'Then I'll find you and put you back in it!' he snaps.

I actually laugh. 'Are you listening to yourself?'

'Yes.' His tone has calmed. 'It's not courteous to break a deal.'

'We didn't shake on it.'

'No, we f.u.c.ked on it.'

I gasp, scowl, and choke all at once. 'I thought you were a gentleman.'

'Whatever gave you that idea?'

My mouth snaps shut as I consider his question. Our first meeting never suggested that he's a gentleman, and neither did our following encounters, but his attentiveness and manners since I've been here have. There has been no f.u.c.king, not in any sense of the word.

A horrid realisation dawns. I really have been very stupid. He's seduced me, and he's done it brilliantly. 'I have no idea, but I'm clearly mistaken. Thank you for the countless o.r.g.a.s.ms.' I hear him shouting my name as I pull the phone away from my ear and hang up. I'm stunned by my own brazenness, but Miller Hart spikes my inner s.p.u.n.k. And that's dangerous territory to be falling into, but essential to maintain when dealing with this confounding man. Throwing my satchel over my shoulder, I head for his front door, rejecting the incoming call before turning off my phone.

Chapter 9.

I didn't sleep a wink, despite being in the comfort of my own bed. After sneaking into the house like a professional cat burglar, I tiptoed up the stairs, avoided all of the creaking floorboards, and crossed the landing stealthily until I was in the safety of my own room. Then I lay there in the darkness for the remaining few hours of night, looking blankly and blindly up at the ceiling.

Now the birds are tweeting, I can hear Nan downstairs pottering around in the kitchen, and I have no desire to face the day. My mind is awash with images, thoughts and conclusions, none of which I want to waste brain s.p.a.ce on. But no matter how hard I'm trying, I just can't boot him out of my jumbled head.

Leaning over to my bedside table, I unplug my phone from the charger and brave turning it on. There's another five missed calls from Gregory, one from Miller and a voicemail. I don't want to hear what either man has to say, but that doesn't stop me from tormenting myself further and listening to the d.a.m.n message. It's my worried friend not Miller.

'Olivia Taylor, you and I are going to be having some very strong words when I get hold of you. What are you thinking, baby girl? For crying out loud! I thought you were the sensible one out of the two of us. You'd better call me, or I'll be paying a visit to Nan, and I'll be telling her of your transgressions! He could be a rapist, an axe murderer! Holy s.h.i.t, you stupid woman! I'm not a happy bunny!'

He sounds totally exasperated, the drama queen. And I know he won't spill to Nan because he knows, just as well as I do, that she'll be rejoicing, not despairing. Empty threats, that's all his message is. Part true, but over the top and completely knocked out of perspective.

Kind of.

A little.

Not in the least bit.

He's one hundred per cent right, and he doesn't know the half of it. I am an idiot. I call him before he goes into seizure, and he answers immediately, sounding like he may already be suffering meltdown. 'Livy?'

'I'm alive.' I fall back to my pillow. 'Take a few deep breaths, Gregory.'

'Don't take the p.i.s.s! I've been working through the night trying to find out where he lives.'

'You're overreacting.'

'I don't think I am!'

'You didn't find him, then?' I ask, pulling my quilt up further and snuggling down.

'Well, I didn't have much to go on, did I? I googled "Miller" but I don't think he grinds crops for a living.'

I laugh to myself. 'I don't know what he does for a living.'

'Well it doesn't matter because you won't be seeing him again. What went down? Did you s.h.a.g him? Where are you? Have you lost your f.u.c.king mind?!'

I'm not laughing any more. 'None of your business, none of your business, I'm at home and yes, I have lost my b.l.o.o.d.y mind.'

'None of my business?' he screeches, all high-pitched. 'Livy, I've busted my b.a.l.l.s for years, trying to pry you from that stupid sh.e.l.l you hide away in. I've introduced you to endless decent men, all of which were mad for you, but you flat-out refused to even entertain the idea of a friendly drink or, at a stretch, dinner. Letting a man wine and dine you doesn't make you your mother.'

'Shut up!' I hiss, the mention of my mother spiking too much venom that's evident in my tone.

'I'm sorry, but what is it about this c.o.c.ksucker that's turned you into an irresponsible, reckless t.w.a.t?'

'You're the only c.o.c.ksucker I know,' I accuse quietly, because I'm at a loss at what else to say. I have been pretty reckless, just like my moth- 'And he's not a criminal or a murderer. He's a gentleman.' Sometimes, I add to myself.

'What happened? Tell me.'

'He worshipped me,' I confess. He'll nag me stupid, so I may as well come clean. It's done now. No going back.

'"Worshipped"?' Gregory's voice is barely a whisper, and I see him in my mind's eye halting whatever he may be doing on the other end of the phone.

'Yes, he's ruined it for all those who will come after.' He really has. Nothing will compare. No man will match his skill, attentiveness and pa.s.sion. I'm totally b.u.g.g.e.red.

'Oh Lord.' He's still whispering. 'That good?'

'Blissful, Gregory. I feel cheated. While he promised twenty-four hours, I only got eight. I annoyingly want the re-'

'Whoa! Rewind! Re-f.u.c.king-wind!' he yells, making me jump in my bed. 'Back the f.u.c.k up! What's this about twenty-four hours? Twenty-four hours for what?'

'To worship me.' I turn onto my side, transferring my phone to the other ear. 'He offered me that time because it's all he could.' I cannot believe that I'm divulging all of this information to Gregory. This has to get the gold, especially given that it's me who we're juicing it up about.

'I don't even know what to say.' I can see the shock on his face when I close my eyes. 'I need to see you. I'm on my way.'

'No, no!' I sit up urgently. 'Nan doesn't know I'm here. I snuck back in.'

Gregory laughs. 'Baby girl, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your nan knows exactly where you are.'

'How?'

'Because she's the one who called me to say you were home.' There's a degree of smugness in his tone.

I look to the heavens for strength. I should've b.l.o.o.d.y known. 'Then why did you pick my brain about where I am?'

'Because I wanted to see if my soulmate had developed a habit of lying, as well as being a dumb-a.r.s.e. I'm glad to have it confirmed that you're only the latter. I'm on my way.' He hangs up, and as soon as I drop my phone to the bed, I hear the familiar sound of creaking floorboards, so I hastily crawl under the covers and hold my breath.

The door opens, but I remain like a statue, out of view, eyes clenched shut and holding my breath not that I expect it to deter her. I bet she's dying to get the scoop, the nosy old bat.

There's total silence, but I know she's there, and then I feel a light brushing tickle on the sole of my foot and my leg lashes out on an uncontrolled burst of laughter. 'Nan!' I shout, throwing the quilt back and finding her plump body at the bottom of my bed, arms crossed, and with a dirty smirk on her old face. 'Don't look at me like that,' I warn.

'Your boss, my a.r.s.e!'

'He was.'

She scoffs and comes to sit on the edge of the bed, putting me on high alert. 'Why are you telling me porky pies?' she asks.

'I'm not.' My response is feeble and my eyes, diverted from hers, are a sign of my guilt.

'Livy, give your grandmother a break.' She slaps my thigh over the quilt. 'I might be an old lady, but my eyes and ears work just fine.'

I chance a reluctant glance at her, seeing a grin being held back. I'll make her day if I confirm what she already knows. 'Yes, and so does your nosy mind.'

'I'm not nosy!' she argues. 'I'm just being . . . a concerned grandmother.'

I scoff and tug the quilt from under her b.u.m, wrapping it around myself and escaping to the bathroom. 'You've nothing to be concerned about.'

'I think I have when my sweet granddaughter lives like a recluse, and then suddenly stays out until dawn.'

I cringe, quickening my pace as she follows me across the landing. My work excuse won't wash now, so I hold my tongue and make quick work of shutting the bathroom door behind me, just catching a glimpse of her grey eyebrows arched and her thin lips curved.

'Is he your boyfriend?' she calls through the door.

I turn the shower on and drop my quilt. 'No.'

'Was he your boyfriend?'

'No!'

'Are you courting him?'

'What?'

'Dating. It means dating, dear.'

'No!'

'Just having s.e.x, then.'

'Nan!' I yell, flashing the door an incredulous look.

'Just asking.'

'Well, don't!' I step into the bath and under the hot spray, thankful for the hot water, but not for the flashbacks of my last shower. He's invading every corner of my brain, except the little part which is currently being reserved to answer Nan's unreasonable questions. I squeeze some shampoo into my palms and set about lathering up my hair, hoping I'll physically scrub the memories away as I do.

'Are you in love with him?'

I freeze under the water, my hands sitting idly in the ma.s.s of bubbles on my head. 'Don't be stupid.' I try to sound shocked, but all I achieve is a quiet, thoughtful rush of breath. I'm not sure what my feelings are because they're all over the place at the moment. And they shouldn't be, especially with the knowledge of another woman. I'm not in love with him, though. I'm intrigued by him, that's all. He's fascinating to me.

I wait for Nan's comeback as my body remains still and my mind contemplates what she might say next. It's a long time, but I eventually hear the distant creaking of floorboards. She's gone, and she didn't challenge my unconvincing reply to her final question, which is extremely unusual.

Gregory is making up for Nan's mild interrogation. He's humoured me for a few hours, riding the open-top, hop-on-hop-off tour bus and listening to me remind him of why I love London so much, but when I'm guided to the outside seating area of a cafe off Oxford Street, I know my time evading him has pa.s.sed. 'Coffee or water?' he asks as the waiter approaches, giving me his roving eye.

'Water.' I ignore the waiter and commence a nervous fiddle of the napkin, folding it neatly too many times, until it's no longer foldable.

My friend is looking at the waiter the same way the waiter is looking at me, all bug-eyed and smiley. 'Water and an espresso, please, kind sir.'

I grin at Gregory, making it a continuous triangle of smiles as the waiter writes down our order and backs away, missing the lady on the next table who's waving for his attention. It's overcast but muggy, and my tight jeans are sticking to my thighs.

'So,' Gregory begins, taking the napkin from my hand, leaving me fiddling with my ring instead. 'He promised twenty-four hours and you only got eight.' He dives right in, no holding back.

I pout, and I hate myself for it. 'That's what I said, isn't it?' I sigh. A few hours being distracted by the grandness of my beloved London did a wonderful job of temporarily washing him from my mind. That's the problem, though; it's just temporary.

'What cut it short?'

'He had to nip out.'

'Where?'

'I don't know.' I refuse to look at Gregory, like a lack of eye contact might make telling him the truth easier. It must be working because I go on, keen to get his thoughts. 'I woke up at three this morning and he was gone. He left a pillow note telling me he'd be back, then he called but wouldn't say where he was, only that it was business. I got a little annoyed and so did he.'

'What was he annoyed about?'

'Because I said I was leaving and it's ill-mannered to break a deal.' I chance a look at Gregory, finding his brown eyes wide. 'We didn't actually shake on it,' I finish, not adding the fact that according to Miller we f.u.c.ked on it.

'He sounds like a k.n.o.b,' he declares spitefully. 'An arrogant k.n.o.b!'

'He's not,' I argue quickly. 'Well, he can come across a little like that, but not when he had me in his arms. He really did worship me. He said he was going to f.u.c.k me, but he . . .

'What?' Gregory screeches, leaning forward. 'He actually said that to you?'

I sink back in my chair, thinking I should've kept that part to myself. I don't want my friend to hate Miller, even if I do a little myself. 'Yes, but he didn't follow through on it. He showed me nothing but respect and . . .' I pause, stopping myself from saying such a stupid word in these circ.u.mstances.

'What?'

I shake my head. 'He was a gentleman.'

Our drinks arrive and I immediately pour my water into my gla.s.s and take a long swig while I'm ogled by the smiling waiter and Gregory ogles him. 'Thank you.' My friend beams at the waiter, making his interest known, despite the waiter's obvious s.e.xual preference.

'You're welcome. Enjoy,' the waiter says, keeping his eyes on me before he finally takes care of the woman who is again waving for his attention.

Gregory's smiling face soon alters to a scowl when his eyes land back on me. 'Livy, you've already said that you saw him with a woman. I know just as well as you do that she's probably no business a.s.sociate. He sounds nothing like a gentleman.'

'I know,' I mumble sullenly, the reminder stabbing at my falling heart. That woman is beautiful, elegant and undoubtedly as cultured and wealthy as Miller. That's his world posh women, posh hotels, posh events, posh clothes, posh food and drink. Mine is serving that posh food and drink to those posh people. I need to forget about him. I need to remind myself how aggravated he makes me. I need to remind myself that it was meaningless s.e.x. 'I won't be seeing him again.' I sigh. It wasn't meaningless s.e.x to me.

'I'm glad.' Gregory smiles and takes a sip of his espresso. 'You deserve the whole package, not just the sc.r.a.ps a man's prepared to throw when he feels like it.' He reaches over and gives my hand a comforting squeeze. 'I think you know he's no good for you.'