orders, pushing me down onto the couch. He takes my bag and phone and places them neatly on the table before squatting in front of me. He has me with those eyes again. ‘I apologise for making you feel uncomfortable.’

‘Okay,’ I whisper, my eyes dropping to his parted lips.

‘I’m going to make you feel less uncomfortable.’

I nod because I’m too rapt by the slow motions of his lips as he speaks, but my vision is broken when he rises and puts his glass on the table, tweaking it slightly before collecting his jacket and leaving the room. I follow his back, frowning, and hear a door open and close. What’s he doing? My puzzled face flicks around the room, admiring the art briefly and thinking his apartment is too neat and perfect to actually live in, before I’m back to wondering again. Then I hear the door open and close, and I nearly choke on my own tongue when he strolls back into the room, wearing a pair of black, loose sports shorts – nothing else, just some shorts. Yes, his suit-adorned perfection is a little intimidating, but bloody hell, this won’t help. Now I just feel even more inadequate and even more lustful, my hands mentally exploring the sharpness of his chest and stomach, my lips meeting the tanned smoothness of his defined shoulders, and my arms snaking around his tight waist.

He’s back in front of me, lowering himself to the table and picking up his drink. ‘Better?’ he asks.

I’m sure if I could manage to rip my enthralled eyes off his torso I would find a look of superiority, but I can’t knock him for it. He is by far superior. ‘No.’ I drag my eyes up his body until I see him tipping his drink to those lips. Slowly. ‘How would this make me feel comfortable?’ I ask.

‘Because I’m casual.’

‘No, you’re half naked.’ I take another glimpse, my eyes greedy for him.

‘I’m still making you feel uncomfortable?’

‘Yes.’

He sighs and gets up, striding from the room again, but he doesn’t head towards his bedroom. He goes in the direction of the kitchen. I hear doors opening and closing for a few moments before he’s back with me, sitting on the table in front of me with a tray in his hand. He places it down next to him, and I note that it’s full of rocks and ice.

‘What are they?’ I ask, leaning forward to watch him. He swivels the tray, selects a rock and repositions his body forward, holding it out to me.

‘Let’s see if we can loosen you up, Livy.’

‘How? What are they?’ I nod to the rock in his hand, now noticing that it’s concave on one side and has some sort of jelly shimmering in the pearlescent shell.

‘Oysters. Open up.’ He inches forward and I inch back, my face screwing up in disgust.

‘No, thank you,’ I say politely. I don’t know much about the shellfish, but I do know they’re obscenely expensive and, supposedly, an aphrodisiac. I don’t plan on finding out, though, because they look repulsive.

‘Have you tried them before?’ he asks.

‘No.’

‘Then you must.’ He moves in closer, not giving me much more retreating space. ‘Open.’

‘You try first,’ I suggest, trying to buy myself some time.

He shakes his head, a little exasperated. ‘As you wish.’

‘I do.’

He watches me as he slowly tips the oyster to his mouth, his head falling back, but his eyes holding mine. His neck lengthens and his throat is taut and totally kissable. Then he swallows painfully slowly and an unfamiliar bang lands between my thighs, making me shift. Oh f**k, he looks too sexy. I feel hot.

He dumps the rock, grabs the front of my T-shirt in his fist and yanks me forward onto his mouth, catching me by complete surprise, but there is nothing I can or want to do to stop him. His hungry invasion is met with equal intent from me. I find his na**d shoulders and relish in my first experience of his bare flesh under my palms. It’s better than I imagined. His tongue is working through my mouth fervently, and I can do nothing more than accept, tasting the saltiness of the oyster, until he breaks our kiss and removes my hands from his shoulders, him panting, me gasping.

‘That wasn’t a result of the oyster,’ he heaves, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, pulling me forward, his nose meeting mine. ‘That was a result of you sitting here in front of me with a look of pure desire in your exquisite eyes.’

I want to tell him that he has that look too, but I quickly stop myself, considering, perhaps, that he may just look at all women like that, or maybe it’s just the way he looks full stop. I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing, instead choosing to continue with my fitful breaths as he holds me in place.

‘I’ve just paid you a compliment.’

‘Thank you,’ I murmur.

‘You’re welcome. Are you ready to let me worship you, Olivia Taylor?’

I nod as he slowly moves forward, his blues flicking from my mouth to my eyes constantly until his lips are lightly brushing over mine, but this time he’s relaxed and tender with his taking, gently seducing my mouth as he rises, encouraging me to stand with him, before he holds my nape once more and starts walking forward, forcing me to step back. I let him guide me until we’re entering his bedroom and I’m feeling his bed at the back of my knees, and the whole time he holds our mouths together. He’s an extraordinary kisser, overwhelmingly good, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. If this is a sign of things to come, then I hope the next twenty-four hours last for ever. I’m bursting at the seams with desire, matching him. Sensibility has vanished again.

His hand leaves my neck and grasps the hem of my T-shirt, lifting it and breaking our mouth contact to get it past my head so I’m forced to release his shoulders and lift my arms. My lingering concern for my lack of sexy underwear is long forgotten. I can’t seem to focus on anything except him, his passion and his energy. It’s all-consuming, leaving no room for anxiousness or hesitation. Or, more importantly, that sensible gene that seems to have disappeared into thin air under his attention.

‘Do you feel better?’ he asks, breathing down on me, his groin pressing into my stomach.

‘Yes,’ I gasp, clenching my eyes shut, trying to comprehend what’s happening.

‘Don’t deprive me of your eyes, Livy.’ His hands encase my cheeks. ‘Open.’

I do. I open my eyes, my line of sight leading me straight to shimmering blues.

Leaning in, he kisses me sweetly. ‘I have to keep reminding myself that I need to take this slowly.’

‘I’m fine,’ I assure him, reaching up and resting the flats of my hands on his torso. He’s being a gentleman, and I’m grateful, but I’m not sure that I want him to take it slowly. The desire ripping through me is getting hard to control.

He pulls away and smiles, and I fall some more. ‘I’m looking forward to indulging in you slowly.’ He reaches down and starts to unbutton the fly of my jeans. ‘Really slowly.’

‘Why?’ I ask, stupidly or not.

‘Because something as beautiful as this should be savoured, not rushed. Kick your shoes off.’

I do as I’m bid and watch as he drops to his knees and peels the denim from my legs, tossing my jeans to the side before he hooks his fingers in the top of my knickers. I’m looking down at him as he draws them from my legs slowly, prompting me to lift each leg in turn so he can rid me of my white cotton. Reaching forward with his mouth, he kisses me softly, just north of the apex of my thighs, and I noticeably tense, but not because I’m nervous. I don’t feel any worries. He’s being so careful with me, but the heavy ache, low in my stomach, is intensifying with every second that passes.

He rises to his feet and reaches around my back, finding the clasp of my bra, his mouth resting by my ear. ‘Are you on birth control?’

I shake my head no, hoping it won’t deter him. My periods are regular and light and I’ve not exactly been sexually active.