One Night: Unveiled, Page 39

  ‘You still fascinate me, Miller Hart.’ She reaches up and toys with my earlobe, not making a big deal of her victory. ‘A little trim.’

  I sigh, knowing I’m being over the top but finding it difficult to reason with myself. ‘I love you, too. Let me taste you.’

  She obliges, worming her way between me and the sink, and lets me take my time indulging in her. ‘I need to get to work.’ She disturbs my bliss, pulling back and pecking me on the nose.

  ‘Noted,’ I relent dejectedly. ‘Me and my boy are going to see Nan after I pick him up from school.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Then we’re going to that silly therapist’s office.’

  She smiles brightly and cuddles me fiercely. ‘Thank you.’

  I don’t argue. I might make a fuss of it, but I can’t deny that I enjoy my time with my boy while we’re there. ‘Will you dance with me before you go?’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘No.’ I take her hand, loving the curiosity on her face, and lead her up to the club.

  ‘I need to get to work, Miller,’ she insists on a laugh, telling me she’s in no rush. Not that it matters. She doesn’t have a choice. She should know that by now. So I ignore her and place her accurately in the middle of the dance floor when we arrive there, brushing her hair over her shoulders, before making my way to the DJ stand, immediately frowning at the millions of switches and buttons.

  ‘Shit!’ I curse under my breath, pressing and flicking everything in sight until the speakers come to life. ‘What mood are you in, sweet girl?’ I call, scanning the lists of endless tracks on the computer screen.

  ‘Give me something energetic. I have a long day.’

  ‘As you wish,’ I say to myself, spotting the perfect track. I smile and load it up, then slowly raise my bent body as MGMT’s “Electric Feel” fills the main floor of my club. She’s grinning. It’s the most beautiful sight, but her mouth is the only thing she’s moving, and it will be until I make it to her. She knows.

  I hold her breathtaking sapphire eyes as I step down from the booth, then stalk slowly towards her. God bless her, those dainty shoulders are twitching, dying to start pulsing with the music, but she won’t. I’m taking my time, as I always do. Her chin drops a little and her lips part, her eyes hooded, her eyelashes fluttering.

  She wants to tell me to hurry the hell up, but again, she won’t. Savoured. Never rushed. And I’m savouring every nanosecond it takes me to reach her, drinking in pure, raw, exquisite beauty as I do.

  ‘Miller,’ she breathes, her voice drenched in sex, want, lust, impatience.

  ‘Let me have my time with you, sweet girl.’ I make it to her and push my whole front into hers, feeling her heart beating, steady and strong.

  I slide my arm around her tiny waist and tug, sealing us, and nearly explode with happiness when she gives me a coy smile, looking up at me. ‘Are you ready to let me worship you on the dance floor?’ I ask.

  ‘So ready.’

  I return her smile, holding on to her with one arm, letting my other relax by my side. Her arms, though, go straight for my neck, circling and pulling my face closer to hers as I begin to teasingly thrust my groin into her tummy in time to the beat. She’ll be naked on the floor by the end of this track. My cock’s throbbing, shouting at me to make it happen soon.

  I widen my stance and bend my knees a little so I can accommodate the closeness of our faces, and she responds by beginning to follow the grinding of my hips, making sure our groins are touching at all times.

  My smile widens as I gaze into her eyes, holding her tightly as we remain on the spot, until I step back and she follows, her upper body falling into a delicious rhythm, swaying with me from side to side. ‘Tell me this is worth being late for,’ I breathe down on her, thrusting my hips forward harshly when she delays her answer. ‘Tell me.’

  Her lips slightly purse, her eyes narrowing. ‘Are you going to add this to your daily obsessive habits?’

  I grin. ‘Might do.’

  ‘That means yes.’

  I laugh and twirl us around, breaking our joined bodies and claiming her hand. She yelps on a giggle as I yank her into me until we’re nose to nose and unmoving, the music still in full swing. ‘Correct.’ I smash my lips to hers, stealing her breath, and mine, too, for that matter, then throw her out on a spin, her gorgeous blonde hair fanning out and whipping the air around her. She laughs, she smiles, her sapphire eyes glimmer relentlessly, and I once again appreciate how fucking lucky I am. There’s not a scrap of darkness in my world anymore. There’s nothing but blinding light. And it’s all because of this beautiful creature.

  My thoughts leave my concentration lacking in the dancing department and I pull her in once more, throwing my arms around her, needing our thing. I don’t release her for a long, long time, and she doesn’t complain. My reality often hits me like an iron bar to the face, quickly having me check everything around me is real and mine. My thing is the best way. Problem is, no amount of time with her safe in my arms is long enough. Not even forever. Or an eternity.

  The music drifts into nothing, but I remain holding her tightly, still swaying us from side to side. She doesn’t complain, and I know she won’t prompt me to release her, so I swallow down some strength and break away from her. ‘Get to work, sweet girl,’ I whisper in her ear, smacking her bottom to send her on her way. It takes all of my strength to remain where I am and not chase her down, as it always does. I try to ignore the ache in my heart that descends quickly as she gets farther and farther away from me. I try. And fail every time. I won’t be complete again until she’s back in my sight or in my thing.

  I’m looking at every pair of feet that pass me as I wait outside the school entrance, searching for bare ankles. I shake my head to myself, thinking it’s really not acceptable for so many kids to go out in public without matching socks. So what if my boy wants to remedy that. He’s doing them a favour.

  Standing by the door, my hands resting lightly in my trouser pockets, I can’t even be bothered to return the smiles of the many women who pass with their kids in tow. Smiling would be engaging with these strangers. It would be inviting them in to talk, ask questions, get to know me. No thank you. So I maintain my stoic expression and only allow my facial muscles to kick in when I see him coming. I smile, watching him traipse out of the doors with his rucksack on his back, his little Ralph shirt tucked haphazardly into his grey shorts and lovely navy striped socks pulled up his shins. His cute little feet are graced in grey Converse high-tops, laces undone and trailing behind him, and his dark waves are a tangle of locks, falling to his ears. My little man.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ I say, dropping to my haunches when he makes it to me and tying his laces. ‘Have you had a good day?’

  His eyes, a carbon copy of the Taylor girls, all navy and sparkling, are irritated. ‘Five pairs, Daddy,’ he tells me. ‘It’s unacceptable.’

  ‘Five?’ I sound shocked, which is fine because I am. He must have been in a right pickle. I narrow questioning eyes on him as I finish securing his laces. ‘And what did you do, Harry?’

  ‘Told them to put socks on their Christmas lists.’

  I chuckle to myself, taking his hand. ‘We have a date with Great-Nana.’

  He squeals his excitement, making me smile.

  ‘Let’s go.’ I claim his little hand and start leading him away, but I pull up short when I hear the distant calling of my name.

  ‘Mr Hart!’

  Looking down at my boy, I cock him a questioning look, but his little face remains deadpan and he shrugs. ‘I couldn’t concentrate on my drawing.’

  ‘So you told them to put socks on their Christmas list and also made them remove the odd ones they had on?’

  ‘Correct.’

  I can’t help it. I smile down at my little lad and bright light explodes around me when he returns my amusement.

  ‘Mr Hart!’

  I turn, taking my boy with me, and see his teacher scurrying t
owards us, her floral skirt swishing around her ankles. She’s creased beyond creased. ‘Ms Phillips,’ I sigh, demonstrating my tiredness before she gets into her stride.

  ‘Mr Hart, I know you’re a busy man—’

  ‘Correct,’ I interrupt, just for clarification.

  She shifts nervously. Is she blushing? My probing eyes study her for a few moments, my lips pouting in contemplation. She’s definitely blushing, and now she’s fidgeting madly. ‘Yes, well.’ She lifts one of her hands, and I look down to see a bunch of mix-matched material bunched in her grasp. Socks. ‘I found these in the boys’ bathroom. In the bin.’

  Looking down out of the corner of my eye, I catch my boy regarding the pile of material with utter disgust. ‘I see,’ I muse.

  ‘Mr Hart, this really is becoming quite an issue.’

  ‘I’m being intuitive here,’ I begin thoughtfully, ripping my eyes away from Harry’s twisted face. ‘And I’m going to suggest you mean that it’s becoming a nuisance.’

  ‘Yes.’ She nods decisively, looking down at my boy. I’m not surprised when her frustration drifts into a tender smile as she regards him. ‘Harry, darling, it’s not nice to steal the other children’s socks.’

  Harry’s face takes on an edge of sulkiness, but I intervene before he’s forced to explain himself . . . again. He has one compulsion. Just one. Matching socks. My relief that there’s not so many more refuses to let me take that away from him. It’s his thing. I had nothing to fear. Olivia’s beautiful soul really has eclipsed all of my darkness.

  ‘Ms Phillips, Harry likes matching socks. I’ve told you before and despite hating repeating myself, I’ll make an exception this one time. Ask their parents to do the decent thing and put their children in a matching pair. It’s not hard. And why they’re happy to let them leave the house in odd socks is a mystery, anyway. Problem solved.’

  ‘Mr Hart, I’m in no position to dictate what the parents of my children dress them in.’

  ‘No, but you’re happy to dictate to me what my son should endure during his school day.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I’m not finished,’ I cut her off with my harsh words and the appearance of a silencing finger. ‘Everyone is overthinking this. Matching socks. It’s that simple.’ I wrap my arm around Harry’s shoulder and lead him away. ‘And we’ll be leaving that line of conversation just there.’

  ‘I concur,’ Harry adds, coiling his little arm around the backs of my thighs and hugging into my side. ‘Thank you, Daddy.’

  ‘Never thank me, sweet boy,’ I say quietly, wondering if Harry’s little thing is now becoming my obsession. I often find myself checking out people’s ankles on my son’s behalf, even when he’s not with me. The world needs ridding of odd socks.

  ‘Where’s my boy?’ Josephine’s happy voice creeps down the hallway as I let us in, and I immediately take a glimpse at Harry, seeing him removing his Converse and placing them neatly by the coat stand.

  ‘I’m here, Great-Nana!’ he replies, laying his rucksack beside his shoes.

  Josephine appears, wiping her hands on a tea towel, her lovely face a joy to see. ‘Good evening, Josephine,’ I greet, slipping out of my jacket and hanging it on the peg, smoothing it down neatly before returning my attention to Olivia’s wonderful grandmother. She grabs my cheeks and assaults me with her lips while Harry waits alongside for his turn.

  ‘How many today?’ she asks.

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Five.’ She gasps, and I nod my confirmation, making her mutter something about it being a disgrace. She’s right. ‘I do love it when you’re here.’ She finishes up, leaving me with a damp face, and turns her old navy eyes onto Harry. He always has a smile for his great-nana. ‘And how’s my gorgeous boy?’

  ‘Fine and dandy, thank you.’ He steps into her open arms and cuddles her fiercely. ‘You look exceptionally lovely today, Nana.’

  ‘Oh, you dreamboat.’ She laughs, taking Harry’s cheeks and squeezing. ‘You beautiful, beautiful boy.’

  Harry maintains his smile as Josephine takes his hand and starts leading him to the kitchen. ‘I’ve made your favourite cake,’ she tells him.

  ‘Pineapple upside-down?’ Harry’s beside himself, and it’s quite apparent in his hopeful tone.

  ‘Yes, darling, but it’s Uncle George’s favourite, too, so you’ll have to share.’

  I follow behind, smiling like crazy on the inside as she shows Harry to a chair. ‘Hello, George,’ Harry says, plunging his finger into the side of the cake. I’m not the only one who winces. George looks horrified.

  The old boy places his paper down and looks at Josephine, who shrugs it off. She’ll let him get away with murder. So I step in. ‘Harry, that’s rude,’ I scold, but find it difficult when his tongue is lapping at his cute little fingers.

  ‘Sorry, Daddy.’ He drops his head in shame.

  ‘I’ve been looking at this cake for twenty minutes.’ George takes the serving knife and sets about dishing up a slice for each of them. ‘Nana Josephine tells me off, too, if I finger-dip.’

  ‘But it’s so yummy! Would you like some, Daddy?’ Harry asks me, accepting the plate that’s slid across the table. He then lays his napkin across his lap, and his gorgeous blue eyes find mine. He smiles.

  I take a seat next to him, gently ruffling his hair. ‘I’d love some.’

  ‘Daddy would like some please, George.’

  ‘You’ve got it, little man.’

  I watch as George serves me a slice of Josephine’s famous pineapple upside-down cake and accept my plate, resting it in front of me. I tweak its position, just a little, despite my determination not to. It’s habit. I can’t help it. Looking up to my sweet boy, I find him smiling brightly at me as I lay my napkin across my lap, too.

  He’s perfect.

  My boy is advanced in every aspect of his young life. He’s smart, and he has no OCD traits beyond his sock compulsion, but everyone is allowed a thing. Harry’s is matching socks. I couldn’t be anything but proud of him. I’m so fucking proud of him. I throw him a little wink and burst with happiness when he giggles and attempts to wink back, blinking both eyes instead of one. OK, maybe not advanced in everything.

  ‘So, my handsome young man.’ Josephine settles next to Harry and pushes his spoon towards him in a gesture to tuck in, but she immediately slaps her own wrist when he scowls and puts it back in its rightful place.

  ‘Nana Josie!’ he tsks. ‘Daddy doesn’t like it there!’

  ‘I’m sorry!’ Josephine casts guilty eyes over to me, and I shrug, thinking she should know better by now. ‘I was doing so well.’

  ‘It’s fine, mate.’ I placate Harry, trying to calm him. ‘Daddy’s good with the fork there.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘One hundred per cent.’ I knock the fork off position, making him chuckle. The sweet sound goes some way to curbing my need to put it right back. But I don’t. He mustn’t see how crippled by obsession I once was. I’m getting better, though. And Harry helps immensely. I probably have the messiest kid on Earth. God’s clearly trying to get a balance.

  George chuckles, placing his hands in his lap before straightening his face and holding Josephine in place with serious eyes. ‘Nana Josie,’ he scolds, shaking his head. ‘Where’s your memory?’

  ‘Up your arse,’ she mutters under her breath, apologising immediately when both Harry and I cough. ‘Sorry, boys.’ She gets up from the table and wanders around to George’s side. Josephine’s friend looks wary, and so he should. ‘Look at that, Harry!’ she yells enthusiastically, pointing to a spot across the room. I watch Harry’s face stretch into a delighted grin as he glances where indicated, and then I grin, too, as Olivia’s spunky grandmother gives old George a cuff around the head.

  ‘Ouch!’ He starts rubbing the sore spot as he pouts to himself. ‘A bit unnecessary, isn’t it?’

  I keep my mouth shut. I’m not stupid, unlike George.

  ‘Are you done telling George off,
Nana Josie?’ Harry asks. His cute question has everyone in the room smiling, even George. ‘Because I’m rather hungry.’

  ‘I’m done, Harry.’ She gives George an affectionate rub of the shoulder, her way of making friends, and takes her seat.

  ‘That’s a relief,’ George breathes, his hand now twitching over his spoon. ‘Can we start now?’

  ‘No!’ Harry shoots his little head back to the table. ‘Everyone needs to close their eyes so we can say grace.’ We all follow through on his order immediately, and he begins. ‘Thank you, God, for Nana Josephine’s cakes. Thank you for giving me the best mummy and daddy in the whole world, and thank you for Nanny Gracie, Pappy William, Nana Josie, Uncle Gregory, Uncle Ben, and old George. Amen.’ I smile and open my eyes, but snap them shut in an instant when he shouts, ‘Wait!’ I inwardly frown, wondering who else he’s grateful for, and come up with nothing. So I wait for him to continue. ‘And please, God, make the mummies and daddies of all the children in the land wear matching socks.’

  I smile and start to peel open my eyes again.

  ‘Amen,’ we all sing in unison; then everyone collects their spoons and dives in, me and Harry included, except my boy is more ravenous than me.

  ‘Nana, may I ask you a question?’ he asks, mouth full.

  ‘Of course! What would you like to know?’

  ‘Why does Daddy call you a twenty-four-carat gold treasure?’

  Josephine chuckles, as do George and I at his genuinely curious question. ‘Because I’m special,’ she says, flicking fond eyes to me briefly before returning her attention to my boy, ‘which makes you a thirty-six-carat gold treasure.’

  ‘Mummy says I’m very special.’

  ‘Mummy is right,’ Josephine confirms. ‘You’re very, very special.’

  ‘I concur,’ I interject, observing George working his way quickly through his first helping. There will be no contribution to conversation while he’s eating.