Unveiled (One Night 3)

I’m crazy in love with Miller Hart.

My eyes work their way from his perfect toes, up his perfectly shaped legs, until I’m locked on his perfectly hard cock. I could go farther, lose myself in the rest of him – his sharp abs, his firm pecs, those strong shoulders . . . his flawless face, lips, eyes, and finally the perfect waves of his perfect hair. I could. But I don’t. I’m too riveted by the centre of his perfection.

‘Earth to Olivia.’ His rough voice contradicts the soft tone. I finally allow my eyes to indulge in the rest of him, in no rush to make it to the stunning blues that captured me so completely the first time I encountered him. ‘There she is.’

I smile and reach for him. ‘Come to me.’ My order is delivered on a breathy gasp, laced with desperation. My hand is taken gently and our fingers shift and play for a few moments, each of us watching, before Miller entwines them, locking them together. He steps into the tub and crowds me, leaving me no option but to back up until my skin’s pressed against the coldness of the tiles. He’s towering over me, his eyes sinking into the deepest part of me.

He lifts our joined hands and pushes them into the wall above my head, then slides his spare palm to the back of my thigh, tugging firmly. I oblige, lifting until my leg is locked around his waist, pulling us together. Miller’s lips part, prompting mine to follow suit, and he dips, getting us nose to nose. ‘Tell me what you want, sweet girl.’ His hot breath spreads across my face, turning the heated desire running riot through my veins into flaming need.

‘You.’ I push my demand with a gasp and close my eyes when his mouth descends to mine.

He takes what’s his.

Chapter 18

Nan looks well. But the sight of her sitting all prim and quiet at the kitchen table, her palms around a cup of tea, has taken me a little aback. I’d expected to find her pottering around the kitchen, despite being told to take it easy. Nan’s never been good at doing what she’s told.

‘Morning,’ I chirp, sliding onto a seat next to her and helping myself to the pot of tea.

‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Nan retorts to my greeting, no morning or hey.

‘Wouldn’t bother with what?’

‘The tea.’ She turns her nose up at her mug. ‘Tastes like gnats’ piss.’

The teapot clatters against the cup I’m attempting to pour into, and Miller laughs from across the kitchen. I cast a sideways glance, finding him looking divine in a three-piece suit, this one charcoal grey, his shirt pale blue, his tie matching his shirt. He looks delicious, all groomed, and by the looks of things, ready for work. Perfect. I find his eyes and smile. ‘Twenty-four-carat gold treasure, right here.’

I’m taking the piss. He knows it but disregards my sarcasm and joins us at the table. ‘You’re too kind, Mrs Taylor.’

‘How was your shower?’ she fires back, and the damn teapot clashes with the cup again, so hard I’m certain I must have cracked the porcelain. I swing my wide eyes in her direction, finding that impish grin tickling her lips. The minx!

‘Hot.’ Miller drags the single word out forever, and now I’m swinging my even wider eyes across the table to him. I knew it. He’s fighting a grin. These two are intolerable when put together, getting a thrill from winding each other up. But they are also beautifully loving towards each other.

‘You should’ve had Olivia in to show you how to work the temperature knob.’ Back my head goes to Nan. She’s toying with the handle of her mug, fiddling thoughtfully, playing all naïve. Double minx!

‘I did,’ Miller replies casually, mirroring Nan’s fiddling fingers with his own mug.

‘I knew it!’ Nan gasps. ‘You little devil!’

I give up with the head-swinging business. Neither is taking any notice of my evident shock and my neck’s hurting. I sit back in my chair and let them play their game, a warmth filling me to the brim. Seeing her so alive and vivacious is doing wonders for my current frame of mind.

Miller flashes Nan a stunning smile, bashing down her attempt at a scornful look, and he shrugs. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Taylor. I can’t apologise for loving her to the point it’s painful when I’m not touching her.’

‘Little devil,’ she repeats quietly, her curls swishing around her ears when she shakes her head. ‘You little bloody devil.’

‘Are we done winding each other up?’ I ask, reaching for the cornflakes. ‘Or should I settle in for the show?’

‘I’m done,’ Miller says, taking the liberty of pouring the milk on my flakes. ‘And you, Mrs Taylor?’

‘Yes, all done.’ She takes a sip of her tea and winces. ‘You’re a dreamboat, Miller Hart, but you can’t make tea for shit.’

‘I concur,’ I add, lifting my cup to him and screwing my face up. ‘It’s bad. So, so bad.’

‘Noted,’ he grumbles. ‘I’ve never claimed to be an expert tea maker.’ That mischief creeps back onto his face, making me put my cup down slowly, warily. ‘Ask me about worshipping,’ he suggests.

I cough all over my flakes, drawing Nan’s immediate interest.

‘Hmmm,’ she hums, drilling old navy eyes into me. ‘What’s worshipping?’

I refuse to look at her, centring my attention on my bowl.

‘I’m very good at it,’ Miller declares cockily.

‘You mean sex?’

‘Oh, give me strength!’ I grab my spoon and plunge it into my bowl, taking a huge mouthful of my breakfast.