Unveiled
Page 61

My poor brain explodes under the pressure of Miller’s brutal explanation. ‘I want you to be mine.’ I utter the words mindlessly. There’s no thought behind them, just desperation. Miller Hart is unobtainable, and not only because of the guarded exterior he holds firmly in place.
‘I’m working on it, my gorgeous, sweet girl. Believe me, I’m working fucking hard on it.’ He presses his lips to the top of my head, inhaling me into him, getting a dose of the strength that he siphons off me. ‘I have a request.’
I don’t vocalise my confirmation to the request that I know is coming. I need to hear it. ‘Anything.’
He picks me up from the stool and sits me on the high bar, like he’s placing me on the proverbial pedestal. Then he muscles in between my thighs and looks up at me, circling my waist with his big hands. My fingers brush through his waves, all the way through the top until I’m kneading the back of his neck. ‘Never stop loving me, Olivia Taylor.’
‘Impossible.’
He smiles a little as he drops his face into my chest and moves his hands around to my back, pulling us closer, blending us together. I stare down at the back of his head, stroking comfort into him. ‘How sure are you?’ he asks out of the blue.
My stroking hands pause as I muster the might to face another one of our shocking revelations. ‘Sure,’ I reply simply, because I am. Just like everything else, I can’t and shouldn’t be hiding from this.
He slowly releases me and holds the test out, watching as my eyes flick between him and the box. ‘Sure isn’t good enough.’
I reach and take it tentatively.
‘Go.’
I say nothing as he lifts me down, and leave him at the bar pouring another drink. I follow my feet to the ladies’ room and brace myself for the confirmation in black and white. My actions are mindless, from entering the stall to exiting it. I try to ignore the few minutes’ wait I’ve read it takes to give me the result and spend that time washing my hands, also trying to ignore the possible reaction I’m likely to get from Miller. At least now he’s aware there’s a possibility. But will that lessen the shock? Will he even want it? I slam a lid on those thoughts before they run away with me. I don’t expect him to be dancing on the ceiling over the pending confirmation of my pregnancy. There’s no room for celebration in our lives.
Turning the test over, I stare down at the tiny window. Then I wander out of the restroom and back into the main club, where I find Miller waiting, tapping the bar. He looks up at me. He’s expressionless. Once again, I can’t fathom a bit of his thought process. So I hold the test up, watching as his eyes flick to it. He won’t be able to see from all the way over there, so I murmur one word. ‘Positive.’
He deflates before my eyes, making my stomach turn. Then he cocks his head, silently demanding I go to him. I’m cautious, but I do, reaching him in a few strides. I’m lifted onto the bar and his body moves in, his head resting on my chest, his palms sliding onto my bottom.
‘Is it wrong for me to be delighted?’ he asks, shocking me. I honestly expected a Miller-style meltdown. Because my sole focus has been on my own shock, plus what I thought would be a negative reaction from Miller, I’ve not stopped and considered the potential of being happy by this news. I’ve seen it as being another thorn in our side – another pile of shit to deal with. Miller, on the other hand, sounds like he’s seeing it from a whole other perspective.
‘I’m not sure,’ I admit aloud, when I only meant to silently wonder. Can we be happy about this amid all the darkness? Is he seeing brighter light? My world has become just as dark as Miller’s, and I can only see more gloom on the horizon.
‘Then I’ll tell you.’ He lifts his head and smiles at me. ‘Anything you bless me with I see as a gift, Olivia.’ A smooth palm strokes my cheek. ‘Your beauty to look at.’ He scans my face for an eternity before slowly dragging his hand down to my chest and tracing wide circles around my breast. My breath hitches, my spine lengthening. ‘Your body to feel.’ He tries to pull back his smile as he takes a glimpse up at me. ‘Your sass to deal with.’
I bite my lip through my budding desire and refrain from telling him that, ultimately, he is the source of my sass. ‘Elaborate,’ I demand unreasonably. He’s made himself pretty clear already.
‘As you wish,’ he agrees without hesitation. ‘This –’ he plants a kiss on my tummy, humming as he does – ‘is another gift you’re giving me. You know I fiercely protect what’s mine.’ He looks up at me, and I lose myself in the sincerity of his telling eyes. ‘What’s growing inside of you is mine, sweet girl. And I’ll destroy anything that tries to take it away from me.’
His strange way with words, his way of articulating his feelings, it’s irrelevant now because I’m fluent in Miller’s language. He couldn’t have put it any more perfectly.
‘I want to be a perfect daddy,’ he whispers.
Happiness sails through me, but through that bliss, I reach the very solid conclusion that Miller was referring to Charlie. It’s Charlie he’ll destroy. He knows about me. And he saw me with a pregnancy test in my hand. I’m a good reason for Miller to walk away, even more so now. Charlie eliminates good reasons. And Miller will destroy anything that tries to take me away from him. Frighteningly, I know he’s perfectly capable.
Which means Charlie is on death row.
A loud rapping brings me around, whipping my head in the direction of the club entrance.
‘Anderson,’ Miller mutters, his mask slipping into place, our happy moment being cut too short. He breaks away from me, giving my thigh a little squeeze before he strides off . . . and my sass appears from nowhere and bites me on the arse.
‘Why’s he here?’ I ask, slipping from the bar to my feet.
‘To help.’
I don’t want to see him. Now I know for sure she’s in London and he hasn’t got Miller holding him back, he’ll want to talk about her. I don’t want to. Suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the mammoth space of Ice, I pace around the bar until I’m staring up at rows and rows of the hard stuff. Burn the anger away. That’s what I need to do. I reach up and snatch down a bottle of vodka, mindlessly unscrew the cap, and pour myself a triple. But when the cold glass meets my lips, I don’t tip the contents down my throat, mainly because my mind is distracted by a mental image.
An image of a baby.
‘Damn,’ I sigh, slowly taking the glass back down to the bar. I just stare at it, swivelling it around gently until the clear liquid is still. I don’t want it. Alcohol has served a purpose of late – a silly attempt to blank my woes. Not anymore.
‘Olivia?’ Miller’s questioning tone pulls my tired body around, revealing my hopeless face . . . and the glass. ‘What are you doing?’ He steps forward, uncertainty creeping onto his face as he flicks his eyes from me to the glass.
Guilt joins my hopelessness and I shake my head, full of remorse for even pouring the damn thing. ‘I wasn’t going to drink it.’
‘Damn straight you weren’t.’ He strides around the bar and viciously swipes the glass from my hand before throwing the contents down a sink. ‘Olivia, I’m dangling off the edge of insanity already. Don’t give me the nudge that’ll tip me.’ His warning is stern and serious, yet the soft expression suddenly rife on his face defies every word of that command. He’s pleading with me.