The nurse lets out a sharp shot of laughter. ‘Actually, I will.’

‘Well, you can’t keep her,’ I declare quickly. ‘I’ll be there at four.’

‘I’ll let her know.’

‘Thank you for your help.’

‘My pleasure.’ She hangs up and I sit alone in the quiet kitchen, unable to contain my joy. Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.

I jump up and decide to make Miller breakfast, but I need to do something before I can crack on. I want it to be perfect and there’s only one way I can achieve that. I dash into the bedroom and dive on the bed, making Miller’s sleeping body jerk atop the mattress. He shoots up, alarmed, his wonderful hair a wild mess, his eyes sleepy. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I need you for a moment,’ I tell him, taking his arm and tugging. ‘Come on.’

His sleepy eyes aren’t so sleepy anymore. They’re loaded with craving. A calculated, superfast move has him removed from my grip and me yelping as he flips me to my back and straddles my tummy, pinning my arms above my head. ‘I need you for a moment.’ His voice is rough and low and sexy as hell. ‘Shall we?’

‘No,’ I blurt before I can think to control my insulting, and quite stupid, decline.

‘I beg your pardon!’ He’s understandably thrown.

‘I mean soon. I want to make you breakfast.’

Blue eyes narrow a little and his face comes closer. ‘In my kitchen?’

I roll my eyes. I fully expected the uncertainty I’m currently being faced with. ‘Yes, in your kitchen.’

‘If you’re making me breakfast, then why do you need my help?’

‘I need five minutes.’

He regards me for a few moments, considering my request. He won’t decline. I’ve made him curious. ‘As you wish.’ He lifts and pulls me from the bed. ‘And what is my sweet girl planning on preparing me for breakfast?’

‘That’s not your concern.’ I allow him to guide my naked body back to the kitchen, ignoring his mild huff of amusement at my sass.

‘What would you have me do?’ he asks as we enter. I don’t miss him scanning the clear space, like he’s making a mental note of everything’s position in case it’s moved while I’m let loose in his perfect space. It’s silly. He knows exactly where everything is.

‘Lay the table,’ I order, standing back, delighting in the frown that wriggles its way onto his brow. ‘Please.’

‘You want me to lay the table?’

‘Yes.’ I may be able to pull off the perfect breakfast, but there’s not a chance in hell I’ll get the table right.

‘OK.’ He looks at me dubiously and makes his way to the drawer where I know the knives and forks to be. The rolling of every muscle in his back gives me a perfect view while I remain static, but I get the best view when he’s on his way back to the table – his face, those eyes, his thighs, chest, tight waist . . . hard cock.

I shake my head, determined not to be distracted from my plan. I study him pottering around the space, flicking curious eyes at me every now and then while I stand silently to the side and let him work his magic.

‘Perfect,’ he says, gesturing to the table with a sweep of his arm. ‘Now what?’

‘Go back to bed,’ I say, making my way to the fridge.

‘When you’re naked in my kitchen?’ he almost laughs. ‘Wrong.’

‘Miller, please,’ I swivel on my bare feet as I take the fridge door handle, finding him almost scowling at my back. ‘I want to do something for you.’

‘I can think of many things you can do for me, Olivia, and none of them involve you being in my kitchen.’ His back straightens and he casts his eyes around thoughtfully. ‘Or maybe . . .’

‘Go back to bed!’ I’m not submitting on this.

His head drops with his shoulders on a mighty sigh. ‘As you wish,’ he mutters, backing out of the kitchen. ‘But I can’t sleep without you, so I’ll just be lying there thinking of what I’m going to do to you after you feed me.’

‘As you wish,’ I retort on a sickly sweet smile, bowing my head as I do.

Miller fights to prevent his smirk through his affronted state and disappears, leaving me to crack on. First thing I do is take the chocolate and strawberries from the fridge – no natural, fat-free yogurt in sight. Next, I race to break up the cubes, melt the chocolate down, hull the strawberries, and wash them.

Then I turn to face the dressed table, seeing everything in its rightful position . . . or the position that Miller says is correct. I nibble on the inside of my mouth as I consider it all, thinking I’m certain I could get this right if I strip the table down and redress it. Maybe I’ll take a photo. I bob my head on an agreeable, private nod, giving myself a mental clap on the back. But then an even better idea comes to me and I hotfoot it over to the drawers and start opening and closing, being sure not to upset the contents as I work my way down the unit. I freeze the second I clap eyes on Miller’s journal. It’s screaming at me again. ‘Shit,’ I curse, forcing myself to shut the drawer, close it away where it’s supposed to be.

I eventually find what I’m searching for.

Actually, I don’t.

I find something better.

I remove the cap and stare down at the nib of the Sharpie, concluding very fast that this will most certainly work better than a regular ballpoint pen. ‘Right.’ I take a deep breath and pad over to the table, running my eyes over each accurately placed piece. My head cocks as I tap the end of the pen on my bottom lip. The plates. That’s as good a place as any to start.