‘No, thank you. An answer would be nice, though.’
‘How about some appetisers?’ He stands and strides over to the fridge, without waiting for my answer. I can’t eat with my stomach in such knots and my brain a fuzz of unanswered questions, and I doubt my appetite will appear once I finally squeeze the answers from him.
He opens the huge mirrored fridge and pulls out a platter of something. Then he shuts the door but doesn’t return to the table, instead messing with whatever’s on the tray, poking and shifting things around. He’s trying to buy time, and when he glances cautiously up to the mirror, he catches me watching him in the reflection. He knows I know his game.
‘You said you’re ready to answer my questions,’ I remind him, keeping my determined stare on him in the mirror.
His eyes drop to the tray briefly, and then he slowly turns on a deep breath and makes his way back to the table, pushing that dark lock of hair off his forehead en route. I nearly choke when the platter is placed with utter accuracy, revealing a pile of oysters.
‘Help yourself.’ He gestures to the silver dish, then sits.
I ignore his offer, annoyed by his choice for starters, and ask my question once again. ‘How long?’
Lifting his plate, he takes three oysters and sets them neatly down. ‘I’ve been an escort for ten years,’ he says, choosing not to look at me as he delivers his answer.
I want to gasp in shock, but I resist, instead taking my water to moisten my suddenly parched mouth. ‘Why notorious?’
‘Because I’m unforgiving.’
Now I do gasp, and I hate myself for it. This shouldn’t be news to me. I’ve experienced him being unforgiving.
He sees me struggling but continues. ‘Because in the bedroom, I’m wicked, unloving, unfeeling, and unbothered by it. The women can’t get enough of me and the men can’t work out why that is.’
‘They pay for you—’
‘To be the best f**k of their life,’ he finishes for me. ‘And they pay obscene amounts for the privilege.’
‘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.