He fidgets and pulls at the T-shirt and kicks his feet out, uncomfortable with the hems of the jeans. ‘You look amazing, Olivia. I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’
I restrain my smirk, Miller’s agitation giving me the strength to do so. I need to win him over, not irritate him further, so I move in slowly, watching as he notices me nearing. He stops fiddling and follows my path until I’m looking up at him. ‘I beg to differ,’ I whisper, my eyes running all over his bristly face.
‘Why do you want me in these clothes?’
His question brings our eyes together. I know why, but I can’t articulate my answer so he’ll understand. He won’t get it, and I also run the risk of angering him. ‘Because . . . I . . .’ I stumble all over my words under his crowding frame. ‘I . . .’
‘I’m not wearing these clothes if the reason is simply to make you feel better about us or if you think it’ll change me.’ He slides a palm onto my shoulder and rubs soothing strokes into my tense muscles. ‘I’m not wearing these clothes if you think it’ll stop people interfering . . . looking . . . commenting.’ His other hand rests on my other shoulder, his arms braced, his head dipping to hold our eyes level. ‘It is me who is the unworthy one, Olivia. And you help me. Not the clothes. Why don’t you see that?’
‘I—’
‘I’m not finished,’ he cuts me off, firming up his grip and drilling into me with warning eyes. I’d be stupid to argue. His suit has gone, but this casual attire hasn’t chased away his authority or powerful presence. And I’m glad. I need that. ‘Olivia, take me as I am.’
‘I do.’ Guilt consumes me.
‘Then let me put my suit back on.’ He’s begging me with his absorbing blues, and for the first time ever, I realise that Miller’s suits aren’t just a mask; they are armour, too. He needs them. He feels safe in them. He feels in control in them. His perfect suits are a part of his perfect world and a perfect addition to my perfect Miller. I want him to keep them. I don’t think forcing him to wear jeans will lighten him up in the least bit, and I wonder whether I even want him to lose his uptight demeanour. I understand him. It’s of no consequence to me how he behaves in public, because for me, he’s worshipful. Loving. My finicky fine Miller. It’s me who’s the issue here. My hang-ups. I need to get a grip.
Nodding, I take the hem of his T-shirt and pull it over his head as he lifts his arms willingly. A mass of lean, cut flesh is revealed, drawing more attention from shoppers nearby, even the men, and I hand the crumpled T-shirt to the assistant, keeping my sorry eyes on Miller. ‘It’s not suitable,’ I murmur. Miller smiles at me – a grateful smile that yanks painfully at my selfish, fallen heart.
‘Thank you,’ he says softly, taking me in his arms and pressing me against his na**d chest. My cheek rests into a pec and I sigh, sliding my hands beneath his upper arms and holding him tightly.
‘Don’t ever thank me.’
‘I’ll always be thankful for you, Olivia Taylor.’ He mimics my words and kisses my forehead. ‘Always.’
‘And me you.’
‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. Now, would you like to remove these jeans?’
I let my gaze fall to his thighs, a stupid move because I’ve just been reminded of how incredible Miller looks in denim. ‘No, you go.’ I push him into the changing room, eager to deprive my eyes of the glorious vision, especially since it’s quite apparent that I won’t be seeing it again. ‘I’ll wait here.’
Happy with myself, I take a seat, feeling a million eyes on me. From every direction. But I don’t humour any of the onlookers and instead retrieve my phone from my bag . . . to be greeted with two missed calls and a text message from William. My body sags on an almighty groan. Facing interested stares is suddenly very appealing.
You’re maddening, Olivia. I’m sending a car for you this evening. 7 p.m. I presume you will be at Josephine’s. William.
My neck retracts, as if taking my eyes further from the screen will change what the message says. It doesn’t. Irritation consumes me and my thumb bashes over the touch screen automatically.
I’m busy.
There. He’ll send a car? Like hell he will, and I don’t plan on being there anyway. Which prompts me to send another message.
I won’t be there.
I don’t need the curtains twitching and Nan’s inquisitive nose pushed up against the glass. She’ll fly into meltdown if she sniffs William out. His response is instant.
Don’t push me, Olivia. We need to talk about your shadow.
I gasp, recalling his vow when he walked out of Miller’s apartment yesterday. How does he know? I spin my phone in my hand, thinking this is the ammo he needs to follow through on his threat. I’m not confirming it, despite my overwhelming need to know how he knows, and just as I reach that decision, my phone starts ringing. I tense and automatically stab at the Reject button before I send him a quick text, telling him I’ll call him later, hoping it’ll buy me some time. I phone Nan to tell her that my battery is dying and I’ll call her from Miller’s, earning a rant about pointless mobile telephones. Then I turn my phone off.
‘Olivia?’
I look up and feel all irritation and panic evaporate from my body at the sight of Miller restored to his normal, perfect, suit-adorned self. ‘My phone’s died,’ I tell him, tossing it carelessly into my bag and standing. ‘Lunch?’
‘Yes, let’s eat.’ My neck is grasped and we’re on our way without delay, leaving behind a casual outfit that I love but don’t care for now and a flurry of women reassessing Miller now that he’s changed. They still like what they see, which is a given. ‘Well, that’s half an hour of our lives together that we’ll never get back.’
I hum my agreement, trying not to let my mind wander too much, yet appreciating that no matter how much I pray, William Anderson isn’t going away, especially if he knows about my shadow.
‘It’s a good thing we’re no longer limited to one night.’
I gasp and twist my neck in his palm to see him. He’s staring blankly forward, not a hint of irony on his face. ‘I want more hours,’ I murmur, seeing blues full of recognition flick down to me.