“Why do women let men walk all over them? Look, he acted like a jerk and now he thinks he can corner you in the hallway and go back to the way things were. Think like a man. Hit him where he hurts the most.”

Miranda winced. “Doesn’t sound very charitable. Aren’t I supposed to be the better person?”

“Didn’t you ever hear of eye for an eye?”

“What am I supposed to do, get a couple of hoods to do a number on him?”

“Actually, I know this guy from the Mafia who—”

“Andy!”

“Kidding, just kidding. You’ll think of something. Picture thousands of women across the globe, waiting for you to bring justice to their gender.”

“Do you eavesdrop on Elaine’s conversations to come up with this stuff?”

“I watched Oprah once. But now that she’s retired, I’m into Dr. Phil. My therapist approves.”

She adjusted the heat of the vents and fought a shiver. “This whole conversation is ridiculous. I’ll never see him again. He may want me back, but I’ve moved on.”

“Why don’t you sound convinced?”

She looked out the window and tried to hold back the memories. “You don’t know how the relationship was. He had this sort of spell over me.”

“Like a weird sexual power?”

Miranda smothered a laugh. “Close. He’d just scored a partnership in MacKenzie & Associates Advertising, where he was used to getting what he wanted. And he wanted it all. Travel, power, money.” She shook her head in disgust. “But I saw something else in his eyes.”

“Uh-oh. Let me guess. A gleam of vulnerability. A bit of loneliness. All the things that trip up a woman.”

“Yep.” She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Of course, he told me the rules up front. He didn’t want any heavy commitments, and I accepted the terms. Until I fell in love with him.”

“I assume he didn’t suffer from the same emotions?”

The car pulled up to her apartment complex. “Guess not. After my big confession, he left. I never saw him again.”

“Until tonight.” Andy cursed and gripped the steering wheel. “He was probably running scared. We tend to flee when things get too heavy. God knows Elaine freaked me out when I realized she was the one, and it took a long time for me to finally realize it, too. Think about what I said. A little revenge may teach him a lesson. Not to mention how good it would feel.”

“Good night, Andy. Thanks for going to the opera with me. You can drop Stephen off at my house Saturday night.”

A flicker of guilt crossed his face. “I didn’t really mean we had to trade services, Miranda. You don’t have to babysit if you don’t want.”

“A deal’s a deal. You go to the opera with me, and I babysit. Besides, I love Stephen.”

“Oh, you like horns on a kid, huh?”

She grinned and got out of the car. “Like father like son.”

“Ouch. Get some sleep.”

She shut the door and shivered in the damp air. With a quick wave to the security guard, she took the elevator up and hurried inside. Her heels came off in record time, and she quickly stripped, threw on a T-shirt and shorts, and collapsed on the slate gray sofa.

Silence enveloped the room. A silence she’d become used to. A silence she learned to cultivate after realizing her life had become a series of adventures with no end, turning her into an excitement junkie.

So, she’d changed.

Quiet now meant peace. Security. Safety.

Miranda listened to the steady pelt of rain against the window. So why did the silence suddenly feel so empty?

She groaned and buried her face in the velvety cushion. What was the matter with her? She was a strong, capable woman, and Gavin’s crazy declaration meant nothing.

Just like she hadn’t meant anything to him.

The demons rose before her, flashing and taunting even as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the images. But they were stronger than her will and dragged her back. Forced her to remember.

“Talk to me, baby.” His mouth nibbled on her ear, did delicious things to her neck, and with one quick movement, strong hands ripped open her blouse.

She gasped, knowing this was the beginning of the game that would end in a rocket of pleasure. Knew the rough play ended in the most explosive orgasm she’d ever experienced.

“Tell me where you want to be touched.”

She guided her hands to her breasts and arched. “Here. Oh, yes, like that.”

His mouth replaced his fingers as he took one ruby crest between his lips and sucked hard. Her skirt fell around her feet and he caressed her buttocks through the silk of her panties. Liquid fire pooled between her thighs.

“More?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

She grabbed his hand and pressed it against her throbbing clit. His leg hooked under her knee and lifted her up, bracing her against the wall so she was splayed open. One finger slipped beneath the elastic edge. Paused. And plunged deep. “Here?”

Her head hit the wall and her teeth bit down on her lower lip. On the verge of orgasm, she fought for control. “Yes.” She fumbled with his belt buckle, frantic to get him as deep inside her as possible.

He gave a low laugh filled with satisfaction. “You’re a greedy woman, Miranda.” Her hands closed around hard, silky flesh and squeezed. His gasp drove her on as she stroked his hard length. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

“I want you.”

He lifted her up. “Wrap your legs around me tight,” he commanded. She obeyed immediately, knowing he liked control, liked watching her lose her sanity before he gave in to his own satisfaction. “Look at me.”

Steel-blue eyes caught and held hers. Raw emotion and need exploded from her gut and shimmered through her and suddenly she knew. Knew he claimed more than her body in that moment. Somehow, in a matter of weeks, he’d claimed her mind and heart and soul.

“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.”