I’m just about to speak when the car screeches to a halt and Miller is out, quickly making his way to my side and opening the door. He offers his hand. ‘Take it,’ he demands, and I hesitantly reach forward, sensing an element of urgency to his tone. I’m grasped and pulled from the car before his hold shifts to my neck.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, my feet moving fast to keep up with his determined strides. ‘Miller?’
‘I’ve had too much to drink to be driving.’ He brushes off my question and heads to the Tube entrance across the street, his eyes darting around constantly. ‘Now’s not the time to be difficult, Olivia.’
‘Why?’ I’m looking around nervously now, too.
‘Trust me.’
He’s jumpy and it’s frightening me. ‘What have you done to make me do that?’
‘Everything,’ he answers immediately, making me frown up at him as my legs continue to keep up with his fast strides.
We enter the station and I’m released momentarily while Miller clears the turnstiles with an easy leap, not prepared to waste time at the ticket machine. He turns and grabs me, lifting me over with no regard for security or onlookers. Then my neck is reclaimed and we begin descending into the bowels of London, taking the escalators fast and frantically.
‘Miller, please,’ I plead, my feet killing, my head banging.
He halts, turns, and scoops me into his arms. I gasp. ‘I apologise for making you walk.’
I look down at him, the close proximity and sudden artificial light giving me a clear view of his face. His cheek is bruised and his lip grazed. But he’s still breathtaking. And my reactions to his beauty and touch are still evident. I’m hypnotised by him, my heart being hijacked by a violent, determined thrum, which has nothing to do with my exertion. I don’t like these responses to him. They’re dangerous.
The platform is empty and we’re no longer on the move, yet he doesn’t place me down, choosing to keep me secure against him.
A whistling breaks through the silent air, indicating the arrival of a train, and when the doors slide open, he carries me into the car and rests his backside on one of the raised cushions at the end of the carriage. He finally places me on my feet, spreads his legs, and pulls me face-forward to his body, our chests colliding, the internal sparks firing off wildly. His breathing is strained as he feels the back of my neck and pushes me further into him, like he’s trying to morph us together. The severity of his grip stops me from trying to escape. Do I want to escape? I can feel a familiar ease descending, which is obscene, given Miller’s strange behaviour, but my subconscious is also working hard to remind me of . . . everything. Yet in the same breath, Miller is working hard to try and make me forget, and his tactic for doing this is by immersing me in his body and attentiveness. Worshipping me.
‘Let me taste you again. I beg you,’ he murmurs into my neck, starting to kiss his way up to my jaw. The familiarity of his slow-moving lips makes me close my eyes and plead for strength. ‘Forget the world outside and be with me for ever.’
‘I can’t forget,’ I answer quietly, my face nuzzling into his mouth automatically.
‘I can make you forget.’ He reaches my lips and gently brushes over them, his eyes sinking into mine. ‘You agreed to let no one else have you.’ He doesn’t speak with any hint of arrogance as he pulls away slightly, revealing his wayward curl and too many lovely places for my eyes to focus on.
‘I didn’t know who I was agreeing with.’
‘You were agreeing with the man who you can’t function without.’ His voice is low and hoarse, his eyes continuously glancing to my lips. There is little point in denying his claim when the words are a mirror of my own, spoken aloud and delivered to him personally. And our separation has only proved it. ‘We were made to fit together. We fit perfectly together. You must feel it, Olivia.’ He doesn’t allow me time to agree, or maybe disagree. He inches forward slowly, carefully, holding my eyes until our mouths meet and he’s humming in contentment. My arms lift and hold him, my body pushes into his, and my eyes close in bliss. We kiss for an age, slowly, delicately, lovingly. I can feel our broken pieces shifting and coming together, the rightness of us fused everywhere cancelling out all of the wrongness of our doomed relationship. I’m allowed to kiss him. I’m allowed to touch him.
The train begins to slow until we’re at a stop and the doors are sliding open, but a quick peek while maintaining our consuming kiss reveals no one getting off and no one waiting to board. I’m allowed to kiss him. That thought and the sound of the doors snapping into action again yank me from the curious world of Miller Hart and puts me back into a place where everything is . . . impossible. He’s been in Madrid. He’s been with clients while he’s been with me.
I dive from his arms through the tiny slit of space left to exit, landing on the platform before I can register my sharp movement. Looking back at the carriage, I watch as the train starts to pull away and Miller starts hammering on the door frantically. He’s deranged, panicked and shouting, as I stand deathly still and watch him disappear into the tunnel. My last tear-filled vision is of him throwing his head back on a ferocious roar and propelling his fist into the glass.
Time seems to slow. I’m numb and useless and running over every reason for me to remain at a safe distance from Miller Hart, while my fingertips run over my lips, feeling his mouth still there. I can feel his body against mine, too, and the lingering burn his gaze has left on my skin. He has worked his way deep into me and I’m terrified there is no shaking him out.
The front door swings open before I’ve even made it halfway up the garden path, and Nan’s standing looking petrified in her nightie. ‘Olivia! Oh my goodness.’ She rushes down the path to collect me, taking my elbow and leading me into the house. ‘Oh my word, whatever has happened? Oh my goodness!’
‘I’m okay,’ I mumble, exhaustion taking hold, rendering me incapable of proper speech. I should make the effort, though, because Nan looks truly beside herself, her usually fixed hair in disarray and her face looking older. She needs reassurance.
‘I’ll make a cup of tea.’ She pushes me towards the kitchen, but I freeze on the threshold when I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
‘Where is he?’ I ask, jolting forward a little when Nan bumps into my back.