All the Way (9 page)

She cried out. He swallowed her moans and pleasured her, adding another finger to her drenched core, stretching her channel and rubbing against the hard nub begging for attention. She bucked like a wild woman, too close to the edge, desperate to give him anything. Everything.

“Oh, Jesus, you’re so beautiful. So hot and ready for me. Open wider, yes, like that.”

His thumb rubbed against her clit and his fingers pumped and his teeth sank deep into her lower lip, soothing with his tongue. The orgasm shimmered before her in all its haunting glory.

“Gavin!”

“Come for me, baby. Now.”

Her climax ripped through her body. She screamed but he swallowed the sound. His fingers ruthlessly milked out her orgasm and the aftershocks caused mini convulsions. The pleasure went on until her body wrung dry, and she slumped against him.

Oh. My. God.

The image hit her full force. Spread-eagled on a bar in his family’s restaurant. His erection pounding and pressing against her thigh. The ragged pants from both of them mixing and mingling in the sudden silence.

What had she done?

He slowly removed his fingers, eliciting another aftershock. “I’m sorry.” The words burst out of her like a cannon blast. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry.”

His gentle smile rocked her foundation. Where was his push to dominate the scene? The smooth seduction and dirty words that would confirm he’d be buried deep inside of her in the next few minutes? Instead, he tugged down her skirt and shifted his position. “What you just gave me was a gift. A priceless gift. Seeing you shatter in my arms again, touching you, kissing you. That’s enough for me, baby.”

His sensual lips curved in a smirk. “I’m gonna grab a glass of ice water and take you home. Okay?”

She ran a palm down his cheek. “Okay.”

With a quick kiss on her forehead, he lifted her from the bar and set her on her feet. Filled up a glass with ice, guzzled it down, and hit the lights. Then offered his hand to hers.

Miranda took it. Interlaced her fingers with his. And let him lead her out of the restaurant.

Chapter Six

“We need you back. Now.”

Gavin rammed his shin into a crate, smothered a curse, and tried not to lose the cell phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. “Brian, I told you. I have official leave for the next two months. I need the time, man.”

His boss’s grumble through the line was not a good sign. They’d been a tight team, and Gavin had worked hard to get to the top, proving himself time and time again to be the man to get the job done. It took a lot to get Brian to finally give him the time off, until he’d been forced to threaten permanent resignation. His boss knew Gavin never bluffed, so he caved. But his constant phone calls ruffled his nerves and poked at his insecurities. The idea of a green associate handling his clients and trying to take his place burned in his gut. Of course, that’s how the world of cutthroat business worked. He’d accepted the game long ago.

God, he was tired.

The thought surprised him, even as he cursed again as lemons toppled over and one bopped him on the head. Who the hell had put the damn citrus fruits on the top shelf instead of the fridge?

Brian’s voice droned on. “I know you’re trying to be a hero and save the family restaurant, but at what expense? Look, Gavin, it’s time I tell you something big. You’re up for partnership.”

Gavin paused mid-stride and gripped the phone. “What? You said MacKenzie wasn’t taking on any more associates.”

“We’re making an exception. For you. Do you want it?”

Triumph coursed through him. Did he want it? Did he sleep and eat and breathe? Years of dedication and shit-taking and endless work finally morphed into the prize of all time. Partnership. “Hell, yes, I want it.”

Brian made an appreciative grunt. “Good. I’ll give you three more weeks. Max. I need you in China.”

Satisfaction trickled away and left a rub of guilt. Maybe before Miranda’s review hit he would’ve been ready early. He’d worked day and night to rebuild their clientele, but the crowds had thinned after his lady trashed Mia Casa. His careful advertising now looked like a desperate attempt to find patrons instead of a stable restaurant boasting confidence. It was like he had started all over and lost all those initial weeks of work.

Then there was Miranda. He still needed to try and convince her to come with him, and solidify their tentative trust.

“Um, I don’t know if I can get everything in order. I may need more time.”

Agitated silence hummed over the line. “I’m not screwing around, Gavin. Wrap it up in three weeks, get your ass to China to close my deal, and we’ll sign on the dotted line. Now get to work.”

The line clicked.

Gavin dropped the phone and rubbed his forehead. He’d done it. Partnership meant security, glory, and the big time. Could he get Mia Casa profitable and secure in three weeks? And what about Miranda?

His temples pounded with the beginning of a massive headache. He trudged into the kitchen, where Tony was ripping someone over the phone in full-blown Italian. Gavin winced at the gutter words, especially when he switched to English. The phone slammed.

“Damn, Tony, who the hell was that? If it was a customer, I’ll kill you myself.”

Tony shook his head. “I do not believe such nonsense. Claiming to be Gordon Ramsey, willing to fix our restaurant. We do not need any fixing. That man should be in prison!”

The box slipped out of his fingers and slammed down on his toe. Pain exploded and cut through the panic. “Did you say Gordon Ramsey?”

Tony nodded. “Yes, he says he wants to put us on his show to embarrass and humiliate us in public. I told him what to do. And where to go.”

The breath choked him. He spun around in the kitchen and frantically grabbed the phone. Caller ID. He’d just call them back. He’d fix it, he could fix it. “For God’s sakes, what’s wrong with you?” he shouted. “I filled out a million forms, begged, pleaded, and used all my contacts to get us on
Kitchen Nightmares
. This is our opportunity to go public, Tony! He comes in, renovates, fixes the menu, and then we’d be the hot place for everyone in New York to go to. And you told him to fuck off!”

Tony spat in his face, his cheeks ruddy with temper. “Of course! We do not need outsiders, Gavin. I have seen that show—it is a humiliation and a display of dirty laundry. Your papa would die, and so would I. No! I refuse.”

“You don’t have a choice! If we don’t turn profits around soon, Mia Casa is going bankrupt and we’re all out of a job.”

His longtime friend and cook looked at him with disappointment. “Do you want to leave so badly you would do this to us?” He lifted his hands, then dropped them against his apron. “If that is the case, go back to your job, Gavin. We do not need you.”

Frustration mingled with shame. The result was a temper tantrum worthy of any Italian member in his family. “Oh, you needed me before to sink my money in here, didn’t you? You need me to settle the fights, and fill in with waiters, and save your ass time and time again because you’re so frickin’ emotional, I never know when you’re gonna blow up the kitchen! Maybe I will leave. Let you and Brando and Pop run it into the ground and then say I told you so.”

Tony slowly walked away, but Gavin found himself yelling into empty space. “Great, just great. Walk away and tell Pop. Go ahead. I’m calling Ramsey and making this place the go-to restaurant in Manhattan—with or without you!”

He finished yelling and made the call. Several calls. When he finally reached the top level, he was irrevocably told he would not be on the show after the fiasco, and Gordon had moved on to a more willing participant.

Gavin slumped into the barstool. His father walked in and took the seat next to him. They sat in silence for a while.

“Each time I find myself flat on my face, I pick myself up and get back in the race.”

Gavin dropped his forehead on the glass bar with a bump. “I don’t think so, Pop. Even Sinatra would agree with this one. Tony screwed up bad. I had a chance to turn this whole thing around.”

“With an outsider?” His father patted him on the back. “Tony was right. You are doing a good job, my son. Already, we have had our most successful night with the new lounge opening. The appetizer menu is flying out of the kitchen. You must remember that the reason people will come and keep returning is the heart of a restaurant.”

“Not the food, huh?”

“The food is part of the heart. It is the people behind who care about the customers. Who care about doing what is right and working hard and believing in something bigger. It is not about being on the right show or how much money you can put into advertising.”

The wrongness of his father’s lecture irritated him, but he pushed the emotions down. He may not agree with his father’s philosophy, but he respected him. He’d just have to work harder to come up with some catchy ideas in order to leave. Maybe a full page ad in
The Times
?

“Sure, Pop. Thanks.” He picked up his head and tried to focus. But first he had something important to do. “Can you ask Brando if he can pick up an extra shift tonight? I want to take Miranda out. I know it’s Saturday, but it’ll only be for a few hours. Think he can handle it?”

“Yes. I will talk to him.”

“Thanks.”

“Remember, my son. Don’t go and spoil it all by saying something stupid, like I love you. Not unless you are ready to commit.”

Gavin jerked back. The truth to his father’s words shook him to the core. It had been one full week since their date. The image of her half naked on the bar still burned in his memory and raised him to full staff. He craved to pull down her panties and claim her for his own, but knew it was too soon. He needed to move slowly and give her time to re-adjust. He still raised his fingers to his nose and swore he caught her scent. Musk. Spice. Honey. Heaven.

She’d begun having lunch with him at Mia Casa. A few hours in public gave her the security she needed, and kept him from trying to drag her into bed. They shared food, work talk, and caught up on their past. A bond began to strengthen, until he’d find them staring at one another as if they wanted to both jump across the table. But he didn’t want to blow it.

The more time he spent with Miranda, the more he realized she was the woman to complete his soul. But Pop was right. And Frank, of course.

No love confessions until he was ready to put a ring on it. Or was that Beyonce?

Too exhausted and confused to do anything else, Gavin nodded and walked out of the bar.

…

The courier delivered the box at exactly five o’clock. The message was simple:

I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear this.

Even as she curiously tugged off the top of the box, Miranda raged at his arrogance. A last minute command on a Saturday night? She could’ve had a food outing. A date. Anything. What man assumed a woman was waiting for him to send her a box and a note stating to be ready in two hours?

She stopped grumbling the moment she parted the paper.

The dress was magnificent. A deep velvet merlot, with a plunging neckline, she touched the heavy folds in hushed awe. Her fingers trembled over the Gucci label. When she pulled it free from the box, it tumbled to the floor with an elegant train, the color bold and rich in the light. A sparkle caught her eye. She lifted out a pair of diamond and ruby-studded shoes. Four-inch stilettos, perfectly matching the dress. Miranda sucked in her breath. The room swayed. How was this possible? Had he gone nuts? The smaller fabric box was the last item inside. She snapped open the cover and revealed a ruby drop necklace, flashing fire and ice in full-blown glory.

Miranda had died and gone to female heaven.

She sat on the floor amidst the box and its contents for a long time. Did she send it back? Call him and yell? Call him and be polite? Or just go?

Go
.

Her adventure lay before her. She was still in control, and he hadn’t pushed the terms of their relationship since their physical encounter on the bar. He’d been the perfect, charming companion this week, inviting her to lunch every day and serving her with a quiet satisfaction she’d never experienced. Amazingly, she’d find a few hours had crept by over a bottle of wine and she craved more. More of his wolfish grin, and sharp wit, and engaging dialogue. For the first time, he allowed her access to both his family and his inner soul. He shared his teachings from India and talked of his work. Then he politely walked her to the door, kissed her cheek, and let her go.

A shiver of excitement ran down her spine. She’d wear the dress and the shoes and the jewels and
then
send them back.

Miranda ran off to get dressed.

Two hours later, she answered the knock on her door.

Gavin stood in the hallway dressed in a black tuxedo. Casually elegant, and comfortable in evening clothes, he cut a figure that made her mouth dry up and her heart slam against her chest. The man was a walking, talking sex God. Strands of hair were tamed neatly back, emphasizing the slant of his cheekbones, the dominant thrust of his nose, the sensual curve of his mouth. The scent of his cologne drifted around her like Opium and made her knees weaken. He smiled, his gaze probing every inch of her outfit, from the expanse of cleavage, to the wickedly high heels that allowed her to reach past his chin.

“My God. I don’t think I’ll get through this night in one piece. You’re beautiful.”

His simple words hit hard. She smiled back, giddy at the pleasure carved on his face. “Thank you. I feel the same about you.”

He walked in while she grabbed a shawl and arranged it over her shoulders. “Did I get it right?”

Miranda swiveled her head and frowned. “Get what right? I still don’t know where we’re going.”

Disappointment gleamed in his blue eyes. “I’m sorry, I must have missed something. I wanted to re-create the evening for you. The movie.”

“What movie?”

He shifted his feet in discomfort. “Um,
Moonstruck
. Remember you told me your grandmother loved that movie? Cher wore a red dress when she met Nicholas Cage at the opera.” He gave a half laugh. “Sorry, I suck at this. I’m taking you to the Met. To see
Pagliacci
.”

The world rumbled beneath her feet. She stared at him, helpless to move, the truth crashing down on her. “You did this for me?” she whispered. “You watched
Moonstruck
for me?”

He pushed a hand through his hair. “Uh, yeah, but it’s no big deal, Miranda. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Let’s go.”

He turned to go. With two quick strides, Miranda closed the distance and pulled his head down to hers. She kissed him hungrily, starved for his taste and his touch and his hands over her. He growled deep in his throat and kissed her back, his tongue plunging into her mouth and taking what she so freely offered. Slowly, he eased the pressure and pulled away. His voice came out ragged. “What was that for?”

She traced the line of his lips with her index finger. “For the beautiful dress. And shoes. And necklace. For watching a girlie movie to make me happy.”

He grinned. “Man, that was worth it.”

She laughed and linked her hands within his.

The Metropolitan beckoned and wrapped around her like an old friend, its lush elegance and soaring architecture part of a dream. The massive fountain bubbled up multiple streams of golden water as if lit from within, and glass windows from sky to sidewalk tempted the onlookers with the illuminated crystal chandelier hanging front and center in the main lobby. The moon hung heavy and ripe, and the crowd lingered in the frosty air. They made their way into the lobby, mingling with the crowds dressed in beautiful long dresses and elegant suit jackets. Up the stairs to their own private box, glasses of champagne waiting for them behind the lush curtains.

Miranda shivered with excitement, her gaze greedily drinking in the huge vast space, with its famous domed ceiling clad in rich gold and red. Carved figures hung with angelic grace, as if waiting to hear the music and come alive. Anticipation hummed through the crowd, and she savored the rush of adrenalin before a big performance.

“I’m not sure if you’ll like this opera as much as
La Traviata
,” Gavin said, handing her a crystal flute. “It’s not as classic as
Rigoletto
or
Madame Butterfly
.”