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  ‘No.’ William doesn’t back off. ‘I’m suggesting you should never have touched what you can’t have. This will all go away if you do the right thing.’

  The right thing. Leave me. Go back to London and be the Special One.

  I can’t hold back the rage that embeds itself deeply within me as a result of William’s words, especially if he insists on being such an arsehole. ‘He can have me.’ My sass fights its way forward, and I wrestle with Miller’s hold, sitting myself up, getting as close to the phone as possible, just so he can hear me loud and clear. ‘Don’t you dare start with this again, William! Don’t make me stick a knife in and twist it!’

  ‘Olivia!’ Miller yanks me back to his chest, but my defiance injects strength into my slight frame and I bat him away, returning close to the phone. I can hear his exasperation loud and clear, not that it’ll stop me.

  ‘I know you’re not threatening violence, Olivia,’ William says with an edge of laughter in his tone.

  ‘Gracie Taylor.’ I say her name through clenched teeth and take no pleasure in the audible inhale of hurt breath that travels down the line. ‘Did I see her?’ I demand. Miller immediately pulls me back into his chest, and I start prying his hard grip from my limbs. ‘Was it her?’ I shout, sending my elbow shooting back into his ribs in my frenzy.

  ‘Fuck!’ Miller roars, losing his hold of me. I dive for the phone, trying to drink in some air in order to demand an answer, but Miller lunges forward and cuts the call before I get there.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I yell, fighting away his grappling hands as he tries to claim me.

  He wins. I’m yanked into his body and my flailing arms are locked in a harsh hold. ‘Calm down!’

  I’m being driven by pure anger, blinded by determination. ‘No!’ Strength surges through me and I heave upward, violently arching my back in an attempt to escape the clutches of an increasingly concerned Miller.

  ‘Calm. Down. Olivia,’ he warns on a quiet hiss in my ear once he’s secured me against his naked chest. Our anger is detectable through the combined heat of our skin. ‘Don’t make me ask you twice.’

  My breathing is heavy, my hair a mess of locks falling all over my red face. ‘Let go of me.’ I struggle to speak clearly through my self-inflicted exhaustion.

  Breathing deeply, he pushes his lips into my hair and releases me. I waste no time. I’m up from his lap and running away from my cold reality, slamming the door behind me and not slowing until I land in the en suite of the master bedroom. I slam that door, too. Then I stomp over to the egg-shaped tub and flip the taps on. The anger swirling through me is blocking any instructions from my mind to calm down. I need to calm down, but my hate for William and my mental torment over my mother won’t allow it. My hands find my hair and yank, the anger transforming into frustration. In an attempt to distract myself, I squeeze some toothpaste onto my brush and scrub my teeth. It’s a silly effort to rid my mouth of the sour aftertaste of her name on my tongue.

  After spending far more time brushing than is truly necessary, I spit and rinse, then look up to the mirror. My pale cheeks are rosy, a mixture of receding anger and the familiar flush of desire that’s ever present these days. But my navy eyes are disturbed. After the horrific events that saw us fleeing London, burying my ignorant head in a bottomless pit of sand has been easy. Now I’m being punished by relentless jolts of realism. ‘Lock the world outside and stay here with me forever,’ I whisper, losing myself in the reflection of my own eyes. My world slows around me as I brace my hands on the side on the sink, my chin dropping to my chest. Hopelessness is trickling into my overwrought mind. It’s unwelcome, but my exhausted mind and body are failing to locate any scrap of resolve amid my emotion. Everything seems impossible again.

  On a heavy sigh, I glance up and find the water nearing the top of the bath, but I don’t rush over. I haven’t the energy, so I slowly turn and drag my dejected body across the room to flip the taps off. Then I step in and sink into the water, resisting the urge to close my eyes and immerse my face. I remain still, staring vacantly across the large room, forcing my mind to blank out. It works to a certain degree. I concentrate of the pleasing tones of Miller’s voice, every loving word he’s ever spoken to me and every caress of my body. All of it. From the very start to now. And I hope and pray that there is so much more to come.

  A light tap on the bathroom door pulls my dry eyes across the room, and I blink repeatedly to moisten them up again. ‘Olivia?’ Miller’s voice is low and concerned. It makes me feel like shit. He doesn’t wait for a reply, instead gently pushing the door open and holding onto the handle while he leans on the doorframe and searches me out. He’s slipped some black boxers on and I can see a red blotch on his ribs, courtesy of me. When his crystal blues locate me, my guilt multiplies by a million. He tries to smile but ends up dropping his eyes to the floor. ‘I’m sorry.’

  His apology confuses me. ‘What are you sorry for?’

  ‘Everything.’ He doesn’t hesitate. ‘For letting you fall in love with me. For . . .’ He looks up at me and takes a slow pull of breath. ‘For being too fascinated by you to leave you alone.’

  A sad smile forms on my lips and I reach up to collect the shampoo before holding it up to him. ‘Will you do me the honour of washing my hair?’ He needs to lose himself in some worshipping, anything to steady our shaky world.

  ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure,’ he confirms, his long legs eating up the distance between us. Dropping to his knees at the edge of the bath, he takes the bottle and squirts some in his hands. I sit up and turn my back to him to give him easy access, then close my eyes when I feel his strong fingers push into my scalp. His slow motions and care with me install a glimmer of peace into my worried bones. It’s quiet for a while. My head is massaged, I’m gently ordered to rinse, and then he’s working conditioner through my waves. ‘I love your hair,’ he whispers, taking his time to feel it, combing through with his fingers as he hums.

  ‘It needs trimming,’ I reply, smiling to myself when his busy fingers halt abruptly.

  ‘Only trimming.’ He gathers the wet, slippery masses into a ponytail and twists forever until it’s all coiled around his fist. ‘And I want to come with you.’ Gently pulling back, he tilts and brings my face close to his.

  ‘You want to monitor the hairdresser?’ I ask, bemused, shifting in the water, so grateful for his intention to distract me.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ He isn’t kidding, either. I know it. I’m kissed lightly on the lips, little soft pecks over and over, until his hot tongue pushes into my mouth and sweeps through lovingly. I relax into his kiss, my eyes closing, my world stabilising. ‘You taste so good.’

  He breaks our kiss but keeps his face close as he unravels my hair thoughtfully until it’s falling down my back and half of the length is splaying in the water. It’s grown far too long, now skimming my lower back, but it looks like it’s staying that way. ‘Let’s get this conditioner out of your unruly locks.’ He caresses my cheek with his thumb for a few moments before his hands shift to my neck and encourage me to sink into the water. I slide down the tub and close my eyes as I disappear below the depths, my hearing becoming muffled.

  Holding my breath is easy. I’ve done it so many times since meeting Miller, when he’s stolen it with one of his worshipful kisses or brought me to climax by teasing me there. With my loss of vision and my hearing compromised, all I can do is feel him. Firm hands are working through my hair, rubbing away the conditioner and rubbing away my helplessness at the same time. But then his hand leaves my scalp and glides down the side of my face to my throat. Then from my throat to my chest. And from my chest onto a swollen mound. The very tip of my nipple tingles with anticipation. It’s circled deliciously, and then his touch is drifting across my stomach to my inner thigh. I tense beneath the water, fighting to hold still to preserve my breath. My darkness and silence are heightening my other senses, most significantly, feeling. His finger slips past my quivering
lips and slides deeply into me. My hands fly out of the water and clasp the sides of the tub, and I pull myself up fast, needing to grab every gratifying element of Miller worshipping me – namely, his perfect face filled with satisfaction.

  I gasp, urgently dragging air into my lungs, and Miller starts to pump lazily. ‘Hmmm.’ I rest my head back, letting it fall limply to the side so I can watch him pleasure me with his gifted fingers.

  ‘Good?’ His voice is rough and his eyes are darkening.

  I nod and bite down on my lip, contracting every internal muscle on my mission to seize the flutter of tingles in the pit of my stomach. But I lose my concentration when he pushes his thumb onto my clitoris and begins to work precise, torturous circles into the sensitive nub. ‘So good,’ I breathe, beginning to pant, my pleasure only multiplying when his lips part and he shifts his position by the side of the tub to get better leverage. Withdrawing slowly, he locks eyes with mine and pushes forward with nothing but satisfaction and victory gushing from every part of him. My body starts to shake. ‘Miller, please,’ I beg, starting the pointless shaking of my head in despair. ‘Please, make it happen.’

  My demand doesn’t go ignored. He’s as desperate as I am to drown out the misery of our time in the study. He leans over the bath, maintaining his deep drives as he clashes our mouths together and kisses me to climax. I bite down on his bottom lip when my orgasm takes hold, probably causing him pain with the pressure of my teeth sinking in, but it doesn’t stop him and his determination to fix our spat. I’m being attacked by unforgiving pangs of pleasure, over and over, again and again. My body is shaking violently, making the water splash around me, until I lose my strength and my body goes limp in the water. Now I’m exhausted for a whole different reason and it’s far more appealing than my exhaustion of moments ago.

  ‘Thank you,’ I splutter through my wheezing breaths, forcing my lids to keep open.

  ‘Never thank me, Olivia Taylor.’

  My breathing is heavy and laboured, my body absorbing the after-effects of my satisfying explosion. ‘I’m sorry for hurting you.’

  He smiles. It’s only a small smile, but any glimpse of the beautiful sight is welcome. It’s also needed more and more with each passing day. Drawing breath, he slides his fingers out of me and traces over my skin until he’s at my cheek. I know what he’s going to say. ‘You can’t hurt me physically, Olivia.’

  Nodding my acceptance, I allow him to help me out of the bath and wrap me in a towel. He takes another from the nearby shelf and starts working it through my hair, ridding it of the excess water.

  ‘Let’s dry these unmanageable waves.’ He takes up position on my nape and leads me to the bed, gesturing me to sit on the end, which I do without complaint, knowing I’m about to have Miller’s hands working through my hair while he dries it. The hairdryer is collected from the drawer and he plugs it into a socket, then settles behind me in no time, a leg on either side of me, completely cocooning me with his body. The rush of noise won’t allow for conversation, which I’m quite content with. I just relax, close my eyes, and relish in the feel of him massaging my scalp as he blasts my hair with the dryer. I also smile when I imagine the look of fulfilment on his face.

  All too soon, the noise dies and Miller is moving in, sinking his face into my fresh hair and locking his arms tightly around my waist. ‘You were harsh, Olivia,’ he says quietly, almost cautiously. I hate his need to voice this, even if he’s entitled to, but I love his need to do it gently.

  ‘I’ve apologised.’

  ‘You haven’t apologised to William.’

  I solidify in his hold. ‘Since when did you become a William Anderson fan?’

  I’m nudged in the thigh with his leg. It’s a silent warning to rein in my sass. ‘He’s trying to help us. I need information and I can’t get it while I’m here in New York.’

  ‘What information?’

  ‘It’s not your concern.’

  My jaw tenses, my eyes closing to gather my patience. ‘You are my concern,’ I say simply, breaking out of Miller’s hold and ignoring his audible exhale of weary breath. He’s trying to keep his patience, too. I don’t care. I grab my hairbrush from the bedside table and leave Miller falling to his back on a quiet curse. My face screws up in annoyance as I stomp into the lounge area, all but throwing myself down to the couch. Taking the brush to my hair, I begin to yank it through the tangles, like in a silly fit of revenge I’m deliberately trying to harm one of Miller’s favourite things.

  I slip back into despondency, continuously tugging the brush through my waves and getting a sick satisfaction from the discomfort it causes. The sharp stabs of pain are hogging my attention, therefore preventing me from thinking. I even manage to ignore the mild buzz under my skin, working its way deeper with each second that passes. He’s close by, but I don’t seek him out, instead dead set on ripping my hair from my head.

  ‘Hey!’ He halts my hand in its destructive tactics and holds it steady before prying the brush from my clawed fingers. ‘You know I have an appreciation for my possessions,’ he rumbles, swinging his legs behind me and pulling my hair over my shoulders. His words, however arrogant they may be, go some way to bringing me around. ‘This is part of my possession. Don’t abuse it.’ The soft bristles of the brush meet my scalp and slowly drag through to the ends of my tresses as we’re joined by the Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows”.

  Miller’s temper refuses to make an appearance, his introduction of such a merry and hard-hitting track emphasising that, leaving my grumpy arse to be grumpy alone. An unreasonable part of me was hoping to spike a bit of that temper so I’d have something to bounce off. ‘Why did you hang up on William?’

  ‘Because it got out of hand, Olivia. You’re giving me a run for my money in the crazy department. I’m sending you over the edge.’ There’s despair in his tone. Guilt. Reluctantly, I nod, silently accepting that he’s right. It did get out of hand. And he really is sending me over the edge. ‘You mentioned Charlie. Who is he?’

  He takes a deep breath before he begins. I hold mine.

  ‘An immoral bastard.’

  That’s it. That’s all he says, and my next question, despite knowing the answer, tumbles past my lips as the stored air releases. ‘You’re answerable to him?’

  There’s an uncomfortable silence and I brace myself for the reply that I know is coming. ‘Yes, I am.’

  My head begins to pound mildly with the building of all of those questions I’ve tossed aside too easily. Miller is answerable to a man named Charlie. I can only imagine what type of character he is if Miller fears him. ‘He’ll hurt you?’

  ‘I make a lot of money for him, Olivia. Don’t think I’m afraid of him. I’m not.’

  ‘Then why did we run?’

  ‘Because I need time to breathe – to think about the best way to handle this. I told you before, it’s not as easy as just quitting. I asked you to trust me while I figured this out.’

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘William has bought me some time.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He told Charlie that he and I had crossed. That he was looking for me.’

  My brow meets in the middle. ‘William told Charlie you pissed him off?’

  ‘He had to justify why he was in my flat. William and Charlie aren’t exactly pals, and neither are William and I. You might have guessed.’ He’s being ironic, and I huff my acknowledgement. ‘Charlie mustn’t know about my association with William. It’ll give William a headache. I don’t like him, but I wouldn’t wish a pissed off Charlie on him, no matter how capable he is of taking care of himself.’

  My poor mind spirals into meltdown again. ‘Where does that leave us?’ My voice is hardly decipherable through my fear of what the answer might be.

  ‘Anderson thinks it’s best if I return to London. I disagree.’

  I sag, relieved. I’m not going back to London if he has to hide me, if he has to continue entertaining these women until he finds an
out.

  He squeezes me reassuringly, like he knows what I’m thinking. ‘I’m going nowhere until I’m certain there’s no danger to you.’

  Danger? ‘Do you know who followed me?’

  The brief silence that falls and screams as a result of my question doesn’t curb my growing trepidation. He just looks at me as the gravity of our situation grips me in its vicious claws. ‘Was it Charlie?’

  He nods slowly and the ground tumbles away beneath me. ‘He knows you are why I quit.’

  He must feel the panic flaring because he drops the brush and turns me around, helping to make me comfy on his lap. I’m locked in his thing, but today it doesn’t make me feel better. ‘Shhh,’ he soothes me pointlessly. ‘Trust me to deal with this.’

  ‘What other option do I have?’ I ask. This isn’t a multiple-choice quiz. There is only one answer.

  I have no choice.

  Chapter 5

  Miller spent the rest of the day humouring me, riding the open-top hop-on-hop-off tour bus around New York City. He smiled fondly when I ignored the tour guide, choosing to give him my own rundown of the sights we saw. He listened with interest and even asked me questions that I was quick to answer. He was relaxed when we hopped off to take a wander, and he was willing when I dragged him into a typical deli. The fast pace in which everything is carried out here was a little intimidating when we first arrived, but I’m getting to grips with it now. I ordered fast and paid faster. Then we walked and ate, something else new to Miller. He was awkward but didn’t complain. I was delighted but restrained all evidence, like this is us every day.

  The early morning drama, coupled with our hours of exploring, left me physically unable to hold myself up by the time we make it back to the penthouse. Facing twelve flights of stairs nearly finishes me off, and rather than confronting his fear and utilising the lift, he scoops me up and takes the stairs with my exhausted body draped across his arms. I enjoy the closeness, as usual, only just mustering the energy to cling to him. I can still feel and smell, even if my heavy eyes refuse to remain open. His firmness against me and his signature scent drifting into my nose takes me off to a dreamland to rival the best of dreams.

  ‘I’d love to bury myself inside you right now,’ he murmurs, his low, sex-filled timbre pulling my lids open as he lowers me to the bed.

  ‘OK.’ My agreement is quick but sleepy. My green Converse are pulled from each foot and set neatly to the side. I only know it’s neatly because of the time it takes for him to return to undressing