All the Way (4 page)

Andy was right. Revenge was sweet.

She stood by the door, ramrod straight, but he didn’t move. Just leaned his hip against the island with a casual laziness. Miranda knew better. He seemed to assess his options with lightning speed, before settling on his new path. “Wanna know how I felt when I saw you with Andy’s son?”

“Don’t.”

“What I was really mad about is how I felt at the idea of you having a child with another man. I hated it.”

Numbness overtook the anger until she felt limp. Her voice was toneless when she finally answered. “What we had wasn’t real. It was just sex.”

He pushed away from the counter and crossed the room. “You’re wrong, Red. That’s what I wanted to believe. Hell, I wanted to believe it so bad I traveled a thousand miles across the globe to prove I didn’t love you. Nothing worked. I made my money, accomplished my goals, and tried to be happy without you.” He paused. “But I never was. When Pop called and asked for help, all I could think of was the idea of running into you again.”

“You expect me to believe you took three years to realize you love me? Why didn’t you fly home immediately after you came to this startling conclusion?”

“It wasn’t like that. We were at a crossroads, and I didn’t want to interfere with your own goals.”

“Very convenient.”

“It’s the truth. You were off to study at the culinary. I had just scored a partnership. I completely panicked and made the biggest mistake of my life.”

She snorted. “Yeah, so big you jet-set around the world, being miserable.”

He seemed to think over her statement, and a misty longing edged his voice. “Most of the time, yes. But I decided to take some time off and travel to India. Everything started to crystallize there.”

“You went to India?”

He nodded. “I was taught a different way of life. I learned I’d been trying to find myself on the outside, but I needed to find out who I was on the inside. I didn’t track you down because I thought it was too late.”

“Right.”

He groaned. “I have a feeling you don’t believe me, but I never expected this to be easy. I didn’t want to come barging into your life again, Red, when there was a good chance you’d already forgotten me. Gone on with your life.”

“I have, Gavin. That’s the whole point to this conversation. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop you from cornering me in the restaurant, or leaving after I asked you to go.”

“Because I knew it wasn’t over the moment you looked into my eyes.”

The tears were trapped deep inside, but she refused to let them surface. Instead, she faced him with a deep calm. “You’re too late.”

“I don’t believe that.”

He stepped in front of her and laid both palms flat against the wood, trapping her head in between them. She let out a soft whoosh as the air left her body—faced with his full power. His warm breath struck her lips, a delicious mixture of whiskey and mint.

Miranda realized he was still in control.

The gleam in his eyes reflected a knowledge he affected her in the most primitive way possible and intended to use it to his advantage. The spicy scent of him teased her senses. She decided the best way to play the scene was flippant. “Seems we’ve been here before, huh? Me, Tarzan. You, Jane. Simply charming.”

His lower lips quirked. “You always were a hellcat, Red. I never knew whether to strangle you or drag you to the nearest bed. The latter proved more pleasant.”

She smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t do a second review if you offered me a million dollars. I wouldn’t do a second review if I was sick, and dying, and you were the only man to help me. If you were the last man on Earth standing between me and a nuclear bomb blast I wouldn’t—”

“I get the message. You won’t do the review. Fine, I’ll change your mind later.” He ignored her outraged squeak and continued. “Time to take the first step, sweetheart. I’m going to prove your body hasn’t forgotten me, even if you want to deny your feelings.”

Her heart thundered and skipped like Derby day. “Arrogant, aren’t we? You were good, babe, but not good enough to span three years. I’ve had better.” Did her nose grow longer from her lie?

He lifted her chin up, forcing her to face him. Grim resolution shot from blue-gray depths. His body heat was almost tangible, tempting her to surrender and reach out to touch him. “Ouch. That’s gonna make me up my game. But I want more than your body. There’s been an empty ache in my gut from the day I walked away from you. I searched Godforsaken places to fill it and I never got close. Until now. I want another chance, Miranda. I want to know how you changed and who you are. I have eight weeks to prove myself again and I’m not wasting another second.”

He closed the inch of space between them by pressing solid muscles against her curves. His head lowered. Carved lips stopped inches from hers, and his breath rushed across her trembling mouth. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

The familiar command took her back. Nights of naked skin and sweat and orgasms. She gasped at his cruelty. “Damn you to hell.”

His hands slid down her body to link her fingers within his. “Already been there.”

His mouth stamped over hers.

Chapter Three

I’m not going to respond. I’m not going to respond. I’m not going to—

The mantra pounded over and over as his lips skated gently across hers. She steeled herself for the invasion and vowed to fight, but it never came. As if he had all the time in the world to re-discover her taste and texture, his mouth skimmed…pressed…retreated…until an unconscious moan rose from her throat and her fingers tightened around him.

Never changing the force of his teasing kiss, he returned the pressure of her fingers, squeezing, then slowly unlacing as he broke contact of skin against skin. One thumb massaged the sensitive flesh of her palm, then stroked upward to press into her thudding pulse point. Her hand flexed, and every inch of her body jumped to life. Her nipples rose against the cotton of her shirt. Denim brushed against denim as he shifted his weight. His belt buckle scraped against her lower belly, and caused a rush of liquid heat to pound between her thighs. Her lips parted under the delicious persuasion of his, but still he held back, tracing the corners of her mouth with the tip of his tongue.

She ached for an intense strength she could fight. Instead, he snared her with a delicate heat that promised her a world of sensation, as if he knew her body would always welcome him back.

She tilted her head and allowed him access, but he ignored her request. Suddenly she gazed into an ocean of heat, burning with a demand and hunger. “You have to say the words, Miranda.” The silky command raked across her ears. “Invite me in.”

Her hips arched upward. He was a real life vampire, seducing her to opening her window so he could bring her pleasure and steal her soul. “No.”

The game continued. His teeth nibbled on her bottom lip, then soothed with his tongue, always refusing to kiss her the way she needed. One foot nudged her legs apart so he could angle his hips more intimately against hers. The hard length of his erection settled between her thighs. His hands stroked each finger with a completeness that told her he would give as much attention to other parts of her body. Parts that ached for him. Drugged up with bliss, she moaned and reached for him.

“Is this what you want?” he murmured.

She shook with rage and passion and wanting. “I hate you.”

He buried his hands in her hair. “I know.”

“Yes.”

With a muttered curse, his mouth came down on hers. His tongue plundered the seam of her lips and re-staked his claim. The taste of him drove her mad for more as he explored and conquered every slick, satiny corner of her mouth. She gave him free access and met each thrust of his tongue with her own. Her breasts were crushed against the muscled wall of his chest. The gentle teasing turned into an inferno. His hips rocked against hers. She arched and demanded more.

“Let me touch you.”

She didn’t need to say the word. In a moment, her shirt was unbuttoned and parted. A deep-seated groan rumbled from his chest at her lack of a bra, and then his fingers stroked her swollen flesh.

“Gavin!”

“I know, baby, I know.” One thumb raked across the ruby crest and he lowered his lips to take her in his mouth. He bit and licked, pushing her closer into a seething pit of sensation.

“I’ve thought about you like this,” he whispered. “Every night climbing into bed I dreamed of touching you, hearing you cry out in pleasure.” He nibbled on her neck as his hands lifted her breasts and rubbed her nipples. “Let me show you how much I need you. Let me make love to you and you’ll see we belong together. You’re safe with me, sweetheart, I swear it.”

I love you, Gavin, I love you…

He’d left before, and he’d leave again. Was she so weak-willed and pathetic she’d allow him to repeat the same move three years later?

Her skin chilled as if steeped in ice water. Slowly, she reached out and pushed against his chest. He looked up.

“Nice try. But a good screw still won’t make me do a second review.”

“We were always better than a good screw and you know it. Don’t try to deny the connection we have.”

She twisted her lips. “Orgasms don’t make a connection, Gavin. I’ve moved beyond that now. Maybe it’s time to up your game.”

He jerked back. Torment shone briefly in those eyes, then disappeared. “God, what happened to you? How did you become so cold?”

She calmly buttoned her shirt. “I was taught by the best.”

He cursed and rubbed his forehead. “I deserved that, I guess.”

She didn’t answer, just leaned against the door and watched him.

“Do you know what karma is, Miranda?” He let out a humorless laugh. “In India they believe karma is the result of your past lives and actions. You re-connect with people who you’ve known before.”

He glanced over but she refused to answer.

“Karma is like destiny. When two people discover each other from past lives, they form a deep connection. Three years ago I was only willing to have an affair. I’d decided I wanted more from my life than to run the family business, settle down, and have children. I craved freedom, and I thought that came with money and power. Maybe before if I had stayed, I would’ve ended up hurting you in a different way. Because I wasn’t ready. Now I am.”

He reached out and pushed back a stray curl from her face. “I want a chance to show you the man I really am. I want a chance to make it up to you.”

Her lower lip trembled. The memory of those weeks after he left still bruised at a touch. The loneliness and fear. The knowledge she was alone and hadn’t been good enough. Was never good enough. “It’s too late.”

She waited for his final acceptance. His hand dropped away. He opened the door and paused. “You’re wrong. You’re going to welcome me back into your bed. You’re going to trust me again. Because it’s our karma.”

Then he left.

…

Gavin climbed into his black Mercedes, shut the door, and clasped his hands around the steering wheel. The leather seat creaked gently beneath his weight as he gazed out through the windshield.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe it was too late.

How would he ever convince her to forgive him?

How many times had he picked up the phone, aching to hear her voice? How many letters had he written but never mailed? He shook his head in disgust. Overwhelmed by the sights he encountered and the emotions bubbling up inside, he’d penned his feelings to her in every city over the damn country. Each time he stopped at the post office, ready to mail them, something held him back. As time passed, his decision became easier to keep the letters his secret. He knew written words couldn’t change things between them. So, he threw himself into his work and searched for his own answers.

When he got back into town, he tracked her down immediately. The memory of her strolling out of her office, laughing with Andy, punched him in the gut. They looked…close. Intimate in the way of friends, maybe more. He watched them walk down the street and realized he had no right to appear back in her life.

Until she showed up at Mia Casa.

Karma.

He needed to use this opportunity to right his past mistakes. Save the restaurant. Gain Miranda’s forgiveness. But one look twisted his motivations. He wanted more. Her body, her mind. Even her heart.

He had no right to demand any of it. He would have to go back to Europe within eight weeks. Unless he tossed it all and stayed. The first time he chose his career. Would she give him another chance to choose her? Could he give up everything he worked hard to build for the unknown?

Maybe. Damn, he wanted a shot. He already experienced the burn of her body. Now he wanted to dive back in and see the woman she’d become. In order to have that option, he faced the hurdle of trying to un-break her heart.

Gavin pressed the button and the engine purred to life. He had a long road ahead, but his travels taught him the fine art of patience. And that kiss proved she still had feelings for him. It was a tiny spark to cling to, but one spark could ignite a fire.

Gavin threw the clutch into gear and drove out of the parking lot.

…

Miranda shuffled the papers on her desk and tried to keep her butt in the chair. Ever since Gavin walked out of her apartment a few days ago, her writing had stalled. Almost as if guilt mocked her. Not over his attempt to forge a physical relationship to gain a second review. No, the main thing keeping her blocked and up half the night was the knowledge he was right. The main reason she wrote that review was revenge. Guess it was a dish best served cold after all.

She pushed back a sigh and re-focused on the one sentence she managed to compose. At least it was over. Gavin finally backed off. Though they’d exchanged harsh words, it was for the best. No man could possibly handle all that hostility and return for more.

“Hey, Miranda, looks like you don’t have to go out for today’s review.”

“Hmm?” She glanced up from her computer. The pencil she’d been tapping fell from her fingers, causing the copy editor who had yelled the comment to laugh. “Oh, no.”

Gavin strode through the newsroom as if he was editor-in-chief and barked orders to the two men trailing behind. They grumbled beneath their breath as they pushed a silver tray cart across the room and stopped by her cubicle. Giggles and whispers cut through the air as all eyes focused on her guest.

“Your lunch, madam.”

Her mouth fell open. “Are you insane? What are you doing here?”

“Giving you a chance to taste the real menu at
Mia Casa
.” He nodded to the other men. They looked at each other and shook their heads, as if they knew their boss was crazy, then whipped off the covers from the plates. The rich scents of fresh tomatoes, lemon and garlic wafted in the air. Miranda firmly ignored the sudden cry of her stomach and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I’m not doing another review, Gavin.”

The younger man gazed at Gavin in triumph. “I told you she wouldn’t do it. I told you this was a stupid idea. If Pop had given me the restaurant, this would have never happened.”

“Yeah, Brando, you’ve been telling me that ever since I got back. Oh, by the way, Miranda, this is my younger brother.”

She raised a brow. She’d never met Gavin’s family. Their brief affair hadn’t afforded her the status of being introduced to family members. After all, sex was kept in the bedroom. She ignored the cut of pain and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Some of the sulkiness left his face and he smiled. “Hey, I think your column is pretty cool, and I have a tip for you. My girlfriend Tracey works at this pizza place in the Village, and she says they make the best Sicilian. It’s called Sammy’s Slice. I bet I can get you a discount.”

“Thanks, Brando. I’ll take it under advisement.”

The older man stuck his head in between them and put out his hand. “I’m Antonio,
signorina
, and I am the chef at Mia Casa. I can promise you today’s lunch will be the best you’ve ever had.” He beamed. “My wife is not having an affair.”

“Oh.” A puzzled frown creased her brow as she shook his hand. “Well, I’m very glad for you, Antonio.”

“Yes, this is a very good thing.”

Gavin turned to the two men. “Now that the introductions are made, if you gentlemen will leave us, I’ll see you back at the restaurant.”

With a quick good-bye, they left. Miranda looked down at the elegant silver tray, complete with linen napkins, serving utensils, and a long stemmed red rose. She sighed. “Why are you doing this?”

He draped one napkin over his arm and filled her plate. “Maybe I wanted to finish our conversation. Maybe I thought you were hungry.”

“Maybe you should have called.”

“This is more personal. Besides, I bet you haven’t eaten yet.”

Her stomach growled on cue, but he kept his face neutral. His knit shirt stretched across broad muscles. He stood hands on hips, legs braced apart, and his actual aura vibrated with unconscious arrogance. Miranda shook her head in amazement. The man served her lunch and he exuded a casual elegance, reminding her of royalty.

“You’re still bossy,” she grumbled. “Just because I’m eating this doesn’t mean I’m giving in. I hate to waste food.”

“Point taken.” He handed her the plate and grabbed one of the computer chairs, settling himself down. “What are you working on?”

She swallowed a perfect bite of eggplant Parmesan and tried to mask her surprise. “We’re expanding the
Miranda Eats
column. My editor wants to start printing some of the common questions people write in about.”

“Like who pays for your meals when you go on reviews?”

“Exactly.” Miranda wondered how Antonio had achieved such a wonderful combination of firmness and texture to the eggplant. Too many times the vegetable came out limp and soggy. She took another bite. “It’s amazing how many readers assume I pay for myself and write the review out of the kindness of my heart. People think I’m an aspiring author who’s desperate to be published in anything.”

“Are you an aspiring author?” he asked curiously.

She laughed. “No, but I have a skill for the written word. Always did.”

“What happened to the culinary? I assumed you’d be set up in some four-star kitchen, perhaps running your own cooking show on the Food Network. You always had such a passion for food.”

“I still do. I spent the first year learning the basics, but I wasn’t happy. I lacked the skill and passion to cook professionally, but inherited the rare gift of palette. I dropped out when I realized my favorite part was tasting the food, and I despised the rest of the steps. The idea of being trapped in the kitchen made me shudder.”

He smiled. “You always did have a free spirit.”

“Yeah, that’s not how Chef Riley described me.” She winced at the memory. “Anyway, I know good food and bad food. I can also pinpoint and explain in basic language to the layperson. It took me a while with different papers before scoring an opportunity with
The Herald
. I started slow, with guest appearances, then built to a weekly column. But everything exploded when a friend of mine who works for
Foodie
magazine did a feature on me. Suddenly, I got offered the HotSpot feature. I dated a few chefs, was written up in the gossip pages, and found I had officially arrived.” She crinkled her nose. “It’s embarrassing. I always thought food critics were unknown entities who can hide their identity and sneak into famous restaurants. Instead, I’m invited to openings and courted around the city. Kind of hard to sneak in and do a review undercover now. Pretty amazing stuff for someone with no classical culinary training.”