Jennifer Probst - All the Way

She cursed the huskiness to her voice. “Yes.”

“You always did like the opera.” His hot gaze drifted over her face, and lower. “Some things never change.”

She looked away and handed him the menus. “That’ll be all for now. Thank you.”

“I’ll bring your appetizer shortly.” Gavin turned and strode gracefully across the room.

Andy cleared his throat. “Whew, I have bruises on my leg. Next time remind me if I need to play the role of your boy toy.”

“I’m sorry, Andy. It’s…complicated.”

He grinned. “No problem, it was kind of fun. I guess that’s the guy who screwed you up, huh?”

His words hit the tender spot of memories buried deep. “Yep.”

Andy reached out and awkwardly patted her hand. “Let’s see, this is the part in the evening when my wife would say a few words to make you feel better.”

“Care to give it a whirl?”

“Guys suck.”

She gave a strangled laugh. “Tell me about it. But he taught me a lot about myself. I’m stronger now.” Maybe if she said it enough she’d finally believe it.

One brow shot up. “Just don’t confuse strength with denial. Shutting yourself off from feeling isn’t necessarily being strong.”

“I always told you to be a shrink.”

“Those weren’t my words. They were from my own shrink.”

Miranda sighed. “Maybe he gives group discounts. After tonight, I think I’m going to need it.”

…

Miranda blinked back tears and fumbled for her water glass. Unfortunately it was empty, so she settled for a sip of Chianti. The alcohol added to the fire on her tongue and did nothing to quench the blaze.

Andy seemed to have the same trouble. He grabbed his own water glass. “Are you sure you didn’t dump him and he wants revenge?”

Miranda choked on the wine. “It does seem a bit, er, overpowering, doesn’t it?”

“He must have used a pound of pepper and garlic.” He signaled for more water. “And that broccoli rabe was just plain scary. I’m still chewing it and I ate the stuff an hour ago.”

“The bread was good.”

“Yeah, let’s give the place four stars.”

Miranda laughed. There was nothing her friend hated more than a disappointing Italian restaurant. “Don’t get cranky. We’ll just get a cannoli to go.”

He snorted.

She rose from the table. “Why don’t you grab the check while I go to the ladies room?”

“Okay, I’ll meet you out front.”

Her heels clicked against the wooden floor as she made her way toward the back of the dining area. Her gaze swept over her surroundings, noting the combination of old- and new-world style that made up the restaurant. One glance at the large modern bar showed her the restaurant was undergoing some growing pains, battling between the current times and the fight to keep tradition. Miranda pictured the mighty Gavin Luciano running the place like a pirate rules his ship.

She washed her hands and carefully checked her appearance. As she tried to smooth some loose tendrils of hair back into the French twist, her hands trembled. She dropped her arms and stared into the mirror.

Three years.

How long had she waited and hoped for him to return? To chase her and admit he’d fallen in love with her and wanted to stay?

Too long. Eventually, she grew up and grew strong. She realized he’d never come back, and she needed to build her own foundation.

Now he was back.

Miranda straightened her shoulders. It didn’t matter, of course. She’d walk right out of his restaurant tonight and never see him again. Only shock made her body seem so strangely out of control.

She swung open the door and started down the long hallway.

“God, you look good, Red.”

She froze, then turned slowly around and came face to face with her past. “Thanks. You haven’t changed a bit.”

He gave a soft laugh and moved forward. Waves of masculine energy emanated from his body, pulling her in. His gaze traveled over her face, her hair, and downward. “From someone else, I’d take that as a compliment. Coming from you, I’m a bit leery.”

Miranda struggled to remain cool and distant. “I’m sure my opinion won’t keep you up at night.”

A lazy grin curved his lips. “It’s not your opinion I’m worried about. There were always other things about you that kept me up at night.”

She jerked away as the intimate words flowed between them. “I’ve got to go.”

“Wait.” His hand shot out and closed around her upper arm. Shockwaves of heat ripped through her, and she stepped back, suddenly afraid of him. He seemed to sense her wariness, and allowed her the space. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing left to say.”

He winced. “I tried to contact you, you know. I mean, I wanted to contact you.”

“I see. Well, that makes up for everything, I guess. Thanks for clearing up the misunderstanding.”

He let out his breath. “Dammit, Miranda, please listen to me. I want to explain.”

She shook her head. “You’re amazing. You actually think after bumping into me by accident you can clear up the past in one tidy episode? I have news for you. It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re angry. I can understand that.”

She laughed. “I’m not angry. I’m not sad. I just don’t feel anything. I put what happened between us behind me, and have no need to dredge it back up.”

“Because of him?” Gavin jerked his thumb down the hallway. “The guy you’re with?”

Her mouth dropped open. “I don’t believe you’re asking me that question.”

“I don’t think he’s right for you,” he stated.

“You’re insane. I’m not staying around to hear more of your ranting. We have an opera to catch.”

This time he stopped her retreat by backing her up against the wall. He leaned in. The familiar scent of lemon and spice swarmed around her, and though her mind screamed she hated him, her body remembered him as a lover. Her nipples rose in unconscious demand against the black wool of her dress, and liquid heat pooled between her thighs. Sexual energy hummed and sizzled in the air.

“Let me go,” she whispered.

“It’s still there, Miranda.”

She took in the arrogant thrust of his jaw, the curve of his lower lip, the Roman nose that dominated his face. His lips stopped inches from hers, and his breath rushed warmly against her mouth.

“What do you want from me?” she asked. “Do you want to play more head games? I don’t need another roller coaster ride for excitement. Find another player.”

One thumb tipped her chin up. Something deep inside stirred back to life as she glimpsed a swirling array of emotions reflected in his features. Regret. Pain. Desire. “God forgive me for hurting you like I did,” he said.

Her voice trembled. “Let me go.”

“I made that mistake three years ago. I’m not about to make it again.”

“You arrogant, son of a—” she broke off and struggled for control. “I’m not interested in what you want anymore.”

The pad of his thumb dragged over her lower lip, and she caught the gleam of determination and resolve glimmering in his eyes. Her heart stopped. She held her breath and waited for him to say the words.

“I was going to leave you alone.” His lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile. “But now I can’t. Let me explain why I left.”

Seconds ticked by. The clatter of china and glasses rung through the air. Mercifully, numbness settled over her, as she stared at the man who had walked away without a good-bye. His explanation was too late.

He was too late.

Miranda removed his hand and pushed against his chest. He stepped back, and she moved around him. Silence blanketed the long hallway. Finally, she straightened her shoulders and spoke, her voice devoid of emotion.

“Good-bye, Gavin.”

She turned and walked away.

About time he stared at a woman’s back and dealt with dismissal. His overwhelming arrogance stole her breath and her sanity, turning her into the tired, stereotypical representation of a woman scorned. With each stride to her table, her wrath rose and stripped away all of the surface layers she’d worked so hard to re-build.

He probably believed a good explanation would make everything he’d done forgivable. Gavin always gained things too easily, whether it be women, sex, or love. How would it feel to have him finally experience real loss? Messy emotion?

The sweet ache to get even pulsed in her gut. Too bad there wasn’t a way to teach him a well-earned lesson in humility.

Miranda dragged in a breath and settled her composure. She refused to let the man ruin her evening. He’d ruined enough of her days to last a lifetime.

She left the restaurant and didn’t look back.

The woman on stage moved toward the center. She flung her arms outward in a symbol of surrender, acceptance, power. Her voice, delicate as a spider’s web, skimmed over the room. She invited her audience to share her journey, to open their hearts and souls for this brief moment in time; to share the pain and pleasure of life. And, suddenly, the voice grew larger, booming and echoing off the walls as she challenged the Gods to one final battle. The music became her defender, swelling with majestic force, and the audience held their breath as they hoped. They knew the ending, and yet, a tiny voice whispered in their ears to wait. Perhaps, this time, love will conquer all. Even death.

The last note of her aria rang through the air as she fought her fate. For one instant, Miranda believed the woman had won. Then she collapsed as the curtain crashed to the floor.

Miranda sucked in a ragged breath. The thunderous applause of the audience comforted her as she brushed away the stray tear and remained seated in the darkness. Years ago, she vowed never to cry over life’s events, but allowed herself this one luxury. Weeping at the opera was entirely acceptable.

“Are you okay?”

She turned toward Andy with a smile. “I’m fine. I hope you weren’t too bored.”

Her friend gathered his cashmere coat as the lights went up. “It was fine,” he responded gruffly.

She wiggled herself into the sleeves of her lime green raincoat. “No matter how many times I see La Traviata, I always hope the ending will be different. Didn’t you think—” she stopped short when she caught the telltale dampness on her friend’s cheek. “Andy, you were crying.”

He gave a disgusted snort and turned his back. “Don’t be ridiculous. Real men don’t cry.”

She laughed and trotted behind as they left the Metropolitan Opera house. The chandeliers dripped with opulence and shimmered over the crowd as they fought their way down the elaborate staircase. The dark wine carpeting cushioned her step.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” she sang. “You loved it and you were crying. Admit the truth, or I’ll tell Elaine you sobbed and caused a scene.”

“The pasta sauce went to your brain,” he said.

Miranda made a face as the icy blast of New York City air hit her full force.

He pulled his lapels up around his neck. “Anyway, stop distracting me. You never told me what your boyfriend wanted to talk to you about.”

“Ex-boyfriend.” She cinched the belt tighter as they headed toward the parking garage.

“He looked like he wants to rekindle the romance. What’s the deal?”

They ignored the flashing Don’t Walk sign and cut in front of a hurtling taxicab. The driver beeped and stuck up a middle finger, but she shrugged it off. She knew deep down the driver wouldn’t have thought twice about running her down and leaving her carcass in the street. God, she loved the ruthlessness of the city. And how sick did that make her? The conversation she’d been desperate to forget hovered on the edges of her sanity.

“The deal is quite simple. Asshole wants to explain why he left.”

Andy snickered. They paid the attendant, hopped in the car, and cut into a throng of traffic. Her friend didn’t speak for a while, as they eased one inch per minute, until his curiosity finally won. “What do you want?”

She shrugged. “I want him to leave me alone. I want to forget I ever fell in love with him and was stupid enough to think he loved me. He completely humiliated me. I opened up to him, let myself be vulnerable, and he left. Now I want to get on with my safe, orderly life.”

“So, what are you afraid of? You’re in control now. Maybe it’s time you proved that to yourself.” He grinned. “Maybe it’s time you taught Asshole a lesson.”

“What do you mean?”