All the Way

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.”

She took a sip and enjoyed the crisp bite of fruit and spark on her tongue. “To be honest, it’s one of my favorite operas.” She smiled at his surprised look. “After you introduced me to Traviata, I began studying. When I got back from the Culinary and began working in the city, I became a member and saw every opera in the season. Pagliacci resonated with me.”

“Why?”

His gaze shredded past the surface and probed deep. Miranda stared at the empty stage and tried to find the words. “It’s a rough, clumsy story, an opera within an opera. When the Players come on stage and we first meet Nedda, there is an exuberance beating on the surface. But we begin to see past the gaiety, into her heart. She is tormented—mad for her lover but terrified of her husband. A simple peasant girl, she’s raw and real, one of us, and not separated by the higher power of royalty. She’s stuck, and not brave enough to make a choice.

“She does not reveal her lover’s name,” he said. “Even with her husband threatening her with a knife, within his own helpless rage, she protects the man she loves.”

“Yes,” Miranda said slowly. “But in a way, she makes no choice at all. She only calls his name as death nears. Does she die for him—for love? Or does she die out of fear, afraid to make the final leap?”

Her heart beat madly from his intense questions, sensing they spoke about something deeper beyond the opera. “Would you have chosen differently?” he asked. “Run off with your lover and abandoned a loveless marriage?”

Sadness crept into her voice. “Three years ago, I would have said yes. I would’ve given it all up for love. Now, I’m afraid I understand Nedda so much better. I’d stay.”

“Because of your loyalty or your fear?”

She turned her head. His gaze snagged hers. “Because I wouldn’t have made any choice.”

He didn’t answer. Darkness descended and the theater quieted. The first strains of the music floated upward and filled every empty space. Miranda sat back and let go.

The first half of the opera was a joyous clamor of instruments and singing and clumsy laughter. But a bigger story seethed in the background, the triangle of the young Nedda, the arrogant, enraged Canio, and her secret lover Silvio.

By the time Canio discovered his wife’s betrayal, Nedda refused to give up her lover’s name, even from his threats. The emotional intensity between Nedda and Canio built with each level of music, and Miranda leaned forward in her seat, waiting for the unstoppable conclusion. Canio’s final arietta rung true and clear through the theater, his voice rich with husky overtones, booming in madness and fury. He stabbed Nedda, who fell onto the ground, and who finally called out her lover’s real name with her dying breath. As Silvio rushed through the crowd, the knife lifted again, and Silvio fell to the floor next to his lover. In the stunning silence of realization, Tonio, the friend who had set the whole chain of events into play, rips out the final line:

“La Commedia e’ finita!”

The play is over!

The curtain crashed down.

Emotions rioted and pounded for release, but she tamped down hard. She would not cry, not with Gavin. Her promise to always try and remain in control stayed true. Using her breath, she steadied herself, the roaring notes of the music echoing in her head. The lights slowly came up, and she forced a smile.

“Magnificent. Everything I hoped it would be.”

He reached out and dragged a finger down her cheek. “But no tears.”

Her lips tightened. “No. Not anymore.” Maybe with Andy, in the dark, at the opera. But not in Gavin’s presence. Never again.

Gavin nodded, a gleam of grief piercing bright blue eyes. She didn’t have time to ponder the startling emotion. He stood and donned his coat. Tucked her arm within his. And led her out of the theater.

He remained quiet as he guided her to the parking lot and retrieved the car. The Mercedes pulled smoothly into traffic while they made their way back to her apartment. Miranda glanced over and studied Gavin from under heavy-lidded eyes. Muscular thighs shifted in the seat as he pressed on the gas and dodged between the bulleting vehicles. He drove with the same unconscious arrogance he brought to every action, guiding the black luxury car through a variety of traffic disasters with an easy grace.

Blunt fingertips wrapped around the steering wheel. Miranda remembered those hands on her skin, remembered how he’d use all that intense concentration to make a woman experience earth-shattering pleasure. Remembered the way his lips glided over hers, thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth while he plunged deep inside and held her on the edge without mercy. Remembered her spread out on the bar as he brought her to orgasm, wringing cries from her lips.

Oh, God.

How long had it been since she’d taken a man to her bed? Too long. She wanted him, craved the masculine demand of him and her surrender. She almost laughed out loud at her ridiculous assumption she’d be safe with conversation. With a slow building, non-physical relationship. Was she kidding? Why hadn’t she counted on the vivid images flickering past her vision? The weakness of her body? The pull of their connection?

“Are you okay?”

She shook herself out of her trance. “Yeah. Why?”

A lopsided grin curved his lips. “We’ve been sitting in your parking lot for the past five minutes. You look deep in thought.”

Color flooded her cheeks. “Uh, I was just thinking about this article I’m working on.”

The grin widened. “Sure. Must be quite an interesting article to make you blush.”

“Stop teasing me.”

His voice dropped to a sexy growl. “I don’t intend on teasing you, baby.”

She grew hot and achy and ready. The invitation popped out of her mouth. “Do you want to come up for a nightcap?”

Surprise flickered across his face. “You want me to come in?”

“Well, we could drink the brandy in the car, but my apartment is more comfortable.”

He laughed. “Then I accept your gracious invitation. It’s been a long day.”

They walked up the stairs. He plucked the key from her fingers, unlocked the door, and ushered her inside. The lights bathed the room in an intimate glow as Miranda retrieved two glasses from the cabinet and watched him settle on the sofa.

“Your apartment is different from the last place you had,” he commented. His gaze swept the cool, elegant furnishings of slate gray and silver. Glass tabletops were carefully scattered around the room amidst a few green plants, bookcases, and a computer desk. Black and white photographs hung on the wall and added to the atmosphere of clean lines and simplicity.

Miranda handed him a snifter. “Hope so. I had a studio, a roommate, and no money. You saw it before.”

Curiosity gleamed in his eyes, as if trying to decipher something deeper. “I didn’t notice the details. I was always in a mad rush to try not to get kicked out.”

“What’s different?”

“You always loved clutter. Books, magazines, throw pillows. Those crazy animal figures you collected. Now everything’s in its proper order.”

She shrugged. “I decided messiness was an indication of non-discipline. Now when I come through the door, there are no surprises. I like knowing where everything is at all times.”

He tapped the edge of the glass thoughtfully. “In other words, you always want to be in control.”

He lifted her chin. “There’s nothing wrong with being in control.”

“All the time?”

“Of course. If a person plans her life carefully enough, and takes full responsibility, there’s no excuse for being out of control.”

He took a sip of brandy and seemed to ponder her statement. Miranda fidgeted with sudden defensiveness. Who was he to come in and judge her life?

“What about surrender?” he asked.

The room sizzled with unspoken tension. “What about it? If you’re in control, you don’t have to surrender.”

“You make the concept sound like a bad thing, Miranda.” His voice raked across her ears in a caress. “Take passion. Two people who voluntarily give up their control to achieve a greater pleasure.”

The air grew thick and humid, and she struggled to take a deep breath. Intimacy simmered under the surface all night, and tipped on the edge of raging out of control. Miranda knew the conversation had been guided into dangerous territory. She paused on the verge of retreat, not sure how deep she wanted to dive. But he placed the snifter down on the glass tabletop and shifted his weight. The gap between them closed another inch. She fought to keep from studying the intriguing line of golden hair that began at his upper chest and disappeared behind the knit shirt. Her fingers flexed.

He continued, his voice weaving its spell of shot-silk and gravel. “That’s another reason the opera calls to you. You allow yourself to let go to the magic of the music and passion and messiness.”

She forced herself to answer. “Ah, but great opera is based on rigid control. Notes must be ruthlessly adhered to or the entire production falls apart. It’s also a reminder surrender is dangerous. Pleasure can be great, but the pain afterward reminds us that life is better when a person is in control. As shown in Pagliacci this evening.”

One blunt fingertip traced the line of her jaw. His spicy scent teased her senses. “Not better,” he murmured. “Just safe.”

“There’s nothing wrong with safety.”

“There’s nothing wrong with surrender,” he said.

Blue eyes flared like a beginning tropical storm. Her lower lip trembled as he leaned in and closed the distance. The simple need burst into monstrous proportions, until her mind lost the battle. And why not? Why not surrender her body on her own terms? She still owned her fate. This time, she’d give only her body to Gavin Luciano, not her mind or heart or soul.

This time, she wouldn’t fall in love with him.

This time, she’d be prepared for him to walk away. Safe.

His warm breath rushed over her parted lips. “If you had a choice to make tonight, would you, Red? Or would you step back and be safe, making no decision at all?”

The opera and her past and his touch spun together and dragged her under. She reached out and gripped his shoulders, digging her nails fiercely into the hard muscles. “This is my choice,” she whispered fiercely. “This is about sex, pure and simple. I admit I want you tonight, but it changes nothing between us. I’m not rewriting a second review, no matter how good the orgasm is.”

A flash of pain flared in his eyes, then quickly disappeared. “It will change everything between us.” His finger gently stroked her cheek.

“I won’t do the review.”

“I don’t care about the review.” The tenderness turned, and he thrust all ten fingers into her hair and forced her head back. “I care about this.”

His mouth took hers. Rough and primitive, he thrust his tongue deep inside and took. A moan rose in her throat and she gave herself up to him as he plundered her mouth and every dark secret she kept. She arched up and invited him to take more, halfway drunk on the taste and feel of pure male need.

He pushed her deep into the pillows. One thigh parted her legs wide for free access. Her breasts swelled in anticipation, and she reached out to tug ineffectively at his shirt, her hands trembling as she tried to undo the buttons.

“Take it off,” he ground out. His teeth nipped at her lower lip, then bathed the swollen flesh with his tongue.

“I’m trying, but you have to pull the shirt over your head.” Again, she tugged, and had a quick impulse to tear and see if the material parted like she’d heard at those male stripper shows.

“No, the dress.” His hands coasted down her body and rested on her ribcage. His thumbs brushed the tips of her breasts and coaxed them to rise even more under the fabric. “I can’t find the damn zipper, and in about three seconds I’m just going to rip.”

“I’ll lift up and you unzip it. But only if you take off your shirt.”

“Deal.”

He divested the dress from her body in one swoop, leaving her clad in black lace underwear and silk stockings. He sucked in his breath and Miranda caught the gleam of appreciation that made her burn even hotter.

“Crap, I want you so bad. I keep remembering your face when you come, how sweet and hot and wet you are.”

His steel-blue gaze raked over every inch of skin until her panties grew damp. “Please.”

“Oh, I intend to, baby.” He tore the shirt off and lowered himself over her. The soft velvety feel of the sofa cushioned her back. The hard length of his erection throbbed against her thigh. He leaned over and brushed his lips over one tight crest, playing, teasing, until he opened his mouth and sucked.

She gasped and threw her head back. He moved to the other breast, licking with firm movements that drove her toward the edge of insanity. “Not tonight,” she tore out. “Gavin, don’t tease me tonight. I want you now.”

He muttered something under his breath—either a curse or a prayer—and pressed his palm over her throbbing center. “You’re making me crazy. God, Miranda, make me take you to bed. I can’t hold out much longer.”

“No, right here.” She ripped at his belt and the rasp of the zipper echoed in the air.

“I was supposed to take this slow, make it perfect for you.” He seemed to struggle and lose the battle as he slipped one finger under the elastic edge of her panties. “I was supposed to give you foreplay.” He plunged deep, and liquid warmth rushed past to ease his entrance. She cried out at the pulses of pleasure. “I was supposed to seduce you slowly until you begged me to take you, and you couldn’t give a damn about the past.” His thumb rubbed over the swollen nub with a steady pressure. Sobs escaped her lips and she reached out to wrap her fingers around his penis, guiding him closer.

“Now.” She arched up as he did something incredibly erotic between her thighs. “I can’t wait. Damn you, take me now.”

He swore savagely. “Jesus, let that condom still be in my frickin’ pocket.” He reached over and grabbed his pants, tearing through the material until the foil package fell out. In seconds, he was sheathed.

He tugged down her panties and removed his fingers. Rearing up and spreading her legs wide, he poised at her entrance. A tiny gleam of truth pierced through the fogginess, reminding her he was about to re-claim a part of her she’d thought to keep separate. Fear choked her and she moved to push him away, her mouth open to tell him no.

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.