Unveiled(16)

I don’t know what to do. I’m still sitting away from him, my hand still clenching my jaw, and now my mind is sprinting. Flashbacks are stamping all over my mind. He’s let me take him in my mouth once. It was brief, and he didn’t come. He moaned his pleasure, assisted me, guided me, but quickly withdrew. The other times I’ve ventured into that area with my mouth, I’ve been intercepted. He let me work him with my hand in his office once, and I remember him clarifying that it should be only with my hand. And I also remember him telling me that he doesn’t touch himself privately.

Why?

He reaches and grabs a tissue from the box on the nearby table, then sets about frantically wiping himself up.

“Miller?” I say quietly, breaking into the sounds of his rushed breath and mad actions. I can’t close the distance, not until he registers I’m here. “Miller, look at me.”

His arms drop, but his eyes dart everywhere on my body, except to my face.

“Miller, please look at me.” I inch forward a little, cautious, desperate to comfort him when he so obviously needs it. “Please.” I wait, impatient, yet knowing I have to approach this carefully. “I beg you.”

Tortured blues blink slowly and eventually reopen, seeping into the deepest part of my heart. His head begins to shake. “I’m so sorry.” He almost chokes, his palm wrapping around his throat, like he’s struggling to breathe. “I’ve hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” I counter, even though my jaw feels as though it needs cracking back into place. I release my hold of it and edge my way closer to him, slowly crawling onto his lap. “I’m fine,” I repeat, sinking my face into his damp neck, relieved when I feel him embrace the comfort I’m offering. “You okay?”

He lets out a short spurt of breath, almost laughing. “I’m not sure what happened.”

My brow wrinkles, realizing in an instant that he’s going to evade any questions I pose. “You can tell me,” I press.

The swift detachment of my chest from his and his eyes boring into mine make me feel small and useless. His impassive face isn’t helping either. “Tell you what?”

My shoulders jump up on a little shrug. “Why such a violent reaction?” I’m uncomfortable under the intensity of him watching me. I’m not sure why when I’ve been the sole focus of this penetrating gaze since I’ve met him.

“I’m sorry.” His eyes soften and are quickly laced with concern as he directs them to my jaw. “You startled me, Olivia. Nothing more.” A smooth palm runs the length of my cheek, then circles gently.

He’s lying to me. But I can’t force him to share something that will be too painful for him. I’ve learned that now. Miller Hart’s dark past needs to remain in the dark, away from our light.

“Okay,” I say, but I don’t mean it at all. I’m not okay, and neither is Miller. What I want to do is tell him to elaborate, but instinct is stopping me. The instinct that has guided me since the day I met this confounding man. I keep telling myself that, yet I wonder where I’d be had I not followed all of the natural reactions to him and responses to the situations he’s presented me with. I know where. Still dead. Lifeless. Pretending to be happy with my solitary existence. My life may have taken an about-face, been injected with drama to make up for the lack of it in recent years, but I won’t falter in my determination to help my love through his battle. I’m here for him.

I’ve discovered many dark things about Miller Hart, and deep down, I know there are more. More questions are rising. And the answers, whatever they may be, won’t make an iota of difference to how I feel about Miller Hart. It’s painful for him, which makes it painful for me, too. I don’t want to cause him more suffering, and forcing him to tell will do that. So curiosity can go screw itself. I ignore the niggling corner of my brain that’s pointing out that maybe, in fact, I don’t want to know.

“I love your bones,” I whisper in an attempt to distract us from the awkwardness of the moment. “I love your fucked-up, obsessive bones.”

A full beam breaks the serious expression on his face, revealing his dimple and sparkling blue eyes. “And my fucked-up, obsessive bones are deeply fascinated by you, too.” He reaches up to feel my jaw. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really. I’m used to wallops in the head these days.”

He winces, and I realize immediately that I’ve failed in my endeavor to lighten the mood.

“Don’t say that.”

I’m about to apologize when the loud screech of Miller’s phone rings in the distance.