Unveiled(45)

“He’s mine now.” I pry Miller’s hand from my arm and step forward. “Body and soul, mine.” I ignore the pang of trepidation that arises as a result of the mild doubt Cassie is blatantly trying to conceal. I’m Miller’s light, but in the same breath, I comprehend fully that he is a certain kind of darkness to me. But it’s irrelevant. There is no me or him; there is only us. “Do you understand?” She stares at me, and Miller remains quiet in the background, allowing me to have my say.

“I understand.”

I hold her stare for an age, not willing to be the one who backs down. I don’t blink either. Eventually, it’s Cassie who drops her gaze, and with that silent submission, I turn on my bare feet and leave them on the doorstep behind me.

I’ve nearly made it to the top of the stairs when I hear the front door close. “Olivia.” His placid call of my name tears at my heartstrings and I turn, keeping a steadying grip on the banister. “She needs out, too. I’m not leaving her behind. We’ve been stuck in this world together; we’ll be leaving together.”

“Does she want out?”

“Yes,” he affirms as he steps forward. “I can’t see you sad.”

I shake my head. “Impossible.”

“I’ve shut the door. That’s it. It’s just us in here now.”

“But the world is still outside, Miller,” I say quietly. “And we need to open that door and face it.” I escape, leaving him downstairs in turmoil.

He needs his thing as much as I do, and I hate myself for depriving us both of it.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


Miller didn’t deprive us of our thing. He joined me in bed within minutes and moved in close. I wanted to deny him, to hurt him for hurting me—even if he didn’t do it directly. But I didn’t move away from his delicious heat, my own need for solace outweighing the need to punish him.

He remained wrapped around my whole body the entire night, limiting my ability to wriggle and fidget, so we woke in the exact same position come morning. We didn’t speak a word while we lay there as the sun rose. I knew he was awake because my hair was being twisted and his lips were pressing into my neck. Then his fingers drifted down my thigh and found me ready and willing for some worshipping. I was taken from behind, our bodies spooned, and there was still no murmur of words, just consistent labored breathing. It was peaceful. It was calm. And we both came in unison on breathy gasps.

I was hugged fiercely while Miller bit into my shoulder, jerking within me, then released and pushed to my back before he settled on me. He still didn’t speak, and neither did I. My hair was swept from my face, and our burning gazes held for an eternity. I think Miller said more through that intense look than he ever could have with words. Not even the elusive I love you would have told me what I saw in his eyes.

I was captivated.

I was under his potent spell.

He was speaking to me.

After ghosting his lips delicately over mine for a few moments, he peeled himself away from me and went for a shower while I tangled myself in the sheets, thoughtful. His good-bye was a tender kiss in my hair and a drag of his thumb across my bottom lip. Then my phone was swiped from the bedside table, and he played with it for a while before placing it in my hand and kissing each of my eyelids before he left. I didn’t question him, letting him leave before I glanced down to find my Internet open on YouTube and Jasmine Thompson on the screen. I pressed Play and listened carefully while she sang “Ain’t Nobody” to me. I lay there for a long time after she’d finished and the room fell back into silence. After finally convincing myself to get up, I showered and spent the morning cleaning the house, listening to the song on repeat.

Then I went to see Nan. I didn’t protest when I found Ted outside. I didn’t complain when he shadowed me all day. I didn’t bite William’s head off when I found him leaving the hospital on my arrival. I didn’t retaliate when Gregory gave me another ticking off for implicating him in my crimes. And I didn’t ignore any of Miller’s text messages. But I did sag under the wave of disappointment when the consultant visited Nan and told her that she wasn’t being discharged until the next day—something to do with sending her home with the right medication. She, of course, kicked up a stink, but not wanting to bear the brunt of a Nan-style tongue-lashing, I kept quiet the whole time.

Now I’m home, it’s past nine, I’m sitting at the table in the kitchen, and I’m longing for the familiar scent of a hearty, stodgy meal. I can hear the low hum of the television from the lounge, where Ted has set up base, and I’ve heard the frequent sound of his mobile phone before he answers promptly and speaks in a low whisper, no doubt assuring either William or Miller that I’m here and I’m fine. I’ve made him endless cups of tea and chatted idly about nothing in particular. I even gently broached the subject of my mother again and got nothing, only a sideways glance and Ted’s observation that I look just like her. He’s told me nothing that I didn’t already know.