All the Way (11 page)

But it was too late.

Gavin surged inside of her with one strong thrust.

Fire.

Fullness.

Completion.

He interlaced his fingers through hers. Stared deeply into her eyes. And moved. Again. And again.

With each thrust he took her toward the edge, until every inner muscle clenched and squeezed him tight inside her. The journey was familiar, but this time he held her gaze every step of the way, giving himself as freely as she had given her own self three years ago. The last fragile wall trembled precariously, but she fought with a fierceness she taught herself to cultivate since he left her. The emotions raged between them, pushing them forward, and then the orgasm hit. Fragments of pleasure exploded around her. She cried out and held on, and soon his hoarse shout echoed in the air as they slipped over the edge together.

Miranda knew then she’d lied to herself.

She was still in love with him.

…

Gavin cradled her in his arms and pressed a kiss against her temple. Limbs intertwined, they lay together on the sofa and drifted lazily in and out of sleep. He’d made a half-hearted attempt to make it to the bedroom, but his lady only murmured something unintelligible and snuggled closer. He decided to give up the battle. Besides, the close quarters allowed him to cushion every part of her delicious body relaxed against him.

He buried his face in a mass of fiery waves and breathed in the scent of strawberries. Making love to Miranda Storme was an experience that changed a man forever. He grew hard again at the image of her head thrown back in passion, her slick heat dampening him as he thrust inside her body, the cries he wrung from her lips as they reached the peak.

A thought skittered across his memory. There’d always been a deep connection between them during their lovemaking, but he remembered the flash of fear in her eyes right before he took her.

She’d held back.

He frowned. At the last moment, she’d fought her own surrender. She may have given him her body tonight, but her heart was still firmly encased behind that wall. He wondered if he’d ever be able to scale it.

“Gavin?”

He shook off his thoughts and tightened his arms around her. “What, baby?”

“Were you scared the night you saved that man’s life?”

His lips brushed her temple. “I told Brando I was scared out of my mind. But I learned a lot of things during my time in India. I watched people dying all around me. Poverty, disease, starvation. Made me crazy because I felt helpless to stop it, and I kept railing about injustice and fate and fairness. Suddenly, all my goals for power and money seemed useless.”

“How did you deal with this realization?”

“I finally stopped focusing on myself and looked around. You know what I found out? The people in India practice acceptance. Surrender. They live their life moment to moment, and if something bad happens, they understand it’s their own karma. I decided I wanted that type of peace.”

She was quiet for a while, as if digesting what he’d said. “Would you have been able to accept it if that man had died?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Maybe after some time had passed, yes, I would have learned to accept. In India, they also believe in being the witness. You teach yourself to get past emotions so you can move into action.”

“Isn’t that being in control?”

Gavin briefly admired the sharp intelligence of the woman lying beneath him. “Good point. In a way, I suppose you’re right. But there’s a difference between denying your emotions to be in control, and accepting them to accomplish an action. I was scared, but I didn’t fight my feelings. I let the fear move through me and then cleared my head so I could decide what to do.”

She shifted her buttocks and he stirred back to life. Ready for round two, he leaned over and tilted her chin up. The expression on her face froze him in the act. His chest squeezed in sheer terror at the mix of determination and sadness.

“I made my own decision, Gavin.”

“What is it, baby?”

“I don’t want to fight this attraction we have anymore. Maybe I can even fall in love with you again. But I’m not going to do anything about it this time.”

He stroked her cheek. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m tired of being afraid of the future. Wondering what’s going to happen when your time is up. Wondering if I can watch you leave again without breaking apart.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that. I have a plan.”

“No.” Her lips pursed. “This time it’s my decision. My rules, Gavin. We’re going to sleep together.”

“Thank God.”

“Thought you’d like that part. I won’t fight you. We’ll spend time together. But when our time is up, you go back to your job and we part without any hard feelings. Close up the past, clear our karma, and go on with our lives.”

Neat and tidy. He fucking hated it. “Miranda, please listen to me. We don’t have to leave each other this time. You can come with me.”

He expected a gasp of pleasure. A joyous smile. Not the outright laugh that mocked him as a crazy lunatic. “Come with you? While you travel around the country and close deals? No, thanks. I have a life here, a life I built, and I’m not giving it up.”

He jerked back. God, why was he so surprised? Did he really think one sexual encounter wiped out years of heartache?

His silence must have been his answer. A sad smile touched her lips. “I don’t want to hurt you, Gavin. But I’m not coming with you. If you want to continue this, it has to be on my terms. Or this is over tonight.”

He slumped back on the bed and laid his hand over his forehead. How had everything gotten so screwed up? Did he even have a choice? He wasn’t about to let her go. If he accepted her terms, she intended to say a sweet good-bye and find another man to marry and have kids with. The idea heated his blood with venom.

Unless…

Unless he did everything in his power to change her mind. He had time left. Maybe more if he pushed Brian. Convince her she couldn’t live without him and they were meant to be together. Show her how good they were together, both in and out of bed.

Starting now.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

In seconds, he flipped her over so she straddled him. Her nipples had already hardened. He flicked the tips and rang out a moan. “You win. You get my body and anything else you want for the next few weeks.” His fingers slipped into liquid heat and he moved them in the way she liked. Her channel tightened and she arched. “But you have to please me.”

“Bastard.”

“That’s gonna cost you.”

He teased her clit until she pressed against him and began to beg. Her breathy cries sang in his ears. Gavin prayed he’d have enough time to convince her they deserved a future.

Her orgasm hit and he stopped thinking.

Chapter Seven

Miranda pushed open the door to the popular French restaurant and dragged Gavin in. The sophisticated atmosphere bespoke the usual bistro flavor—sparkling lights, small round tables, rich mahogany wood, and a reserved air of snobbery. She’d learned from experience that the more obnoxious her appearance, the less people looked beneath the surface to spot her food critic celebrity. LaSaveur was the new dig in town, known for its gourmet food and exquisite use of truffle oil. Unfortunately, the owner sniffed out a food critic in record time, and plied them with the very best. Gaining an unbiased review of the restaurant as a whole was her goal. Even if she got through the first course without being spotted, she’d consider it a win.

She pulled her fake fur around her shoulders and gave her name to the hostess.

The trendily dressed woman cringed. “We’re booked up for reservations months in advance,” she informed them in crisp tones.

Miranda pursed her lips. “I’m a distant cousin of JJ Abrams. He’s going to cast me in his new Star Trek movie. I’d advise you to check again.”

The woman disappeared to get the maitre’d.

Gavin lowered his head to speak against her ear. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Shush. Don’t ruin my cover. I warned you I was working tonight.”

“If anyone catches this on YouTube, I’m ruined.” His piercing blue eyes held a mixture of shock and pure lust. She bit her lip and tried not to get distracted by the sexy black Calvin Klein suit that hugged lean thighs and broad shoulders. He hadn’t shaved, and scruff hugged his jaw and chin, giving him a dangerous look. A fedora lay low on his brow. The Rolex watch and fake diamond earring gleamed.
Yum.

Her own outfit consisted of hardly any material. Posing as the trashy trophy of a rich man, she’d poured herself into a fire engine red dress that barely covered her ass and accented her boobs. The blonde wig and heavy make-up disguised her red hair and pale skin. As the new celebrity food critic, gaining entrance without preference was key.

She loved the food industry. It was really screwed up.

The woman was replaced by a distinguished older man with salted hair, skinny hands, and a crinkled nose. He led them to the table, wrapped in a cloud of judgment for his new seedy customers that had forced their way into his establishment. Gavin fell into his part with ease and growled as the man took a quick peek down her dress. The menus were thrust into their hands and he hurried away.

“What if someone recognizes me? Pop will have a heart attack.” His worry regarding his father softened her heart, and she squeezed his hand across the table.

“Don’t worry, Sonny.” A giggle escaped at the name he detested from
The Godfather
. “What are we eating?”

“Anything you want, doll. Money is no object.”

“Good evening, sir. Madame.” The waiter appeared and recited the specials. Miranda made notes of the menu, calculating the specials, prices, and studying the decor. The dining area was tight and people’s conversations were easy to overhear. The crystal was top notch, the linen sharply pressed, and the chandelier fake. She noted the waiter never asked if they wanted tap water, just plunked down the sparkling at $4.99 per bottle. Interesting. The waiter spoke to Gavin and ignored her. “Would you like to begin with an appetizer?”

She jumped in. “Escargot, please.”

Not meeting her eyes, his pencil scratched the pad. “And you, sir?”

“The goat cheese special.”

“Excellent. Are you ready to order?”

“I had a question on the menu,” she chirped. Yep, there was the frown. Judgmental. His gaze took in her cheap dress, clown make-up, and platinum hair. “Which is better? The lamb shank or duck?”

“Both are excellent.” His lips pressed together in a thin line. “Would you like more time to decide?”

Hmm. LaSaveur was famed for its enthusiastic knowledge of the menu and the ability of the waiter to recommend a dish. Guess not if one wasn’t dressed in designer clothes. “I guess I’ll have the lamb. Would you suggest any special sides to go with it?”

“The shallot potatoes. They are a la carte, of course.”

“What’s that mean?”

His mouth turned as if he’d bit into something sour. “Separately priced,” he snapped out. Again, he shifted his attention to Gavin. “Sir? May I assist you with any of your choices?”

Gavin caught her eye and she gave a nod. Already well-coached in what she needed to sample, he deftly ordered. The chef chatted with him, and continued to ignore her. When he finally left, her temper simmered like the escargot she was served with her expensive bottle of wine.

“What an ass. Did you see him ignore me?”

“I don’t know how. God, Miranda, please don’t lean in. I’m having a problem over here.”

He shifted his weight, and she realized her breasts almost slipped out of her bra. “Oops. Sorry. Make it up to you later.”

“Tease.”

“Pimp.”

He choked and drank some of the expensive water. “We don’t need to spice up our sex life, baby. I already can’t keep my hands off of you, and it’s only been a week since I got you back in my bed. The kink factor is putting me over the edge. I need a shirt that says
Do It With A Foodie
.”

“Damn, that’s good. I’m getting one printed. Nice wine list. Great flavor. I wish he would’ve let me smell the cork, though.”

“I pocketed it for you. Figured you’d want it.”

She beamed. “You rock.”

“Tell me this isn’t a weekly occurrence and part of your job description.”

Miranda took a sip of the earthy Bordeaux. Not bad. “I only recently began my life of playing an imposter. I used to be able to go anywhere, but since my articles in
Foodie
magazine became popular, I transformed into a celebrity. Pretty cool, but a bit strange. I always thought critics were just like writers—known only for their work and not their face.”

He grinned. “Not many have a face like you, baby.”

“Nice line.”

“Thanks.” He studied her in the dim light. “You amaze me. It’s difficult to make a name for yourself in the food industry, especially in Manhattan. You must have worked your ass off.”

“Yeah, but it was worth it. My grandmother always encouraged me to dream big and go after what I want. I feel like she’s with me and I made her proud. That’s worth everything. Isn’t that how you feel with your own family?”

A shadow crossed his face. He tipped back his wineglass. “Not like you. I wanted to succeed for purely selfish reasons. Money. Power. When I traveled to India, I started questioning if I even liked the work. Never stopped to think about it. Maybe that’s why lately, success felt so empty.”

His startling revelation was interrupted by their waiter bringing their appetizers. Gavin quickly switched to surface topics and she allowed him the lead. Before the second course, Miranda pushed back her chair. “I’m going to excuse myself for a bit and make a trip to the ladies room. Check out the surroundings. Maybe peek in the kitchen on an oops.”

“Good luck.”

She wobbled on her platform heels, then steadied. The hardwood floors gleamed, and gilded mirrors hung on the wall beside French paintings. She preferred a bistro feel to her French haunts, but this one was stuffy, overdone, and a bit bland. Like biting into a rich juicy peach and finding it tastes like an apple. Yuck.

She used the restroom, wandered down the wrong hallway, and pressed against the wall near the swinging doors. The usual litany of French and English drifted from the kitchen. Standing on tiptoes, she peeked in the small square window. A line of chefs barked orders at the waiters as they shuffled in. Relatively clean. Organized. Not bad. In between curses that rivaled Hell’s Kitchen, a familiar voice drifted to her ears. Miranda frowned and tried to place it. So familiar. So annoying. So…

Allison Wheaton
.

She stepped away from the wall at the same time the door flung open. Her heel dug for footing and slipped on the glossy finish. She hit the back wall hard and landed on her ass. The already short dress hiked up to massive heights.

She looked up. The woman stared down at her in astonishment and pure glee. Her perfect glossy hair hung in a neat bob. Golden hoops sparkled at her lobes. The pewter silk suit only added to her polish, right down to her Jimmy Choos.

Miranda scrambled to her feet in a desperate need to at least be at full height without her crotch hanging out. “What are you doing here?”

Allison’s dark eyes brimmed with mirth as she studied her appearance. “Doing a review, of course. I just got done speaking with the chef. An excellent meal, if I do say so myself.”

She spit out her words. “You knew I wanted to review LaSaveur for
The Herald
. Why don’t you stop stealing my beat and find your own restaurants? You have no originality.”

Allison lifted a brow. “And you’re always a step behind. You’ll never make it in this business, Miranda. You’re a cheap fluke, destined to come right back down. The only reason you got attention was from stealing my tagline.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “You’re just pissed because mine is more catchy.”

The woman shrugged. “Whatever. Really, darling, did you think no one would recognize you dressed like a cheap tramp? I knew who you were immediately.”

Miranda poked a finger at Allison’s small breasts. “I’d rather dress like a cheap tramp than be one. Or do you know this chef personally, too?”

“He happens to be a friend of my boyfriend’s, so if you’re thinking of trashing this restaurant, think again. I’m running my own in tomorrow’s issue—before you’ll ever have your review to print. Now, run along dear. Find someplace else to play with your food.”

Miranda simmered with frustration. Once again, she was being trumped. Getting to print the original review of a restaurant was key. If she ran a duplicate review with negative vibes, it would look like a thwarted attempt to discredit Allison’s opinion. Not cool in the food industry. As much as she wanted to, she’d never ruin her reputation or sink to the woman’s level. “Good luck selling your readers on this dump. At least I tell the truth and don’t trade favors for favors.”

Allison gasped.

Miranda spun away and marched back to her table. Grasping her wine glass, she chugged down the rest in one long swallow. “Get the bill, Gavin.”

“Why? I thought we were doing a review.”

“I’ve got other plans. Bigger plans.” She sashayed over to him and laid an open mouth, toe-curling, stomach-dropping kiss on that gorgeous mouth.

The waiter appeared and rested their entrees on the table. “Sir, your food.”

Her man surfaced from the kiss with a stupid expression on his face. “Huh?”

Miranda waved her hand in dismissal. “The bill. The food was decent, the service sucks, and this place blows.” She dropped one lid. “And I’m about to blow something else.”

The waiter stumbled back.

Gavin threw his credit card on the table. “Keep it. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

She laughed as he dragged her out of the restaurant.

…

Two days later, Gavin watched his lady smile up at her three admirers. Dominick, Brando, and Tony crowded around the table he’d vacated exactly three minutes ago.

Gavin shook his head. The men in his family moved fast when it came to a beautiful woman. He decided to hurry through his rounds and reclaim her. If he wasn’t careful, Brando would dump Tracey and challenge him for Miranda’s hand. Hell, they’d already eaten pizza together once this past week. Before long, they’d be going steady, and he’d have to duel his younger brother.

Soft laughter drifted through the air. He paused before table nine and looked over. Fiery red hair burned across the room and framed a face that had haunted his dreams for three years. His gut twisted in emotion. She belonged to him again. The knowledge brought humility. Satisfaction. And a deep, wrenching fear.

He was in love with her. Always had been. Always would be.

“Gavin?”

He blinked and looked down at his customer. “Yes, Mrs. Deniston?”

The older couple shared a look of common understanding. “You got it bad, son.”

Gavin groaned. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve been staring at her for the past five minutes. You also look like you’ve been run over by a freight train. All the signs are there.” Mr. Deniston scooped up the bill and poked his finger in the air. “You’d better do something about it.”

Gavin watched as his brother placed his hand over Miranda’s. “Hmm, maybe you’re right.”

“Don’t screw up. The right one comes along but once in a lifetime.”

“Maybe it’s time I take that advice. Thanks, Mr. Deniston. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll try some damage control.”

Funny, the revelation he loved her came naturally, almost as if the knowledge was always there in his heart. He just needed the guts to finally admit it. He needed to tell her. More importantly, he had to find a way to make her come with him.

Or he could stay.

The constant battle warred and left a trail of unease. Yes, he realized he wasn’t as happy in his job, but maybe he’d be able to tweak his career to make it more user-friendly. Was he really ready to chuck years of sacrifice and work to run a restaurant he never wanted? Save it, yes. Be more involved with Mia Casa and his family, yes. Visit more, yes.

But drop his entire life to work day and night in the food industry?

He pushed his thoughts aside and joined Brando, who perched on the edge of his seat, and leaned close to Miranda. “I think my brother is seriously crushing on you, baby. He’s been dragging you for pizza a lot lately.”

Brando glared. “You know I’m in love with Tracey.”

A grin tugged at Gavin’s lips. “Sorry.”

Miranda turned to Brando. “Why don’t I come by tomorrow at lunch, and we’ll finish our conversation?”

Brando brightened. “Okay. Come on, Dominick, let’s finish up in the back.”

The three men trooped off, looking star-struck. Gavin shook his head.

“What?” she asked.

“Why do you have to smile at them like that?”

She laughed. “Hmm, you’re still the same possessive Italian from years ago. They’re your family, darling. Perfectly safe to flirt with.”