Jennifer Probst: All the Way

“Say it again.”

Her flesh burned and shivered, as if caught between excruciating heat and bitter cold. “I want you, Gavin.”

He plunged hard. A cry escaped her lips as he buried himself deep and her body welcomed him. He moved, and she dug her nails into the hard muscles of his shoulders.

“Show me how much. Give me what I need.”

He rocked his hips against hers and took her on a wild ride. With each thrust, he made her beg, until the familiar ritual became much more. The orgasm screamed through her as loud and harsh as her words exploding in the air.

“I love you Gavin, I love you, love you…”

Miranda shot off the sofa with an agonized moan and headed toward the kitchen. With deliberately steady motions, she went through her nightly ritual of making tea. But the familiar actions didn’t bring back the numbness. Pain bubbled up deep and demanded entry into vulnerable crevices shut down long ago.

Damn him for leaving her.

Damn him for coming back.

He fled with her humiliating words echoing in the air between them, leaving something bigger than she’d ever thought possible. Alone—with a decision that could change both of their lives forever. She rested her hands on her belly and remembered. Like mother, like daughter. Except she would have made the right decision. She wouldn’t have abandoned her baby.

Miranda slammed the mug down on the gleaming white counter. Oh, what she would give to see him suffer emotionally as she had. Just once. Andy mentioned revenge, and Lord knows she was tempted, especially after the stunt Gavin pulled tonight.

Her gaze snagged on the pile of newspapers stacked neatly on the side. No use wasting time on crazy daydreams. She needed to write up her review on the new Thai restaurant, and plan the angle she wanted to approach her column. Her fans were wild about her sharp witty banter and ability to honestly pick apart a dining experience like a story, rather than the mean club approach too many critics prided themselves on.

She’d finally achieved her dreams and reached a semi-celebrity status in the foodie world. Between her regular critic reviews and her HotSpot feature for Foodie magazine, she was well recognized and respected in the industry.

Her mind sifted through the possibilities, remembering that awful spaghetti she’d consumed a few hours ago. Too bad Gavin’s restaurant sucked. How did he possibly make a profit? She figured Mia Casa wouldn’t be in business too much longer with a chef like that, and—

Gavin’s restaurant.

Column.

Miranda froze. The idea danced before her, ripe with possibilities. She quickly sorted through the ethics of her decision, but after a few moments, the plan hit in vivid, shattering force.

Oh yeah. She had a new idea for Sunday’s issue.

And it was going to be a doozy.

…

“We’re ruined! Completely ruined!”

Gavin shifted in the leather barstool. His mother threw up her hands in typical Italian fashion. He wondered if it was too early to have a drink. Usually, prepping for the day’s work gave him a surge of adrenalin. This morning, the scene reminded him of a funeral, and nobody could do a funeral as well as his family. Pop sat across from Brando with a look of doom on his face. His younger brother already had a pout to his lip, which meant he was on the defensive. And Antonio glanced from one to the other as if just waiting to be challenged.

With resignation, Gavin picked up the paper and stared at the Miranda Eats column. The heading jumped out at him and made his fingers itch to hold a shot glass:

Mia Casa Caves In.

His mother paced and wrung her hands. “In all the years open for business, we’ve never had such a review. Giovanni, what did you do to this food critic?” She peered over her glasses in accusation.

He winced again at his God-given name and reigned in his patience. He hated the family name, and changed it to Gavin years ago. His parents refused to acknowledge the change, so now he felt as if he had two identities. Of course, he could’ve been named Sonny from The Godfather , their favorite movie, so he figured he was lucky.

“Nothing, Mama.” He took note of his father’s frown and obvious disappointment. “We had some problems last night, but I had no idea she was doing an official review.”

Antonio slammed a meaty fist down on the table. “How can I work in such chaos?” he demanded. “Waiters call in sick, Brando’s on the phone all night with his girlfriend, and my wife is having an affair.” He let out a long stream of Italian curses. “I cannot perform under such conditions.”

He pointed to the quote in stark black and white. “It states here she spoke directly to the chef of Mia Casa. Are you crazy, Tony? Why did you answer a call from a critic without putting me on the phone?”

His chef straightened to full height. Unfortunately, since he only topped five-six, he didn’t have a long way to go. “She identified herself as Miranda Storme. How am I to know she is from Miranda Eats ? She said she dined here and asked what I thought about the food I served.”

The awful finality of the quote slammed into Gavin’s brain and he read it aloud. “Anthony Riccio is the head chef of Mia Casa and states this about a customer’s dining experience: ‘The food is of the same high quality no matter what day or time a diner visits. I pride myself on consistency and good cooking.’ If this is the truth, don’t bother going in for lunch, either, unless you want to keep chewing your vegetables throughout the day.”

Tony threw his head up to the sky and spit out his declaration. “A lie! We shall sue and regain our reputation!”

Gavin surrendered the battle and reached for the crystal shot glass to pour a stream of whiskey. He ignored his mother’s shocked gasp and directed his words toward his chef. “Tony, the waiters told me they never served so much water. We want the bar bill up, not the water bill.” He cut his hand through the air for silence when his chef opened his mouth. “Enough. What’s done is done.”

“Tracey said I don’t spend enough time with her and she’s thinking about going with this other guy,” Brando said. “I had to convince her not to. Why am I always working anyway, when Gavin gets all the credit?”

His father reached out and grabbed his brother by his ear like he was three. “Brando, I am the one who called your brother and asked for help. He took a leave from his job to help us, and you will respect this.”

One lower lip jutted out in a sulky expression to rival Marlon Brando. “I bet I could’ve gotten a better review from Miranda Storme.”

“Brando Luciano, respect your older brother,” boomed Archimedes Luciano, patriarch of the family.

Brando stood up. “Why should I, Pop? I was the one who was supposed to inherit the restaurant. He goes away for three years, decides he wants the business, and you go and give it to him. Now look what happens. If business sucked before, it’ll be worse after the review.”

Gavin hated to admit his brother was right. His gut told him there was more to that review than just business, and he was to blame. “Mia Casa was going bankrupt, Brando,” he said quietly. “It’s a family business and we’re all involved, but this place needs some changes to keep up with the times. Dating and partying is fine, but the restaurant needs twenty-four hour attention. Are you ready to do that?”

“Sure. I’ll just imitate you. Abandon the restaurant and achieve a crappy review from the most important food critic in town. Pure genius.”

Mama shook her finger at his brother. “Language!”

Gavin squeezed his eyes shut. Unfortunately, his brother spoke the truth. Crap, why hadn’t he suspected she was on a formal review? Because the moment he laid his gaze on her, he’d been toast. When he left her years ago, she’d been ready to embark on her studies at the culinary. He figured she’d be a prestigious chef, and kept track of her progress while overseas.