‘I don’t get it.’ I shake my head, my eyes darting all over his flawless table. ‘You don’t let them kiss you or touch you.’

‘When I’m naked, no. When we’re intimate, no. I’m a perfect gentleman on dates, Olivia. They can feel me over my clothes, work themselves up and enjoy my attention. But that’s as far as their control goes. I’m the perfect mix of man for them. Arrogant . . . attentive . . . talented.’

I inwardly wince. ‘Do you get anything from it?’

‘Yes,’ he admits. ‘I’m in full control in the bedroom and I come every time.’

I flinch at his earnest words, looking away, feeling sick and wounded. ‘Right.’

‘Show me that face,’ he demands harshly, and my head lifts automatically, finding soft eyes replacing the hard ice. ‘But nothing will ever come close to the pleasure I gain from worshipping you.’

‘I’m struggling to see that man now,’ I say, making the softness of his expression drift into misery. ‘I so wish you’d never made me one of them.’

‘Never more than me,’ he whispers, slumping back in his chair. ‘Tell me there’s hope.’

All I can see is Miller in that hotel room. My desire and need for him are still there, but our short conversation has brought the harsh reality of his life crashing down around me. I’m not equipped with enough strength to deal with him. If I let him in again, then I’m facing a lifetime of torture and possibly regret. Nothing will make me forget the unforgiving lover. All I’ll see when he takes me is a red mist of misery. My life has been difficult enough as it is. I can’t make it harder.

‘I asked you a question,’ he says quietly. The tone of his voice tells me he’s slipping into that clipped, arrogant mode, probably because he can see my sudden despondency, and with a flick of my eyes to his, I see that arrogance, too. He won’t go down easily.

‘The woman in Madrid?’

‘I didn’t sleep with her.’

‘Then why did you go?’

‘Prior obligation.’ He’s impassive and sharp, yet strangely I believe him. But it’s not making any of this easier to deal with.

‘May I use your loo?’ I ask, standing from the table, his gaze rising with me.

‘Once you’ve answered my question. Is there hope?’

‘I don’t have an answer yet,’ I lie, placing my napkin on my chair.

‘Might you have once you’ve visited the bathroom?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Don’t overthink, Olivia.’

‘I’d say that was impossible after what you’ve presented me with, wouldn’t you agree?’ I’m being yanked in two directions, wanting to listen to William because I know he’s definitely right and wanting to trust my heart because maybe, just maybe, I can help Miller. But a definitely should always win over a maybe. The confliction is too much. It’s tearing me apart.

He watches me carefully. Nervously. ‘You’re leaving, aren’t you?’

‘I’ve asked my questions. I never said I’d stay once you answered them. And I never said I’d like or accept the answers.’ The definitely wins. William wins. I leave the kitchen hastily to escape the intensity that he’s exuding.

‘Olivia!’

Swinging the front door open, I dash from his apartment, knowing he’ll never allow me to leave without a fight. My troubled mind only just allows me to register my safest route from his building. I head straight for the lift. My heart is thumping chaotically, my breathing panicked and frenzied as I bash the call button.

‘Olivia, don’t get in that lift, please!’ His charging footsteps have me repeatedly smacking the metal button and cursing while I wait for what seems like decades for the doors to slide open. ‘Fuck! Olivia!’

I dive in, smack the button for the ground floor, and push myself up against the far wall. I’m being cruel, but desperation is overriding any guilt I’m feeling for using this weakness against him.

I knew he’d make it in time, but I still jump when his arm appears and crashes against the doors, pulling them open. His brow is a sheen of sweat, his eyes wide with fear. ‘Get out!’ he yells, his broad shoulders heaving.

I shake my head. ‘No.’

His jaw looks set to shatter from tenseness. ‘Get out of the f**king lift!’

I keep quiet, pushing myself further into the wall. He’s fuming mad, frighteningly so.

‘How could you do this?’ he pants, yanking the door open when it tries to close again. ‘How?’

‘I can’t be with you, Miller.’ My voice is barely audible over his laboured breathing and my clattering heart.

‘Livy, I beg you, don’t do this to me again.’ He’s beginning to shake, his eyes darting continuously from me to the inside of the elevator.

‘I can’t forget that man.’ I reach out and press the button again.

‘Fuck!’ He releases the doors and they start to close. ‘I refuse to give up, Olivia.’ Blue eyes glaze over, his expression straightening. ‘I won’t lose.’

‘You’ve already lost,’ I murmur as his face disappears.

Chapter Eleven

I don’t know how I’ve ended up here. Probably to reinforce my decision. Seeing the four-poster bed, the regal room, and the images of me restrained is helping steel my resolve. But it’s also magnifying the pain. I’m standing in the middle of the hotel room, gazing around, torturing myself further and praying for some strength to see me through. Run away. Disappear for ever. I can see no other way. My skin is prickling and cold. My eyes are sore with tears. The plans I started to make so many times need to be completed and fulfilled now. I need to go away for a while, put space between us and hope the saying ‘out of sight, out of mind’ is true. For both of us.

‘Why did you come here?’ The question filters through the rush of blood that’s distorting my hearing, dragging me back into the chilly room.

‘To help convince myself that I’m doing the right thing.’

‘Does it feel right?’

‘No,’ I admit. Nothing feels right. It’s all so very wrong. I hear the door click shut, snapping me from my daydream, and I swing around to find a mess of a man, his hair wild, his suit crumpled. But his blue eyes are relieved.

‘I won’t lose,’ he says, resting his hands in his pocket. ‘I can’t lose, Olivia.’

Tears begin to trickle down my cheeks as I stand before him, defeated.

Conquered.

His back hits the door, his own eyes glazing over as his body sags into the wood. The sight of Miller Hart fighting to prevent his tears from falling rips my heart from my chest and makes my knees buckle, sending my body folding to the floor. My chin hits my chest, and my hair tumbles over my shoulders. And I cry. The broken man before me has always made my eyes hurt, but this time it’s not with pleasure at his beauty. This time it’s seeing him looking so tormented. Desperate. Ruined.

I’m engulfed by him in a nanosecond, his warm arms wrapped tightly around me, my face pushed into his chest. ‘Don’t cry,’ he whispers, pulling me onto his lap. ‘I need you to be strong for me.’