‘I have a request.’ Miller’s unexpected calm words fuel the after-effects of my breakdown, prompting the tears to redevelop and burst from my eyes. I keep my head where it is, mainly because I haven’t the strength to lift it, but also because I’m still too much of a coward to face him. ‘Olivia, it’s polite to look at me when I’m talking to you.’
I shake my head and remain in my hiding place, ashamed of myself.
‘Damn it,’ he quietly curses, and then I feel his palm on my nape. He doesn’t gently encourage me out. He yanks me, not bothering to be gentle. It doesn’t matter. I can feel nothing. He grabs each side of my face and jerks me forward, but I drop my eyes to the sliver of naked, blood-stained flesh peeking through his open shirt and waistcoat. ‘Don’t deprive me of that face, Olivia.’ He wrestles with my head until I lift my eyes and his sharp features are close enough to focus on. His lips are straight. His blue eyes are wild and bright, and the hollows in his cheeks are pulsing. ‘I have a fucking request,’ he grits. ‘And you’ll fucking fulfil it.’
A little sob escapes and my whole body sags in my kneeling position, but his hold of my head keeps me up. The few seconds before he speaks feels like an eternity. ‘You won’t ever stop fucking loving me, Olivia Taylor. Do you fucking hear me?’
I nod in his hold as he scans my wreck of a face and moves in closer, getting forehead to forehead with me. ‘Say it,’ he breathes. ‘Now.’
‘I won’t stop,’ I choke through a sob.
He nods against me and I feel his hands slide to my back and tug me forward. ‘Give me my thing.’ There’s no softness to his command, but the instant calm that descends as the heat of his body starts to blend with mine is all I need. Our bodies collide and we cling to each other like life itself could end if we let go.
It might.
The cracks in our existence are gaping wide open now. There’s no hiding from the cruel reality we need to face. The chains. Escaping them. Being on the brink of despair as we face our demons. I just hope we clear those cracks when we leap and don’t fall into the blackness.
Miller hushes me repeatedly as I shake in his arms, the tightness of his hold not reducing the vibrations in the slightest. ‘Don’t be sad,’ he begs, his voice now taking on a softer edge. ‘Please, don’t be sad.’ He pries my clawed hands from his back and holds them between us, searching my tear-stained face as I sniffle and judder.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I murmur feebly, dropping my eyes to my lap to escape his lovely face. ‘You’re right. I can’t cope with this.’
‘There is no you anymore, Olivia.’ His fingertips grip my chin and lift until I’m facing eyes full of determination. ‘There’s only us. We deal with this together.’
‘I feel like I know so much yet so little,’ I confess, my words broken and raspy. He’s shared so much with me, some voluntarily, some he was forced, but there are still so many blanks.
My perfect part-time gentleman inhales a weary breath and blinks slowly as he brings my hands to his mouth and pushes his lips to the back of each. ‘You possess every part of me, Olivia Taylor. For all of the wrongs I have done and all that I am yet to do, I’m asking for your mercy.’ His eyes sink into me beseechingly. I have forgiven him for all that I know, and I will forgive him for all that I don’t. The wrongs he has yet to do? ‘Only your love will see me through this hell.’
My bottom lip starts to quiver, the lump in my throat growing rapidly. ‘I’ll help you,’ I vow, flexing my hand in his grip until he releases me. I reach up, my movement a little disorientated, until I feel his rough cheek. ‘I trust you.’
He swallows hard and nods mildly. Determination slowly creeps onto his emotion-soaked face and into his telling eyes, bringing my detached, fraudulent gentleman back into the room. ‘Let me get you out of here.’ His body lifts fluidly to full height and he helps me to my feet. The change in position sends blood rushing to my head and I stagger a little. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ I answer, swaying on the spot.
‘You’re right,’ Miller says matter-of-factly, like I should know exactly what he’s talking about. I can’t frown my confusion because all of my focus is being used to stop myself face-planting to the floor. ‘Alcohol doesn’t suit you.’ My nape is taken, along with my arm, and I’m led on wobbly legs to the couch in Miller’s office. ‘Sit,’ he orders, helping me down. He kneels before me and shakes his head as he reaches for my ruined waves. His fingers comb through what’s left of my hair, the pain clear on his handsome face. ‘Still beautiful,’ he murmurs.