‘I fell,’ I mutter feebly, which isn’t far from the truth.

‘Okay, lovey,’ she says, taking a sterile pad from a packet. ‘This may sting.’ I pull in a shocked rush of breath as it connects with my head, and she hushes me like an injured child. ‘There, there. It looks worse than it is. Some glue will sort it out.’

I’m flooded with relief. ‘Thank you.’

‘Perhaps better footwear is called for.’ She smiles, looking down at my heels before continuing to glue me back together.

I sit on the edge of the bed and listen to the nurse chat away, offering the odd agreement or answer to her questions every now and then. My face is cleaned up, but there is nothing that can be done with my hair, so I pile it up gingerly, securing it with a loose tie that I find hiding at the bottom of my bag. My dress looks like it’s ready for the dustbin. I look like I’m ready for the dustbin.

Once I’ve been seen to thoroughly and checked for concussion, I’m discharged and left to find my way home. But I don’t call the nice taxi man because one pulls up, just as the automatic doors swing open, exposing me to the chill of the early hours. I shiver and wrap my arms around my body, trying to squeeze the shudders away as I hurry to the cab. I hop in, but before I can pull the door shut, there’s a body blocking it, hindering my attempts.

Then a palm is resting on my nape and internal sparks begin to fizz. ‘You’re coming with me.’

Chapter Seven

Despondency and the look of determination in his eyes prevent me from fighting him. I haven’t the energy to fight him, so I let him pull me from the taxi and lead me away.

‘Get in,’ he orders when we arrive at his car parked haphazardly nearby.

I do as I’m told and let him shut me in. He climbs in and shocks me when he starts pulling at his wreck of a suit. ‘Fucking mess,’ he mutters, looking out the corner of his eye to me. He’s probably taking in my own dishevelled state, the fool. On a mild shake of his head, he slams his Merc into gear and pulls away from the hospital way too fast, but I don’t say a thing. I’d be stupid to say anything. He looks homicidal, totally deranged. And I’m wary of it.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, pulling a sharp left onto the main road.

I don’t answer, instead focusing forward. He knows the answer to that question.

‘I’ve asked once.’

I remain quiet, absorbing the continued fury emanating from his messy form.

‘Damn it, Olivia!’ He punches the door window, sending me on a startled jump in the passenger seat. ‘Where are your f**king manners?’

I chance a cautious glance at him, seeing a sweaty brow and that loose curl jumping across his forehead from his shaking. ‘I’m fine,’ I whisper.

He takes a calming pull of breath and glances up to the rear-view mirror. ‘Why is your phone turned off?’

‘It’s broken.’

He looks across to me before flicking his eyes up to the mirror again, then taking another sharp left. ‘How?’

‘I threw it at the wall when you texted me,’ I don’t hesitate telling him. ‘Because I was mad at you.’

His face turns to mine and drinks in my blank face for what seems like for ever. Then his hand releases the gearstick and starts to slowly come towards my knee until he gently and cautiously rests it on my bare flesh. I look down at him rubbing lazy circles before I pull my leg away and return my stare forward, leaving his hand dropping to the leather by my leg. He quietly curses and, in my peripheral vision, I see him looking to the rear-view mirror once again. My hand shoots out to grab the door when he takes another vicious turn into a dark alley on yet another quiet curse, and I instinctively glance out the back of the car. Does he think someone’s following us?

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.’