Miranda Storme scanned the menu with an ease of an expert, her mind automatically making mental notes of prices and cuisine. She wondered if she’d have enough time to order the special.
“Uh-oh, you’ve got that look on your face.”
Miranda glanced up. “What look?”
Andy Carson pulled his brows into a frown. “The critic look. Can’t we enjoy one meal without whipping out your notes? Let’s be rebels tonight. Let’s order a plain bowl of spaghetti and meatballs and forget about testing the chef’s skills. I’m tired of working every time I pick up a fork.”
She laughed. “Andy, you get to eat for free, and I don’t even make you write the column.”
“I don’t care. I had a Big Mac yesterday and I couldn’t enjoy it. I kept trying to figure out exactly what was in that special sauce.”
She bit her lip. “Okay. Since you’re nice enough to suffer through the opera with me, I’ll order the spaghetti. It’s easy enough for an Italian restaurant not to screw up, and we can make the performance in time.”
His face lit up as he closed the menu. “Perfect. Anyway, we’re not on an official review tonight and—what’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She watched the man approach her table and heard a strange roaring in her ears. Long strides closed the distance between them with the same ruthless determination he’d shown years ago. It had been part of him she’d fallen in love with.
Until he had used that same determination to walk right out of her life.
“Hello, Red.”
As the deep, gravelly voice stroked her ears, Miranda controlled a shudder. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet his, and was grateful she still felt numb. Steel-blue eyes met and held hers. Piercing in intensity, as if he could see right into her soul. Once, he had. She’d sworn to never make the mistake again.
“Hello, Gavin.” She kept her tone even, as if running into your first love occurred on a daily
basis. “How are you?”
“Fine.” The polite, cliché conversation made her shudder, but no original words rose to her lips. His probing gaze released her and studied Andy. He seemed to take inventory, as if checking for weaknesses that could be used later to his advantage. An awkward silence settled over the table.
“I take it you two know each other,” Andy said.
Miranda re-gathered her composure. “Andrew Carson, this is Gavin Luciano.” The two men exchanged nods. “Gavin and I dated many years ago. He was an up and coming advertising executive at the time.” She forced a smile. “I’m sure he’s been quite successful.”
“I left.”
Miranda’s head swung back around. “You left?”
“Yep.” He rocked back on his heels with a satisfied look. “I moved into a different field.”
“What are you doing now?” she asked.
The tiny smile turned into a full-fledged grin. She sucked in her breath at the sight of that slow smile flashing a perfect row of white teeth. Totally confident. Overwhelmingly arrogant. Devastatingly masculine. “This,” he said. Gavin whipped out a pencil and notepad from his jacket. “Can I take your order?”
She blinked. She took in his appearance, which consisted of a black button down shirt, tailored black pants, and a sport jacket. “You’re a waiter?”
“Tonight I am. I’m the owner. This is my restaurant.”
A rush of memories flooded through her. Dear God, she’d known Mia Casa sounded familiar. How could she have picked his family’s restaurant? Not that she’d ever been invited here when they dated. Other than it was Italian and located in Manhattan, Mia Casa was just another common name of another place to dine.
Her stomach tilted. “You always said you never wanted anything to do with your family’s restaurant.”
Darkness settled over
his features, then disappeared. “I was wrong.” His voice dropped to an intimate pitch. A shiver ran down her spine. “About a lot of things.”
Her hand shook as she reached up to slide the glasses back up her nose. She was so not going there. Having a chatty conversation with the man who dumped her would only ruin her appetite. She took a deep breath and briskly closed her menu. “How intriguing. Well, I think we’re both ready to order.”
Andy sat back in his chair and waved one hand in the air. His face reflected growing amusement. “Miranda, you order for me. You know what I want.”
She registered Gavin’s frown with relish. It would have been unheard of for Mr. Macho to let a woman order for him. For once, she succumbed to her evil side and deliberately leaned toward Andy. Her hand slid over his as she played with his fingers. His shocked expression almost ruined her moment, but she kicked him under the table and ignored his wince. “Darling, would you like to go traditional tonight?”
Andy blinked and remained silent. Her heel dug into his ankle. “Oh, yes, sweetheart. Traditional is fine.”
Her professional critic training kicked in and she relaxed into her familiar world of food. “I think we’ll start with the calamari, and bring some bruschetta with that. The spaghetti and meatballs as the main course. What’s your vegetable?”
Did he wince, or was she imagining things? “Tonight, we have broccoli rabe. But I recommend the salad instead of the vegetable. We have a wonderful house dressing to accompany it.”
“Broccoli rabe, please.”
“We’re known for the stuffed artichokes. I think you may enjoy that, instead.”
Oh, yeah, he really didn’t want her to have the broccoli. She’d been to enough restaurants to know when a waiter was told to push certain items. Giddy satisfaction flowed through her veins. “No.”
He shifted his weight. “As you wish. May I suggest the special tonight, instead? The chef has been preparing it all evening and it’s quite extraordinary. Chilean sea bass over a bed of polenta served with—”
“No, thank you. Bring us two glasses of Chianti Reserve, please.”
Frustration beat from his figure. Gavin was used to being dominant, both in and out of the bedroom. Andy was probably frustrating him with his refusal to speak. “Perhaps your companion would like an opinion?” Gavin asked.
Andy shrugged. “Whatever she says.”
She almost laughed as her ex-lover’s jaw clenched. Miranda blew an air kiss across the table. “It’s so wonderful you don’t need to be in control. I won’t disappoint you, darling. I haven’t yet.”
“Funny, you used to love not being in charge.” He paused. “Quite loudly, if I remember correctly.”
Her breath strangled in her throat as she remembered the way he used to back her up against the wall, lift her skirt, and make her beg. She squeezed her thighs together, waited till she found air again, and forced a smile. “Not anymore. We’ll be skipping desert to catch the eight o’clock show at the Met.”
His pencil paused. “La Traviata?”
His thumb rubbed the edge of the pencil with slow, fluid motions, and Miranda remembered those blunt fingers gliding over her naked skin as the powerful strains of the opera rippled through the air. Remembered each stroke of his body against hers as he controlled the rhythm, ignoring her cries as he took her on a wild ride of pleasure, until the tension exploded while the music rose to a crashing crescendo. Remembered lying in his arms afterward, gazing into the fire, knowing she belonged to him.
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?”
“Men suck.”
She gave a strangled laugh. “Tell me about it. But he taught me a lot about myself. ...
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