Unveiled

  He groans and deepens our kiss, squashing me farther into the wall. The fluidity of our tongues circling softly together is effortless. I could kiss Miller Hart forever, and I know he feels the same. ‘Let me wash us down.’

  My sense of loss is palpable when he pecks my lips and locates the shower gel. ‘Let’s see how fast you can do that,’ I tease.

  He pauses from squirting the gel into his palm and flicks me a knowing look. ‘I like taking my time with you.’ The bottle is replaced in its rightful spot and he begins working some suds up in his palms. Standing before me, he breathes hot air into my face, then performs one of those lazy blinks of his blistering blue eyes. ‘You know that, Olivia.’

  I hold my breath, slam my eyes shut, and brace myself for his hands. They start at my ankles – slow, tender rotations, swirling away the dirt of today. My mind spaces out as I absorb his heated touch leisurely working up my legs. No rush. And I’m happy with that.

  ‘What happens now?’ I finally ask the question I’ve been avoiding since we left Ice. We’re together, locked up safely in Miller’s flat, but it can’t stay this way forever.

  ‘I expect Sophia will be relaying to Charlie everything I said.’

  ‘Does Charlie know that Sophia is in love with you?’

  He laughs lightly. ‘Sophia doesn’t have a death wish.’

  ‘Do you?’

  He breathes in deeply and holds my eyes. ‘No, sweet girl. Now I have a fierce passion to live. You’ve given me that passion and not even the devil will stop me from having my eternity with my someone.’

  I reach up and cup his cheek. ‘Is Charlie the devil?’

  ‘He’s close,’ he whispers.

  ‘And have you figured everything out?’

  ‘Yes.’ He sounds confident.

  ‘Will you tell me?’

  ‘No, baby. Just know that I’m yours and all this will be gone very soon.’

  ‘I’m sorry for making this harder.’ I say no more. He knows what I mean.

  ‘Knowing I have you at the end makes it easy, Olivia.’ Very tentatively, he reaches forward and pulls the tie loose from my hair, almost wincing when my once epic long hair only just falls past my shoulders. ‘Why?’ he whispers, combing through carefully, keeping his eyes on the hacked strands.

  ‘Don’t.’ I drop my head, feeling so incredibly remorseful, but not because I’m going to miss my masses of uncontrollable blonde but because I know Miller will miss them more.

  ‘How would you feel if I shaved my hair off?’

  My head flies up, horrified. I love his hair. It’s longer now, the waves, when dry, all tousled and flicking out at his nape haphazardly and my favourite wayward curl that falls naturally onto his forehead . . . No, no, he can’t.

  ‘I’m being intuitive here,’ he breathes in my face. ‘And I’m going to suggest that by the look on your face, it would hurt deeply.’

  ‘Yes, it would.’ I can’t deny it, so I don’t. His beautiful hair is a part of this beautifully perfect man. Ruining any part of that would hurt. ‘But I wouldn’t love you any less,’ I add, wondering where he’s going with this.

  ‘Neither I you,’ he murmurs, ‘but you should know that I’m forbidding you to ever cut it again.’ He takes the shampoo and squeezes some on my head.

  ‘I won’t,’ I assure him. I don’t think I’ll ever pick up any scissors again after what I’ve done, and I mean to Miller, not to my hair. His hands delve into my remaining locks and my eyes fall to the puncture wound on his shoulder.

  ‘I don’t just mean you.’

  I’m suddenly frowning at his chest, but he turns me to face the wall so I’m unable to show him my confusion. ‘What do you mean?’ I ask as he works my hair into a lather.

  ‘Ever,’ he says short and sharp – no elaboration. I’m turned back and positioned under the spray so he can rinse.

  ‘Ever what?’

  He doesn’t look at me, just continues with his task, unaffected by my perplexity. ‘I forbid you to ever have your hair cut again. By anyone.’

  ‘Ever?’ I blurt, shocked.

  A straight face falls to mine. I know that face. He’s adamant. He’s adding my hair to his list of obsessive ways. He may have surrendered a few, but he’s going to make up for them with others . . . like my hair. ‘That’s what I said, isn’t it?’ He’s deadly serious. ‘I realise it might sound unreasonable, but that is what I want, and I’d like you to accept.’

  I’m stunned by his arrogance, though I really shouldn’t be. I’ve encountered it plenty of times before. ‘You can’t demand what I do with my hair, Miller.’

  ‘Very well.’ He shrugs nonchalantly and sweeps some shampoo through his waves before rinsing himself. ‘Then I’ll have all of mine shaved off.’

  My eyes widen at his threat, but I soon rein in my exasperation, knowing one thing and one thing for sure. ‘You love your hair as much as I do,’ I declare confidently . . . smugly.

  Some conditioner is passed through the waves he loves so much, casually and quietly, while I remain propped up against the shower wall, matching his arrogance. He dips under the showerhead, washing it all out before sweeping it back neatly. My smile increases. He’s thinking hard about this, and when he’s taken a deep breath, he confronts my amusement. His hand meets the wall by my head, his face coming close to mine. ‘Are you prepared to risk that?’ His lips ghost over mine, and I turn my face away cockily.

  ‘Maybe.’

  I feel the heat of his skin meet my breasts from his quiet laugh that has his chest expanding. ‘OK,’ he breathes into my ear. ‘I promise to shave my hair off if you so much as look at a hairdresser.’

  I pull in a shocked gush of air and turn my face back to his, finding high, daring eyebrows. ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Try me.’ His lips push to mine and I’m momentarily blindsided by his worshipful mouth. ‘There are many things I’ve changed since I’ve fallen in love with you, Olivia Taylor.’ He nibbles at my lip and my heart soars with happiness. ‘Don’t think I won’t fulfil that promise.’

  He loves me. I didn’t pay much attention when he bellowed it at Sophia at Ice – either not believing it or not processing it. But now the words resonate through my core, filling me with warmth. ‘I don’t care,’ I announce. ‘You’ve just told me you love me. Do whatever you like.’

  He laughs. He actually laughs, head thrown back, eyes glistening madly, body shaking uncontrollably. I’m rendered incapable of anything. Even breathing. I watch in silent wonder at my beautiful man falling apart before me, shaking my head, close to tears. ‘Olivia,’ he coughs, picking me up and cradling me in his strong arms. ‘I’m always telling you that I love you.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ I object. ‘You say fascinated.’ We make it to Miller’s gigantic bed and I’m placed neatly on top. I begin wriggling my way beneath the sheets while he rids the area of cushions, placing them in the chest at the foot of the bed.

  ‘I may not use the words, but it’s there – every time I look at you.’ He slides into bed and settles his lean physique on top of me, spreading my thighs and making himself comfy between them. He looks down at me on the tiniest of smiles. ‘It’s written all over you,’ he whispers, dropping a kiss on my confused forehead. ‘I write it with my eyes on a different part of your body every time I look at you.’ He kisses his way down to my lips and his tongue plunges deep. The irony of my contentment after such a traumatic day is making my head spin. I’m being constantly tossed from utter elation to total despair. ‘And I’ve written it on you physically.’

  My brow furrows through my smile as he continues to work my mouth lovingly. But then realisation kicks in. ‘In your studio,’ I mumble against his lips. ‘You wrote it on my tummy with red paint.’ I remember it well, and I also remember him smearing it before I could catch a glimpse.

  ‘Correct.’ He pulls back and gazes down at my smiling face. He’s feeling me everywhere, but right now, with those incredibly hypnotising, sharp blue eyes, he’s
touching my soul. ‘I’ll love you until there’s no breath left in my lungs, Olivia Taylor.’ He locates my hand and brings my diamond to his lips. ‘For eternity.’

  I smile. ‘It’s not long enough.’

  ‘Then beyond that, too,’ he whispers.

  Chapter 13

  He is, indeed, clinging to me in the morning when I come to. He is still cradled between my thighs, his head nuzzled as far into my neck as it will go, his arms lying on each side of my head, encasing me. I bury my nose in his hair and breathe him into me, my fingertips tracing the sharp, defined muscles of his back for an age.

  It’s another day. A new day. It’s a day that I have no desire to face. But while I’m trapped beneath Miller, safe and happy, I don’t have to worry. So I close my eyes again and sink back into semi-consciousness.

  It feels like Groundhog Day. My eyes peel open and I do a quick assessment of my surroundings. Everything is exactly how it was when I closed my eyes before. Both times. My mind is at risk of wandering off to all thoughts horrid, when it very abruptly occurs to me that it’s Friday.

  Nan!

  I’m urgent but cautious in pushing Miller from my confined frame, ignoring his sleepy grumbles when he rolls to his back. ‘Thing,’ he groans, blindly grabbing at my escaping body. ‘Livy.’

  ‘Shhhh,’ I hush him, and pull the covers over his naked physique, dropping a pacifying kiss on his long stubble. ‘I’m just going to call the hospital.’

  At that, he relents and tosses himself onto his front, his arms slipping beneath the pillow where his head lies. Leaving Miller dozing, I dash out of the bedroom on the hunt for my phone, and I’m soon put through to Cedar Ward.

  ‘It’s Josephine Taylor’s granddaughter,’ I say, making my way to the kitchen. ‘I was told she could come home today.’

  ‘Oh yes!’ the nurse practically screeches, like she’s relieved to confirm it. ‘Her consultant will make his rounds early afternoon, so I expect to have her discharge papers by three-ish. Say four to be on the safe side.’

  ‘Great!’ Excitement flies through my waking brain. ‘And she has all of her medication?’

  ‘Yes, darling. I’ve sent down the prescription to the pharmacy here at the hospital. It should be back by the time she leaves. She must take it easy for a while. And we’ll have to schedule a follow-up appointment.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I lower myself into a chair at Miller’s table and exhale my relief, thinking Nan taking it easy might be easier said than done. I have a challenge on my hands, and no doubt weeks of the notorious Taylor girl sass flying my way.

  ‘So very welcome. She’s certainly lightened up this dull place for the past few days.’

  I smile. ‘But you won’t miss her, eh?’

  The nurse lets out a sharp shot of laughter. ‘Actually, I will.’

  ‘Well, you can’t keep her,’ I declare quickly. ‘I’ll be there at four.’

  ‘I’ll let her know.’

  ‘Thank you for your help.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ She hangs up and I sit alone in the quiet kitchen, unable to contain my joy. Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.

  I jump up and decide to make Miller breakfast, but I need to do something before I can crack on. I want it to be perfect and there’s only one way I can achieve that. I dash into the bedroom and dive on the bed, making Miller’s sleeping body jerk atop the mattress. He shoots up, alarmed, his wonderful hair a wild mess, his eyes sleepy. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I need you for a moment,’ I tell him, taking his arm and tugging. ‘Come on.’

  His sleepy eyes aren’t so sleepy anymore. They’re loaded with craving. A calculated, superfast move has him removed from my grip and me yelping as he flips me to my back and straddles my tummy, pinning my arms above my head. ‘I need you for a moment.’ His voice is rough and low and sexy as hell. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘No,’ I blurt before I can think to control my insulting, and quite stupid, decline.

  ‘I beg your pardon!’ He’s understandably thrown.

  ‘I mean soon. I want to make you breakfast.’

  Blue eyes narrow a little and his face comes closer. ‘In my kitchen?’

  I roll my eyes. I fully expected the uncertainty I’m currently being faced with. ‘Yes, in your kitchen.’

  ‘If you’re making me breakfast, then why do you need my help?’

  ‘I need five minutes.’

  He regards me for a few moments, considering my request. He won’t decline. I’ve made him curious. ‘As you wish.’ He lifts and pulls me from the bed. ‘And what is my sweet girl planning on preparing me for breakfast?’

  ‘That’s not your concern.’ I allow him to guide my naked body back to the kitchen, ignoring his mild huff of amusement at my sass.

  ‘What would you have me do?’ he asks as we enter. I don’t miss him scanning the clear space, like he’s making a mental note of everything’s position in case it’s moved while I’m let loose in his perfect space. It’s silly. He knows exactly where everything is.

  ‘Lay the table,’ I order, standing back, delighting in the frown that wriggles its way onto his brow. ‘Please.’

  ‘You want me to lay the table?’

  ‘Yes.’ I may be able to pull off the perfect breakfast, but there’s not a chance in hell I’ll get the table right.

  ‘OK.’ He looks at me dubiously and makes his way to the drawer where I know the knives and forks to be. The rolling of every muscle in his back gives me a perfect view while I remain static, but I get the best view when he’s on his way back to the table – his face, those eyes, his thighs, chest, tight waist . . . hard cock.

  I shake my head, determined not to be distracted from my plan. I study him pottering around the space, flicking curious eyes at me every now and then while I stand silently to the side and let him work his magic.

  ‘Perfect,’ he says, gesturing to the table with a sweep of his arm. ‘Now what?’

  ‘Go back to bed,’ I say, making my way to the fridge.

  ‘When you’re naked in my kitchen?’ he almost laughs. ‘Wrong.’

  ‘Miller, please,’ I swivel on my bare feet as I take the fridge door handle, finding him almost scowling at my back. ‘I want to do something for you.’

  ‘I can think of many things you can do for me, Olivia, and none of them involve you being in my kitchen.’ His back straightens and he casts his eyes around thoughtfully. ‘Or maybe . . .’

  ‘Go back to bed!’ I’m not submitting on this.

  His head drops with his shoulders on a mighty sigh. ‘As you wish,’ he mutters, backing out of the kitchen. ‘But I can’t sleep without you, so I’ll just be lying there thinking of what I’m going to do to you after you feed me.’

  ‘As you wish,’ I retort on a sickly sweet smile, bowing my head as I do.

  Miller fights to prevent his smirk through his affronted state and disappears, leaving me to crack on. First thing I do is take the chocolate and strawberries from the fridge – no natural, fat-free yogurt in sight. Next, I race to break up the cubes, melt the chocolate down, hull the strawberries, and wash them.

  Then I turn to face the dressed table, seeing everything in its rightful position . . . or the position that Miller says is correct. I nibble on the inside of my mouth as I consider it all, thinking I’m certain I could get this right if I strip the table down and redress it. Maybe I’ll take a photo. I bob my head on an agreeable, private nod, giving myself a mental clap on the back. But then an even better idea comes to me and I hotfoot it over to the drawers and start opening and closing, being sure not to upset the contents as I work my way down the unit. I freeze the second I clap eyes on Miller’s journal. It’s screaming at me again. ‘Shit,’ I curse, forcing myself to shut the drawer, close it away where it’s supposed to be.

  I eventually find what I’m searching for.

  Actually, I don’t.

  I find something better.

  I remove the cap and stare down at the nib of the
Sharpie, concluding very fast that this will most certainly work better than a regular ballpoint pen. ‘Right.’ I take a deep breath and pad over to the table, running my eyes over each accurately placed piece. My head cocks as I tap the end of the pen on my bottom lip. The plates. That’s as good a place as any to start.

  Placing my fingers in the centre of the porcelain, I hold it in place and proceed to draw around the plate, smiling as I do. ‘Perfect,’ I announce to myself, standing back and eyeing the rest of the table. I’m way too proud of myself, and it’s obvious on my crafty face. I do them all – each and every single thing on the table. It all gets circled with the Sharpie, perfect lines everywhere marking the perfect place for that piece of dinnerware.

  ‘What the fucking hell!’

  I swing around at the sound of the distressed voice, armed with my Sharpie, and in a ridiculously stupid attempt to conceal exhibit A, I hide the Sharpie behind my back, because there are a million