My lips part, my hold moving to the back of his head. I spend a few silent moments absorbing his gaze and his body pressed hard to mine. I also absorb his words. There’s nothing confounding about that statement. I know just what he’s talking about now, except my tell is a little different.

‘I have fireworks, too.’ I kiss the pad of his finger, and his side-to-side drag across my bottom lip stops as he regards me quietly. ‘Except mine implode.’

‘That sounds dangerous,’ he murmurs, dropping his gaze to my mouth. I disregard William’s caution of rising neck hair, certain my mind was working overtime, probably because of my messed-up mind and loss of Miller. Or it could be part of my tell.

‘It is dangerous,’ I confess.

‘How?’

‘Because every time I look at you, feel you, or even sense you, those fireworks shoot straight for my heart.’ I feel emotion grip me from every direction as I watch his eyes drag up my face until they’re locked with mine. ‘I fall in love with you a little bit more each time that happens.’

He slowly nods his acknowledgement. It’s almost undetectable. ‘We’re going to see and touch each other a lot,’ he murmurs. ‘You’re going to be incredibly in love with me.’

‘Already am.’ I close my eyes when his thumb moves and his lips replace it. And I fall that little bit more. Our mouths move gingerly together, purposely slow, our wild abandon of a few moments ago being replaced with cautious motions and complete aching tenderness. He’s speaking with this kiss. He’s acknowledging his understanding. He feels that way, too, except he calls it fascination.

‘To my bones?’ he asks into my mouth, making me smile.

‘Deeper than that.’

‘And I’ll pray for that continued love every day.’

‘It’s a given.’

‘Nothing in this world is a given, Olivia.’

‘That’s not true,’ I argue, detaching myself from his mouth, my contentment of a few moments ago vanishing. I’m under his close scrutiny as I form my next words in my mind. I’m not sure what other way I can say it. ‘Why won’t you accept it?’

‘It’s hard to accept something that shouldn’t be.’ His palm works its way to the back of my head and nestles into my hair. ‘I’m not worthy of your love.’

‘Yes, you are.’ I can feel heated anger rising into my cheeks, replacing my post-orgasm flush.

‘We’ll agree to disagree.’

‘No, we won’t.’ My body reacts to his blindness, my hands shifting to his chest and shoving him gently back. ‘I want you to accept it. Not just tell me you do to keep me happy, but really accept it.’

‘Okay.’ He doesn’t hesitate to agree, but there’s no conviction.

My shoulders sag, defeated, all of the dazzling hope that’s shone since our reunion dulling too fast. ‘What’s made you so negative?’

‘Reality.’ His tone is flat and lifeless, and my mouth snaps shut. I have no counter for that – no words or sense of encouragement. At least not off the cuff. Given a few moments, I’ll think of something and I’ll make sure it’s valid and logical. But my sprinting mind is interrupted in mid-construction when the door to the studio swings open.

Both of our heads snap to the side, and my hackles instantly rise.

‘Time’s up.’ Cassie’s silken voice riles me further, her perfect figure laden in Lycra not helping in the least bit. Her eyes are full of resentment, with a little alarm mixed in for good measure. She’s shocked to see me and that pleases me too much.

‘We’re just leaving,’ Miller retorts curtly, taking my nape and leading me to collect his phone before directing me to the door.

I watch with narrowed eyes as she struts across the room and shamelessly reaches down to touch her toes, stretching before sliding down into the splits on a conniving smirk. The diamond cross that always graces her lovely neck skims the floor. ‘Pilates,’ she purrs. ‘Does wonders for flexibility. Isn’t that right, Miller?’

I look up at him with wide eyes, hoping I’m not interpreting those words correctly. He doesn’t humour me with confirmation or even a reassuring look. ‘Rein it in, Cassie,’ he spits, opening the door and gently pushing me through.

‘Have a great day!’ she sings on a laugh.

As soon as the door slams behind us, I fight my way from Miller’s hold and swing to face him, my hair whipping my face. ‘What’s she doing here?’

‘She has the studio from eight to ten.’

I bristle. ‘Have you slept with her?’

‘No.’ His answer is swift and decisive. ‘Never.’

‘Then what’s her bendy arse harping on about?’

‘Bendy arse?’ One corner of his mouth tips in concealed humour. It doesn’t improve my mood.

‘I know she’s a hooker, Miller. I saw her at a function with some old, fat, rich man.’

Any signs of amusement slip away from his face in an instant. ‘I see,’ he says simply, like it’s of no importance.

‘You see?’

‘What else would you like me to say? She’s an escort.’

My sass shrivels. I don’t know what I want him to say. ‘I need to get to work.’ I pivot, making for the ladies’ changing rooms, feeling hot wetness trickling down my thighs. Damn it!

‘Olivia.’

I ignore him and push my way through the door. The possessiveness coursing through my fire-filled veins is a little shocking, my returning sass transforming into . . . something else. I’ve not quite identified it yet, but it’s dangerous. I know that much. My backside plummets to a slatted bench and my head falls into my hands. She’s going nowhere. She’s bold and obviously harbours a hatred for me. Can I handle that?

‘Hey.’ Warm palms skate up my thighs and I peek through my parted fingers to find Miller kneeling in front of me. A brief scan of the changing room quickly tells me that we’re not alone. There are two towel-clad women at the other end, watching with interest, but neither seem concerned by their lack of clothing.

‘Miller, what are you doing?’ I return my eyes to his crouched form, seeing an expressionless face but sympathy in his eyes.

‘I’m doing what a man does when he sees the woman he adores in pieces.’

Adores? Not fascinated? Even now, when I’m struggling to locate any sense, that simple word thrills me. ‘I don’t like her.’

‘Neither do I sometimes.’

‘Just sometimes?’

‘She’s misunderstood.’

‘I don’t think I’m misunderstanding her. She doesn’t like me.’

‘That’s because I like you. Very much so.’

Fascinated. Adores. Like. ‘Does she want you?’

‘She wants to make things difficult.’

‘Why?’

He sighs, low and drawn out, and clamps his palms on either side of my cheeks, getting nose to nose with me. ‘She can’t see past what she knows.’

She can’t see past sex and glamour? I shake my head, a little confused but more frustrated. So she expects Miller to follow the same theory? ‘I want to run away,’ I whisper, my legs twitching already, eager to carry me from the stark truth of Miller and his history. Everything everywhere is a constant reminder. I’m not sure if I can get past it. ‘With you,’ I clarify when a wave of trepidation floats across his face. ‘Will any of these people let us be?’