He’s lying to me. But I can’t force him to share something that will be too painful for him. I’ve learned that now. Miller Hart’s dark past needs to remain in the dark, away from our light.
‘OK,’ I say, but I don’t mean it at all. I’m not OK, and neither is Miller. What I want to do is tell him to elaborate, but instinct is stopping me. The instinct that has guided me since the day I met this confounding man. I keep telling myself that, yet I wonder where I’d be had I not followed all of the natural reactions to him and responses to the situations he’s presented me with. I know where. Still dead. Lifeless. Pretending to be happy with my solitary existence. My life may have taken an about-face, been injected with drama to make up for the lack of it in recent years, but I won’t falter in my determination to help my love through his battle. I’m here for him.
I’ve discovered many dark things about Miller Hart, and deep down, I know there are more. More questions are rising. And the answers, whatever they may be, won’t make an iota of difference to how I feel about Miller Hart. It’s painful for him, which makes it painful for me, too. I don’t want to cause him more suffering, and forcing him to tell will do that. So curiosity can go screw itself. I ignore the niggling corner of my brain that’s pointing out that maybe, in fact, I don’t want to know.
‘I love your bones,’ I whisper in an attempt to distract us from the awkwardness of the moment. ‘I love your fucked-up, obsessive bones.’
A full beam breaks the serious expression on his face, revealing his dimple and sparkling blue eyes. ‘And my fucked-up, obsessive bones are deeply fascinated by you, too.’ He reaches up to feel my jaw. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘Not really. I’m used to wallops in the head these days.’
He winces, and I realise immediately that I’ve failed in my endeavour to lighten the mood.
‘Don’t say that.’
I’m about to apologise when the loud screech of Miller’s phone rings in the distance.
I’m removed from his lap and set neatly to the side, and he kisses my forehead as he rises before striding over to the table and scooping it up. ‘Miller Hart,’ he says with the usual detachment and coldness as his naked body paces towards the study. He has shut the door behind him every time he’s taken a call since we’ve been here, yet this time he leaves it open. I use the gesture as a sign and jump up, following his path until I’m hovering on the threshold, looking at a naked Miller reclined in the office chair, his fingertips working circles into his temple. He looks irritated and stressed, but as his eyes lift and find mine, all negative emotion falls away and is replaced with smiling, shimmering blues. I put my hand up and turn to leave.
‘One minute,’ he speaks into the phone abruptly and pulls it away, laying it on his bare chest. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Sure, I’ll leave you to work.’
He taps the phone lightly and thoughtfully on his chest, his eyes running slow trails up and down my naked body. ‘I don’t want you to leave me.’ His stare finds mine, and I sense a double meaning to his statement. He cocks his head, and I pad gingerly over to him, surprised by his demand, but not so surprised by the need blooming within me.
Miller looks up at me, a hint of a smile on his face, then takes my hand and kisses the top of my new ring. ‘Sit.’ He tugs me forward until I land on his naked lap, every muscle I possess tensing when his semi-erect cock wedges itself between my bum cheeks. I’m encouraged to recline, and my back finds his chest, my head nuzzled in the crook of his neck.
‘Continue,’ he orders down the phone.
I smile to myself and Miller’s ability to be so tender and sweet with me and then so obnoxious and curt to whoever is on the other end of the phone. A muscled arm snakes around my waist and holds on tight.
‘It’s Livy,’ he hisses. ‘I could be speaking with the fucking queen, but if Olivia needs me, then the queen will have to fucking wait.’
My face bunches in confusion, mixed with a little satisfaction, and I turn to look up at him. I want to ask who it is, but something halts me. It’s the muffled sound of a smooth, familiar, very accepting voice down the line.
William.
‘Glad we’ve cleared that up,’ Miller huffs, landing a chaste kiss on my lips before nudging my head back into the crook of his neck and shifting in his chair, pulling me even closer.
He falls silent and starts playing idly with a lock of my hair, twisting it repeatedly until it starts to pull at my scalp and I indicate my discomfort with a gentle nudge to his ribs. I can hear the mellow tones of William’s voice, yet can’t make out what’s being said, as Miller unravels the lock before starting to twist all over again.
‘Did you establish anything regarding that?’ Miller asks.
I know what they must be speaking of, but being here on his lap, listening to his even, detached tone, amplifies that curiosity. I should have stayed away from the study, but now my mind is racing, wondering what William might have found.
‘One minute,’ he breathes, and I see his hand holding the phone in my peripheral vision fall to the arm of the chair. My hair is released, probably leaving behind a mountain of knots, my cheek clasped in his hand and turned to face him. Staring deeply into my eyes, he clicks a button on his phone and blindly rests it on the desk, never leaving my eyes. He doesn’t even break the contact to check where it’s landed or to tweak it.
‘William, say hello to Olivia.’
I shift nervously on Miller’s lap, a million feelings drowning out the serenity I was feeling locked in Miller’s hold.