All the Way

Miranda made a mental note to get tickets no matter who she dragged with her.



“Well, Tony Bennett should accomplish the feat.”



Her nose twitched. “Not really. I’m not sure how I feel about this brand new lounge. I see the overall concept to achieve but don’t think it works.”



Protectiveness roared up. “I think it’s exactly what’s needed in this area.



A combination of old and new world we rarely see.”



“You trashed this place.



What are you doing here?”



“None of your business.



Go find your own restaurants to trash.” Her gaze settled on the man walking up behind her.



“Are you still with that dirtbag?”



Allison sucked in her breath. Glints of rage spit out at her. “You’re just jealous he stayed with me after you threw yourself at him.”



Miranda clenched her fists and lowered her voice. “I told you over and over. He came on to me while you were in the other room. I kneed him in the balls and did you a favor by telling you. Even you’re better than this, Allison.



And that’s not saying much.”



The famous French chef, known worldwide for his sauces and philandering, pressed a kiss to Allison’s shoulder and cut her a cold glare. “Darling, we should go. I don’t like to see you upset.”



Miranda snorted. “Good luck, buddy. She’s upset twenty-four hours a day.”



Allison stuck her nose in the air.



“Check out Gourmet magazine’s issue this month. I’m featured.”



“No way.



They’re supposed to run my featured interview this month.”



Triumph shone from her features. “Let’s just say I pulled a few strings and got them to change their mind. You’re on your way out, Storme, and I’m not going anywhere.”



Jealousy fought with her need to stay civil. How was it possible? Gourmet always booked months in advance, and she’d been counting on the publicity to raise stats for her new column. “You’re not going any place good, Wheaton, if you’re still with him.” She jerked her thumb at her companion, who stiffened.



He hurried her rival out, soothing her with sugary words that meant nothing, and Miranda drained her glass. Adrenalin rushed through her, a normal response when confronting Allison. She stood up from the table and decided to hunt down Gavin to take her home.



She was exhausted and she needed to do some rational thinking about her actions.



Did she want to see Gavin again? Her body slammed to life with the answer of hell, yes. Her heart cringed in mortal fear. She’d go home, make some tea, and think in a quiet space.



Satisfied, Miranda threaded her way through the crowds toward the kitchen. Then stopped at the scene in front of her. A group of three men, including Gavin’s father, leaned over a small card table, smoking. One of those smokeless fans had been set up but it wasn’t doing its job, from the trickle of smoke surrounding them. Cards flew through their hands and snippets of their conversation drifted toward her.



“Nah, the rat pack from the fifties were better than the sixties. Can’t mess with Bogie, he was the master.”



A man dressed impeccably in a wool jacket, leather shoes, and fedora gripped his cigar in his teeth and managed to spit. “Bull. Sixties ruled.



Sinatra took over as main leader, and Dean and Sammy came to play.



That’s who the public really remembers.”



Gavin’s father raised his voice and threw a card in the middle.



“Agreed.



Ocean’s Eleven brought the whole buddy movie into the spotlight. No one is better than the second crew and that’s the end of it.”



The last member in the threesome lost his temper.



Dressed in a wife-beater T- shirt, old man’s pants, and footgear that resembled slippers, his face reddened in fury. “Did you just say that to me? Did you? Ocean’s Eleven did not make the buddy movie popular! Marlon Brando and James Dean brought that element of coolness into the fifties. Anyway, Bogie has always been named the greatest actor.



Sinatra couldn’t act to save his life.”



Gavin’s father stood up from the table. His whole body shook as if with fever, and Miranda held her breath, not sure what to do. Rage peppered his words. “You will never speak that way about Frank again. Get out! Out of my restaurant!”



Miranda mashed her hand against her lips, caught between giggling and breaking up a cockfight.



Gavin swooped in. Red stains splattered his apron and crusted his black pants. Sweat trickled from his brow and matted the lone curl that spilled across his forehead.



Stress carved out the lines of his face and bracketed his mouth.



Fascinated, the scene unfolded before her.



“Okay, boys, enough Grappa for tonight. Pop, sit down, Cosmo didn’t mean it. Did you, Cosmo?”



The other man gave a humph. “Tell him to stop slandering Bogey and I’ll stop with Frank.”



Gavin plucked the bottle of white liquid from the table, and stabbed out their cigars. “Pop, cut it out with torturing Cosmo.



You’ve seen Casablanca and The Maltese Falcon a million times.”



“Maybe.”



The friction eased. He waved his hand frantically through the air as smoke wafted to the main dining room. “If anyone here lights one more cigar, you’re outta here. I don’t need a citation or face closing down the place for breaking the smoke laws.



Bogey and Sinatra respected and cared about each other. Fighting over them is a crime.”



Cosmo grunted in agreement. “Giovanni is right. I apologize. We should never pit the rat pack against each other. It is a betrayal of all that was good.”



Vinnie and Gavin’s father nodded their head. The tension eased, and they were once again a group of friends playing cards.



“Let’s switch to five card stud. Ante up, gentlemen.



Giovanni, can we get some tiramisu for the table?”



“Sure, be right back.”



Gavin hurried forward with a worried expression.



“Miranda, I’m so sorry. I meant to take you home, but one of the new waiters got into Tony’s station and there was a slight gravy fight I’m trying to help clean up.”



“A gravy fight?”



Gavin groaned. “Tony is very possessive of his ingredients. One of the customers complained it needed more heat, so the new waiter tried to sneak back and put in pepper.



Tony caught him. A food fight ensued. I need some ingredients from the storeroom, and now I’m down a waiter since the new guy just took off.”



“Isn’t there salt and pepper on the tables already?”



He winced.



“Tony refuses to allow it. Said his food is always cooked to perfection and no other seasoning is needed.



We’ve tried sneaking it on the tables a few times, but he always catches it.”



Miranda studied the man before her. The composed, multi-millionaire, cutthroat advertising executive had transformed into a regular guy babysitting his family and trying to save the restaurant he didn’t even want to work in.



A strange warmth bubbled up inside her and melted the wall of ice.



“Well, then, I guess I better get to work. Do you have a spare apron?”



He shook his head. “Hell, no, you are not going to waitress tonight.



I’ll manage and take you home in a few.”



“Gavin, I worked in restaurants during my studies at the culinary. I know what to do, and you need the help. Now, get me a spare apron and let’s finish this up before the Sinatra club decides to go for another round.”



He hesitated, obviously torn. Practicality won and he let out a breath. “Okay.



I’ll be humiliated later.



Right now, I’ll take the help.”



She grinned.



“Apron, please.”



The next few hours whizzed past. She enjoyed the fast pace, and fell into the old rhythm she’d learned at the culinary, balancing speed with quality service, helping clear and turn over tables quickly to maximize profit.



Dominick and Tony enjoyed an easy camaraderie filled with jokes that made the evening enjoyable.



Her most fun was watching Gavin.



Like Hook running a ship of pirates, he kept a firm hand on the staff’s tendency to slack off and morph from organized business to family chaos.



His perfect suit and tie were now mussed and slightly wrinkled.



He snapped orders, performed round after round of checks in the kitchen, the bar, the tables, and the lounge. He kept his father and cronies in line, and a sharp eye on his younger brother. His entire body vibrated with both tension and an energy she knew personally could be focused on any activity he chose. Like sex.



By the time the last patron left, the dishes were cleaned, and the lounge closed, her feet throbbed and she ached to sleep for ten hours straight. Thank God she had a lazy type of job. She gave a silent prayer of gratitude to all the hard workers in the service industry and leaned against the mahogany bar. “That was intense.”



Gavin laughed and waved to his brother and Dominick. “Yeah. I get to do this tomorrow, too. Not to mention meeting the supplier at six am in order to get Tony his ingredients to prep.” He slid into the bar stool beside her.



“Thank you.”



She looked up, startled.



A flush of warmth crept into her cheeks.



“No problem. I kind of enjoyed it.



Brought back memories.”



The easy air between them tightened and thrummed with sexual tension.



The blood thickened and pumped through her veins with a pure need to touch him.



He’d pushed up his shirt sleeves. His arms were sinewy with muscle, covered in golden hair.



She ached to run her nails over all that toasty golden skin and dig in deep. A riptide of liquid warmth rushed and settled between her thighs.



“Funny, I’ve got my own memories right now.”



“We should go.”



His eyes darkened to navy and seethed with masculine demand and heat.



“Not yet.



You deserve a reward for saving my ass tonight.”



She opened her mouth and emitted a squeak.



Tried again. “How about a discount?”



“Do you think I’m a cheapskate?”



The laugh died in her throat. Suddenly, he was the old Gavin, the dominant lover who took and bestowed bone- shattering pleasure. He reached out and tugged.



The stool slid over until she was positioned between his spread thighs. The delicious smell of coffee and smoke and lemon teased her nostrils. Those strong hands settled on her shoulders, lightly, but enough so she experienced the power beneath the gentle touch, the ability to tear clothes and take her hard and fast.



“I don’t—I don’t know about this.”



“I do.” He leaned in and stopped an inch from her lips. “One kiss, Red.” His breath whispered.



“Please.”



His final plea hit the mark. Just a kiss. On her terms. She could handle it.



Miranda met him the rest of the way. His lips closed on hers.



A moan vibrated through her chest. So different from his usual plunder and assault, he kissed her with a sweetness that broke down her defenses and promised her heaven on earth. His tongue parted the seam of her lips and slid home.



Miranda surrendered.



She opened and gave freely, drunk on his taste and his smell and the touch of his hands on her body.