Unveiled (Page 102)

My eyes clench shut briefly as I fight to halt my train of thought.

Next is his tie. There are so many, and after perusing the rainbow of silk for a few moments, I settle on a silver-grey silk one to match the stripe in his suit. But when I turn towards him again, the difficulty of my next task hits me. I’ll never knot it to Miller’s high standard. I begin toying with the material as I look up at him, finding lazy blues watching me closely, and I expect that’s exactly how he’s been looking at me the whole time I’ve been in my own little world dressing him.

‘You’d better take over.’ I admit defeat and hold the tie out to him, but he pushes my hand away and moves in fast, picking me up by my hips and sitting me on the counter.

A chaste kiss is placed on my lips before he lifts the collar of his shirt. ‘You do it.’

‘Me?’ I’m wary and it’s obvious. ‘I’ll screw it all up.’

‘I don’t care.’ My hands are taken to the back of his neck. ‘I want you to fix my tie.’

Nervous and surprised, I smooth the silver silk around his neck and let the two sides cascade down his front. My hands are hesitant. They are also shaking, but a few deep breaths and a quiet word with myself pulls me around and I start the meticulous task of knotting a tie around Miller Hart’s neck – something I know for sure that no one has ever had the privilege of doing in the history of Miller Hart.

I faff and fiddle forever, but I don’t care. I feel a ridiculous amount of pressure and despite it being really quite silly, I can’t seem to locate the rationality to be unbothered. I’m really bothered. I pat the knot a hundred times, my head cocking from side to side, checking it out at every angle. To my naked eye, it looks pretty perfect. To Miller’s, it’ll look like a train wreck.

‘Done,’ I declare, finally dropping my busy hands into my lap, but not moving my eyes from the kinda perfect tie. I don’t want to see the concern on his face.

‘Perfect,’ he whispers, taking my hands in his and bringing them to his lips. His unusual descriptive, especially when referring to another’s handiwork, throws me.

I brave looking up at him, feeling his hot breath heating my knuckles. ‘You haven’t checked.’

‘I don’t need to.’

I frown, flicking my eyes back down to the tie. ‘It’s not Miller-perfect, though.’ I’m dumbfounded. Where are his twitching hands, itching to put it right?

‘No.’ Miller kisses each hand and puts them neatly back in my lap. Then he reaches for his collar and pulls it down, rather haphazardly. ‘It’s Olivia-perfect.’

I’m quickly looking at him again. His eyes are twinkling a little. ‘But Olivia-perfect isn’t actually perfect.’

A beautiful smile joins his sparkling eyes and centres my off-kilter world. ‘You’re wrong.’ His answer to that makes me withdraw in surprise, though I don’t argue. ‘Waistcoat?’

‘Right,’ I exhale the word slowly and slink down from the unit, watching him as I pad over to the rails again.

He keeps his smile in place. ‘Chop-chop.’

I’m scowling now and blindly reaching for the waistcoat after a brief glance tells me where it is. I can’t rip my inquisitive eyes away from him. ‘Here.’ I hold it out.

‘We do this your way,’ he reminds me, striding over and holding one arm out. ‘I like you looking after me.’

I huff a sardonic puff of laughter and remove the waistcoat from the hanger, then proceed to help him into it. His chest is quickly close to mine again and my hands are being lifted to the buttons. I can do nothing more than as I’m bid, fastening up each button, then collecting his socks and tan brogues when I’m done. I kneel and rest my bum on my calves to get him into his socks and shoes, tying the laces before making sure the hems of his trouser legs are straight. And last is his jacket. It completes him. He looks spectacular, and his hair is now damp and the dark waves super wavy.

He looks divine.

Gorgeous.

Devastating.

‘You’re ready,’ I breathe, stepping back and pulling my towel in. ‘Oh!’ I quickly turn and scoop up his Tom Ford, not resisting a sniff from the bottle before I douse Miller at the neck. He lifts his chin for me again, his eyes boring into me as I spritz him. ‘Now you’re perfect.’

‘Thank you,’ he murmurs.

I replace the bottle, avoiding meeting his stare. ‘You don’t need to thank me.’

‘You’re right,’ he replies softly. ‘I need to thank whatever angel sent you to me.’

‘No one sent me to you, Miller.’ I face unimaginable beauty, my eyes squinting to prevent the image from burning my irises. ‘You found me.’

‘Give me my thing.’

‘I’ll crease you.’ I don’t know why I’m searching for excuses when I’m so desperate for him to hold me. Or maybe I do know.

I won’t be able to let go.

‘I’ve asked once.’ He steps forward gently but threateningly. ‘Don’t make me ask again, Olivia.’

My lips straighten and I shake my head. ‘I can’t bear the thought of releasing you. I won’t be able to.’

He winces and his blue eyes glaze over. ‘Please, I beg you.’

‘And I’m begging you not to force me.’ I stand firm, knowing I’m doing the right thing. ‘I love you. Just go.’

I’ve never been so challenged in my whole life. Maintaining my front is crippling me, and seeing Miller so unsure of what to do isn’t helping. His expensive shoes are rooted to the carpet, his eyes burning into mine, as if he’s trying to read past my forced hard exterior. This man can see into my soul. He knows what I’m doing and I’m screaming in my head for him to let me do it. My way. This has to be done my way.