Denied
Page 71
‘Livy, you stay with me whenever you choose. You don’t have to ask.’
‘I shouldn’t leave Nan alone.’
He laughs lightly, pulling my eyes up his chest to his face. ‘Your grandmother would put the most ferocious guard dog to shame.’
I return his amusement and rest my head on his arm as we amble along. ‘I concur.’
A strong arm wraps around my shoulder and hugs me to his side. ‘If you’d prefer me to take you home, then I will.’
‘But I want to stay with you.’
‘And I’d love to have you in my bed.’
‘I’ll call Nan as soon as we’re back at your place,’ I affirm, making a point to remember to ask her if she minds, even though I know for sure that she doesn’t.
‘Okay,’ he agrees on a little laugh.
‘Oh, there’s a bin.’ I rustle the bags in my hand and head over to the bin, but my stride falters when I spot a sorrowful-looking man slumped on the bench nearby. He looks tatty, dirty and vacant – one of the many homeless people who frequent the streets of London. My pace to the litter bin slows as I watch him twitching, and I conclude very quickly that drugs or alcohol are probably the cause. Human nature stokes the compassion within me, and when he raises empty eyes to mine, I stop walking completely. I stare at the man, who’s probably barely a man – late teens, perhaps, but life on the streets has taken its toll. His skin is sallow, his lips dry.
‘Spare any change, miss?’ he croaks at me, yanking tighter at my heartstrings. It’s not uncommon to be asked such a question, and I usually find it reasonably easy to walk on by, especially since Nan reminds me every time that by lining their pockets with money, you’re also probably funding their drug or drink habit. But this dishevelled young man with scruffy, ripped clothes and disintegrating sneakers is reminding me of something, and I can’t seem to push my legs on.
After spending far too long staring at him, his open palm extends towards me, snapping me from my miserable thoughts and the flashbacks of a lost-looking child. ‘Miss?’ he repeats.
‘I’m sorry.’ I shake my head and continue, but as I lift the bag to drop it into the bin, a warm palm wraps around my wrist and holds it firm.
‘Wait.’ Miller’s low timbre strokes my skin and pulls my eyes to his. Without another word, he claims the bag and takes the two half-eaten salads out, then places the carrier in the rubbish bin before turning and striding over to the homeless man. I watch in astonished silence as Miller reaches him and drops to his haunches, handing the two bowls over, followed by the fleece blanket. Tentative hands accept Miller’s offering and a heavy head nods its thanks. Tears pinch at the back of my eyes and very nearly fall when my perfect part-time gentleman lays a palm on the man’s knee and rubs a reassuring circle into the dirty leg of his jeans. Miller’s actions are delicate, caring and knowing. They are the actions of someone who understands. He’s telling me his story slowly, but with no words. They are not needed. His actions speak volumes, and I’m shocked by them, but most of all saddened.
That lost little boy was still lost.
Until I found him.
I watch closely as Miller rises to his full height and slips his hands into the pockets of his expensive suit trousers, then slowly turns to face me. He just stands there, regarding me carefully as I draw another gut-wrenching conclusion. An orphan? Homeless? I bite painfully on my lip, anything to prevent the threatening sorrow from gushing from my eyes at the sight of my beautifully broken man.
‘Don’t cry,’ he murmurs, closing the distance between us.
I shake my head, feeling silly. ‘I’m sorry.’
My forehead meets the crook under his chin when he’s near enough, holding my distraught body up, and strong arms surround me in his safety. ‘Give him money and he’ll likely buy drugs, alcohol or cigarettes,’ he tells me quietly. ‘Give him food and a blanket, then he’ll sate his hunger and keep warm.’ He kisses the top of my head and breaks away from me, quickly wiping the stream of tears trailing down my cheeks. ‘Do you know how many lost children there are on the streets of London, Olivia?’
I shake my head a little.
‘It’s not all opulence and grandeur. This city is beautiful, but tainted by a dark underworld.’
I absorb his quiet words, feeling ignorant and incredibly guilty. I know he speaks the truth. And I know because not only have I skimmed the edge of it, but also because Miller has been immersed in it his whole life.
His eyes remain focused on mine, a million messages passing between us. Him telling me. And me understanding. ‘I’ve had a wonderful afternoon, thank you.’ He ghosts my eyebrow with his thumb and leans in to kiss my forehead.
‘Me too.’
He smiles and takes his customary hold of my neck, turning me and taking us towards the exit of Hyde Park. ‘We’re going to get caught in the coming downpour if we’re not careful,’ he says, looking up to the sky.
Following his indication, I see the grey clouds have now turned black, and then the huge splash of a fat raindrop on my cheek confirms that Miller is probably right. ‘We’d better run,’ I say quietly. Miller’s suit is already a pile of creases. Sodden material to boot will tip him over the edge.
And with that thought, the heavens open.
‘Oh shit!’ I gasp as I’m suddenly pelted with cold, giant raindrops. ‘Bloody hell!’ It’s relentless, pounding the ground at our feet and splashing up our legs, the sound deafening.
‘Run!’ Miller shouts, but I’m so shocked by the sudden chilliness attacking me, I can’t figure out if he’s alarmed or laughing. But I do run. Fast. Miller grabs my hand and pulls me, and I look up through my wet hair to see his dark waves flattened against his head, water beads coating his face and emphasising his long, dark lashes.
The sight makes me stop dead in my tracks and causes Miller to lose grip of my wet hand, our skin slipping apart. He skids to a halt and turns the most incredibly bright blues onto me. ‘Olivia, come on.’ He’s saturated, wet through, totally drowned. He looks obscenely handsome, if a little panicked.
‘Kiss me,’ I demand, remaining static, ignoring the pounding of rain that’s now making my flesh numb from the cold.
His stunning brow furrows. It makes me smile. ‘What?’
‘I said kiss me!’ I shout over the thundering rain, wondering if he really didn’t catch it.
He laughs a little, widening his stance, and then casts his eyes around us and relaxes in his standing pose. I keep my eyes on him. Nothing will pull them away. I wait for Miller to absorb our surroundings, now unbothered and unaffected by the relentless rain.
It’s only a few moments before glimmering blue eyes return to me.
‘Don’t make me ask again,’ I warn, and then take the longest inhale of breath when he strides towards me, conviction and a ton of pure, raw love overflowing from his mesmerising orbs. He lifts me up, squeezes me to his wet suit, and takes me dramatically. His palm slides to the back of my head to hold me in place and my legs part and find their way around his waist. It’s a no-holds-barred, passionate kiss – full of want, lust, adoration, and comfort, and it signifies everything I feel for Miller Hart.
‘I shouldn’t leave Nan alone.’
He laughs lightly, pulling my eyes up his chest to his face. ‘Your grandmother would put the most ferocious guard dog to shame.’
I return his amusement and rest my head on his arm as we amble along. ‘I concur.’
A strong arm wraps around my shoulder and hugs me to his side. ‘If you’d prefer me to take you home, then I will.’
‘But I want to stay with you.’
‘And I’d love to have you in my bed.’
‘I’ll call Nan as soon as we’re back at your place,’ I affirm, making a point to remember to ask her if she minds, even though I know for sure that she doesn’t.
‘Okay,’ he agrees on a little laugh.
‘Oh, there’s a bin.’ I rustle the bags in my hand and head over to the bin, but my stride falters when I spot a sorrowful-looking man slumped on the bench nearby. He looks tatty, dirty and vacant – one of the many homeless people who frequent the streets of London. My pace to the litter bin slows as I watch him twitching, and I conclude very quickly that drugs or alcohol are probably the cause. Human nature stokes the compassion within me, and when he raises empty eyes to mine, I stop walking completely. I stare at the man, who’s probably barely a man – late teens, perhaps, but life on the streets has taken its toll. His skin is sallow, his lips dry.
‘Spare any change, miss?’ he croaks at me, yanking tighter at my heartstrings. It’s not uncommon to be asked such a question, and I usually find it reasonably easy to walk on by, especially since Nan reminds me every time that by lining their pockets with money, you’re also probably funding their drug or drink habit. But this dishevelled young man with scruffy, ripped clothes and disintegrating sneakers is reminding me of something, and I can’t seem to push my legs on.
After spending far too long staring at him, his open palm extends towards me, snapping me from my miserable thoughts and the flashbacks of a lost-looking child. ‘Miss?’ he repeats.
‘I’m sorry.’ I shake my head and continue, but as I lift the bag to drop it into the bin, a warm palm wraps around my wrist and holds it firm.
‘Wait.’ Miller’s low timbre strokes my skin and pulls my eyes to his. Without another word, he claims the bag and takes the two half-eaten salads out, then places the carrier in the rubbish bin before turning and striding over to the homeless man. I watch in astonished silence as Miller reaches him and drops to his haunches, handing the two bowls over, followed by the fleece blanket. Tentative hands accept Miller’s offering and a heavy head nods its thanks. Tears pinch at the back of my eyes and very nearly fall when my perfect part-time gentleman lays a palm on the man’s knee and rubs a reassuring circle into the dirty leg of his jeans. Miller’s actions are delicate, caring and knowing. They are the actions of someone who understands. He’s telling me his story slowly, but with no words. They are not needed. His actions speak volumes, and I’m shocked by them, but most of all saddened.
That lost little boy was still lost.
Until I found him.
I watch closely as Miller rises to his full height and slips his hands into the pockets of his expensive suit trousers, then slowly turns to face me. He just stands there, regarding me carefully as I draw another gut-wrenching conclusion. An orphan? Homeless? I bite painfully on my lip, anything to prevent the threatening sorrow from gushing from my eyes at the sight of my beautifully broken man.
‘Don’t cry,’ he murmurs, closing the distance between us.
I shake my head, feeling silly. ‘I’m sorry.’
My forehead meets the crook under his chin when he’s near enough, holding my distraught body up, and strong arms surround me in his safety. ‘Give him money and he’ll likely buy drugs, alcohol or cigarettes,’ he tells me quietly. ‘Give him food and a blanket, then he’ll sate his hunger and keep warm.’ He kisses the top of my head and breaks away from me, quickly wiping the stream of tears trailing down my cheeks. ‘Do you know how many lost children there are on the streets of London, Olivia?’
I shake my head a little.
‘It’s not all opulence and grandeur. This city is beautiful, but tainted by a dark underworld.’
I absorb his quiet words, feeling ignorant and incredibly guilty. I know he speaks the truth. And I know because not only have I skimmed the edge of it, but also because Miller has been immersed in it his whole life.
His eyes remain focused on mine, a million messages passing between us. Him telling me. And me understanding. ‘I’ve had a wonderful afternoon, thank you.’ He ghosts my eyebrow with his thumb and leans in to kiss my forehead.
‘Me too.’
He smiles and takes his customary hold of my neck, turning me and taking us towards the exit of Hyde Park. ‘We’re going to get caught in the coming downpour if we’re not careful,’ he says, looking up to the sky.
Following his indication, I see the grey clouds have now turned black, and then the huge splash of a fat raindrop on my cheek confirms that Miller is probably right. ‘We’d better run,’ I say quietly. Miller’s suit is already a pile of creases. Sodden material to boot will tip him over the edge.
And with that thought, the heavens open.
‘Oh shit!’ I gasp as I’m suddenly pelted with cold, giant raindrops. ‘Bloody hell!’ It’s relentless, pounding the ground at our feet and splashing up our legs, the sound deafening.
‘Run!’ Miller shouts, but I’m so shocked by the sudden chilliness attacking me, I can’t figure out if he’s alarmed or laughing. But I do run. Fast. Miller grabs my hand and pulls me, and I look up through my wet hair to see his dark waves flattened against his head, water beads coating his face and emphasising his long, dark lashes.
The sight makes me stop dead in my tracks and causes Miller to lose grip of my wet hand, our skin slipping apart. He skids to a halt and turns the most incredibly bright blues onto me. ‘Olivia, come on.’ He’s saturated, wet through, totally drowned. He looks obscenely handsome, if a little panicked.
‘Kiss me,’ I demand, remaining static, ignoring the pounding of rain that’s now making my flesh numb from the cold.
His stunning brow furrows. It makes me smile. ‘What?’
‘I said kiss me!’ I shout over the thundering rain, wondering if he really didn’t catch it.
He laughs a little, widening his stance, and then casts his eyes around us and relaxes in his standing pose. I keep my eyes on him. Nothing will pull them away. I wait for Miller to absorb our surroundings, now unbothered and unaffected by the relentless rain.
It’s only a few moments before glimmering blue eyes return to me.
‘Don’t make me ask again,’ I warn, and then take the longest inhale of breath when he strides towards me, conviction and a ton of pure, raw love overflowing from his mesmerising orbs. He lifts me up, squeezes me to his wet suit, and takes me dramatically. His palm slides to the back of my head to hold me in place and my legs part and find their way around his waist. It’s a no-holds-barred, passionate kiss – full of want, lust, adoration, and comfort, and it signifies everything I feel for Miller Hart.
