Unveiled Page 18

  I moan my despair, throwing my head back and arching my back violently. ‘I hate you!’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ he retaliates surely, rearing back and hovering on the edge of my passage, teasing me. ‘You love me.’ He pushes forward a little. ‘You love what I can do to you.’ Forward a little more. ‘And you love how it feels.’

  Bang!

  ‘Fuck!’ I scream, hopeless under his hold and helpless to his forceful attack. Not that I’d stop it. Not in a million years. I crave his power. ‘More,’ I gasp, relishing in the delicious ache he’s spiking.

  ‘It’s polite to look at someone when you’re speaking to them,’ he gasps, slowly pulling out.

  ‘When it suits you!’

  ‘Look at me!’

  I throw my head up and my eyes open on an angry yell. ‘More!’

  ‘Hard and fast? Or soft and slow?’

  I’m too desperate for soft and slow. I’m way past soft and slow, and I don’t even think Miller’s demand to savour it will assist. ‘Hard,’ I pant, lifting my hips sharply. ‘Really hard.’ I have no qualms, no fear or concern. I have his full devotion, his love and care, whether he fucks me or worships me.

  ‘Oh fucking hell, Livy.’ He pulls out, leaving me slightly confused and ready to object, but then I’m spun onto my hands and knees and my waist is grabbed harshly. I gulp, appreciating the depth that Miller can achieve from this position. Oh God, and hard, too? ‘Tell me you’re ready.’

  I nod, pushing my backside into him, longing for that deepness. He doesn’t hang around. There’s no easing gently in. He crashes forward on an ear-piercing bellow, sending me into a dazed euphoria of toe-curling pleasure. I scream, my hands balling into fists on the carpet, my head thrown back in despair. He’s merciless, barking on each pound forward, his fingers clawing into the soft flesh of my hips. The carpet feels rough on my bare knees – Miller is being uncharacteristically rough with me, yet the slight discomfort and unforgiving power of his body hitting mine doesn’t deter me. It has me begging for more instead.

  ‘Harder,’ I mumble weakly, letting Miller take full control, the strength to meet his punishing blows failing me. All I can focus on is the pleasure consuming me, taking over every single part of me.

  ‘Christ, Olivia!’ His fingers flex and dig back into my flesh. ‘Am I hurting you?’

  ‘No!’ I blurt, suddenly worried he’ll ease up. ‘Harder!’

  ‘Oh, you fucking dream.’ His knees widen, pushing my legs farther apart, and his pace accelerates, our bodies clashing loudly. ‘I’m going to come, Olivia!’

  My eyes close and all breath leaves my lungs as my mind empties, too. I’m in a dark, silent world, where my only purpose is basking in the attention that Miller delivers. There’s nothing else to steal my focus, nothing to distract me or ruin our precious time together. It’s just us – my body and his body doing incredible things.

  The pleasure is rising. Each collide of his body with mine is pushing me towards utter rapture. I want to speak, tell him how he’s making me feel, yet I’m rendered mute, unable to utter a word, only whimpers of despair and pleasure. I feel the pinnacle of his climax looming. He’s expanding within me, and a mighty roar snaps me back into the room. My orgasm takes me by surprise, and I cry out as it rips through me like a tornado. Every muscle I own engages, except my neck, which leaves my head dropping limply between my arms. Miller’s sharp thrusts accelerate once more to carry him over the edge, and he yanks my stiff body onto him. ‘Arhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’ he bellows, and strikes with a force that’s only comprehensible if you’re on the receiving end of it. And I am. The sharp flash of pain that sears through me, mixing with the spikes of pleasure bubbling deep in my groin, takes everything out of me. ‘Fucking hell,’ he breathes, locking us together and holding us joined. I’m ready to collapse. Miller is the only thing supporting me, and when he unclaws his fingers from my hips, I lose that support, flopping to my front on the floor, heaving and gasping.

  The coolness of the carpet on my cheek is welcome as I watch Miller fall to his back next to me, his arms falling limply above his head, his chest expanding violently. He’s soaking wet, the taut flesh of his chest glistening from sweat. If I had the energy, I’d reach over and stroke him, but I’m useless. Completely incapacitated. But not enough to close my eyes and deprive them of the stunning sight of Miller post-climax.

  We both remain sprawled across the carpet for an eternity. My ears are being invaded by consistent and drawn-out gasps of breath. Finally mustering some strength from somewhere, I drag my arm across the carpet and brush my fingertip down his side. It glides easily, assisted by the dampness of his hot skin. His head drops to the side until his eyes find mine and exhaustion runs away, leaving behind some scope for talking. But he beats me to it.

  ‘I love you, Olivia Taylor.’

  I smile and put all of my effort into crawling on top of him, settling my body all over his, sinking my face into the comfort of his neck. ‘And I’m quite fascinated by you, too, Miller Hart.’

  Chapter 14

  ‘Let’s see, then.’ He’s waiting on the pavement outside the salon, and I can tell he’s extremely anxious. He’s fidgety, looking unreasonably stressed by the potential of my new haircut. I was delivered to the salon with strict instructions to trim minimal amounts, although Miller took it upon himself to reiterate those instructions to the hairdresser and only left when I forced him to, seeing how nervous he was making her feel with his curt orders. Miller watching over her probably would have landed me with something worse than I already had. My once long, wild waves are now smooth and glossy and bouncing just below my shoulders. Bloody hell, even I’m nervous. I reach up and run my fingers through them, thinking how silky they feel, while Miller regards me carefully. I wait. And wait. Until I blow out my exasperation on an impatient exhale.

  ‘Say something!’ I order, hating the scrutiny I’m under. It’s not rare for him to study me so closely, but the intensity isn’t welcome right now. ‘Don’t you like it?’

  He slips his hands into the trouser pockets of his suit, thinking hard. Then he closes the distance between us and drops his face into my neck as soon as he makes it to me. I tense. I can’t help it, except it’s not his closeness. It’s his quietness. After a long inhale, he speaks. ‘I don’t need to tell you that I was a little worried about the potential of losing any more.’

  I huff a cynical burst of laughter at his understatement. ‘A little?’

  He pulls away and hums thoughtfully. ‘I sense sarcasm.’

  ‘Your senses work well.’

  He gives me a wicked smile and moves in, locking his arm around my neck and pulling me in. ‘I love it.’

  ‘You do?’ I’m stunned. Is he lying?

  ‘I really do.’ Pushing his lips to my head, he takes another long inhale. ‘It’ll look even better when it’s all mussed up and damp.’ His fingers thread through and grip hard, pulling at my scalp. ‘Perfect.’

  It’s silly how relieved I am. Really silly. ‘I’m glad you like it, although if you didn’t, I’d have something to say. She followed your instructions to the word.’

  ‘I should hope so.’

  ‘You made her nervous.’

  ‘I was entrusting my most treasured possession to her. She should be nervous.’

  ‘My hair is my possession.’

  ‘Wrong,’ he counters quickly and confidently.

  I roll my eyes at his impertinence but refrain from challenging him. ‘Where to now?’ I ask, taking his wrist to check the time. ‘We’re too early for Nan.’

  ‘Now we have to pay someone a visit.’ He clasps my neck and leads me towards his Mercedes. Worry grips me. I don’t like the sound of that.

  ‘Who?’

  Miller turns an almost apologetic expression onto me as I look up at him. ‘I’ll give you three guesses.’

  Everything deflates. I don’t need three. ‘William,’ I sigh.

  ‘Correct.’ He doesn’t give me an opportunity to
object. I’m guided into his car and the door shuts firmly before he strides around the front and gets in. ‘I really do love your hair,’ he says softly as he settles in his seat, like he’s trying to pacify me . . . ease me.

  My focus remains straight ahead as I weigh up the merits of doing a bunk. I don’t want to see William. I don’t want to face his disapproval, his smug arrogance. Miller knows it, and he doesn’t make me do things that he knows I don’t want to do. Yet I fear on this occasion his promise will be broken. It doesn’t stop me from trying, though. ‘I don’t want to come.’ I turn to look at him, finding thoughtfulness riddling his face.

  ‘Tough luck,’ he whispers as he starts the car and pulls away, leaving me gulping down courage.

  Miller has come to depend on William for information. I know Miller doesn’t like it, and I know William doesn’t like it. I definitely don’t like it. But regrettably, it seems none of us has a choice. My eyes close and remain that way during the entire journey. Neither of us speak, the silence cutting the close air around us. It’s awkward. It’s painful. And it makes the drive drag out forever.

  When we’ve reached our destination, I can sense Miller’s tension. The atmosphere seems to freeze, sending every muscle in my body rigid. They’re not even within sight of each other yet, but all of the invisible animosity is already rife. It’s making my skin prickle and my pulse quicken. I feel like I’m walking willingly into the lion’s den with a steak strapped to my chest.

  ‘Open your eyes, Olivia.’ Miller’s placid tone strokes my skin and I find myself peeling my lids open, even though I have no desire to see what will be outside of the car. But I keep my gaze on my lap, noting my eternity ring spinning wildly on my finger, courtesy of my own unconscious fiddling. ‘And look at me,’ he orders.

  Before I can obey, my nape is clasped and twisted until I’m facing him. I root my eyes to Miller, knowing what I’ll see beyond him if I cast my eyes past him.

  The Society.

  William’s club.

  ‘Better,’ he says, reaching over with his spare hand and arranging my new hair just so. ‘You know William Anderson isn’t my favourite person,’ he declares, ‘but he cares for you dearly, Olivia.’

  I choke on nothing and open my mouth to argue, to tell him that all of William’s actions are spiked by his guilt. He couldn’t save my mother so he’s trying to cleanse his soul and save me, but I get a palm laid neatly on my lips to shut me up before I start.

  ‘If I can accept his help, then you certainly can.’

  My face twists in defeat behind his palm, my eyes narrowing slightly. The mild curve of his lips tells me exactly what the next words from his perfect mouth will be.

  I’m bang on the money.

  ‘Sass,’ he breathes, moving his hand fast and replacing it with his mouth. The touching of our lips does everything I’ve come to expect and I find myself unbuckling my seat belt while I return his kiss. I quickly find my way across the car to his lap. ‘Hmmmm,’ he hums, helping me get comfortable while our tongues find perfect synchronisation. He’s loading me with the strength I’ll need to face William, to walk into the Society.

  ‘Come on. Let’s get this over with.’

  Moaning my objection, I make it as tricky as possible for Miller to detach me from his mouth and open his door. He cocks his head in instruction for me to jump out, which I do on an audible grumble, slipping from his lap and finding myself on the pavement sooner than I’d like. I do everything to avoid looking up. I faff with my dress, flick my new hair over my shoulders and pull it back to my front, and then accept my bag when it appears by my side. My lungs collect air slowly and I finally locate the strength to face the building before me.

  Years of anguish seem to creep up my body from the concrete at my feet and suffocate me. The air grows thick, making breathing challenging. And my eyes burn from the visual reminder of my tainted past. The building is just how I remember it – the giant limestone bricks, the original giant stained-glass windows, the smooth curved concrete steps leading up to gigantic double doors that’ll take me into William’s world. Glossy black metal railings guard the frontage, with gold spikes at the tip of each rod, making it seem grand and opulent, but with an edge of danger. A gold plaque fixed to one of the pillars flanking the entrance states in large bold letters the society. I stare blankly at the doors, feeling more vulnerable than ever before. This is the centre of William’s world. This is where it all began, when a young woman stumbled boldly into the unknown.

  ‘Olivia?’

  I shake myself from my reverie and cast a sideways glance at Miller, seeing him looking down at me. He’s trying to conceal his apprehension . . . and failing. It’s pouring from those eyes, yet I’m unsure whether his unease is because of where we’re heading or because I’m falling fast into despondency. ‘The last time I was here, William sent me away for good.’

  Miller’s lips straighten and misery to equal mine plagues his features.

  ‘I never wanted to see this place again, Miller.’

  His misery doubles and he moves in to take me in his thing. It’s the perfect hiding place. ‘I need you with me, Livy. I feel like I’m constantly balancing on the edge of a black hole that’ll swallow me up and take me back to complete darkness with one slight wrong move.’ His palms skate up my back until they’re cupping the sides of my head. He pulls me from my hiding place and finds my eyes. I hate the hint of defeatism I can detect there. ‘Don’t give up on us, I beg you.’

  A light switches on in response to Miller’s plea, and I mentally pull my sorry self together. Miller Hart isn’t a weak man. I’m not mistaking his confession as weakness. He’s not. I’m simply a chink in this confounding man’s tight armour. But I’m also a strength, because without me, Miller wouldn’t have entertained the thought of escaping his life of debasement. I’ve given him the reason and strength to do it. I mustn’t make it harder for him than it already is. My history is exactly that – in the past. Gone. It’s Miller’s history preventing us from moving forward. We need to remedy that.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I say evenly, defying the lingering apprehension that’s still rooted deep. I take the steps steadily and with purpose, me leading Miller for once, until I’m being blocked from proceeding farther by the ominous double doors. I’m astounded when Miller reaches over and punches in the keypad code from memory. What in the world?

  ‘You know the code?’

  He shifts uncomfortably. ‘Yes,’ he answers, flat and with utter finality.

  ‘How?’ I splutter. I’m not accepting any of the usual signs that tell me the subject is exhausted. It isn’t. William and Miller despise each other. There’s no good reason why he would know the code that can grant him access to William’s establishment.

  He halts in his attempt of shifting me and starts fiddling with his suit jacket sleeves, brushing each down. ‘I’ve stopped by one or twice.’

  ‘Stopped by?’ I laugh. ‘What for? Cigars and laughs over a mature whiskey?’

  ‘There’s no need for insolence, Olivia.’

  I gape at him, not needing to correct him or ask what the topic of conversation was during those visits. I bet there have been some quite colourful words exchanged. Yet my damn curiosity won’t allow me to shut the hell up. ‘What for?’ I watch as his lids perform a lazy, patience-gathering blink. His jaw is tight, too.

  ‘We may not like each other, but when it comes to you, Anderson and I rub along just fine.’ His head cocks, expectantly. ‘Now, let’s go.’

  I feel my bottom lip curl in condemnation, but I follow through on his order, bristling from head to toe.

  The grand entrance hall of the Society gleams with elegance. The original wooden floor is clearly still polished weekly and the décor, although now cream and gold instead of deep red and gold, is opulent. It’s dripping in money. It’s luxurious. It’s magnificent. But all of the lovely décor now just seems like a disguise – something to fool people from seeing what this building truly represe
nts and what happens here. And who frequents this posh establishment.

  Preventing my eyes from familiarising themselves with my surroundings any more, I push on, begrudgingly knowing where I’ll find William’s office, but Miller grabs my upper arm, swinging me around to face him. ‘The bar,’ he says quietly.

  My bristling returns. It’s unwarranted and unnecessary, but I can’t help it. I hate that I know this place, probably better than Miller. ‘Which one?’ I retort, harsher than I mean to. ‘The Lounge Bar, the Music Bar, the Mingle Bar?’ He drops my arm and his hands slide into his trouser pockets as he regards me closely, clearly wondering if the sass is going to subside any time soon. I can’t confirm that. The farther into the Society I venture, the more I can see my sass getting harder to control. All of Miller’s words outside are suddenly forgotten. I can’t remember them. I need to remember them.

  ‘The Lounge Bar,’ he responds calmly, and signals to the left with a sweep of his arm. ‘After you.’ Miller is taking all the sass I’m throwing his way without retaliation. He’s not biting. He’s calm, cool, and aware of the irritation flaring within his sweet girl. On the longest gulp of air I’m ever likely to take, I yank some reason from God knows where and follow Miller’s gesturing arm.

  It’s busy but quiet. The Lounge Bar, just as I remember, is almost tranquil. Plush velvet armchairs litter the space, suited bodies reclined in many, all with tumblers of dark liquid grasped in their palms. The lighting is dim, the chatter quiet. It’s civilised. Respectful. It defies everything William’s underworld signifies. My nervous feet cross the threshold of the double doors. I can feel Miller behind me, my body’s natural reaction to his closeness ever present. I’m simmering but unable to enjoy the usual delicious sensations of internal sparks because of the exquisite surroundings that are torturing my wrought mind.

  A few heads turn as we make for the bar. They recognise Miller.