‘Oh, it is,’ Bethany purrs. The rigidity that dominates Miller’s entire being is instant. ‘Hope to see you soon.’
I’m pushed away fast, both of us silent, the tension palpable. Always a pleasure. I bristle on the inside and out. We round a corner, arriving at the men’s shoe department, and Miller immediately grabs the first pair in sight and presents them to me. I don’t look. Bethany has undone all of our progress this morning. ‘These?’ He’s desperately trying to divert me. It won’t work. The sass I was about to hit that woman with is now bubbling, a bit of anger mixing in for good measure, and there’s only one other person to release it on.
I bat the shoes away. ‘No.’
He recoils, eyes wide and perfect lips slightly agape. ‘I beg your pardon?’
My eyes narrow into angry slits. ‘Don’t start with the begging,’ I warn. ‘She was a client. Could she be following me?’
‘No.’ He almost laughs.
‘Why didn’t you just let me introduce myself? And why didn’t you put her straight?’
Miller places the shoe carefully back onto the display stand and even tweaks the damn thing into position before stepping into me thoughtfully. My body’s response is irritating and unwanted, but a given. ‘I’ve told you before, I don’t want anyone interfering, so the fewer people who know, the better.’ The pad of his index finger brings my tense chin up to his dark stubbled face. I can see annoyance hovering on the edges of his beauty. ‘When I say there is only us – no me or you – I also mean no them.’
However tempting an existence with only me and Miller is, it’s also impossible. ‘How many are there?’ I ask. I need to know how many of them I have to face. I need a tick sheet, something to mark them all off as I’m confronted with them. How many will predict his next move? How many will follow me?
‘It’s of no importance’ – he slides his palm over my shoulder and starts massaging some calm into me – ‘because now there is only my sweet girl.’ His sincerity creeps into me, chasing my doubts away.
Leave it.
Gathering myself, I find no words in reply, so I grab a boot from a nearby table. ‘These,’ I announce, not giving Miller the chance to refuse and handing it straight to an assistant instead.
She smiles, her back straightening when she captures her first look of Miller. ‘Yes, madam. Size?’ She keeps her greedy eyes on him, unwittingly goading me. I’d love to tell her what size, but I’m devastated to have to turn to Miller to ask.
‘Eleven,’ he says quietly, regarding me closely. I hate the inward gasp of delight that emanates from the sales assistant, and I hate myself for rising to her clear interest.
I step in front of Miller and turn annoyed eyes onto her. ‘An eleven,’ I confirm, nodding at the shoe. ‘And it’s true what they say.’ I’m stunned by my blatant suggestion, and Miller’s shocked cough behind me tells me he is, too. But I don’t care. Today has been far from quality time, and all the interference is beginning to piss me off.
‘Certainly!’ The shop assistant jumps at the decibel level of her own voice, avoiding my eyes and fighting a furious blush. ‘Please, take a seat. I’ll be right back.’ She’s off without delay, no swaying arse or coy look over her shoulder in sight. I grin to myself, getting a satisfied thrill from the discomfort I’ve caused while making a mental promise to maintain this sass.
‘I have a request.’ Miller’s whisper in my ear wipes my smugness clean from my face. I don’t want to confront him, but I’m given little choice when my shoulders are clasped and I’m turned in his hold. I brace myself, knowing what I’ll find. I’m right. He’s expressionless with a familiar hint of disapproval in his eyes.
‘What?’ All satisfaction has been drawn from my body by the condemnation leaking from Miller in droves. I’ve overstepped the mark.
His hands slide into his pockets. ‘What’s true and who says it?’
My lips stretch to the point of ripping. ‘You know what and who.’
‘Elaborate,’ he orders, not returning my delight.
It makes me grin harder. ‘In Harrods?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well’ – I shift and quickly scan our surroundings, seeing too many shoppers in close proximity to speak of such a thing – ‘I’ll tell you later.’ He’s doing this on purpose. He knows.
‘No.’ He moves in, bringing his chest to mine, breathing down on me. ‘I’d like to know now. I feel in the dark.’ If he’s struggling to maintain his seriousness, then he’s not showing it. He’s perfectly composed, even grave.
‘You’re playing.’ I step back, but he’s having none of it and closes the small space that I’ve created.
‘Tell me.’
Damn him. I search deep for my sass and piece together an explanation on an embarrassed whisper. ‘Feet and a male’s’ – I cough – ‘manhood.’
‘What about them?’
‘Miller!’ I fidget, feeling my cheeks heat under the pressure.