Promised
Page 78
‘It hurt so much.’ I’m sobbing, trying to reassure myself that it was just a dream – a stupid, stupid dream.
His face falls. ‘Your mother walked out on you, Livy. Of course it hurt.’
‘No.’ I shake my head in his hold. ‘That doesn’t hurt any more.’ This new fear has drowned any sense of abandonment that I felt before. ‘I’m better off without her.’ He winces, his eyes closing painfully at my harshness. I don’t care. ‘I’m talking about you,’ I whisper. ‘You left me.’ I’m aware that I sound needy and weak, but my desperation is crippling me. Compared to how I’m feeling now, coping with my mother’s abandonment seems like a breeze. Miller’s shown me comfort. He’s accepted me. ‘I’ve never felt pain like it.’
‘Livy—’
‘No.’ I cut him off. He needs to know. I move from his personal space, shifting myself across the bed so I’m out of touching distance.
‘Livy, what are you doing?’ he asks, reaching for me. ‘Come here.’
‘You need to know something,’ I murmur nervously, refusing to meet his eyes.
‘There’s more?’ he blurts, pulling his reaching hand back, like I might bite him. He’s cautious, wary. It doesn’t boost my confidence. I’ve shocked Miller Hart with my dirty little secrets, more than he’s ever shocked me with his moods – transforming from domineering to passive and from cold-hearted to loving faster than I can keep up with.
‘There’s one more thing,’ I admit, hearing him draw breath, preparing himself for what I might hit him with next. For him, this might be the biggest shock of all.
‘I believe we might be conversing, Livy.’ His tone is clipped and intimidating, the one that makes me take notice, whether I scoff at it or cower. Right now, I’m cowering.
‘You still fascinate me,’ I say, looking up at him. ‘All of your set ways, your faffing with things when they’re already perfect, and the way you have to have things just so.’
He’s frowning at me, and for a split second I think he might deny it. But he doesn’t. ‘Take me as I am, Livy.’
‘That’s what I’m saying.’
‘Elaborate,’ he demands harshly, making me cower further.
‘You take command over me,’ I start nervously, ‘and it should probably frighten me or perhaps have me telling you to piss off, but . . .
‘I believe you might have told me to go to hell last night.’
‘Your fault.’
‘Probably,’ he relents on a grunt and a roll of those blistering blue eyes. ‘Continue.’
I smile inwardly. He’s doing it right now – being brusque and starched, but it’s terribly alluring, even when it’s bloody infuriating. I feel so safe with him. ‘I don’t know whether my heart can survive you,’ I say quietly, watching closely for his reaction, ‘but I want to take you as you are.’ I shouldn’t be surprised when his expression remains completely blank, and I’m not, but those eyes tell me a little something. They’re telling me he knows how I feel already. He’d be pretty stupid not to. ‘I’ve fallen.’
His blue gaze touches my soul. It’s now full of knowing and understanding. ‘Why are you on the other side of the bed, Livy?’ he asks, his voice low and sure.
My eyes travel the distance between our bodies, noting a good metre of mattress between us. Perhaps I did go over the top with my decision to distance myself, but I didn’t want to feel his body stiffen when I uttered those words. I’ve not said it, but Miller is an intelligent man. My cards have been slowly laid, and now they are face up for all to see.
‘I . . . I . . . I didn’t . . .’
‘Why are you on the other side of the bed, Livy?’
Our eyes connect. He’s looking at me sternly, like he really is mad about my distance, but I can still see understanding in them, too. ‘I . . .’
‘I’ve already repeated myself.’ He cuts me off completely. ‘Don’t make me do it again.’
I hesitate too long, going to shift towards him but quickly drawing back, wondering what’s running though that multi-layered mind of his.
‘Overthinking, Livy,’ he warns. ‘Give me my thing.’
I inch forward slowly, but he doesn’t welcome me with open arms or encourage me. He just watches me blackly, following my eyes as they get closer and closer until I’m gently crawling onto his lap and circling his shoulders tentatively with my arms. I feel his palms gently rest on my h*ps and begin a languid caress of my back while he slowly lowers his face into my hair until we’re locked together, completely encasing each other . . . just holding each other. Miller Hart’s thing has fast become my thing, too. Nothing will ever beat the sense of refuge and solace that I get from a simple cuddle delivered by Miller. His touch soaks up all of the anguish and despair.
‘I’m not sure if I can function without you,’ I say softly. ‘I feel like you’ve become a vital part of what keeps me breathing.’ I’m not exaggerating. That dream was chillingly real, and that feeling alone is enough to make me spill. But he’s too quiet. I can feel his heart beating under my chest, and it’s steady, not shocked and erratic, but that’s all I can feel. I’m very rapidly considering what he must be thinking – probably that I’m stupid and naive. I’ve never experienced this before, but these feelings are intense, uncontrollable. I’m not sure I’m equipped for them, and I’m even less confident that Miller is. ‘Please speak,’ I plead quietly, following up my request with a little squeeze. ‘Say something.’
He accepts my squeeze, reciprocating with his own, and then he withdraws from the sanctuary of my neck and takes a deep breath, letting it stream from his lips slowly and calmly. I take a deep breath too, except I hold mine.
Smoothing his palms up my spine, his hand finds my hair and starts combing through with his fingers as he watches. Then he slowly brings his eyes to mine. ‘This beautiful, pure girl has fallen in love with the big bad wolf.’
My eyebrows meet in the middle. ‘You’re not a big bad wolf,’ I argue, not thinking to deny his other conclusion. He’s absolutely right, and I’m not ashamed of it. I am in love with him. ‘And I thought we established that I’m not so sweet.’ I want to feel his hair and his lips, but he looks despondent, almost troubled by the knowledge that someone loves him.
‘We established nothing of the sort. You’re my sweet girl, and we’ll be leaving that line of conversation exactly there.’
‘Okay.’ I succumb immediately and easily, hating his curt delivery but secretly loving the words he’s used. I’m his.
He sighs and kisses me chastely. ‘You must be hungry. Let me make you supper.’ He starts to untangle our bodies and places me on my feet, running his eyes down my body. I’m still wearing his shirt, buttons undone, hanging open, and it’s creased beyond creased. ‘Look at the state of that,’ he muses on a subtle shake of his head. And just like that, he’s switched back to perfect, precise Miller Hart, like I haven’t just confessed my love for him.
‘Maybe you should invest in non-iron shirts,’ I say thoughtfully, pulling the two sides together.
His face falls. ‘Your mother walked out on you, Livy. Of course it hurt.’
‘No.’ I shake my head in his hold. ‘That doesn’t hurt any more.’ This new fear has drowned any sense of abandonment that I felt before. ‘I’m better off without her.’ He winces, his eyes closing painfully at my harshness. I don’t care. ‘I’m talking about you,’ I whisper. ‘You left me.’ I’m aware that I sound needy and weak, but my desperation is crippling me. Compared to how I’m feeling now, coping with my mother’s abandonment seems like a breeze. Miller’s shown me comfort. He’s accepted me. ‘I’ve never felt pain like it.’
‘Livy—’
‘No.’ I cut him off. He needs to know. I move from his personal space, shifting myself across the bed so I’m out of touching distance.
‘Livy, what are you doing?’ he asks, reaching for me. ‘Come here.’
‘You need to know something,’ I murmur nervously, refusing to meet his eyes.
‘There’s more?’ he blurts, pulling his reaching hand back, like I might bite him. He’s cautious, wary. It doesn’t boost my confidence. I’ve shocked Miller Hart with my dirty little secrets, more than he’s ever shocked me with his moods – transforming from domineering to passive and from cold-hearted to loving faster than I can keep up with.
‘There’s one more thing,’ I admit, hearing him draw breath, preparing himself for what I might hit him with next. For him, this might be the biggest shock of all.
‘I believe we might be conversing, Livy.’ His tone is clipped and intimidating, the one that makes me take notice, whether I scoff at it or cower. Right now, I’m cowering.
‘You still fascinate me,’ I say, looking up at him. ‘All of your set ways, your faffing with things when they’re already perfect, and the way you have to have things just so.’
He’s frowning at me, and for a split second I think he might deny it. But he doesn’t. ‘Take me as I am, Livy.’
‘That’s what I’m saying.’
‘Elaborate,’ he demands harshly, making me cower further.
‘You take command over me,’ I start nervously, ‘and it should probably frighten me or perhaps have me telling you to piss off, but . . .
‘I believe you might have told me to go to hell last night.’
‘Your fault.’
‘Probably,’ he relents on a grunt and a roll of those blistering blue eyes. ‘Continue.’
I smile inwardly. He’s doing it right now – being brusque and starched, but it’s terribly alluring, even when it’s bloody infuriating. I feel so safe with him. ‘I don’t know whether my heart can survive you,’ I say quietly, watching closely for his reaction, ‘but I want to take you as you are.’ I shouldn’t be surprised when his expression remains completely blank, and I’m not, but those eyes tell me a little something. They’re telling me he knows how I feel already. He’d be pretty stupid not to. ‘I’ve fallen.’
His blue gaze touches my soul. It’s now full of knowing and understanding. ‘Why are you on the other side of the bed, Livy?’ he asks, his voice low and sure.
My eyes travel the distance between our bodies, noting a good metre of mattress between us. Perhaps I did go over the top with my decision to distance myself, but I didn’t want to feel his body stiffen when I uttered those words. I’ve not said it, but Miller is an intelligent man. My cards have been slowly laid, and now they are face up for all to see.
‘I . . . I . . . I didn’t . . .’
‘Why are you on the other side of the bed, Livy?’
Our eyes connect. He’s looking at me sternly, like he really is mad about my distance, but I can still see understanding in them, too. ‘I . . .’
‘I’ve already repeated myself.’ He cuts me off completely. ‘Don’t make me do it again.’
I hesitate too long, going to shift towards him but quickly drawing back, wondering what’s running though that multi-layered mind of his.
‘Overthinking, Livy,’ he warns. ‘Give me my thing.’
I inch forward slowly, but he doesn’t welcome me with open arms or encourage me. He just watches me blackly, following my eyes as they get closer and closer until I’m gently crawling onto his lap and circling his shoulders tentatively with my arms. I feel his palms gently rest on my h*ps and begin a languid caress of my back while he slowly lowers his face into my hair until we’re locked together, completely encasing each other . . . just holding each other. Miller Hart’s thing has fast become my thing, too. Nothing will ever beat the sense of refuge and solace that I get from a simple cuddle delivered by Miller. His touch soaks up all of the anguish and despair.
‘I’m not sure if I can function without you,’ I say softly. ‘I feel like you’ve become a vital part of what keeps me breathing.’ I’m not exaggerating. That dream was chillingly real, and that feeling alone is enough to make me spill. But he’s too quiet. I can feel his heart beating under my chest, and it’s steady, not shocked and erratic, but that’s all I can feel. I’m very rapidly considering what he must be thinking – probably that I’m stupid and naive. I’ve never experienced this before, but these feelings are intense, uncontrollable. I’m not sure I’m equipped for them, and I’m even less confident that Miller is. ‘Please speak,’ I plead quietly, following up my request with a little squeeze. ‘Say something.’
He accepts my squeeze, reciprocating with his own, and then he withdraws from the sanctuary of my neck and takes a deep breath, letting it stream from his lips slowly and calmly. I take a deep breath too, except I hold mine.
Smoothing his palms up my spine, his hand finds my hair and starts combing through with his fingers as he watches. Then he slowly brings his eyes to mine. ‘This beautiful, pure girl has fallen in love with the big bad wolf.’
My eyebrows meet in the middle. ‘You’re not a big bad wolf,’ I argue, not thinking to deny his other conclusion. He’s absolutely right, and I’m not ashamed of it. I am in love with him. ‘And I thought we established that I’m not so sweet.’ I want to feel his hair and his lips, but he looks despondent, almost troubled by the knowledge that someone loves him.
‘We established nothing of the sort. You’re my sweet girl, and we’ll be leaving that line of conversation exactly there.’
‘Okay.’ I succumb immediately and easily, hating his curt delivery but secretly loving the words he’s used. I’m his.
He sighs and kisses me chastely. ‘You must be hungry. Let me make you supper.’ He starts to untangle our bodies and places me on my feet, running his eyes down my body. I’m still wearing his shirt, buttons undone, hanging open, and it’s creased beyond creased. ‘Look at the state of that,’ he muses on a subtle shake of his head. And just like that, he’s switched back to perfect, precise Miller Hart, like I haven’t just confessed my love for him.
‘Maybe you should invest in non-iron shirts,’ I say thoughtfully, pulling the two sides together.
