The silence is awfully uncomfortable, and I know exactly why. He’s eating, but I can tell that he’s fighting the urge to leave the table and restore his bedcovers to their normal perfect glory. I want to tell him to just go and do it, especially if it means he’ll relax, which means I’ll relax. I don’t get a chance to, though. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and rests his spoon across his bowl.

‘Excuse me while I use the bathroom.’ He stands and leaves the room, and my eyes follow his path, wanting to follow and see him in action, but I take the opportunity to study all the items on the table, trying to figure out exactly what it is about their positions that keep him calm. I can’t see it.

It’s a good five minutes before he returns to the kitchen, visibly more relaxed. I relax, too, and I’m relieved that I’ve finished my breakfast and drunk my juice, so there is absolutely no need for me to move anything . . . except me, and I’m beginning to register an issue with my positioning and movements, too – like in his bed.

He tucks himself under the table and takes his spoon, loading it with a strawberry and popping it in his mouth. The inevitability of my eyes focusing on his slow chews is something that I can’t help. His mouth hypnotises me as much as his eyes do when they’re glistening at me. And I know they are now, which leaves me in a predicament. Eyes or mouth?

He decides for me when he speaks. I almost don’t hear him as I’m too rapt by those lips. ‘I have a request,’ he declares. The words, when they finally filter into my distracted mind, pull my eyes up to his. I was right. They’re glistening.

‘What kind of request?’ I ask warily.

‘I don’t want you to see other men.’ He watches me thoughtfully, clearly trying to gauge my reaction, but I can’t be giving him much to go on as my face is blank, not having quite worked out what reaction to give. ‘I think it’s a reasonable request in light of your performance last night.’

Now I have a facial expression, and I know it’s a little stunned. ‘You are the reason for my performance last night,’ I retort.

‘That may be so, but I’m uncomfortable with the idea of you exposing yourself like that.’

‘Exposed in general, or exposed to other men?’

‘Both. You didn’t feel the need to expose yourself before you met me, so I can’t see that it would be a difficult request for you to fulfil.’ He takes another mouthful of his fruit, but I’m not compelled to watch him chew this time. No, I’m still stunned and looking into completely unaffected eyes.

He clearly seems to think it’s perfectly reasonable to make these demands. I don’t even know what to make of it. He’s just worshipped me in his bed, said some pretty touching words, and now he’s all businesslike.

‘And the dating nonsense,’ he continues. ‘That won’t be happening again, either.’

I have to stop myself from laughing. ‘Why are you asking this of me?’ I probe. Is this his way of saying he wants us to be exclusive?

His shoulders jump up on a shrug. ‘No man will make you feel like I can, so it’s really in your best interest.’

I’m staggered by his arrogance. He’s right, but I’m not about to fuel his ego. ‘Miller.’ My elbows hit the table and my forehead falls into my palms. ‘Will you please just say exactly what you mean?’ I look up at him, finding slight concern etched on his perfect face.

‘I don’t want anyone else tasting you,’ he says unapologetically. ‘It may seem unreasonable, but that’s what I want and I’d like you to agree.’

‘And what about you?’ I ask on a whisper. ‘I know about that woman.’

‘She’s dealt with.’

Dealt with? So he had to deal with her? ‘And she accepted that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why would it matter if she’s just a business associate?’

‘Like I said last night, it doesn’t, but it does to you so I told her about you and let that be the end of it.’

I scowl across the table at him. ‘I don’t know anything about you.’

‘You know about my club.’

‘Only because I landed there by accident. I doubt I would’ve found out if I had waited to be told, and I’m certain you wouldn’t have had me there by choice.’

‘Wrong.’

I frown at his one word, assertive counter.

‘You were on the guest list, Livy. If I had wanted to keep you away, I would’ve had you removed from it.’

I snap my mouth shut and cast my mind back to what I can remember before the champagne and tequila took hold. ‘You were watching me all evening, weren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I was with Gregory.’

‘You were.’

‘Did you think that he was my date?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you didn’t like it?’

‘No.’

Just like he didn’t like seeing me with Luke. ‘You were jealous,’ I tell him, wondering at what point he figured out that Gregory’s g*y. Maybe the dance floor. Or maybe the toilet. He’s been working at Ice, but my friend isn’t obviously camp. He’s a strapping bloke who turns as many women’s heads as he does g*y men’s.

‘Frighteningly,’ he confirms.

I was right and I’m glad, but is he going to give me more than one word? ‘What’s in it for me?’ I ask, knowing damn well what he’s going to say.

‘Pleasure.’

I sag at the table. Pleasure delivered by Miller is the ultimate prize . . . nearly. But what I want is his constant loving, like how he is when he has me in his thing or in his bed. ‘You’re asking me to make myself exclusive to you?’

‘Yes.’

I’m absolutely fine with that, but given the circumstances of this conversation and how it’s come about, I’m not sure this will mean that Miller is exclusively mine. ‘And what about you?’

‘Me?’

‘Will you stop speaking in monosyllables?’ I snap.

He leans across the table. ‘I beg your pardon.’

‘You can beg all you like,’ I hiss back, fury burning in my gut. ‘You won’t be getting any pardon from me.’

‘I beg to differ.’

‘There you go again!’ I push my bowl away from my place setting and it collides with the glass fruit bowl, knocking it out of position. ‘Begging!’ I watch as his eyes focus on the disturbed items on his perfect table, and he starts twitching, a flash of anger flying across his face. It makes me sit up and take notice.

More calmly than I know he’s feeling, he spends a few silent moments putting everything back into position, then he stands and my eyes follow him around the table until I can no longer see him. He’s behind me, and I tense when his palms rest on my shoulders, delivering a shot of fire through the material of his T-shirt and into my skin.

‘It is you who will be begging, sweet girl.’ His mouth is at my ear, biting at my lobe. ‘You will accept my request because we both know that you’re constantly wondering how you will survive without my attention.’ His thumbs start massaging delicious, firm circles into my shoulders.