Denied (One Night 2)

I glance over my shoulder when I reach the top of the stairs, finding them watching me, neither prepared to speak until I’m out of earshot. Nan is radiating authority and my finicky, fine Miller is oozing respect. It’s an amusing sight. ‘Chop-chop,’ Miller calls on a mild grin. He finds my worry amusing? Rolling my eyes on an exasperated sigh, I resign myself to the fact there’s nothing I can do.

I take myself into the bathroom and shower in record time. The water is cool, but I’m not prepared to wait until it’s more tolerable, and the conditioner barely touches my hair before I’m rinsing it off. My mind has plenty of things to focus on, all unpleasant and worrying, but it’s hijacked by images of Nan’s finger waving in Miller’s face and her asking prying questions that I hope to God he can wriggle out of answering.

Flinging a towel around my cold, sopping body, I dart across the landing to get dressed, listening briefly for heated words – Nan’s mainly – before I charge into my bedroom and throw my towel to the side.

‘Well, hello.’

I jump back against the door, my hand clutching my heart. ‘Jesus!’

Miller’s sitting on my bed, phone to his ear, with a devilish grin on his perfect face. He doesn’t look like he’s just been verbally terrorised. ‘Apologies,’ he says into the phone, eyes on me. ‘Something’s just come up.’ Clicking to end the call, he lets his phone slide to the centre of his palm while he taps his knee pensively with his fingertips. ‘Cold?’

His one-word question and the area that his twinkling eyes are focused on pulls my eyes downward. Yes, I am, and it’s plain to see, but my chilly ni**les start to tingle with something other than coldness as I remain under his examination. ‘A little,’ I concede, cupping my boobs, hiding them from view. ‘Where’s Nan?’

‘Downstairs.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ He’s calm and collected, not displaying any signs of unease after dealing with my protective grandmother.

‘Well, because . . . it’s just . . .’ I stutter and stammer all over my words, stupidly uncomfortable. This is ridiculous. I roll my eyes and drop my hands. ‘What did she say?’

‘You mean while she was tapping her biggest carving knife on the table?’

‘She wasn’t,’ I laugh, but halt my nervous giggling when Miller remains completely serious. ‘Was she?’

He tucks his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket and stands, resting his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘Olivia, I’m not prepared to go any further with this line of conversation while you’re wet and naked.’ He shakes his head, like he’s shaking away wicked thoughts. He probably is. ‘Either get dressed or shimmy that gorgeous little body over here so I can taste it.’

My spine lengthens and I fight off the shots of desire that fire like bullets across the room, from Miller to me. ‘You wouldn’t disrespect my nan,’ I stupidly remind him.

‘That was before she threatened to remove my manhood.’

I laugh. He’s serious and there’s no question that Nan was, too. ‘So now the rule doesn’t apply?’

He pouts, a wicked glint in his stunning eyes. ‘I’ve assessed and mitigated the risks associated with worshipping you in your nan’s home.’

‘You have?’

‘Yes, and the best thing is that you can put measures in place to lower a risk.’ He’s talking like he’s negotiating a business transaction again.

‘Like what?’

Miller’s lovely lips press into a straight line as he considers my question; then he wanders over to my chair and picks it up. ‘Excuse me,’ he says, waiting for me to move from the door, which I do without complaint, watching in amusement as he wedges the top of the backrest under the handle. ‘I believe we may be close to a risk-free worshipping session.’ A huge smile spreads across my face as I watch him checking the stability of the chair before he jiggles the handle. ‘Yes,’ he concludes on a satisfied nod of his handsome head. ‘I believe I’ve covered every eventuality.’ He turns towards me and spends a few moments burning my na**d skin with his scorching gaze. ‘Now I get to taste you.’

My libido responds fast. I’m in full-on responsive mode, and I’m delighted to see Miller is, too. I can see the evidence through his trousers.

‘Olivia!’ Nan’s screech slices straight through the sexual tension and kills it dead. ‘Olivia, I’m putting on a white wash. You have any?’ The creaking floorboards indicate her close proximity.

‘Fucking perfect,’ Miller grumbles with one hundred per cent frustration. ‘Just . . . f**king . . . perfect.’

I grin and dip to retrieve my towel. ‘You missed a risk,’ I muse, wrapping myself up.

Adjusting his groin area, he drills holes into me, unmistakably unamused. ‘I didn’t anticipate a white-wash day.’ He removes the chair from the door and pulls it open, revealing Nan with her arms full of white material. Miller plasters an insincere smile on his face, but it’s still a smile and it’s still relatively rare, even if it’s fake. Not that Nan would know. ‘You should have someone to do that for you, Mrs Taylor.’

‘Pfft! You rich people!’ She shoos him out of the way and stalks around my room, collecting anything white on her travels. ‘I’m not scared of hard work.’

‘Neither is Miller,’ I pipe up. ‘He cleans and cooks.’