Unveiled (One Night 3)

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.