It’s only a few moments before glimmering blue eyes return to me.
‘Don’t make me ask again,’ I warn, and then take the longest inhale of breath when he strides towards me, conviction and a ton of pure, raw love overflowing from his mesmerising orbs. He lifts me up, squeezes me to his wet suit, and takes me dramatically. His palm slides to the back of my head to hold me in place and my legs part and find their way around his waist. It’s a no-holds-barred, passionate kiss – full of want, lust, adoration, and comfort, and it signifies everything I feel for Miller Hart.
Our wet lips slip across each other with ease, our tongues battle furiously but gently, and my palms encase his neck, my body pushing into his. I could kiss him for ever like this. The cold has been chased away by the heat of our mingling bodies, leaving no room for discomfort, just acres of space for serenity.
I have that serenity, and I know Miller does, too.
‘You taste even better in the rain,’ he says between our hectic tongues, not prepared to stop. ‘Jesus, f**king divine.’
‘Hmmm.’ I could never find any words to describe how he’s making me feel right now. There are none. So I show him by hardening my kiss and squeezing him tighter.
‘Savoured,’ he mumbles weakly. I hum again as he slows our kiss until our tongues are barely moving. ‘It turns out that I can worship you in Hyde Park.’ He pecks my lips and pushes my wet hair from my face.
‘Not to your full ability.’ I keep myself coiled around his drenched body. I’m not ready to let go yet.
‘I concur.’ He turns and starts an unhurried stride out of the park as the rain continues to beat down. ‘So I need to get finished at the club and get you home so I can show you my full ability.’
I nod and bury my face in his neck, letting him carry me back to the car.
If there is perfect beyond Miller’s perfect world, then this is it.
I’m squelching in the leather seat of Miller’s Mercedes, sensing a growing concern from beside me at the soggy state of his fine car. The dual temperature control displays a medium sixteen degrees, the right number to keep Miller calm, but the wrong number given how damn cold I am. I’m dying to turn the dial up, but mindful that I’m pushing Miller’s boundaries already – what with wet suits, picnics in Hyde Park, and unexpected shopping exhibitions. Turning that dial might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I shiver and sink further into my seat, catching Miller out of the corner of my eye sweeping his waves off his forehead.
Tracy Chapman coos about fast cars, which makes me smile as Miller is driving incredibly slowly. The air of calm and the serenity floating around our wet bodies is tangible. No words are spoken and they don’t need to be. Today has been better than I could ever have imagined, hiccups earlier in the day aside. Miller has worked through some tough issues, and not only has it filled me with the most incredible amount of pride, but it’s also enriched the feelings I have for him. And most satisfying of all, I know that Miller has stepped outside his perfect box and liked where he’s found himself. The fact that I am now freezing in my seat and dare not touch the temperature control of his swanky car is irrelevant.
‘Are you chilly?’ Miller’s concerned tone doesn’t grab my attention, but his question does. He’s surely not going to give me heat as well as a picnic, almost casual clothes, and a kiss in the rain?
‘I’m fine,’ I lie, forcing myself to stop shaking.
‘Olivia, you are far from fine.’ He reaches forward and rotates each dial in turn, ensuring they match, taking the car’s temperature to a toasty twenty-five degrees.
My elation soars and I reach over to catch a feel of his lovely stubble, all coarse and scratchy, but familiar and soothing. ‘Thank you.’
He pushes his cheek into my touch, then takes my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers before placing our joined hands in his lap and holding them there, choosing to drive one-handed.
I never want this day to end.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Tony.’ Miller nods in greeting, directing me past his bar manager by my neck and not seeming to notice the worried look on his face. He looks really worried, and while Miller appears fine with ignoring it, I’m not.
‘Livy?’ Tony says it like a question, like he’s surprised to see me. He once said Miller was happy in his own precise little world. But I know better. Miller wasn’t happy. He may have pretended to be, but I know – because he told me so himself – that he had a lovely time today.
It’s clear that Tony doesn’t know what to think of this soaking wet, dishevelled man before him. I don’t speak, just giving a small smile of acknowledgment as we disappear from view.