Unveiled

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  although it’s a given that he’s fully aware of my current turmoil, because he’s sharing it with me. Or most of it. I’m very quickly even more awake and alert as I recap on last night after he left. I could be pregnant. But something else more important blocks my worry. ‘Nan.’ I go to move from his hold, panicked.

  ‘She’s fine,’ he soothes, tightening his hold of me. ‘I’ve helped her downstairs to the couch and given her breakfast and her medication.’

  ‘You have? In your underwear?’ Images of Miller waiting on Nan in his boxers are suddenly all I can see. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall for that. I bet she milked him dry of patience while staring at his buns.

  ‘Yes.’ He drops a light kiss on the back of my head and inhales deeply, taking in a soothing hit of my hair’s scent. ‘You need rest, too, sweet girl. I came back and found you asleep on the stairs.’

  I begin prying myself from his arms but soon give up when his arms lock tighter. ‘Miller, I need to see Nan.’

  ‘I told you. She’s fine.’ He wrestles with me until he has me where he wants, straddling his kneeling lap. I take immense comfort in him fussing with my hair, and even more when I spot his wayward curl misbehaving, calling for me to give it some attention. I sigh and push it away from his forehead, cocking my head in wonder as I refresh my memory of all of Miller Hart’s beautiful traits. I go over them all – the ones I can see and the ones I can’t. ‘I need you more right now,’ he whispers, making my tracing fingers falter on his naked chest. ‘Thing,’ he demands quietly. ‘Please.’

  I seize him in my arms, cocooning him in all of me, my face seeking out the comfort of his neck as he locks his palm on my nape, holding me in place. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble pathetically. ‘I’m sorry for being so hateful.’

  ‘I’ve already forgiven you.’

  I let the few building tears trickle silently from my eyes and soak into his neck, remorse crippling me. He’s been nothing but loving, protective, and supportive, to both me and Nan. I’m inexcusable. ‘I love you.’

  He pulls me from his chest and takes his time wiping under my eyes. ‘And I love you.’ There’s no code or alternative words or actions. It’s delivered simply. ‘I can’t see you sad, Olivia. Where’s the sass I love so much?’

  I smile, thinking he really probably doesn’t mean that. ‘I’ve run out,’ I admit. Too much energy is required to be sassy or spunky or whatever he wants to call it. I feel zapped of life, the only scraps of it I have left reserved to care for Nan and ensure Miller knows how much I love him. Everyone else can go to hell.

  ‘No, you haven’t. You’ve temporarily lost it, that’s all. We need to relocate it.’ He gives me one of those lovely smiles, lighting my darkness slightly. ‘I need you strong by my side, Olivia.’

  My sorrow-soaked mind gives way to guilt. He’s being strong for me. He’s by my side through my own traumatic issues. I need to do the same for him. We’ve still yet to deal with Miller’s problems – my problem, too, because there is only us. But Gracie Taylor has added a whole new dimension to our screwed-up world. And now my late period.

  ‘I’m here for you,’ I affirm. ‘Always.’

  ‘I sometimes wonder.’

  My guilt multiplies by a million. Pull it together. That’s what I have to do. These problems aren’t going away, and no amount of ignoring them will make them disappear either. ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank me.’

  ‘I’ll always be grateful for you, Olivia Taylor. Eternally. You know that.’ He takes my hand and kisses my diamond.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Jolly good.’ I’m kissed chastely on my nose, my lips, one cheek, then the other, before he’s pecking his way down my neck. ‘Time for a shower.’

  ‘Would you do me the honour of joining me?’ I grip his hair in my hands, smiling when he pauses and slowly pulls from my throat.

  ‘Worship you in that tiny shower?’

  I nod, delighted at the playful twinkle springing into his sharp blue eyes.

  His lips pout. It’s the most beautiful sight. ‘How long would it take your grandmother to get from the lounge to the kitchen, find her most lethal carving knife, and make it upstairs?’

  I grin. ‘Under normal circumstances, a minute flat. Now, I guess a good ten minutes, if at all.’

  ‘Then we’re good to go.’

  I laugh as he scoops me into his arms and starts striding quickly for the door. I so need this. ‘You don’t want to disrespect Nan,’ I remind him.

  ‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’

  I smile, delighted. ‘We have to be quiet.’

  ‘Noted.’

  ‘You can’t make me scream your name.’

  ‘Noted.’

  ‘We have to listen for Nan.’

  ‘Noted.’ He virtually breaks down the bathroom door and kicks it closed behind him, defying every noted he’s just noted. I’m placed on my feet, the shower is flipped on, and with a lack of clothes on me and Miller’s yummy tight hips graced only in his yummy tight boxers, it’s a mere second before both of us are naked. ‘In.’ He cocks his head in signal, an element of urgency to his approach. I’m not in the least bit bothered. My desperation is growing with each painful second that he refrains from touching me. I step into the bath, under the hot spray, and wait.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  He’s just staring at me, his eyes journeying slowly up and down my dripping nakedness. But I don’t feel uncomfortable. Instead, I use the time to drink in every perfect piece of him, musing silently, thinking that perhaps he becomes more perfect with each day that passes. His obsessive habits are showing signs of abating, albeit sporadically, or maybe I’ve just become accustomed to things that were so glaringly obvious before. Or maybe we’re meeting somewhere in the middle and neither of us are noticing. Probably because we are so consumed in each other, and when we’re not, we’re tackling obstacles. But I do know one thing for sure. The only thing that’s indisputable.

  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.
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  ‘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.

  ‘I call it worshipping.’

  ‘So you really do worship the ground she walks on,’ Nan asks on a smile.

  ‘Oh, I really do.’

  I’m dying on the spot, praying for divine intervention to save me. Impossible. Both of them. ‘Please stop,’ I beg.

  ‘OK,’ they say in unison, grinning like a pair of idiots across the table at each other.

  ‘Good. I need to go to the supermarket.’

  ‘But I like doing the shopping,’ Nan whines, an episode of the sulks on the horizon. ‘You’ll get it all wrong.’

  ‘Then write me a list,’ I counter, solving the problem in an instant. ‘You’re not leaving this house.’

  ‘I’ll take you, Olivia.’ Miller reaches over and shifts the sugar bowl a fraction to the right, then the milk a tad to the left. ‘And it isn’t up for discussion,’ he adds, flicking me a warning look.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, not backing down. I don’t care what tone he uses or what looks he flashes. ‘You can stay and watch Nan.’

  ‘I need to go to Ice.’

  I look at him, knowing he doesn’t mean to actually do any work.

  ‘I don’t need watching, for the love of God!’ Nan squawks.

  ‘I beg to differ!’ I snap. It’s bad enough being rubbed up the wrong way by Miller. Nan can quit while she’s ahead.

  ‘She’s right, Mrs Taylor. You shouldn’t be alone.’

  I’m delighted when I see Miller flash Nan a warning look that matches the one he’s just aimed at me, and even more delighted when she doesn’t kick up a stink. ‘Fine,’ she mutters, ‘but you can’t keep me prisoner forever.’

  ‘Just until you’re feeling fit,’ I appease her. I show my appreciation for Miller’s support with a quick squeeze of his knee under the table, which he ignores, surprising me.

  ‘I’ll take you shopping,’ he says again, standing from the table and collecting some breakfast things.

  That appreciation vanishes in the blink of an eye. ‘Noooo, you’re staying with Nan.’

  ‘Noooo, I’m taking you to the supermarket,’ he bats back, unaffected by the warning that was rampant in my order and intended to be. ‘I’ve spoken to Gregory. He’ll be here soon, as will Ted.’

  I deflate in my chair. Nan snorts her annoyance but remains quiet, and Miller nods his approval at his own announcement. He’s got it all worked out. This isn’t good. I can’t buy a pregnancy test with Miller tailing me.

  Shit . . .

  After giving Gregory the rundown on Nan and ensuring all her pills are laid out so he doesn’t need to bother with instructions, I’m guided to Miller’s car by my nape and placed neatly in the passenger seat. He seems a little tetchy after taking a call while I spoke with Gregory, all signs of the easy-going man at the breakfast table gone. As ever, it’s like he was never with me in the first place and while the gaps in his signature aloofness are becoming more frequent, his usual habits are muscling their way back. I sense fiddling with the temperature controls won’t be disregarded today, so I let the window down instead. Miller puts the stereo on, killing the difficult silence, and I sit back and let Paul Weller keep me company. I call the house twice en route, each time hearing Nan in the background squawking something about being a whittle arse. She’ll just have to tolerate the fuss.

  I start forming a plan in my head, plotting and scheming trying to figure out how best to get a few moments alone in Tesco so I can buy what I need to either put my mind at rest or send it into a faster tailspin. There’s only one way.

  After Miller parks and we’ve collected a trolley, we get swallowed up in the chaos of Tesco. We make our way up and down the aisles, me armed with the list that Nan wrote, Miller looking all stressed. I can only conclude that the chaos of our surroundings is the cause. There are abandoned trollies everywhere and the shelves are a royal mess. I inwardly laugh, having a mental bet with myself that he’s fighting the urge to tidy all the shelves. But when his mobile rings from his inside pocket and he takes it out and scowls harder at the screen before rejecting the call, I think maybe it’s not just the pandemonium of Tesco that’s bothering him. I don’t ask who’s calling him because I don’t want to know, and, in fact, I’m still mentally plotting our separation.

  ‘I need to get Nan some bits from the toiletries aisle,’ I say, feigning casualness to within an inch of my life. ‘You take this and get the last few bits.’ I hand him the list that I’ve cunningly added some items to – items at the opposite end of the supermarket.

 
‘We’ll go together,’ he replies without hesitation, scuppering my plan.

  ‘It’ll be quicker if we separate,’ I say offhand. ‘I can see you hate being here.’ I tactically use his discomfort to my advantage and head off before he can come back at me, glimpsing over my shoulder to check he’s not in pursuit. I find him staring down at the list with the biggest scowl of all.

  Rounding the corner, I take off fast, looking up at the signs above the aisles to find what I’m looking for. It’s only a few moments of scurrying until I land in the correct aisle and I’m staring at box after box of pregnancy tests – all locked away in individual Perspex outer boxes – a stupid security measure. ‘Great,’ I grumble, reaching for the first that guarantees a rapid and accurate result. Flipping it over, I scan the print as I start to walk away, but gasp when I collide with something.