I’m taken out by the intensity of my climax, and Miller collapsing to my chest with no concern for his weight atop me tells me he is, too. We’re both gasping, both still pulsing and both completely wiped out. That was powerful, frantic lovemaking that I think may have transformed into fucking, and when I feel hands begin to caress me and a mouth creeping up my cheek, searching for my lips, I know Miller is registering this, too.

‘Tell me I didn’t hurt you.’ He dedicates a few moments to worshipping my mouth, taking it gently, delicately nibbling at my lips each time he pulls away. His hands are everywhere, stroking, skimming, tracing.

My eyes close on a satisfied sigh and I absorb all his slow attention as I smile and muster some waning strength to cuddle him and squeeze some reassurance into him. ‘You didn’t hurt me.’

He’s heavy, resting all over me, but I have no desire to alleviate the weight. We’re connected . . . everywhere.

I draw a deep breath. ‘I love you, Miller Hart.’

He slowly rises until he’s gazing down at me, eyes sparkling, his beautiful mouth tipping at each corner. ‘I accept your love.’

I try in vain to narrow my eyes on him in irritation, but just wind up mirroring his amusement. It’s impossible not to when his rare smiles are being dished out so willingly and so often these days. ‘You’re such a smart-arse.’

‘And you, Olivia Taylor, are such a divine blessing.’

‘Or possession.’

‘Same thing,’ he whispers. ‘In my world, anyway.’ Each of my eyelids is kissed sweetly before he lifts his hips and slips out of me, sitting back on his heels. Contentment heats my veins and peace spirals in my mind as he pulls me up to his lap and directs my legs around his back. The sheets are a pile of messy material surrounding us and he isn’t in the least bit bothered.

‘The bed’s an awful mess,’ I say with a teasing smile as he arranges my hair over my shoulders and slides his palms down my arms until he has my hands.

‘My compulsion to have you in bed with me far outweighs any compulsion to have the sheets tidy.’

My smile stretches into a massive grin. ‘Why, Mr Hart, did you just admit to a compulsion?’

His head cocks and I flex one of my hands until he releases it, then take my time pushing back his stray wave from his damp forehead.

‘You might be on to something there,’ he replies, totally composed and with no humour in his tone.

My hand falters in his waves and I watch him closely, searching for that cute dimple. It’s nowhere in sight and I look questioningly at him, trying to figure out if he’s finally admitting that he suffers terribly from OCD.

‘Might,’ he adds, remaining poker-faced.

I gasp and jab him in the shoulder, forcing the sweetest sounding chuckle to slip from his mouth. The sight and sound of Miller displaying amusement never fails to mesmerise me. It’s without question the most beautiful thing in the world – not just my world but the whole world. It has to be.

‘I’m inclined to say definitely,’ I break in, interrupting his laughter.

His head shakes in wonder. ‘Do you realise how hard I find it to accept you’re here?’

My smile fades into confusion. ‘In New York?’ I’d have gone to Outer Mongolia if he had demanded it. Anywhere. He laughs lightly and glances away, prompting me to take his jaw and direct his perfect face back to mine. ‘Elaborate.’ I raise my eyebrows in authority, pressing my lips together, despite the overwhelming need to join him in his happiness.

‘Just here,’ he says on a little shrug of his solid shoulders. ‘With me, I mean.’

‘In bed?’

‘In my life, Olivia. Transforming my darkness into blinding light.’ His face comes close, his lips ghosting mine. ‘Replacing my nightmares with beautiful dreams.’ Holding my eyes, he falls silent and waits for me to absorb his heartfelt words. Like many things he says now, I fully understand and comprehend it.

‘You could just say how much you love me. That would work.’ I purse my lips, desperate to remain straight-faced. It’s hard when he’s just blown my fallen heart from my chest with such a powerful declaration. I want to push him to his back and demonstrate my feelings for him with a heart-stopping kiss, but a tiny part of me is willing him to take my not-so-subtle hint. He’s never said anything about love. Fascinated is his word of choice, and I know exactly what he means. But I can’t deny my desire to hear those three simple words.

Miller takes me to my back, smothering me with his stubble, kissing every available inch of my screwed-up face. ‘I’m deeply fascinated by you, Olivia Taylor.’ My cheeks are encased in his palms. ‘You’ll never know how deeply.’

I surrender to Miller’s way and let him completely overwhelm me.

‘While I’d love to lose myself beneath these sheets all day with my habit, we have a date.’ My nose is nibbled and he’s pulling me up from the bed, placing me on my feet and messing with my hair. ‘Take a shower.’

‘Yes, sir!’ I salute him and ignore his eye roll as I saunter off to the shower.

Chapter 2

I’m standing on the pavement outside our hotel, gazing up to the sky. It’s part of my daily routine. Every morning I wander down, leaving Miller fussing with something back upstairs, and take up position at the roadside, my head fallen back, staring in wonder up to the heavens. People sidestep me, taxis and shiny black SUVs zoom past, and the chaos of New York City saturates my hearing. I’m held captivated under the spell of the towering glass and metal guarding the city. Just . . . incredible.

There are not many things that can yank me from my raptured state, but his touch is one of those things. And his breath at my ear.

‘Boom,’ he murmurs, turning me in his arms. ‘They don’t grow overnight, you know.’

I glimpse up again. ‘I just don’t understand how they stay upright.’ My jaw is clasped and pulled back down. His eyes are soft and amused.

‘Maybe you should seek to sate this fascination.’

My neck retracts. ‘What do you mean?’

His palm slides to my nape and he starts guiding me towards Sixth Avenue. ‘Perhaps you should look into studying structural engineering.’

Dipping out of his hold, I place my hand in his. And he lets me, carrying out the usual flex of his fingers until he has a comfy grip. ‘I prefer the history behind the building, not how it was built.’ I glance up at him, then let my eyes fall down the length of his tall physique, smiling as I do. He has jeans on. Lovely, relaxed fitting jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Wearing suits while we’re here would be ridiculously inappropriate and I wasn’t afraid to tell him so. He didn’t argue about it either, allowing me to drag him around Saks for the whole first day we were here. He has no need for a suit in New York; there’s no one he needs to fool with his routine as an aloof gentleman. Despite this, though, Miller Hart still doesn’t do wandering very well. Or mixing, for that matter.

‘So, do you remember your challenge for today?’ he asks as we pause at a DON’T WALK signal. His eyebrows are raised as I smile up at him.

‘Yes, and I’m all prepared.’ I lost myself in the New York Public Library for hours yesterday while Miller took care of some business calls. I didn’t want to leave. I’d tortured myself a little by Googling ‘Gracie Taylor’. But it was like she didn’t even exist. After a few more tries of coming up with nothing, I lost myself in dozens of books, but not all historical architecture books. I took a brief peek at one about OCD, and I found out a few things, like the connection with anger. Miller certainly has a temper.