Holding my breath is easy. I’ve done it so many times since meeting Miller, when he’s stolen it with one of his worshipful kisses or brought me to climax by teasing me there. With my loss of vision and my hearing compromised, all I can do is feel him. Firm hands are working through my hair, rubbing away the conditioner and rubbing away my helplessness at the same time. But then his hand leaves my scalp and glides down the side of my face to my throat. Then from my throat to my chest. And from my chest onto a swollen mound. The very tip of my nipple tingles with anticipation. It’s circled deliciously, and then his touch is drifting across my stomach to my inner thigh. I tense beneath the water, fighting to hold still to preserve my breath. My darkness and silence are heightening my other senses, most significantly, feeling. His finger slips past my quivering lips and slides deeply into me. My hands fly out of the water and clasp the sides of the tub, and I pull myself up fast, needing to grab every gratifying element of Miller worshipping me – namely, his perfect face filled with satisfaction.

I gasp, urgently dragging air into my lungs, and Miller starts to pump lazily. ‘Hmmm.’ I rest my head back, letting it fall limply to the side so I can watch him pleasure me with his gifted fingers.

‘Good?’ His voice is rough and his eyes are darkening.

I nod and bite down on my lip, contracting every internal muscle on my mission to seize the flutter of tingles in the pit of my stomach. But I lose my concentration when he pushes his thumb onto my clitoris and begins to work precise, torturous circles into the sensitive nub. ‘So good,’ I breathe, beginning to pant, my pleasure only multiplying when his lips part and he shifts his position by the side of the tub to get better leverage. Withdrawing slowly, he locks eyes with mine and pushes forward with nothing but satisfaction and victory gushing from every part of him. My body starts to shake. ‘Miller, please,’ I beg, starting the pointless shaking of my head in despair. ‘Please, make it happen.’

My demand doesn’t go ignored. He’s as desperate as I am to drown out the misery of our time in the study. He leans over the bath, maintaining his deep drives as he clashes our mouths together and kisses me to climax. I bite down on his bottom lip when my orgasm takes hold, probably causing him pain with the pressure of my teeth sinking in, but it doesn’t stop him and his determination to fix our spat. I’m being attacked by unforgiving pangs of pleasure, over and over, again and again. My body is shaking violently, making the water splash around me, until I lose my strength and my body goes limp in the water. Now I’m exhausted for a whole different reason and it’s far more appealing than my exhaustion of moments ago.

‘Thank you,’ I splutter through my wheezing breaths, forcing my lids to keep open.

‘Never thank me, Olivia Taylor.’

My breathing is heavy and laboured, my body absorbing the after-effects of my satisfying explosion. ‘I’m sorry for hurting you.’

He smiles. It’s only a small smile, but any glimpse of the beautiful sight is welcome. It’s also needed more and more with each passing day. Drawing breath, he slides his fingers out of me and traces over my skin until he’s at my cheek. I know what he’s going to say. ‘You can’t hurt me physically, Olivia.’

Nodding my acceptance, I allow him to help me out of the bath and wrap me in a towel. He takes another from the nearby shelf and starts working it through my hair, ridding it of the excess water.

‘Let’s dry these unmanageable waves.’ He takes up position on my nape and leads me to the bed, gesturing me to sit on the end, which I do without complaint, knowing I’m about to have Miller’s hands working through my hair while he dries it. The hairdryer is collected from the drawer and he plugs it into a socket, then settles behind me in no time, a leg on either side of me, completely cocooning me with his body. The rush of noise won’t allow for conversation, which I’m quite content with. I just relax, close my eyes, and relish in the feel of him massaging my scalp as he blasts my hair with the dryer. I also smile when I imagine the look of fulfilment on his face.

All too soon, the noise dies and Miller is moving in, sinking his face into my fresh hair and locking his arms tightly around my waist. ‘You were harsh, Olivia,’ he says quietly, almost cautiously. I hate his need to voice this, even if he’s entitled to, but I love his need to do it gently.

‘I’ve apologised.’

‘You haven’t apologised to William.’

I solidify in his hold. ‘Since when did you become a William Anderson fan?’

I’m nudged in the thigh with his leg. It’s a silent warning to rein in my sass. ‘He’s trying to help us. I need information and I can’t get it while I’m here in New York.’

‘What information?’

‘It’s not your concern.’

My jaw tenses, my eyes closing to gather my patience. ‘You are my concern,’ I say simply, breaking out of Miller’s hold and ignoring his audible exhale of weary breath. He’s trying to keep his patience, too. I don’t care. I grab my hairbrush from the bedside table and leave Miller falling to his back on a quiet curse. My face screws up in annoyance as I stomp into the lounge area, all but throwing myself down to the couch. Taking the brush to my hair, I begin to yank it through the tangles, like in a silly fit of revenge I’m deliberately trying to harm one of Miller’s favourite things.

I slip back into despondency, continuously tugging the brush through my waves and getting a sick satisfaction from the discomfort it causes. The sharp stabs of pain are hogging my attention, therefore preventing me from thinking. I even manage to ignore the mild buzz under my skin, working its way deeper with each second that passes. He’s close by, but I don’t seek him out, instead dead set on ripping my hair from my head.