Jennifer Probst - All the Way

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.

Miranda pushed open the door to the popular French restaurant and dragged Gavin in. The sophisticated atmosphere bespoke the usual bistro flavor—sparkling lights, small round tables, rich mahogany wood, and a reserved air of snobbery. She’d learned from experience that the more obnoxious her appearance, the less people looked beneath the surface to spot her food critic celebrity. LaSaveur was the new dig in town, known for its gourmet food and exquisite use of truffle oil. Unfortunately, the owner sniffed out a food critic in record time, and plied them with the very best. Gaining an unbiased review of the restaurant as a whole was her goal. Even if she got through the first course without being spotted, she’d consider it a win.

She pulled her fake fur around her shoulders and gave her name to the hostess.

The trendily dressed woman cringed. “We’re booked up for reservations months in advance,” she informed them in crisp tones.

Miranda pursed her lips. “I’m a distant cousin of JJ Abrams. He’s going to cast me in his new Star Trek movie. I’d advise you to check again.”

The woman disappeared to get the maitre’d.

Gavin lowered his head to speak against her ear. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Shush. Don’t ruin my cover. I warned you I was working tonight.”

“If anyone catches this on YouTube, I’m ruined.” His piercing blue eyes held a mixture of shock and pure lust. She bit her lip and tried not to get distracted by the sexy black Calvin Klein suit that hugged lean thighs and broad shoulders. He hadn’t shaved, and scruff hugged his jaw and chin, giving him a dangerous look. A fedora lay low on his brow. The Rolex watch and fake diamond earring gleamed. Yum.

Her own outfit consisted of hardly any material. Posing as the trashy trophy of a rich man, she’d poured herself into a fire engine red dress that barely covered her ass and accented her boobs. The blonde wig and heavy make-up disguised her red hair and pale skin. As the new celebrity food critic, gaining entrance without preference was key.

She loved the food industry. It was really screwed up.

The woman was replaced by a distinguished older man with salted hair, skinny hands, and a crinkled nose. He led them to the table, wrapped in a cloud of judgment for his new seedy customers that had forced their way into his establishment. Gavin fell into his part with ease and growled as the man took a quick peek down her dress. The menus were thrust into their hands and he hurried away.

“What if someone recognizes me? Pop will have a heart attack.” His worry regarding his father softened her heart, and she squeezed his hand across the table.

“Don’t worry, Sonny.” A giggle escaped at the name he detested from The Godfather. “What are we eating?”

“Anything you want, doll. Money is no object.”

“Good evening, sir. Madame.” The waiter appeared and recited the specials. Miranda made notes of the menu, calculating the specials, prices, and studying the decor. The dining area was tight and people’s conversations were easy to overhear. The crystal was top notch, the linen sharply pressed, and the chandelier fake. She noted the waiter never asked if they wanted tap water, just plunked down the sparkling at $4.99 per bottle. Interesting. The waiter spoke to Gavin and ignored her. “Would you like to begin with an appetizer?”

She jumped in. “Escargot, please.”

Not meeting her eyes, his pencil scratched the pad. “And you, sir?”

“The goat cheese special.”

“Excellent. Are you ready to order?”

“I had a question on the menu,” she chirped. Yep, there was the frown. Judgmental. His gaze took in her cheap dress, clown make-up, and platinum hair. “Which is better? The lamb shank or duck?”

“Both are excellent.” His lips pressed together in a thin line. “Would you like more time to decide?”

Hmm. LaSaveur was famed for its enthusiastic knowledge of the menu and the ability of the waiter to recommend a dish. Guess not if one wasn’t dressed in designer clothes. “I guess I’ll have the lamb. Would you suggest any special sides to go with it?”

“The shallot potatoes. They are a la carte, of course.”

“What’s that mean?”

His mouth turned as if he’d bit into something sour. “Separately priced,” he snapped out. Again, he shifted his attention to Gavin. “Sir? May I assist you with any of your choices?”

Gavin caught her eye and she gave a nod. Already well-coached in what she needed to sample, he deftly ordered. The chef chatted with him, and continued to ignore her. When he finally left, her temper simmered like the escargot she was served with her expensive bottle of wine.

“What an ass. Did you see him ignore me?”

“I don’t know how. God, Miranda, please don’t lean in. I’m having a problem over here.”

He shifted his weight, and she realized her breasts almost slipped out of her bra. “Oops. Sorry. Make it up to you later.”

“Tease.”

“Pimp.”

He choked and drank some of the expensive water. “We don’t need to spice up our sex life, baby. I already can’t keep my hands off of you, and it’s only been a week since I got you back in my bed. The kink factor is putting me over the edge. I need a shirt that says Do It With A Foodie.”

“Damn, that’s good. I’m getting one printed. Nice wine list. Great flavor. I wish he would’ve let me smell the cork, though.”

“I pocketed it for you. Figured you’d want it.”

She beamed. “You rock.”

“Tell me this isn’t a weekly occurrence and part of your job description.”

Miranda took a sip of the earthy Bordeaux. Not bad. “I only recently began my life of playing an imposter. I used to be able to go anywhere, but since my articles in Foodie magazine became popular, I transformed into a celebrity. Pretty cool, but a bit strange. I always thought critics were just like writers—known only for their work and not their face.”

He grinned. “Not many have a face like you, baby.”

“Nice line.”

“Thanks.” He studied her in the dim light. “You amaze me. It’s difficult to make a name for yourself in the food industry, especially in Manhattan. You must have worked your ass off.”

“Yeah, but it was worth it. My grandmother always encouraged me to dream big and go after what I want. I feel like she’s with me and I made her proud. That’s worth everything. Isn’t that how you feel with your own family?”

A shadow crossed his face. He tipped back his wineglass. “Not like you. I wanted to succeed for purely selfish reasons. Money. Power. When I traveled to India, I started questioning if I even liked the work. Never stopped to think about it. Maybe that’s why lately, success felt so empty.”

His startling revelation was interrupted by their waiter bringing their appetizers. Gavin quickly switched to surface topics and she allowed him the lead. Before the second course, Miranda pushed back her chair. “I’m going to excuse myself for a bit and make a trip to the ladies room. Check out the surroundings. Maybe peek in the kitchen on an oops.”

“Good luck.”

She wobbled on her platform heels, then steadied. The hardwood floors gleamed, and gilded mirrors hung on the wall beside French paintings. She preferred a bistro feel to her French haunts, but this one was stuffy, overdone, and a bit bland. Like biting into a rich juicy peach and finding it tastes like an apple. Yuck.

She used the restroom, wandered down the wrong hallway, and pressed against the wall near the swinging doors. The usual litany of French and English drifted from the kitchen. Standing on tiptoes, she peeked in the small square window. A line of chefs barked orders at the waiters as they shuffled in. Relatively clean. Organized. Not bad. In between curses that rivaled Hell’s Kitchen, a familiar voice drifted to her ears. Miranda frowned and tried to place it. So familiar. So annoying. So…

Allison Wheaton.

She stepped away from the wall at the same time the door flung open. Her heel dug for footing and slipped on the glossy finish. She hit the back wall hard and landed on her ass. The already short dress hiked up to massive heights.

She looked up. The woman stared down at her in astonishment and pure glee. Her perfect glossy hair hung in a neat bob. Golden hoops sparkled at her lobes. The pewter silk suit only added to her polish, right down to her Jimmy Choos.

Miranda scrambled to her feet in a desperate need to at least be at full height without her crotch hanging out. “What are you doing here?”

Allison’s dark eyes brimmed with mirth as she studied her appearance. “Doing a review, of course. I just got done speaking with the chef. An excellent meal, if I do say so myself.”

She spit out her words. “You knew I wanted to review LaSaveur for The Herald. Why don’t you stop stealing my beat and find your own restaurants? You have no originality.”

Allison lifted a brow. “And you’re always a step behind. You’ll never make it in this business, Miranda. You’re a cheap fluke, destined to come right back down. The only reason you got attention was from stealing my tagline.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “You’re just pissed because mine is more catchy.”

The woman shrugged. “Whatever. Really, darling, did you think no one would recognize you dressed like a cheap tramp? I knew who you were immediately.”

Miranda poked a finger at Allison’s small breasts. “I’d rather dress like a cheap tramp than be one. Or do you know this chef personally, too?”

“He happens to be a friend of my boyfriend’s, so if you’re thinking of trashing this restaurant, think again. I’m running my own in tomorrow’s issue—before you’ll ever have your review to print. Now, run along dear. Find someplace else to play with your food.”

Miranda simmered with frustration. Once again, she was being trumped. Getting to print the original review of a restaurant was key. If she ran a duplicate review with negative vibes, it would look like a thwarted attempt to discredit Allison’s opinion. Not cool in the food industry. As much as she wanted to, she’d never ruin her reputation or sink to the woman’s level. “Good luck selling your readers on this dump. At least I tell the truth and don’t trade favors for favors.”

Allison gasped.

Miranda spun away and marched back to her table. Grasping her wine glass, she chugged down the rest in one long swallow. “Get the bill, Gavin.”

“Why? I thought we were doing a review.”

“I’ve got other plans. Bigger plans.” She sashayed over to him and laid an open mouth, toe-curling, stomach-dropping kiss on that gorgeous mouth.

The waiter appeared and rested their entrees on the table. “Sir, your food.”

Her man surfaced from the kiss with a stupid expression on his face. “Huh?”

Miranda waved her hand in dismissal. “The bill. The food was decent, the service sucks, and this place blows.” She dropped one lid. “And I’m about to blow something else.”

The waiter stumbled back.

Gavin threw his credit card on the table. “Keep it. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

She laughed as he dragged her out of the restaurant.

…

Two days later, Gavin watched his lady smile up at her three admirers. Dominick, Brando, and Tony crowded around the table he’d vacated exactly three minutes ago.

Gavin shook his head. The men in his family moved fast when it came to a beautiful woman. He decided to hurry through his rounds and reclaim her. If he wasn’t careful, Brando would dump Tracey and challenge him for Miranda’s hand. Hell, they’d already eaten pizza together once this past week. Before long, they’d be going steady, and he’d have to duel his younger brother.