Chapter Twenty
I look up at the posh windows of Harrods, remembering my last visit here with Nan. I remember Cassie. And I remember a pink silk tie cascading down Miller’s chest. All are things I’d like to forget, and I groan my annoyance at the reminders. But I’m ignored, and Miller slips from the car and rounds it to collect me. He opens the door and offers his hand, and I let my eyes slowly climb up his body until my exasperated gaze settles on his contented one. He flashes me an expectant look as his hand thrusts forward in prompt. ‘Chop-chop.’
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I say coolly, ignoring his demand for my hand. ‘Let’s get something to eat.’ I may win with this diversion because with all of the palaver at the previous shop, Miller hasn’t fulfilled his insistence for me to eat yet. And I can think of nothing worse than assisting Miller in buying more masks.
‘We’ll eat soon.’ My hand is claimed and I’m pulled from the car before he transfers his hold to my nape. ‘I don’t plan on this taking long.’
Optimism gushes into my unenthusiastic mind as I’m led into the store, where I immediately feel overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle and flurry of activity. ‘It’s so busy,’ I moan, following Miller’s purposeful strides. My gripe is brushed off as we weave through the masses of shoppers, mostly tourists.
‘You wanted to shop,’ Miller reminds me, coming to a stop at the men’s fragrance counter.
‘Would you like any help, sir?’ a painted lady asks, smiling brightly. She’s definitely checking him out. It makes me even grumpier.
‘Tom Ford, original,’ Miller orders shortly.
‘Certainly.’ She indicates the shelf behind her. ‘Would sir like the fifty or the hundred millilitres?’
‘Hundred.’
‘Would you like a tester?’
‘No.’
‘I would,’ I cut in, moving closer to the counter. ‘Please.’ I smile and watch her eyebrows rise in surprise before she spritzes some onto a card and hands it to me. ‘Thank you.’
‘Most welcome.’
I hold the card to my nose and sniff. And very nearly die of pleasure. It’s like Miller has been bottled. ‘Hmmm.’ My eyes close and I keep the card to my nose. Heaven.
‘Good?’ he whispers in my ear, his closeness adding to my delighted sense of smell.
‘Out of this world,’ I say quietly. ‘It smells just like you.’
‘Or I smell like that,’ Miller corrects me as he hands a credit card to the women, whose eyes are now bouncing back and forth between us. She runs the transaction through and smiles as she hands the bag over to me. It’s a fake smile.
‘Thank you.’ I accept it, finally relenting and removing the fragranced card from my nose, popping it in the bag. Then I claim Miller’s hand. ‘Have a good day.’
He leads me away to the escalators, Miller choosing to walk the stairs instead of letting them carry us to the top.
We leave the escalator and Miller fights our way through more people, guiding us onto another set of stairs, and then through more people and departments.
I’m all disorientated, the buzz of activity and the twists and turns through the giant store sending me dizzy. I’m just following Miller’s lead, gazing around blankly while he strides on with purpose, clearly knowing exactly where he wants to be. This doesn’t sit well. If I see a suit, I might rip it up.
‘Here we are.’ He stops on the threshold of an area designated for men and drops my grasp, sliding his hands into his pockets. My eyes widen at the array of clothes before me. Heaps of them. Things are jumping out already, my legs eager to take me off in one direction, but then my eyes spot something else I quite fancy and halt me. There’s too much.
And it’s predominantly casual.
His breath hits my ear. ‘I believe this is what you are looking for.’
Happiness and exhilaration sail through me and I turn to look up at him, finding a satisfied glimmer in his brilliant blue eyes. ‘You must be soaring in your second favourite pleasure,’ I tell him, because I’m beside myself with glee. He’s going to let me dress him. He’s like a human clothes-horse, every inch of his physique just perfect and ready for me to grace it with something other than a three-piece suit.
‘Indeed I am,’ he confirms, making me want to squeal in excitement when he scrambles my elation further by smiling.
I hold my breath to stop the screech of joy and grab his hand. Then I practically haul him through the department, my eyes darting everywhere, looking for perfect casual pieces to dress my perfect Miller in.
‘Livy!’ he gasps in alarm as he virtually staggers along behind me. But I don’t stop. ‘Olivia!’ He’s laughing now, and that does snap me out of my dogged march through Harrods, having me flying around to catch a glimpse of it.
I nearly pass out at the sight . . . nearly. My wooziness is an improvement on bursting into tears. ‘Oh shit, Miller,’ I whisper, my hand gliding across the back of my neck and stroking . . . soothing . . . doing what Miller usually does. I’m missing it. I’m like a kid in a candy shop with too many appealing things surrounding me – Miller smiling, Miller laughing, and an abundance of casual wear to dress him in. I’m getting all confused by it, not knowing whether to soak up the pleasure of seeing Miller so animated or drag him into the dressing rooms before he changes his mind.
His face gets closer to mine, his eyes still shimmering and his lips still stretched into a smile. It leaves me with my usual dilemma.
Eyes or mouth.
‘Earth to Olivia.’ He speaks softly, displaying enjoyment at my muddled state. ‘Do you need my thing?’ His delicate touch ghosts my pale cheek, and I nod for fear of wailing on him again. I feel emotional, which is stupid. He’s making me happy, even if a fraction of the reason why we’re here is guilt because of his outburst at the previous store.
Miller holds my eyes with his as he moves in closer until his scent drowns me and his nose is nuzzling my cheek. Then he presses the firmness of his body into me and slowly lifts me from my feet and moves his nuzzle into my neck. I cling on tightly. Very tightly. And so does he.
We remain entwined, lost in each other’s embrace, right in the middle of Harrods, and neither of us is bothered by any potential observers. I suddenly don’t care so much for trying to strip down Miller’s suit-clad façade. I want him to take me home, put me in his bed, and worship me.
‘I said I didn’t want to be long,’ he whispers into my neck, still holding on to me securely.
‘Hmmm.’ I muster the strength from somewhere to release him and find my feet. ‘Thank you.’ I spend a few seconds brushing down the sleeves of his suit while he watches me.
‘Don’t ever thank me, Livy.’
‘I’ll always be grateful for you.’ I finish up with my smoothing hands and step back. He’s brought me back to life, even if that life is questionable and stressful. But I have my fastidious part-time gentleman and his perfect, precise world now.
Superb shoes appear in my downcast vision, prompting my eyes to flip up to his. He’s still smiling, but it’s subsided a little. ‘You have thirty minutes.’
‘Right!’ I snap from my thoughtfulness and immediately stride off towards a wall of shelves with piles and piles of jeans filling them. Miller in jeans just seems . . . weird, but I’m desperate to see the back of those suits, or at least reduce their appearances. And the potential of his perfect arse encased in perfect denim is far too appealing to resist. I scan the tags that describe the fit of each style and finally snatch down a stonewash pair that claim to be a relaxed fit. Which sounds perfect. ‘Here.’ I turn as I shake them out, trying to gauge the size. The legs of these are way too short for Miller’s long, lean limbs. I quickly fold them back up and swap them for a longer leg. ‘There.’ I hold them up against my front, smiling to myself when I have to raise the waist to the base of my chest just to get the hem of the legs off the floor. ‘These should fit.’
‘Would you like to know my size?’ he asks, pulling my stare from the blue denim to the blue of his smiling eyes. They’re nearly a perfect match.
My lips press together and I make a quick scan of his physique.
‘This body should be carved onto that lovely mind of yours, Livy.’ His voice is low, seductive, and sexy as sin.
‘It is’ – I shuffle on the spot – ‘but I couldn’t put numbers on it.’
‘Those are perfect.’ He takes them from my hands and gives the garment a dubious look. ‘And what would my gorgeous girl have me wear with them?’
I grin at his willingness to humour me and pivot, spotting a T-shirt across the way. ‘That.’ I point and watch from the corner of my eye as Miller follows my gesture.
‘That?’ he questions, a hint of alarm in his tone.
‘Yes.’ I wander over and unhook the faded, vintage-look T-shirt from the rail. ‘Plain, casual, laid-back.’ I hold it up. ‘Perfect.’
He doesn’t think it’s perfect at all, but he still joins me and takes it from my hand. ‘Feet?’
I glance around on a frown. ‘Where’s the shoe department?’
A heavy sigh engulfs my hearing. ‘I’ll show you.’
It’s a strain for him, but I’m utterly stunned by his willingness, not that I’ll show it. Right now, I’m in my element. ‘Lead the way.’ I swoop my hand out on a grin and immediately follow him when he strides off. My hands are twitching at my sides, desperate to grab a few more items on our travels, but I know this is taking all of his patience and the risk of him running out of it deters me. One step at a time.
I watch Miller with interest as we pass through another department, this one bursting at the seams with suits. They’re everywhere, teasing him, and it takes everything in me not to laugh when I catch him having a cheeky peek. ‘Ralph Lauren does some exquisite suits,’ he remarks quietly, forcing himself to push on.
‘He also does lovely casual wear,’ I counter, knowing Miller wouldn’t know that.
‘Miller!’ The high-pitched shrill eats away at the flesh on my shoulders and when I turn to see an annoyingly preened woman approaching, a sour expression replaces my happy face. She’s glowing, hurrying her steps to make it to him faster. She’s near-on perfect, just like the rest of them, all shiny hair, flawless make-up, and expensive clothes. I’m bracing myself for another reality check. I immediately hate her.
‘How are you?’ she sings at him, not giving me a second glance. No, her attention is rooted on my perfect Miller. ‘You look as dashing as always.’
‘Bethany,’ Miller greets, flat and cold, all evidence of the ease that was delighting me disappearing in a flash of red lips and perfectly styled hair. ‘I’m very well, thank you. Yourself?’
She pouts her lips and transfers her weight onto one hip, tilting her body to the side. Her body language is throwing off vibes of attraction left, right, and full-force centre. ‘Always well, you know that.’
I roll my eyes and bite my tongue, wilting on the inside. Another one. Now she just needs to spot me and finish me off with one of those looks or the delivery of some mocking words. And if she pulls out one of his cards, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.
‘Excellent,’ he replies, short and sharp, despite being perfectly polite. I can sense his restlessness, all of the signs of Miller and his need to repel people surfacing, and it’s in this moment that I wonder why these women are so taken by him when he can be so hostile. He’s a perfect gentleman on dates – he said so himself – but what’s the pull beyond that? How would they respond to him if he were to bless them with his worshipping ways? I inwardly laugh. They’d be like me. Non-functioning without him. Doomed. Dead.
