Unveiled(82)

“Perfect,” she replies in an instant, and nudges George on his way. “Let’s make some tea.”

Everyone jumps back into action and follows Nan and George toward the house, but I quickly take over the lead so I can open the front door, allowing them all to pass as I hold it open. The deep inhale that she takes as she’s helped over the threshold and absorbs the familiarity of her home fills me with bliss that could rival the wonderful place that Miller takes me to when I’m the sole focus of his attention. And that’s some mighty blissful place. Having her home, seeing and hearing her sass, it’s all stamping out other more challenging matters that I’m currently doing anything to avoid dealing with.

Gregory wanders in, giving me a cheeky wink that escalates my happiness, followed by Miller, who takes over my hold of the door and nods for me to continue. “Such a gentleman,” I tease, turning to see Nan now guiding George to the kitchen at the back of the house, when she should be settling on the couch or maybe even going to bed. This is going to be hard work. She’s impossible! On a roll of my eyes, I make chase, set on nailing down a few rules, but a sharp slap of my arse stops me dead in my tracks. The sting is instant, and I reach to rub the soreness away as I whirl around, finding Miller pushing the door closed.

“Ouch!” Ouch? I have no other words. Miller Hart—my man whose manners put royalty to shame, just slapped my arse? Not patted. Slapped. And a stinger of a slap, too.

A perfectly straight face slowly turns to me, and he inhales as he smoothes down his suit, taking his usual ridiculous time and care, while I remain totally dumbfounded before him, waiting for… something… anything.

“Give me something!” I blurt out, still rubbing at my backside.

He finishes up perfecting his perfect suit, then sweeps his perfect hair from the goddamn perfect face. His eyes darken. My legs cross in my standing position. “Another one?” he asks casually, a glint of mischief in his beautiful eyes.

I take a deep breath and hold it, biting at my bottom lip furiously. What’s gotten into him? Is Nan rubbing off on him?

“What I’d actually like to do is sink my teeth into that gorgeous, cute arse.”

All breath leaves my lungs, and sexual anticipation devours me. The bastard. He has no intention whatsoever of finishing what he’s started. But that doesn’t zap my craving or my need. Damn him!

He nears, slowly, as though he’s on the prowl, my eyes following him until he’s breathing down on me. “Sweet Nan isn’t in any fit state to be brandishing a carving knife.” He wiggles a suggestive eyebrow. It’s probably the most unlike-Miller action of all the unlike-Miller actions I’ve experienced as our relationship has grown. I can’t help myself. I fall to pieces before him, but he doesn’t recoil in offense like I expect him to. He starts laughing, too, and while my desperate desire for him has faded somewhat, the overwhelming happiness coursing through me is a good compromise.

“Don’t be so sure.” I chuckle as he takes my waist and turns me in his arms, starting to guide me down the hall with his chin resting on my shoulder. “I think her sass has multiplied as a result of all that medication.”

He pushes his mouth to my ear. It has me closing my eyes and soaking up every delicious piece of him touching me. “I concur,” he whispers, nibbling at my lobe.

I don’t need to fight the flames of desire from my veins because they turn to flames of madness the moment we fall into the kitchen and I catch Nan filling the kettle at the sink. “Nan!”

“I tried!” George gasps, throwing exasperated arms into the air as he sits. “She’s having none of it!”

“Me too,” Gregory interjects, just to put me firmly in the picture, his arse dropping to a chair at the kitchen table. He looks over at me, shaking his head. “I’m not up for a verbal beatdown. I’ve had enough physical ones.”

Guilt plagues me for a split second as a result of my best friend’s curt quip, before I’m reminded of my grievance when the kettle clatters against the edge of the sink. “For God’s sake!” I shout, zooming across the kitchen when Nan totters slightly. Miller’s in quick pursuit, and I hear the scraping of two chairs, indicating Gregory’s and George’s quick movements. “Why can’t you just listen?” I yell, anger and worry all mixing together, making me shake as I hold her.

“Stop fussing!” she barks, trying to bat my grappling hands away. “I’m no invalid!”

It takes every modicum of strength not to scream my frustration at her, and I turn my helpless eyes to Miller, surprised to see annoyance rife on his lovely face. His lips straighten, which would usually be cause for concern, but right now I’m silently willing him to help rein in my stubborn grandmother.