‘Because you fought to keep me in it,’ I remind him without hesitation, forcing myself to sound sure. ‘You’ve threatened to rip the spine out of anyone who tries to take me away from you. Are you regretting that?’
I steel myself for an unwanted reply as he faces me, but his gaze is dropped. ‘I regret dragging you into my world.’
‘Don’t,’ I snap, not liking his loss of fortitude now that William has gone. ‘I came willingly and I’m staying willingly.’ I choose to ignore the referral to my world. I’m getting sick of hearing the words my world, yet hardly anything about it.
More whisky is tipped down his neck. ‘I meant it.’ He makes an attempt to focus on my eyes but gives up, turning and wandering off across the lounge instead.
‘Meant what?’
‘My threat.’ His arse meets the low coffee table and he places his glass accurately to the side, despite his drunkenness. He even swivels it before releasing it, now happy with its placing. His curl is present and clearly tickling his forehead because he flicks it away and then drops his face into his palms, elbows braced on his knees. ‘My temper has always been a burden, Olivia, but I frighten myself when it comes to my overprotectiveness with you.’
‘Possessiveness.’
His head lifts and a frown wriggles its way onto his forehead. ‘Pardon?’
A diminutive smile pulls at the corners of my mouth at his show of manners when he’s so intoxicated and we’re in such a wretched place. I walk across to him and kneel between his feet, and he looks down at me, watching as I remove his elbows from his knees and hold his hands in mine. ‘Possessiveness,’ I repeat.
‘I want to protect you.’
‘From what?’
‘Interferers.’ He drifts into thought, his eyes looking past me for a few moments before returning to me. ‘I’ll wind up killing someone.’ His admission should shock me, yet his acknowledgment of his unreasonable flaw strangely settles me. I’m about to suggest counselling, anger management, anything to get this under control, but something stops me.
‘William is interfering,’ I blurt.
‘William and I have an understanding.’ Miller stumbles over his words. ‘Although you were never in the equation before. He’s walking a thin line.’ The abhorrence in his drunken tone is palpable.
‘What understanding?’ I don’t like the sound of this. They both have terrible tempers. My guess is that both men know what damage they can do to each other.
He shakes his head on a frustrated curse. ‘He wants to protect you, as do I. You’re probably the safest woman in London.’
My eyes widen at the inaccuracy of his comment and my hands drop his. I disagree. I feel like the most exposed woman in London. But I don’t tell him so. I fight off my urge to continue the William–Miller debate. William hates Miller, and the feeling is totally mutual. I know why, so I should just get used to it. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ I ask as I stand and offer my hand. My unease subsides slightly when I catch a brief twinkle in Miller’s eyes. It’s familiar and needed.
‘Bad.’ He rests his hand in mine and studies our joining as I secure my grip and give a little tug, encouraging him to stand, which he does with too much effort.
‘The bad news is you’re going to have a bitch of a hangover.’ I mirror his tiny smile and start leading him to his bedroom. ‘The good news is I’ll be here to nurse you when you’re feeling sorry for yourself.’
‘You’ll let me worship you. That’ll make me feel better.’
I raise doubtful eyebrows over my shoulder as we enter his bedroom. ‘Will you be in any fit state?’
He drops his arse to the bed when I give him a little shove in the shoulder. ‘Don’t question my ability to satisfy you, sweet girl.’ His palms slide around to my bum and apply pressure, pulling me between his spread thighs. He’s looking up at me with a carnal stare that’s leading to one thing.
I shake my head. ‘I’m not sleeping with you when you’re drunk.’
‘I beg to differ,’ he counters, his hands working their way to my front and sliding under my top. His eyes are challenging me to stop him, and although I have just been flung into desire overload, I’m not budging. It takes every molecule of strength that I possess, but I locate it fast before I’m tossed into surrender mode. I don’t want to be worshipped by a drunken Miller. I remove his hands on another shake of my head.
‘Don’t deny me,’ he breathes, pulling me forward onto his lap and arranging my legs across him. I have no choice but to curl an arm around his shoulder, bringing me closer to his face. The alcohol fumes only increase my willpower.
‘Stop it,’ I warn, not prepared to fall victim to his tactics. ‘You’re in no fit state and if I kiss you, then I’ll probably end up as drunk as you are.’
‘I’m fine and perfectly capable.’ His h*ps push into my bottom. ‘I need destressing.’
He has a nerve! I’m the one who needs destressing, but if I’m honest with myself, then Miller taking me under the influence of alcohol makes me nervous. I know he fights to maintain control during our encounters and a belly full of whisky won’t aid him.
‘What?’ he asks, regarding me with suspicion, obviously perceiving my wandering thoughts. ‘Tell me.’
‘It’s nothing.’ I brush off his concern and attempt to remove my body from his lap. And get nowhere.