my hand. ‘Let’s get something to eat.’ I may win with this diversion because with all of the palaver at the previous shop, Miller hasn’t fulfilled his insistence for me to eat yet. And I can think of nothing worse than assisting Miller in buying more masks.
‘We’ll eat soon.’ My hand is claimed and I’m pulled from the car before he transfers his hold to my nape. ‘I don’t plan on this taking long.’
Optimism gushes into my unenthusiastic mind as I’m led into the store, where I immediately feel overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle and flurry of activity. ‘It’s so busy,’ I moan, following Miller’s purposeful strides. My gripe is brushed off as we weave through the masses of shoppers, mostly tourists.
‘You wanted to shop,’ Miller reminds me, coming to a stop at the men’s fragrance counter.
‘Would you like any help, sir?’ a painted lady asks, smiling brightly. She’s definitely checking him out. It makes me even grumpier.
‘Tom Ford, original,’ Miller orders shortly.
‘Certainly.’ She indicates the shelf behind her. ‘Would sir like the fifty or the hundred millilitres?’
‘Hundred.’
‘Would you like a tester?’
‘No.’
‘I would,’ I cut in, moving closer to the counter. ‘Please.’ I smile and watch her eyebrows rise in surprise before she spritzes some onto a card and hands it to me. ‘Thank you.’
‘Most welcome.’
I hold the card to my nose and sniff. And very nearly die of pleasure. It’s like Miller has been bottled. ‘Hmmm.’ My eyes close and I keep the card to my nose. Heaven.
‘Good?’ he whispers in my ear, his closeness adding to my delighted sense of smell.
‘Out of this world,’ I say quietly. ‘It smells just like you.’
‘Or I smell like that,’ Miller corrects me as he hands a credit card to the women, whose eyes are now bouncing back and forth between us. She runs the transaction through and smiles as she hands the bag over to me. It’s a fake smile.
‘Thank you.’ I accept it, finally relenting and removing the fragranced card from my nose, popping it in the bag. Then I claim Miller’s hand. ‘Have a good day.’
He leads me away to the escalators, Miller choosing to walk the stairs instead of letting them carry us to the top.
We leave the escalator and Miller fights our way through more people, guiding us onto another set of stairs, and then through more people and departments.
I’m all disorientated, the buzz of activity and the twists and turns through the giant store sending me dizzy. I’m just following Miller’s lead, gazing around blankly while he strides on with purpose, clearly knowing exactly where he wants to be. This doesn’t sit well. If I see a suit, I might rip it up.
‘Here we are.’ He stops on the threshold of an area designated for men and drops my grasp, sliding his hands into his pockets. My eyes widen at the array of clothes before me. Heaps of them. Things are jumping out already, my legs eager to take me off in one direction, but then my eyes spot something else I quite fancy and halt me. There’s too much.
And it’s predominantly casual.
His breath hits my ear. ‘I believe this is what you are looking for.’
Happiness and exhilaration sail through me and I turn to look up at him, finding a satisfied glimmer in his brilliant blue eyes. ‘You must be soaring in your second favourite pleasure,’ I tell him, because I’m beside myself with glee. He’s going to let me dress him. He’s like a human clothes-horse, every inch of his physique just perfect and ready for me to grace it with something other than a three-piece suit.
‘Indeed I am,’ he confirms, making me want to squeal in excitement when he scrambles my elation further by smiling.
I hold my breath to stop the screech of joy and grab his hand. Then I practically haul him through the department, my eyes darting everywhere, looking for perfect casual pieces to dress my perfect Miller in.
‘Livy!’ he gasps in alarm as he virtually staggers along behind me. But I don’t stop. ‘Olivia!’ He’s laughing now, and that does snap me out of my dogged march through Harrods, having me flying around to catch a glimpse of it.
I nearly pass out at the sight . . . nearly. My wooziness is an improvement on bursting into tears. ‘Oh shit, Miller,’ I whisper, my hand gliding across the back of my neck and stroking . . . soothing . . . doing what Miller usually does. I’m missing it. I’m like a kid in a candy shop with too many appealing things surrounding me – Miller smiling, Miller laughing, and an abundance of casual wear to dress him in. I’m getting all confused by it, not knowing whether to soak up the pleasure of seeing Miller so animated or drag him into the dressing rooms before he changes his mind.
His face gets closer to mine, his eyes still shimmering and his lips still stretched into a smile. It leaves me with my usual dilemma.
Eyes or mouth.
‘Earth to Olivia.’ He speaks softly, displaying enjoyment at my muddled state. ‘Do you need my thing?’ His delicate touch ghosts my pale cheek, and I nod for fear of wailing on him again. I feel emotional, which is stupid. He’s making me happy, even if a fraction of the reason why we’re here is guilt because of his outburst at the previous store.
Miller holds my eyes with his as he moves in closer until his scent drowns me and his nose is nuzzling my cheek. Then he presses the firmness of his body into me and slowly lifts me from my feet and moves his nuzzle into my neck. I cling on tightly. Very tightly. And so does he.
We remain entwined, lost in each other’s embrace, right in the middle of Harrods, and neither of us is bothered by any potential observers. I suddenly don’t care so much for trying to strip down Miller’s suit-clad façade. I want him to take me home, put me in his bed, and worship me.
‘I said I didn’t want to be long,’ he whispers into my neck, still holding on to me securely.
‘Hmmm.’ I muster the strength from somewhere to release him and find my feet. ‘Thank you.’ I spend a few seconds brushing down the sleeves of his suit while he watches me.
‘Don’t ever thank me, Livy.’
‘I’ll always be grateful for you.’ I finish up with my smoothing hands and step back. He’s brought me back to life, even if that life is questionable and stressful. But I have my fastidious part-time gentleman and his perfect, precise world now.
Superb shoes appear in my downcast vision, prompting my eyes to flip up to his. He’s still smiling, but it’s subsided a little. ‘You have thirty minutes.’
‘Right!’ I snap from my thoughtfulness and immediately stride off towards a wall of shelves with piles and piles of jeans filling them. Miller in jeans just seems . . . weird, but I’m desperate to see the back of those suits, or at least reduce their appearances. And the potential of his perfect arse encased in perfect denim is far too appealing to resist. I scan the tags that describe the fit of each style and finally snatch down a stonewash pair that claim to be a relaxed fit. Which sounds perfect. ‘Here.’ I turn as I shake them out, trying to gauge the size. The legs of these are way too short for Miller’s long, lean limbs. I quickly fold them back up and swap them for a longer leg. ‘There.’ I hold them up against my front, smiling to myself when I have to raise the waist to the base of my chest just to get the hem of the legs off the floor. ‘These should fit.’
‘Would you like to know my size?’ he asks, pulling my stare from the blue denim to the blue of his smiling eyes. They’re nearly a perfect match.
My lips press together and I make a quick scan of his physique.
‘This body should be carved onto that lovely mind of yours, Livy.’ His voice is low, seductive, and sexy as sin.
‘It is’ – I shuffle on the spot – ‘but I couldn’t put numbers on it.’
‘Those are perfect.’ He takes them from my hands and gives the garment a dubious look. ‘And what would my gorgeous girl have me wear with them?’
I grin at his willingness to humour me and pivot, spotting a T-shirt across the
way. ‘That.’ I point and watch from the corner of my eye as Miller follows my gesture.
‘That?’ he questions, a hint of alarm in his tone.
‘Yes.’ I wander over and unhook the faded, vintage-look T-shirt from the rail. ‘Plain, casual, laid-back.’ I hold it up. ‘Perfect.’
He doesn’t think it’s perfect at all, but he still joins me and takes it from my hand. ‘Feet?’
I glance around on a frown. ‘Where’s the shoe department?’
A heavy sigh engulfs my hearing. ‘I’ll show you.’
It’s a strain for him, but I’m utterly stunned by his willingness, not that I’ll show it. Right now, I’m in my element. ‘Lead the way.’ I swoop my hand out on a grin and immediately follow him when he strides off. My hands are twitching at my sides, desperate to grab a few more items on our travels, but I know this is taking all of his patience and the risk of him running out of it deters me. One step at a time.
I watch Miller with interest as we pass through another department, this one bursting at the seams with suits. They’re everywhere, teasing him, and it takes everything in me not to laugh when I catch him having a cheeky peek. ‘Ralph Lauren does some exquisite suits,’ he remarks quietly, forcing himself to push on.
‘He also does lovely casual wear,’ I counter, knowing Miller wouldn’t know that.
‘Miller!’ The high-pitched shrill eats away at the flesh on my shoulders and when I turn to see an annoyingly preened woman approaching, a sour expression replaces my happy face. She’s glowing, hurrying her steps to make it to him faster. She’s near-on perfect, just like the rest of them, all shiny hair, flawless make-up, and expensive clothes. I’m bracing myself for another reality check. I immediately hate her.
‘How are you?’ she sings at him, not giving me a second glance. No, her attention is rooted on my perfect Miller. ‘You look as dashing as always.’
‘Bethany,’ Miller greets, flat and cold, all evidence of the ease that was delighting me disappearing in a flash of red lips and perfectly styled hair. ‘I’m very well, thank you. Yourself?’
She pouts her lips and transfers her weight onto one hip, tilting her body to the side. Her body language is throwing off vibes of attraction left, right, and full-force centre. ‘Always well, you know that.’
I roll my eyes and bite my tongue, wilting on the inside. Another one. Now she just needs to spot me and finish me off with one of those looks or the delivery of some mocking words. And if she pulls out one of his cards, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.
‘Excellent,’ he replies, short and sharp, despite being perfectly polite. I can sense his restlessness, all of the signs of Miller and his need to repel people surfacing, and it’s in this moment that I wonder why these women are so taken by him when he can be so hostile. He’s a perfect gentleman on dates – he said so himself – but what’s the pull beyond that? How would they respond to him if he were to bless them with his worshipping ways? I inwardly laugh. They’d be like me. Non-functioning without him. Doomed. Dead.
Miller clears his throat and shifts the clothes in his hands. ‘We’ll be on our way,’ he says, sidestepping Bethany, obviously expecting me to follow, but when I feel a pair of inquisitive eyes land on me, I’m unable to convince my legs to move. Here it comes.
‘Oh,’ she breathes, running interested eyes down the full length of me. ‘Looks like someone beat me to him today.’ My mouth drops open and she smiles, clearly unperturbed by my affronted state. ‘I’m sorry, you are?’
I’m going to tell her exactly who I am. Accept it or learn to deal with it better. Those are my options. I have sass, that’s been confirmed, and I need to start using it wisely. This woman, just like the rest of them, makes me feel inferior, yet Miller isn’t showing signs of anger at the potential of this woman driving a wedge between us or making me doubt my worthiness. ‘Hi, I’m Oli—’
‘Sorry, we’re late,’ Miller cuts me off, just when I’ve located my sass and am about to unleash it. ‘Always a pleasure.’ He nods at Bethany, who now looks really interested, and gently pushes into my back rather than take his customary hold of my neck.
‘Oh, it is,’ Bethany purrs. The rigidity that dominates Miller’s entire being is instant. ‘Hope to see you soon.’
I’m pushed away fast, both of us silent, the tension palpable. Always a pleasure. I bristle on the inside and out. We round a corner, arriving at the men’s shoe department, and Miller immediately grabs the first pair in sight and presents them to me. I don’t look. Bethany has undone all of our progress this morning. ‘These?’ He’s desperately trying to divert me. It won’t work. The sass I was about to hit that woman with is now bubbling, a bit of anger mixing in for good measure, and there’s only one other person to release it on.
I bat the shoes away. ‘No.’
He recoils, eyes wide and perfect lips slightly agape. ‘I beg your pardon?’
My eyes narrow into angry slits. ‘Don’t start with the begging,’ I warn. ‘She was a client. Could she be following me?’
‘No.’ He almost laughs.
‘Why didn’t you just let me introduce myself? And why didn’t you put her straight?’
Miller places the shoe carefully back onto the display stand and even tweaks the damn thing into position before stepping into me thoughtfully. My body’s response is irritating and unwanted, but a given. ‘I’ve told you before, I don’t want anyone interfering, so the fewer people who know, the better.’ The pad of his index finger brings my tense chin up to his dark stubbled face. I can see annoyance hovering on the edges of his beauty. ‘When I say there is only us – no me or you – I also mean no them.’
However tempting an existence with only me and Miller is, it’s also impossible. ‘How many are there?’ I ask. I need to know how many of them I have to face. I need a tick sheet, something to mark them all off as I’m confronted with them. How many will predict his next move? How many will follow me?
‘It’s of no importance’ – he slides his palm over my shoulder and starts massaging some calm into me – ‘because now there is only my sweet girl.’ His sincerity creeps into me, chasing my doubts away.
Leave it.
Gathering myself, I find no words in reply, so I grab a boot from a nearby table. ‘These,’ I announce, not giving Miller the chance to refuse and handing it straight to an assistant instead.
She smiles, her back straightening when she captures her first look of Miller. ‘Yes, madam. Size?’ She keeps her greedy eyes on him, unwittingly goading me. I’d love to tell her what size, but I’m devastated to have to turn to Miller to ask.
‘Eleven,’ he says quietly, regarding me closely. I hate the inward gasp of delight that emanates from the sales assistant, and I hate myself for rising to her clear interest.
I step in front of Miller and turn annoyed eyes onto her. ‘An eleven,’ I confirm, nodding at the shoe. ‘And it’s true what they say.’ I’m stunned by my blatant suggestion, and Miller’s shocked cough behind me tells me he is, too. But I don’t care. Today has been far from quality time, and all the interference is beginning to piss me off.
‘Certainly!’ The shop assistant jumps at the decibel level of her own voice, avoiding my eyes and fighting a furious blush. ‘Please, take a seat. I’ll be right back.’ She’s off without delay, no swaying arse or coy look over her shoulder in sight. I grin to myself, getting a satisfied thrill from the discomfort I’ve caused while making a mental promise to maintain this sass.
‘I have a request.’ Miller’s whisper in my ear wipes my smugness clean from my face. I don’t want to confront him, but I’m given little choice when my shoulders are clasped and I’m turned in his hold. I brace myself, knowing what I’ll find. I’m right. He’s expressionless with a familiar hint of disapproval in his eyes.
‘What?’ All satisfaction has been drawn from my body by the condemnation leaking from Miller in droves. I’ve overstepped the mark.
His hands slide into his pockets. ??
?What’s true and who says it?’
My lips stretch to the point of ripping. ‘You know what and who.’
‘Elaborate,’ he orders, not returning my delight.
It makes me grin harder. ‘In Harrods?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well’ – I shift and quickly scan our surroundings, seeing too many shoppers in close proximity to speak of such a thing – ‘I’ll tell you later.’ He’s doing this on purpose. He knows.
‘No.’ He moves in, bringing his chest to mine, breathing down on me. ‘I’d like to know now. I feel in the dark.’ If he’s struggling to maintain his seriousness, then he’s not showing it. He’s perfectly composed, even grave.
‘You’re playing.’ I step back, but he’s having none of it and closes the small space that I’ve created.
‘Tell me.’
Damn him. I search deep for my sass and piece together an explanation on an embarrassed whisper. ‘Feet and a male’s’ – I cough – ‘manhood.’
‘What about them?’
‘Miller!’ I fidget, feeling my cheeks heat under the pressure.
‘Tell me, Livy.’
‘Fine!’ I snap, reaching up on my tiptoes to push my mouth to his ear. ‘Big feet are said to equal big cocks.’ My face flames as I feel his head nod thoughtfully against me, his hair tickling my cheek.
‘Is that so?’ he asks, maintaining all seriousness. The bastard.
‘Yes.’