All the Way (16 page)

The men shared a shocked look. Brando lifted his chin. “What are you talking about? I thought you decided to stay. Work with us long-term. You can’t run off when Mia Casa is just starting to turn around.”

His voice came out cold and clipped. “I can’t keep babysitting everyone. I told you up front I had twelve weeks and then I was going back. They need me.”

Tony cleared his throat. “We need you, dude. You belong here.”

His father inclined his head. “A choice must be made soon. Frank faced many in his day. We need you to seriously consider staying with us, Gavin. Promise you will at least think about the possibility.”

The words stuck in his throat. The faces in front of him reflected an open longing that tore him apart. He’d never asked for this. His intentions had always been clear, and God knows, the guilt began to choke him. “Fine. I’ll think about it. That’s all I can say for now.”

Brando stared at him for a long time. With a muttered curse, he sneered. “Don’t do us any favors, bro. We’ll be fine without you.” He turned and left the kitchen.

Gavin watched him leave with an ache in his chest he didn’t know how to deal with.

Chapter Ten

Miranda knocked on the door to his office and peeked in. Gavin slumped in the chair with a bunch of spreadsheets open on his computer. His BlackBerry lay to his right, and a laptop showed a scroll of emails flashing across the screen. Open folders spit out massive amounts of paper. She shuddered. Paperwork was a bitch.

“Gavin?”

He spun around and smiled. Like gooey caramel, she warmed and melted into a puddle. “Hey, baby. I didn’t expect you tonight.”

“I got out of the wine tasting early. I think I’m tipsy.”

He laughed and met her halfway. Dipped his head and took her mouth in a long, thorough, heated kiss. “Hmm, Merlot. Nice flavor.”

“You look swamped. I can go.”

He pressed his forehead to hers and held her. Miranda relaxed in his embrace and wondered when they’d crossed the line into the familiar. With each day that passed these past two weeks, they fell into a cozy routine. She stayed at Mia Casa to keep him company in the evenings. He accompanied her on foodie outings. He brought her lunch in the office and seduced her through the hours of darkness. “Don’t go. I need to get a leap up on this deal, but I’m burnt.”

Her muscles stiffened but she kept her voice casual. “Work for MacKenzie & Associates?”

He seemed about to tell her something important, then closed his mouth. “Yeah.”

The inner voice in her head screamed in warning. His job would never be stable or home-based. He planned to get Mia Casa on its feet and leave all of them. Yes, he loved her. Yes, he probably had a plan to get her to accompany him, or deal with a long-distance relationship. Nausea tickled her stomach. She didn’t want either. Even worse, she was afraid he loved the excitement too much to ever give it up. The ticking clock was the huge pink flamingo in the room they both stepped around. Soon, they’d both have to admit it was there.

But not now.

She stroked back his hair. The strands curled around her fingers like raw silk. “Let’s not talk about that now. I have an idea. Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Out.”

He hesitated. “Brando will kill me. We had a crisis today and he’s still freaked out. I have to study the janitorial staff for this new deal. Yell at the fish guy for the crap he gave me yesterday. Other stuff, too.”

She cocked her head. “Interesting. Don’t be a wimp. We’ll sneak out.” Miranda peered down the hallway and gripped his fingers. “No one will ever know you’re not in there.”

They tiptoed out and tore down the back alley. His laughter rung in her ears. The frosty air nipped at her nose and her boots crunched on black, leftover snow. The city was dirty, feisty and full of life, even late at night. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Within moments, those talented fingers roamed over the curve of her buttocks. “You have a thing for doing it in public?”

He looked offended. “I didn’t take my jacket. I need the warmth.”

Miranda decided the least she could do was not let him freeze.

They walked fast and in companionable silence until they reached Central Park. The crowds thinned in the frigid temperatures after the holidays, and by the time they arrived at their destination, no one was there.

He looked up at Wollman Rink. “No way. We’re going ice skating?”

“Yes. You need some exercise, fresh air, and to clear your head. Let’s go.”

He dragged his feet through the process, but in a matter of minutes, they’d rented their skates, laced them up, and entered the ice. Gavin paused with one blade halfway down. “I don’t know about this.”

“You loved ice skating when you were younger.”

Surprise flickered across his features. “You remember that?”

“Of course.” Still, he didn’t move. Almost as if he was afraid of touching something he loved when he was young. Almost as if he wasn’t worthy to remember. “I’m doing this for your own good.”

She pushed him.

He stumbled, caught himself, dipped halfway, and found his balance. She tamped down a giggle and joined him on the ice.

Miranda learned to ice skate as soon as she decided New York City was the place for her to settle down. She used to watch the families and children skate around the big Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, and longed to join them. Huddled on the sidelines, one day she put on skates and never looked back.

She loved the slick slide of the blades over the ice. The wind on her face and the odd sense of freedom she achieved by gliding round and round. Miranda did a few laps, then skidded by his side. “How are you doing?”

He glowered and clung to the wall. “This is stupid. I’m stressed out. I can’t skate anymore.”

“Yes, you can. It’s like riding a bike.”

“I sucked at that, too.”

Frustration beat from him in waves. She knew Gavin was a perfectionist, and hated to fail. “Let go of the railing. Trust yourself.”

“I trust myself. I just don’t trust the ice.”

She bit her lip and tried hard not to laugh. He was adorable. Brow crinkled. Blue eyes snapping with impatience. Concentration carving out his features. Miranda glanced around at the mostly empty rink. A few stragglers huddled by the far wall, talking and not skating.

She moved backward and did a fancy spin to show off. “Maybe you need a bit of motivation.”

“What type of motivation?” he grumbled.

“Me. You. Later.”

His head snapped up. “How so?”

She tapped her finger against her chin. “Hmm. How about naked Sundays?”

“Huh?”

“We planned on sleeping in this Sunday. Cooking, reading the paper, lying low. If you catch me, I’ll do it all naked.”

She swung her hips back and forth in sensual rhythm and did a quick half turn. “What do you think?”

He cleared his throat and looked down at his feet. Back up. “What if I can’t catch you?”

She pulled a sad face. “My ratty flannels come out and don’t come off.”

“I’ll give you a head start.”

Miranda shrieked as he pushed off from the wall. She sped up, but in moments his awkward pacing smoothed out and those powerful legs ate up the space between them. Her heart thundered as she whipped around the bend, peeking behind her.

Determination pulsed in waves, along with a hunger that made her belly drop. Hell, she couldn’t do naked Sundays. How embarrassing.

He gained on her and she leaned forward for more speed. The wind ripped at her hair and her nose grew drippy and she skated like her ass was on fire.

His fingers closed on her wrist. One quick tug caught her off balance and she prepared for a graceless fall. The air whooshed past and she tumbled on a hard, muscled chest. With one last whirl across the ice, they skidded to a stop in a tangle of limbs.

She looked up. He grinned. “You’re right. With the proper motivation, I can skate.”

Miranda wiped at her nose and scowled. “You tricked me. I thought I was helping.”

“You did. Sunday can’t come fast enough. I feel better now.”

“I don’t.” She scrambled to her feet and he interlaced his fingers with hers. He led her back on the ice and they glided in silence, limbs in sync, under a shiny half-moon in the middle of winter.

“Miranda?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” He dragged in a lungful of chilled air and lifted his face to the sky. She smiled. A deep peace settled over the rink and lodged in her heart to stay. Time was running out and a decision needed to be made. They became experts in ignoring the obvious, choosing to drown in each other’s body and mind and seize the moment. The inevitable discussion loomed before them. Would Gavin stay to run the restaurant and sacrifice his career? Or would she be able to uproot herself and travel with him, hoping desperately not to lose her soul along the way?

Gloom threatened, but she clasped Gavin’s hand and held on tight. Not today. Not now. For a little while, everything was perfect, under the gleaming moon and the frost-tinted air and the lights of the rink.

They spent the next half hour skating.

…

Gavin exited the supply room with a satisfied grin. After a spirited discussion with his pastry guy, he’d chopped away the cost by some serious poker playing. Adrenalin spiked through his bloodstream. Nothing pumped him up as much as getting a deal, especially when Mia Casa profited. Funny, he prided himself on grinding down his opponents, but this time it seemed less for him than it was for his family. Wringing out another dollar for McKenzie & Associates didn’t give him the same zing.

He stopped at the bar and watched his lady walk over. The swing of her hips accented the fire of her hair and melted his brain. Damn, she was hot. He kissed her slow and deep. “Hey, baby. I got lunch lined up for you.”

“Nice. I always enjoy Tony’s special treats.” She sat on the bar stool and greeted Dominick. “I’m having a hell of a day and hoping it’ll get better.”

“Poor baby. Maybe some—what’s the matter?”

She stiffened beside him. “I can’t believe she had the nerve to show up.”

Her eyes shot sparks of fury at the petite woman across the room. Gavin blinked and directed his attention to her table. Legs crossed neatly under the table, she perused the menu and sipped at the ice water, looking like the normal executive on her lunch hour. Her navy blue suit, pearls and pumps pegged her as a conservative businesswoman. If the woman was all boobs and flash, he’d understand better.

“Who is she?” he asked.

She practically spit the name out. “Allison Wheaton. The food critic from
The Gazette
. You know, her column,
Allison Speaks
.”

Recognition dawned. Then worry. “Holy crap, is she doing a review? I have to let Tony know.”

Miranda shook her head. “No, I doubt it. She likes to eat at the restaurants I’ve written about. I found her staking this place out during your opening night for the lounge.”

“Like a groupie?”

She huffed out a breath. “No, more like a stalker. She’s been pissed at me since my editor named my column
Miranda Eats
. She thinks I stole her tagline and wanted to humiliate her. Always states
The Gazette
has been around longer than us, and we’re a poor carbon copy. She despises the media attention I’ve received, and we’ve been battling ever since.”

He stared at the critic in fascination. Who would’ve known the food industry had its ruthlessness? Sure, he knew about epic chefs and restaurant wars, but critics? He decided not to let Miranda see the humor of the situation, since she seemed about to go all Mafia on him. “Why don’t you go, sweetheart? Come by for dinner later on, and I’ll be able to get off a bit early. We can take in a movie.”

Her gaze never broke away from the woman’s back. “Hell, no. I’m staying right here until I know what she orders. She stole my plum review of La Saveur and my feature in
Gourmet
magazine. What if she’s discovered we’re together and wants to hurt Mia Casa? I’ll kill her.”

He clamped his lips together. “Umm, okay, then. I guess it’s to the mattresses.”

“Huh?”

Why didn’t any woman ever appreciate the sheer genius of
The Godfather
? “Never mind. Brando’s covering, so I’ll make sure you get the details.”

“Thanks.”

He shook his head as he headed toward the kitchen. He called over Anthony and Brando quickly. “We got a food critic at table four.” Gavin held up his hands. “I don’t want any panic or strange behavior. Miranda just tipped me off and says she’s not here for a formal review. But I don’t want any screw-ups just in case.
Capisce
?”

They both nodded but didn’t move.

Anthony twisted his apron. “What do we do now?” he whispered.

“Cook, Tony. Take her order, Brando. Get it together, guys!”

They burst back into movement and he double-checked the specials to make sure there’d be no surprises this time. He walked back out and motioned for Dominick to get Miranda a glass of Pinot Grigio to calm her nerves. She hadn’t moved yet from her spying position. “Any updates?”

“Nope. She hasn’t made any calls and just sips at her water. Vegan.”

He drew back. His lady was pretty much one of the sweetest, most forgiving on the planet. This was quite serious. In moments, Brando rushed over. “Miranda, she ordered fettuccine carbonara, meatballs, the house salad with Italian dressing, and a side order of broccoli rabe.”

Gavin winced. Ever since that night, he’d longed to take it off the menu, but Pop refused.

Miranda shot up. “That’s the same food I ordered when I wrote my review! What is she up to? I’ve had enough of this crap.”

Brando’s mouth fell open. Gavin watched as his normally serene lover stalked over to table four, dragged out the opposite chair, and plopped down on the seat. Brando looked at him. “What should we do?

“I’ll take care of it. Just put in her order.” He walked over to the table and interrupted a fierce staring contest. The air sparked with tension and some other element. Something purely feminine. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, I’d like to introduce myself. I’m Gavin, and I’m the owner of Mia Casa. I wanted to welcome you today, and check if you needed anything.”

The lady smiled up with a predator-like smile that scared the crap out of him. Oh yeah, this was one straight from the movies—cold to the bone. She gave a brief nod. “A pleasure to meet you, Gavin. I’m looking forward to my lunch before I return to the office.”

Miranda leaned forward. “What are you doing here, Allison? First the lounge, now lunch. Don’t you have a snobby French place to review?”

The woman snorted. “Maybe I’m just wondering what’s so fascinating about reviewing spaghetti and meatballs, Miranda
eats
. Your readership must be slipping.”

Whoa
. Miranda pushed up out of her chair, back ramrod-straight. “Just trying to compete with the educational, inspiring review of the gyro from your review last month.” The sweetness of her smile flashed pure malice. “Take-out Greek must be the new rage. Or so says the truck on the corner of 8th Avenue.”

Allison gasped. Gavin looked back and forth between them, as if watching Wimbledon and refusing to miss a serve. “Umm, ladies, may I get you a glass of wine on the house?”