Unveiled
Page 58

‘You.’ I push my demand with a gasp and close my eyes when his mouth descends to mine.
He takes what’s his.
 
 
Chapter 18
Nan looks well. But the sight of her sitting all prim and quiet at the kitchen table, her palms around a cup of tea, has taken me a little aback. I’d expected to find her pottering around the kitchen, despite being told to take it easy. Nan’s never been good at doing what she’s told.
‘Morning,’ I chirp, sliding onto a seat next to her and helping myself to the pot of tea.
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Nan retorts to my greeting, no morning or hey.
‘Wouldn’t bother with what?’
‘The tea.’ She turns her nose up at her mug. ‘Tastes like gnats’ piss.’
The teapot clatters against the cup I’m attempting to pour into, and Miller laughs from across the kitchen. I cast a sideways glance, finding him looking divine in a three-piece suit, this one charcoal grey, his shirt pale blue, his tie matching his shirt. He looks delicious, all groomed, and by the looks of things, ready for work. Perfect. I find his eyes and smile. ‘Twenty-four-carat gold treasure, right here.’
I’m taking the piss. He knows it but disregards my sarcasm and joins us at the table. ‘You’re too kind, Mrs Taylor.’
‘How was your shower?’ she fires back, and the damn teapot clashes with the cup again, so hard I’m certain I must have cracked the porcelain. I swing my wide eyes in her direction, finding that impish grin tickling her lips. The minx!
‘Hot.’ Miller drags the single word out forever, and now I’m swinging my even wider eyes across the table to him. I knew it. He’s fighting a grin. These two are intolerable when put together, getting a thrill from winding each other up. But they are also beautifully loving towards each other.
‘You should’ve had Olivia in to show you how to work the temperature knob.’ Back my head goes to Nan. She’s toying with the handle of her mug, fiddling thoughtfully, playing all naïve. Double minx!
‘I did,’ Miller replies casually, mirroring Nan’s fiddling fingers with his own mug.
‘I knew it!’ Nan gasps. ‘You little devil!’
I give up with the head-swinging business. Neither is taking any notice of my evident shock and my neck’s hurting. I sit back in my chair and let them play their game, a warmth filling me to the brim. Seeing her so alive and vivacious is doing wonders for my current frame of mind.
Miller flashes Nan a stunning smile, bashing down her attempt at a scornful look, and he shrugs. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Taylor. I can’t apologise for loving her to the point it’s painful when I’m not touching her.’
‘Little devil,’ she repeats quietly, her curls swishing around her ears when she shakes her head. ‘You little bloody devil.’
‘Are we done winding each other up?’ I ask, reaching for the cornflakes. ‘Or should I settle in for the show?’
‘I’m done,’ Miller says, taking the liberty of pouring the milk on my flakes. ‘And you, Mrs Taylor?’
‘Yes, all done.’ She takes a sip of her tea and winces. ‘You’re a dreamboat, Miller Hart, but you can’t make tea for shit.’
‘I concur,’ I add, lifting my cup to him and screwing my face up. ‘It’s bad. So, so bad.’
‘Noted,’ he grumbles. ‘I’ve never claimed to be an expert tea maker.’ That mischief creeps back onto his face, making me put my cup down slowly, warily. ‘Ask me about worshipping,’ he suggests.
I cough all over my flakes, drawing Nan’s immediate interest.
‘Hmmm,’ she hums, drilling old navy eyes into me. ‘What’s worshipping?’
I refuse to look at her, centring my attention on my bowl.
‘I’m very good at it,’ Miller declares cockily.
‘You mean sex?’
‘Oh, give me strength!’ I grab my spoon and plunge it into my bowl, taking a huge mouthful of my breakfast.
‘I call it worshipping.’
‘So you really do worship the ground she walks on,’ Nan asks on a smile.
‘Oh, I really do.’
I’m dying on the spot, praying for divine intervention to save me. Impossible. Both of them. ‘Please stop,’ I beg.
‘OK,’ they say in unison, grinning like a pair of idiots across the table at each other.
‘Good. I need to go to the supermarket.’
‘But I like doing the shopping,’ Nan whines, an episode of the sulks on the horizon. ‘You’ll get it all wrong.’
‘Then write me a list,’ I counter, solving the problem in an instant. ‘You’re not leaving this house.’
‘I’ll take you, Olivia.’ Miller reaches over and shifts the sugar bowl a fraction to the right, then the milk a tad to the left. ‘And it isn’t up for discussion,’ he adds, flicking me a warning look.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, not backing down. I don’t care what tone he uses or what looks he flashes. ‘You can stay and watch Nan.’
‘I need to go to Ice.’
I look at him, knowing he doesn’t mean to actually do any work.
‘I don’t need watching, for the love of God!’ Nan squawks.
‘I beg to differ!’ I snap. It’s bad enough being rubbed up the wrong way by Miller. Nan can quit while she’s ahead.
‘She’s right, Mrs Taylor. You shouldn’t be alone.’
I’m delighted when I see Miller flash Nan a warning look that matches the one he’s just aimed at me, and even more delighted when she doesn’t kick up a stink. ‘Fine,’ she mutters, ‘but you can’t keep me prisoner forever.’
‘Just until you’re feeling fit,’ I appease her. I show my appreciation for Miller’s support with a quick squeeze of his knee under the table, which he ignores, surprising me.
‘I’ll take you shopping,’ he says again, standing from the table and collecting some breakfast things.
That appreciation vanishes in the blink of an eye. ‘Noooo, you’re staying with Nan.’
‘Noooo, I’m taking you to the supermarket,’ he bats back, unaffected by the warning that was rampant in my order and intended to be. ‘I’ve spoken to Gregory. He’ll be here soon, as will Ted.’
I deflate in my chair. Nan snorts her annoyance but remains quiet, and Miller nods his approval at his own announcement. He’s got it all worked out. This isn’t good. I can’t buy a pregnancy test with Miller tailing me.
Shit . . .
 
After giving Gregory the rundown on Nan and ensuring all her pills are laid out so he doesn’t need to bother with instructions, I’m guided to Miller’s car by my nape and placed neatly in the passenger seat. He seems a little tetchy after taking a call while I spoke with Gregory, all signs of the easy-going man at the breakfast table gone. As ever, it’s like he was never with me in the first place and while the gaps in his signature aloofness are becoming more frequent, his usual habits are muscling their way back. I sense fiddling with the temperature controls won’t be disregarded today, so I let the window down instead. Miller puts the stereo on, killing the difficult silence, and I sit back and let Paul Weller keep me company. I call the house twice en route, each time hearing Nan in the background squawking something about being a whittle arse. She’ll just have to tolerate the fuss.