One Night: Unveiled

  ‘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 other people in Miller’s flat who could have been responsible for the defacing of his table. The look of horror on his face is like a reality check. What the hell have I just done? His eyes are wide and disbelieving as he carries his naked body to the table, his mouth agape as he scans the area. Then he picks up a plate and looks at the circle. Then a glass. Then a fork.

  I chew madly on the inside of my cheek, bracing myself for the imminent meltdown. His bare arse hits the chair and his hand delves into his hair. ‘Olivia.’ Disturbed eyes lift to mine. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. ‘You’ve scribbled all over my table.’

  I look to the table and lift my thumb to my mouth, transferring my chewing to my thumbnail. This is silly. It’s a table. Anyone would think someone had died. On an exasperated sigh, I throw the Sharpie to the side and approach the table, where Miller is back to lifting items to see if I really have marked everything. I’m not sure whether to confirm it or leave him to continue examining to discover it for himself. ‘I’ve made our lives easier.’

  He looks at me like I’ve grown horns. ‘Really?’ He drops a plate and I smile when he pokes it roughly until it’s within the guidelines. ‘Please, elaborate on that.’

  ‘Well . . .’ I take a seat next to him and think of how I can word it so he’ll appreciate it. Now I’m being silly. This is Miller Hart. My obsessive fruitcake. ‘Now I can lay the table so there’s no risk of your sweet girl screwing up your –’ I purse my lips – ‘particular ways.’

  ‘Sweet girl?’ He looks at me incredulously. ‘You are far from sweet, Olivia. Right now you’re akin to the fucking devil! Why would . . . what the . . . Oh, Jesus, look at it!’ He waves his arm around aimlessly, then drops his elbows to the table and buries his face in his palms. ‘I can’t look.’

  ‘Now I can set the table just how you like it.’ I avoid saying need. This is how he needs it. ‘It’s the lesser of two evils.’ Reaching over, I take his hand so his head is no longer supported and he has to look at me. ‘Either I constantly fuck it up, or you just get used to this.’ I indicate the table on a smile. This may be an overreaction, but it’s one time. He’ll grow to accept the outlines. The alternative is a mini seizure each time I set the table. It’s a no-brainer to me.

  ‘You are the only evil thing around here, Olivia. Just you.’

  ‘Look at it as art.’

  He scoffs at that suggestion and shifts my grip so he now has hold of me. ‘It’s a fucking mess, that’s what it is.’

  My body sags in my chair, and I catch him looking at me out of the corner of his eye, all sulky. Over a table? ‘Is it replaceable?’

  ‘Yes,’ he grumbles. ‘Good fucking job, too. Wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘Well, I’m not replaceable, and I’m not spending a lifetime with you, constantly worrying whether I’ve put a stupid plate in the right place.’

  He recoils at my harshness, but come on! I’ve been more than accommodating with his obsessive habits. Yes, he’s eased up on a few, but there’s still work to do, and since Miller refuses to openly admit he suffers severely from obsessive-compulsive disorder, and point-blank refuses to see a therapist, then he’ll just have to get used to my way of helping him. And helping myself at the same time, too.

  ‘It’s no big shakes.’ He forces indifference to within an inch of his life.

  ‘No big shakes?’ I ask, laughing. ‘Miller, your world is currently experiencing an earthquake of epic proportions!’ He virtually snarls, increasing my amusement. ‘Now –’ I stand and pull my hand free – ‘do you want breakfast, or are you going to refuse, since you didn’t witness me making it how you like it?’

  ‘There’s no need for insolence.’

  ‘Yes, there is.’ I leave my grumpy man at the table to fetch my bowl of melted chocolate, hearing him muttering and shifting crockery. ‘Oh,’ I breathe, looking down into the bowl that resembles nothing like the delicious dark puddle of chocolate that Miller created.

  Picking up the wooden spoon, I have a little poke and lose my grip of the handle when the spoon gets suck in the semi-hard goo. I’m pouting when my body lights up, and I know it’s because he’s on his way over to investigate. The heat of his chest meets my back and his chin falls to my shoulder. ‘I have a request,’ he speaks right into my ear, making my shoulder rise and my head push into his face in a vain attempt to halt the tingles that have started to assault my body.

  ‘What?’ I reclaim the spoon and try to stir.

  ‘Please don’t make me eat that.’

  My whole body deflates, disappointment replacing the tingles. ‘What did I do wrong?’

  The spoon is taken from my hand and left to rest in the bowl before he turns me in his arms. All dismay has vanished. Now I’m the butt of his amusement. ‘You spent too long vandalising my table, so the chocolate has set.’ He’s smug. ‘I’m afraid there will be no licking chocolate from body parts.’

  I really am hopeless. I realise it’s silly, given that I’ve just wrecked his table in the process, but I wanted to do this trivial thing, because it isn’t so trivial in Miller’s world. ‘I’m sorry,’ I sigh, letting my forehead drop onto his chest.

  ‘You’re forgiven.’ His arms curl around my back and he presses his lips to the top of my head. ‘How about we abandon breakfast for today?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘We’ll veg. All day. Then have brunch.’

  I cringe. I knew that would be his plan. Lock us away to protect me from his world. There’s no way, not when Nan’s coming home today. ‘I’m picking Nan up from the hospital at four.’

  ‘I’ll collect her,’ he offers, but I know exactly what he’s doing. There’s no way I’m going to be kept from Nan. ‘And I’ll bring her back here.’

&
nbsp; ‘We’ve been over this. She needs to be in her own home, in her own bed, with everything she knows around her. She won’t like it here.’ I break away and head from the kitchen, not prepared to allow him to even try and talk me down. It’ll be a waste and will result in a row. After last night, I expect he’ll be unbearably protective.

  ‘What’s wrong with here?’ he asks, insulted.

  I swing around, a little mad that he would be so obtuse where Nan is concerned. ‘Because it’s not home!’ I spit, and a small part of me is wondering if he truly does want me here polluting his flat with my messy ways or if he’s so desperate to keep me from harm’s way that he’ll even torture himself by having me and Nan permanently here.

  The hurt is visible instantaneously, and I snap my mouth shut before I twist the knife some more. ‘I see,’ he says coldly.

  ‘Miller, I—’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’ He walks past me, ensuring he doesn’t touch me. I feel like all kinds of shit as I let my back fall to the wall and gaze up to the high ceilings of his flat. I’ve hurt his feelings. He’s trying to help. He’s worried about me, and I’m being a total bitch.

  Reaching up and pinching the bridge of my nose, I groan my frustration before I go after him. ‘Miller,’ I call, watching his back disappear into the bedroom. ‘Miller, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.’

  He’s yanking all of his bedsheets into place when I enter, being rough and stroppy. ‘I said it’s fine.’

  ‘Clearly,’ I sigh, my arms falling lifelessly to my sides. I’d go over and help, an olive branch in the form of Miller-style tidying, but I know I’ll only piss him off further when I get it all wrong.

  ‘You don’t want to live here.’ He plumps the pillows and glides careful palms across the top. ‘I accept that. I don’t have to like it, but I accept it.’ The silk runner is practically tossed onto the bed and he starts pulling and huffing it into position. I watch silently, a little surprised by his juvenile, stroppy behaviour. He’s pissed off. Not angry or looking on the brink of psychotic, just plain slighted. ‘Fuck it!’ he shouts, grabbing at the perfected sheets and tossing them across the bed. He collapses to his arse on the edge and throws his hands into his hair, breathing heavy. ‘I want you in my arms every night.’ He looks up at me, his eyes pleading. ‘I need to keep you safe.’