'pineapple upside-down cake!' nan calls, walking in proudly with a silver platter in her hands. she places it in the middle of the table and everyone cranes their necks over, admiring the masterpiece. 'this is my best to date. would you like to try some of my pineapple upside-down cake, miller?' she asks.

'i would love to, mrs taylor.'

'it's so good you'll inhale it in a second,' i say casually, picking up my spoon and flicking my eyes to miller. he takes the bowl from nan when she hands it over the table and places it down before turning it a few millimetres clockwise.

'i've no doubt i will.' he doesn't look at me and he doesn't begin eating. he waits politely for nan to serve everyone else before she takes a seat and picks up her spoon. his manners won't allow him to fulfil his suggestion to eat quickly either. he just can't help himself.

his spoon is lifted and sunk into the cake, breaking a piece away. then he scoops it up with ultimate precision and pops it in his mouth. my eyes make the journey, following his spoon from his bowl to his lips, my own spoon hovering in front of me. his whole being is a ridiculously strong magnet to my eyes and i'm beginning to give up trying to resist him. it seems my eyes are craving him as much as my body.

'are you okay?' he asks, studying me staring at him as he takes another bite. not even his awareness to my shameless gawking deters me.

'yes, i'm fine. i was just thinking that i've never seen anyone eat one of my grandmother's cakes so slowly.' i'm shocked by my suggestive observation and miller coughing, his hand flying to his mouth, is an indication that he is, too. i'm glad. i have a feeling that i'll need to match his poise if i'm devoting another sixteen hours to him, so i may as well start now.

'are you okay?' nan's concerned voice hits my ears. i'm sure her old face will display concern, too, but i won't look to confirm it because seeing miller flustered is too much of a novelty to miss any of it.

he finishes chewing, sets his spoon down and wipes his mouth. 'i apologise.' he picks up his glass and gazes over to me, lifting it to his lips. 'beautiful things should be savoured, livy, not rushed.' he sips his wine, and i feel his foot brush up my leg under the table. i shock myself further by flashing him a secret smile and remaining composed.

'it really is beautiful, nan.' i mimic miller and take a mouthful, chewing slowly, swallowing slowly, then licking my lips slowly. and i know my unabashed string of actions have had the desired effect because my skin is being singed by his blue glare. 'did you enjoy it, george?'

'did i ever!' he leans back in his chair and rubs his belly on a satisfied huff of air. 'i may need to undo my top button.'

'george!' nan hisses, reaching over and slapping his arm. 'we're at the dinner table.'

'never usually bothers you,' he grumbles.

'yes, well, we have a guest.'

'this is your home, mrs taylor,' miller interjects. 'and i'm privileged to be welcomed into it. that was the best beef wellington i've ever had the pleasure of tasting.'

'oh.' nan waves a dismissive hand over the table. 'you're too kind, miller.'

he's a brown-noser, that's what he is. 'better than my coffee?' i'm throwing innuendos all over the place, but i simply cannot help it.

'your coffee was like nothing i've tasted before,' he retorts softly, raising his eyebrows at me. 'i hope you'll have one ready for me tomorrow around noon when i'm passing.'

i shake my head on an amused smile, enjoying our private exchange. 'americano, four shots, two sugars and topped up halfway.'

'i look forward to it.' he gives me a hint of the smile i long to see again, the one i've seen only a few times since i've known him. 'mrs taylor, would you object if i were to ask olivia to join me for drinks at my home?'

i'm staggered by his confidence, and why didn't he ask me? my grandmother wouldn't say no, anyway. no, she'll probably try desperately to find a silk negligee in my underwear drawer to stuff into my bag on my way out. she'll be looking in vain.

'i'd love to,' i answer, halting the potential of the decision being made for me. i'm a grown woman. i make my own decisions. i'm the master of my own destiny.

'how very chivalrous of you to ask.' nan's excitement is clear but a bit of a gut wrench. she's building hopes on the basis of what very little she knows of the man sitting at her table. the whole story would put her in an early grave. 'we'll clear up and you two go and have fun!'

my chair is being pulled out from behind me before i can drop my spoon, and i'm on my feet, being directed towards nan and george's end of the table without delay. 'mrs taylor, thank you.'

'not at all!' she stands and lets miller peck each of her cheeks while she widens her eyes at me. 'it's been a wonderful evening.'

'i concur,' he says, holding his spare hand out to george. 'it's been a pleasure to meet you, george.'

'yes.' george is on his feet, taking position beside nan and the opportunity, while she's in such a good mood, to slip his arm around her waist. 'lovely evening.' he takes miller's hand.

i'm silently begging them to hurry with the polite exchanges. dinner has been a painfully long process of secret, suggestive remarks and sneaky touches. the pent-up lust in me is both unfamiliar and quite unsettling, but the overwhelming need to release it all is blocking any intelligence that i have, and i have lots of intelligence to block. i'm a smart woman . . . except when miller is around.

i feel the soothing kneading of his fingers into my nape, completely obliterating that intelligence. i'm not going to try and find it because it's long gone, leaving me vulnerable and desperate.

i kiss nan and george and allow miller to guide me from the dining room. he doesn't let his hold of me drop as he takes his jacket from the stand, and then unhooks my denim jacket, too. 'do you want to get some things?'

'no,' i answer quickly, not wanting to delay things further.

he doesn't argue, swiftly opening the front door and pushing me onward. he opens the door of his car and places me in the seat, shutting it quickly and pacing around the front to get in. starting the engine, he pulls smoothly away from the kerb, and i look up to my house, seeing the curtains twitching. i can only imagine the conversation going on between george and nan right now, but that thought trails off when depeche mode's 'enjoy the silence' creeps from the speakers, making my brow knit as i remember him telling me to do exactly that.

'you were extremely naughty during dinner, livy.'

my head swings to face him. naughty? 'you're the one who cornered me in the kitchen,' i remind him.

'i was securing my evening's prospects.'

'i'm a prospect?'

'no, you're a foregone conclusion.' he keeps his eyes on the road, his face straight. does he realise what he's saying?

'you make me sound like a tart.' my jaw is clenched and so are my fists, my lust dissipating in a split second at those words. i may have stamped all over my rules in recent weeks, but i am not, and never will be, a tart. 'i'd like you to take me home.'

he takes a hard left, prompting me to grab the door, and we're suddenly driving down an alleyway, flanked by loading bays for shops on either side. it's dusk, it's eerie and it's deserted. 'you're my foregone conclusion, livy. no one else's.' skidding to a halt, he unbuckles his seatbelt, then mine, and i'm quickly being yanked across the car onto his lap.

'what are you doing?' i ask, shocked, the track making me shudder as it continues to invade my hearing as miller invades all my other senses.

eyes.

nose.

touch.

and soon taste.

his seat is shifted back, giving him more room to pull my dress up to my waist. 'i'm doing what you've been begging me to do throughout dinner.'

'i wasn't begging.' my voice has dropped to a husky whisper. i don't recognise it.

'livy, you were most certainly begging. lift yourself up,' he orders, taking my hips, encouraging me.

i put up no resistance, pushing on my knees and rising. 'i thought you were waiting to put me back in your bed.'

'i would have, had you not teased and tortured me for the past hour. there's only so much i can take.' a condom appears from nowhere and he takes it between his teeth before reaching down and unfastening his trousers. 'i realise how cheap this is but i really cannot wait.' his penis breaks free from his trousers, hard and ready, and he makes fast work of ripping the packet open with his teeth and rolling it on.

i can't find my breath. my hands are holding the seat on either side of his head and i'm completely rapt as i watch him sheathe himself. fizzles of heat are stabbing at the pit of my belly, working their way down to my groin, and i'm mentally egging him on, wanting him to hurry. i've lost control and my impatience is evident, more so when i gaze up at him and find misty blue eyes and moist, parted lips.

pulling my cotton knickers aside, he guides himself to my opening, brushing the inside of my thigh, making me pull in a sharp breath. 'lower slowly,' he whispers, replacing one hand on my hip.

trying to rein in the temptation to crash down, i slowly inch my way down, letting the air from my lungs gush from my mouth, my head falling back, my fingers digging into the leather on the seat behind him. 'miller!'

'good god!' he barks, his h*ps shaking. 'i've never felt anything like it. stay where you are.'

i'm completely impaled on him. i can feel the tip of his arousal in the deepest part of me, and i'm shaking like a leaf. uncontrollable shakes. my body is alive, desperate to fly into action and instigate further pleasure. 'move.' my head drops, finding miller's head resting back, his eyes low and staring into our laps. his hair is a wavy, damp mess, crying for me to feel it. so i do. i lace my fingers through his waves and play with it, stroking and pulling. 'please move.'

'i'll do whatever you want, livy.' he clenches my h*ps and grinds deeply, spiking a low, alluring moan from me. 'jesus, that damn sound you make.'

'i can't help it.'

'i don't want you to,' he says, circling firmly, making me moan some more. 'i could listen to it for the rest of my days.'

i'm a fevered mess of longing. he even makes love precisely, each rotation, circle and grind a perfectly executed move, building me up perfectly. i'll never get enough of this. 'miller,' i pant, pushing short, uncontrolled breaths through my lips.

'tell me what you want.' he lifts me and pulls me back down slowly, his eyes clenching shut. 'tell me how you want me, livy.'

i don't care. each time he's worshipped me it has been perfectly perfect. he can do no wrong. 'i want it all,' i breathe, meaning so much more than just movement. i want to feel this good for ever, and i'm not sure that any other man will do it for me. 'kiss me,' i beg as he slides me back up and guides me down, rotating his hips, grinding firmly. i'm losing my mind. my hands are tightening in his hair, my knees on his waist.

his eyes lift, his hand finds its place on my nape, and i'm pulled forward slowly, accurately, with no rush or impatience. i don't know how he's doing it. 'you've knocked me sideways, olivia taylor,' he murmurs, claiming my lips gently. 'you're making me question everything i thought i knew.'