‘Neither I you,’ he murmurs, ‘but you should know that I’m forbidding you to ever cut it again.’ He takes the shampoo and squeezes some on my head.
‘I won’t,’ I assure him. I don’t think I’ll ever pick up any scissors again after what I’ve done, and I mean to Miller, not to my hair. His hands delve into my remaining locks and my eyes fall to the puncture wound on his shoulder.
‘I don’t just mean you.’
I’m suddenly frowning at his chest, but he turns me to face the wall so I’m unable to show him my confusion. ‘What do you mean?’ I ask as he works my hair into a lather.
‘Ever,’ he says short and sharp – no elaboration. I’m turned back and positioned under the spray so he can rinse.
‘Ever what?’
He doesn’t look at me, just continues with his task, unaffected by my perplexity. ‘I forbid you to ever have your hair cut again. By anyone.’
‘Ever?’ I blurt, shocked.
A straight face falls to mine. I know that face. He’s adamant. He’s adding my hair to his list of obsessive ways. He may have surrendered a few, but he’s going to make up for them with others . . . like my hair. ‘That’s what I said, isn’t it?’ He’s deadly serious. ‘I realise it might sound unreasonable, but that is what I want, and I’d like you to accept.’
I’m stunned by his arrogance, though I really shouldn’t be. I’ve encountered it plenty of times before. ‘You can’t demand what I do with my hair, Miller.’
‘Very well.’ He shrugs nonchalantly and sweeps some shampoo through his waves before rinsing himself. ‘Then I’ll have all of mine shaved off.’
My eyes widen at his threat, but I soon rein in my exasperation, knowing one thing and one thing for sure. ‘You love your hair as much as I do,’ I declare confidently . . . smugly.
Some conditioner is passed through the waves he loves so much, casually and quietly, while I remain propped up against the shower wall, matching his arrogance. He dips under the showerhead, washing it all out before sweeping it back neatly. My smile increases. He’s thinking hard about this, and when he’s taken a deep breath, he confronts my amusement. His hand meets the wall by my head, his face coming close to mine. ‘Are you prepared to risk that?’ His lips ghost over mine, and I turn my face away cockily.
‘Maybe.’
I feel the heat of his skin meet my breasts from his quiet laugh that has his chest expanding. ‘OK,’ he breathes into my ear. ‘I promise to shave my hair off if you so much as look at a hairdresser.’
I pull in a shocked gush of air and turn my face back to his, finding high, daring eyebrows. ‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Try me.’ His lips push to mine and I’m momentarily blindsided by his worshipful mouth. ‘There are many things I’ve changed since I’ve fallen in love with you, Olivia Taylor.’ He nibbles at my lip and my heart soars with happiness. ‘Don’t think I won’t fulfil that promise.’
He loves me. I didn’t pay much attention when he bellowed it at Sophia at Ice – either not believing it or not processing it. But now the words resonate through my core, filling me with warmth. ‘I don’t care,’ I announce. ‘You’ve just told me you love me. Do whatever you like.’
He laughs. He actually laughs, head thrown back, eyes glistening madly, body shaking uncontrollably. I’m rendered incapable of anything. Even breathing. I watch in silent wonder at my beautiful man falling apart before me, shaking my head, close to tears. ‘Olivia,’ he coughs, picking me up and cradling me in his strong arms. ‘I’m always telling you that I love you.’
‘No, you don’t,’ I object. ‘You say fascinated.’ We make it to Miller’s gigantic bed and I’m placed neatly on top. I begin wriggling my way beneath the sheets while he rids the area of cushions, placing them in the chest at the foot of the bed.
‘I may not use the words, but it’s there – every time I look at you.’ He slides into bed and settles his lean physique on top of me, spreading my thighs and making himself comfy between them. He looks down at me on the tiniest of smiles. ‘It’s written all over you,’ he whispers, dropping a kiss on my confused forehead. ‘I write it with my eyes on a different part of your body every time I look at you.’ He kisses his way down to my lips and his tongue plunges deep. The irony of my contentment after such a traumatic day is making my head spin. I’m being constantly tossed from utter elation to total despair. ‘And I’ve written it on you physically.’