He must see the unyielding determination on my face because his impassive expression wavers slightly into a scowl. ‘You know Anderson, and you know me.’ His jaw tenses. He means I know what they both do. ‘Our paths have crossed over the years.’

From the bitterness rolling off him in waves, I determine something quite quickly. ‘He doesn’t like you.’

‘And I don’t like him.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he pokes his nose in where it isn’t wanted.’

I inwardly laugh, thinking how much I agree, and my eyes drop to the ground, seeing raindrops splashing the pavement. Miller’s confirmation only reinforces my previous fear. I’m delusional if I believe for a moment that William will disappear to where he came from without digging for information on my connection with Miller. I learned many things about William Anderson, and one of those things was his desire to be in the know about everything. I don’t want to explain to anyone, least of all my mother’s ex-pimp. And anyway, I don’t owe him any explanation.

I’m snapped from my worries when I see Miller’s tan brogues appear in my line of sight. ‘How are you, Olivia?’

I refuse to look at him now, his question restoking my anger. ‘How do you think I am, Miller?’

‘I don’t know. That’s why I’ve been trying to contact you.’

‘You really have no idea?’ I look up at him, surprised. His perfect features hurt my eyes, making me instantly drop my gaze, like if I look at him for too long, I might never forget him.

Too late.

‘I have an inkling,’ he murmurs. ‘I did tell you to take me for who I am, Livy.’

‘But I didn’t know who you were.’ I grind the words out, keeping my eyes on the bouncing raindrops at my feet, incensed that he would use such a feeble excuse to wriggle out of this. ‘The only thing that I’ve accepted is that you’re different, with your obsession to have everything painfully perfect and your uptight manners. It can be annoying as hell, but I’ve accepted it and even started to find it lovable.’ I should have used any other word – appealing, charming, endearing – but not lovable.

‘I’m not that bad,’ he argues weakly.

‘Yes!’ I look at him now. His face is straight. It’s nothing new. ‘Look!’ I run my finger up and down his dry, suited body. ‘You’re standing here with an umbrella that could keep half of London dry, just so you don’t get your perfect hair and expensive suit wet.’

He looks a little sulky as he casts his eyes down his suit and slowly back up to me. Then he chucks the umbrella to the pavement, and the rain instantly soaks him, waves of hair falling all over his face, water running down his cheeks, and his expensive suit starting to stick to him. ‘Happy?’

‘You think getting yourself a little wet might fix this? You f**k women for a living, Miller! And you f**ked me! You made me one of them!’ I stagger back, dizzy from both my fury and the flashbacks of our time in the hotel room.

The water pouring down his face is shimmering. ‘You don’t need to be so crass, Olivia.’

I recoil, trying desperately to gather myself. ‘Fuck you and your bent moral compass!’ I shout, making Miller’s jaw seize with stiffness. ‘Are you forgetting what I told you?’

‘How could I possibly forget?’ Anyone else would think his face utterly impassive, but I see the tic in his cheek, the anger in his eyes – eyes I know how to read. I would say that he’s right, that he really is emotionally unavailable, but I’ve experienced feeling with him – incredible feeling – and now I just feel conned.

I wipe my sopping hair from my face. ‘Your shock when I confided in you, told you about my history, wasn’t because I put myself out there or because of my mother. It was because I’d described your life, with the drink and rich people, taking gifts and money. And. That. You. Knew. William. Anderson.’ I’m doing a grand job of retaining my emotions. I just want to scream at him, and if he doesn’t give me something soon, I might just do that. These are the things that I should have said before. I shouldn’t have goaded him into f**king me or put myself in those women’s shoes to prove a point – a point I still can’t fathom. Anger makes you do stupid things, and I was angry. ‘Why did you invite me to dinner?’

‘I didn’t know what else to do.’

‘There’s nothing you can do.’

‘Then why did you come?’ he asks.

His straight question catches me off guard. ‘Because I was angry with you! Flash cars, clubs and luxury possessions don’t make it right!’ I yell. ‘Because you made me fall in love with a man you’re not!’ I’m freezing cold, but my quivering body is not a result of that. I’m angry – blood-boiling angry.

‘You’re my habit, Olivia Taylor.’ His statement is delivered with no emotion. ‘You belong to me.’

‘Belong to you?’ I ask.

‘Yes.’ He steps forward, prompting me to retreat, keeping the distance between us somewhere near to safe. It’s an ambitious endeavour when he’s still within sight.

‘You must be mistaken.’ I raise my chin and work hard on keeping my voice even. ‘The Miller Hart I know has an appreciation for his possessions.’

‘Don’t!’ He takes my arm, but I yank it free.

‘You wanted to continue with your secret life of f**king woman after woman, and you wanted me to make myself readily available for you to f**k when you got home.’ I mentally correct myself. He called it destressing, but he can call it what he likes. The principle is still the same.

He freezes me in place with adamant eyes. ‘I’ve never f**ked you, Livy. I’ve only ever worshipped you.’ He steps forward. ‘I only ever made love to you.’

I draw a long, calming breath. ‘You didn’t make love to me in that hotel room.’

His eyes clench shut briefly, and when they reopen, I see anguish pouring from them. ‘I didn’t know what I was doing.’

‘You were doing what Miller Hart does best,’ I spit, hating the venom in my tone and the mild shock that passes across his heart-stopping face as a result of my statement. Many women may think that that’s what London’s most notorious male escort does best, but I know different. And deep down, so does Miller.

He watches me for a moment, unspoken words swimming in his gaze. It’s right now that understanding slams through me. ‘You think I’m a hypocrite, don’t you?’

‘No.’ He shakes his head mildly . . . unconvincingly. ‘I accept what you did when you ran away and gave yourself . . .’ He pulls up. He can’t finish. ‘I accept why you did it. I hate it. It makes me hate Anderson even more. But I accept it. I accept you.’

Shame eats away at me, and I momentarily lose my fortitude. He accepts me. And reading between the lines, I think he wants me to accept him. Take me as I am, Olivia.

I shouldn’t. I can’t.

When an eternity passes and I’ve mentally sprinted through every reason to walk away, I hold his gaze and reel off my own version of his words. ‘I don’t want other women to taste you.’

His body goes lax on an exhale of defeated breath. ‘It’s not as easy as just quitting.’