‘And does it still stand?’ I ask, trying so hard to appear confident and strong, when I’m crumbling on the inside, bracing myself for his answer.
‘It still stands.’ His voice is resolute, but his expression isn’t. That’s not enough for me to build my hopes on, though.
‘Then we’re done here.’ I turn on my Converse and push my defeated body through the door, meeting Nan as I do. ‘It’s a salesman,’ I say, not letting her pass me. My plan is never going to work, I know that. She invited him, and she knew the second the doorbell chimed who it was.
I put up little resistance when I’m barged from her path, letting her open the front door, where Miller is striding slowly away from the house. ‘Miller!’ she calls. ‘Wherever are you going?’
He turns and looks at me, and as much as I’m willing a threatening look to materialise on my face, it’s just not happening. We just stare at each other for the longest time before he gives Nan a small nod. ‘It was really very kind of you, Mrs Taylor, but—’
‘Oh no!’ Nan doesn’t give him the opportunity to make his excuses. She marches down the path, not in the least bit intimidated by his tall, powerful frame, and takes his elbow, leading him into the house. ‘I’ve prepared a blinding supper, and you’ll stay to eat it.’ Miller is pushed into the narrow hallway where, with three people, it’s all very cosy. ‘Livy will take your jacket.’ Nan leaves us and marches back to the kitchen, barking a short instruction at George as she enters.
‘I’ll leave if you want me to. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.’ He makes no move to drop the things from his hands and remove his jacket. ‘Your grandmother is quite a woman.’
‘She is,’ I answer quietly. ‘And you always make me feel uncomfortable.’
‘Come home with me and I’ll put some shorts on.’
My eyes widen at the thought of Miller bare-chested and barefoot. ‘That didn’t make me comfortable,’ I point out. He knows that.
‘What I did to you following the removal of my clothes did, though.’ That lock of hair slips down on cue, as if backing up his words, making them more suggestive.
I shift on the spot. ‘That won’t happen again.’
‘Don’t say things you don’t mean, Livy,’ he counters softly.
My eyes fly to his, and he moves in, the flowers that he’s holding touching the front of my tea dress. ‘You’re using my own grandmother against me,’ I breathe.
‘You leave me no choice.’ He dips and rests his lips over mine, sending a delicious warmth to my core to match the heat of his mouth on mine.
‘You’re not playing fair.’
‘I’ve never claimed to play by the rules, Livy. And anyway, all of my rules were obliterated the second I laid my hands on you.’
‘What rules?’
‘I’ve forgotten.’ He takes my mouth gently, pushing the flowers further into my chest, the cellophane encasing them crinkling loudly, but I’m too consumed to care whether the noise attracts the attention of my nosy nan. My senses are saturated, my blood is heated, and I’m reminded of the incredible feelings that Miller Hart draws from me. ‘Feel me,’ he moans against my mouth.
Without thought, my hand slowly moves down between our bodies, bypassing the flowers and Harrods bag, until I’m brushing my knuckles over the long, hard length of him. His deep groan emboldens me, my hand turning to feel, stroke and squeeze over the top of his trousers.
‘You do that,’ he growls. ‘And for as long as you do this to me, you’re obliged to remedy it.’
‘It wouldn’t happen if you didn’t see me,’ I gasp, biting at his lip, not bothered by his arrogant declaration.
‘Livy, I only have to think of you and I’m solid. Seeing you makes me ache. You’re coming home with me tonight, and I’m not taking no for an answer.’ His lips press harder to mine.
‘That woman was with you again.’
‘How many times do we have to go over this?’
‘Do you often go clothes shopping with female business associates?’ I ask around his unrelenting lips.
He pulls away, panting, his hair in disarray. Those blue eyes will be the death of me. ‘Why can’t you trust me on this?’
‘You’re too secretive,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t want you to have this hold over me.’
He leans in and kisses my forehead tenderly, lovingly. His words don’t match his actions. It’s so confusing to me. ‘It’s not a hold if you accept it, sweet girl.’
I’d be inconceivably stupid to trust this man. It’s not so much the woman; my conscience seems quite happy to overlook her. It’s my destiny. My heart. I’m falling too hard and too fast.