All the Way (10 page)

She took a sip and enjoyed the crisp bite of fruit and spark on her tongue. “To be honest, it’s one of my favorite operas.” She smiled at his surprised look. “After you introduced me to
Traviata
, I began studying. When I got back from the Culinary and began working in the city, I became a member and saw every opera in the season.
Pagliacci
resonated with me.”

“Why?”

His gaze shredded past the surface and probed deep. Miranda stared at the empty stage and tried to find the words. “It’s a rough, clumsy story, an opera within an opera. When the Players come on stage and we first meet Nedda, there is an exuberance beating on the surface. But we begin to see past the gaiety, into her heart. She is tormented—mad for her lover but terrified of her husband. A simple peasant girl, she’s raw and real, one of us, and not separated by the higher power of royalty. She’s stuck, and not brave enough to make a choice.

“She does not reveal her lover’s name,” he said. “Even with her husband threatening her with a knife, within his own helpless rage, she protects the man she loves.”

“Yes,” Miranda said slowly. “But in a way, she makes no choice at all. She only calls his name as death nears. Does she die for him—for love? Or does she die out of fear, afraid to make the final leap?”

Her heart beat madly from his intense questions, sensing they spoke about something deeper beyond the opera. “Would you have chosen differently?” he asked. “Run off with your lover and abandoned a loveless marriage?”

Sadness crept into her voice. “Three years ago, I would have said yes. I would’ve given it all up for love. Now, I’m afraid I understand Nedda so much better. I’d stay.”

“Because of your loyalty or your fear?”

She turned her head. His gaze snagged hers. “Because I wouldn’t have made any choice.”

He didn’t answer. Darkness descended and the theater quieted. The first strains of the music floated upward and filled every empty space. Miranda sat back and let go.

The first half of the opera was a joyous clamor of instruments and singing and clumsy laughter. But a bigger story seethed in the background, the triangle of the young Nedda, the arrogant, enraged Canio, and her secret lover Silvio.

By the time Canio discovered his wife’s betrayal, Nedda refused to give up her lover’s name, even from his threats. The emotional intensity between Nedda and Canio built with each level of music, and Miranda leaned forward in her seat, waiting for the unstoppable conclusion. Canio’s final arietta rung true and clear through the theater, his voice rich with husky overtones, booming in madness and fury. He stabbed Nedda, who fell onto the ground, and who finally called out her lover’s real name with her dying breath. As Silvio rushed through the crowd, the knife lifted again, and Silvio fell to the floor next to his lover. In the stunning silence of realization, Tonio, the friend who had set the whole chain of events into play, rips out the final line:

“La Commedia e’ finita!”

The play is over!

The curtain crashed down.

Emotions rioted and pounded for release, but she tamped down hard. She would not cry, not with Gavin. Her promise to always try and remain in control stayed true. Using her breath, she steadied herself, the roaring notes of the music echoing in her head. The lights slowly came up, and she forced a smile.

“Magnificent. Everything I hoped it would be.”

He reached out and dragged a finger down her cheek. “But no tears.”

Her lips tightened. “No. Not anymore.” Maybe with Andy, in the dark, at the opera. But not in Gavin’s presence. Never again.

Gavin nodded, a gleam of grief piercing bright blue eyes. She didn’t have time to ponder the startling emotion. He stood and donned his coat. Tucked her arm within his. And led her out of the theater.

He remained quiet as he guided her to the parking lot and retrieved the car. The Mercedes pulled smoothly into traffic while they made their way back to her apartment. Miranda glanced over and studied Gavin from under heavy-lidded eyes. Muscular thighs shifted in the seat as he pressed on the gas and dodged between the bulleting vehicles. He drove with the same unconscious arrogance he brought to every action, guiding the black luxury car through a variety of traffic disasters with an easy grace.

Blunt fingertips wrapped around the steering wheel. Miranda remembered those hands on her skin, remembered how he’d use all that intense concentration to make a woman experience earth-shattering pleasure. Remembered the way his lips glided over hers, thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth while he plunged deep inside and held her on the edge without mercy. Remembered her spread out on the bar as he brought her to orgasm, wringing cries from her lips.

Oh, God.

How long had it been since she’d taken a man to her bed? Too long. She wanted him, craved the masculine demand of him and her surrender. She almost laughed out loud at her ridiculous assumption she’d be safe with conversation. With a slow building, non-physical relationship. Was she kidding? Why hadn’t she counted on the vivid images flickering past her vision? The weakness of her body? The pull of their connection?

“Are you okay?”

She shook herself out of her trance. “Yeah. Why?”

A lopsided grin curved his lips. “We’ve been sitting in your parking lot for the past five minutes. You look deep in thought.”

Color flooded her cheeks. “Uh, I was just thinking about this article I’m working on.”

The grin widened. “Sure. Must be quite an interesting article to make you blush.”

“Stop teasing me.”

His voice dropped to a sexy growl. “I don’t intend on teasing you, baby.”

She grew hot and achy and ready. The invitation popped out of her mouth. “Do you want to come up for a nightcap?”

Surprise flickered across his face. “You want me to come in?”

“Well, we could drink the brandy in the car, but my apartment is more comfortable.”

He laughed. “Then I accept your gracious invitation. It’s been a long day.”

They walked up the stairs. He plucked the key from her fingers, unlocked the door, and ushered her inside. The lights bathed the room in an intimate glow as Miranda retrieved two glasses from the cabinet and watched him settle on the sofa.

“Your apartment is different from the last place you had,” he commented. His gaze swept the cool, elegant furnishings of slate gray and silver. Glass tabletops were carefully scattered around the room amidst a few green plants, bookcases, and a computer desk. Black and white photographs hung on the wall and added to the atmosphere of clean lines and simplicity.

Miranda handed him a snifter. “Hope so. I had a studio, a roommate, and no money. You saw it before.”

Curiosity gleamed in his eyes, as if trying to decipher something deeper. “I didn’t notice the details. I was always in a mad rush to try not to get kicked out.”

“What’s different?”

“You always loved clutter. Books, magazines, throw pillows. Those crazy animal figures you collected. Now everything’s in its proper order.”

She shrugged. “I decided messiness was an indication of non-discipline. Now when I come through the door, there are no surprises. I like knowing where everything is at all times.”

He tapped the edge of the glass thoughtfully. “In other words, you always want to be in control.”

He lifted her chin. “There’s nothing wrong with being in control.”

“All the time?”

“Of course. If a person plans her life carefully enough, and takes full responsibility, there’s no excuse for being out of control.”

He took a sip of brandy and seemed to ponder her statement. Miranda fidgeted with sudden defensiveness. Who was he to come in and judge her life?

“What about surrender?” he asked.

The room sizzled with unspoken tension. “What about it? If you’re in control, you don’t have to surrender.”

“You make the concept sound like a bad thing, Miranda.” His voice raked across her ears in a caress. “Take passion. Two people who voluntarily give up their control to achieve a greater pleasure.”

The air grew thick and humid, and she struggled to take a deep breath. Intimacy simmered under the surface all night, and tipped on the edge of raging out of control. Miranda knew the conversation had been guided into dangerous territory. She paused on the verge of retreat, not sure how deep she wanted to dive. But he placed the snifter down on the glass tabletop and shifted his weight. The gap between them closed another inch. She fought to keep from studying the intriguing line of golden hair that began at his upper chest and disappeared behind the knit shirt. Her fingers flexed.

He continued, his voice weaving its spell of shot-silk and gravel. “That’s another reason the opera calls to you. You allow yourself to let go to the magic of the music and passion and messiness.”

She forced herself to answer. “Ah, but great opera is based on rigid control. Notes must be ruthlessly adhered to or the entire production falls apart. It’s also a reminder surrender is dangerous. Pleasure can be great, but the pain afterward reminds us that life is better when a person is in control. As shown in
Pagliacci
this evening.”

One blunt fingertip traced the line of her jaw. His spicy scent teased her senses. “Not better,” he murmured. “Just safe.”

“There’s nothing wrong with safety.”

“There’s nothing wrong with surrender,” he said.

Blue eyes flared like a beginning tropical storm. Her lower lip trembled as he leaned in and closed the distance. The simple need burst into monstrous proportions, until her mind lost the battle. And why not? Why not surrender her body on her own terms? She still owned her fate. This time, she’d give only her body to Gavin Luciano, not her mind or heart or soul.

This time, she wouldn’t fall in love with him.

This time, she’d be prepared for him to walk away. Safe.

His warm breath rushed over her parted lips. “If you had a choice to make tonight, would you, Red? Or would you step back and be safe, making no decision at all?”

The opera and her past and his touch spun together and dragged her under. She reached out and gripped his shoulders, digging her nails fiercely into the hard muscles. “This is
my
choice,” she whispered fiercely. “This is about sex, pure and simple. I admit I want you tonight, but it changes nothing between us. I’m not rewriting a second review, no matter how good the orgasm is.”

A flash of pain flared in his eyes, then quickly disappeared. “It will change everything between us.” His finger gently stroked her cheek.

“I won’t do the review.”

“I don’t care about the review.” The tenderness turned, and he thrust all ten fingers into her hair and forced her head back. “I care about this.”

His mouth took hers. Rough and primitive, he thrust his tongue deep inside and took. A moan rose in her throat and she gave herself up to him as he plundered her mouth and every dark secret she kept. She arched up and invited him to take more, halfway drunk on the taste and feel of pure male need.

He pushed her deep into the pillows. One thigh parted her legs wide for free access. Her breasts swelled in anticipation, and she reached out to tug ineffectively at his shirt, her hands trembling as she tried to undo the buttons.

“Take it off,” he ground out. His teeth nipped at her lower lip, then bathed the swollen flesh with his tongue.

“I’m trying, but you have to pull the shirt over your head.” Again, she tugged, and had a quick impulse to tear and see if the material parted like she’d heard at those male stripper shows.

“No, the dress.” His hands coasted down her body and rested on her ribcage. His thumbs brushed the tips of her breasts and coaxed them to rise even more under the fabric. “I can’t find the damn zipper, and in about three seconds I’m just going to rip.”

“I’ll lift up and you unzip it. But only if you take off your shirt.”

“Deal.”

He divested the dress from her body in one swoop, leaving her clad in black lace underwear and silk stockings. He sucked in his breath and Miranda caught the gleam of appreciation that made her burn even hotter.

“Crap, I want you so bad. I keep remembering your face when you come, how sweet and hot and wet you are.”

His steel-blue gaze raked over every inch of skin until her panties grew damp. “Please.”

“Oh, I intend to, baby.” He tore the shirt off and lowered himself over her. The soft velvety feel of the sofa cushioned her back. The hard length of his erection throbbed against her thigh. He leaned over and brushed his lips over one tight crest, playing, teasing, until he opened his mouth and sucked.

She gasped and threw her head back. He moved to the other breast, licking with firm movements that drove her toward the edge of insanity. “Not tonight,” she tore out. “Gavin, don’t tease me tonight. I want you now.”

He muttered something under his breath—either a curse or a prayer—and pressed his palm over her throbbing center. “You’re making me crazy. God, Miranda, make me take you to bed. I can’t hold out much longer.”

“No, right here.” She ripped at his belt and the rasp of the zipper echoed in the air.

“I was supposed to take this slow, make it perfect for you.” He seemed to struggle and lose the battle as he slipped one finger under the elastic edge of her panties. “I was supposed to give you foreplay.” He plunged deep, and liquid warmth rushed past to ease his entrance. She cried out at the pulses of pleasure. “I was supposed to seduce you slowly until you begged me to take you, and you couldn’t give a damn about the past.” His thumb rubbed over the swollen nub with a steady pressure. Sobs escaped her lips and she reached out to wrap her fingers around his penis, guiding him closer.

“Now.” She arched up as he did something incredibly erotic between her thighs. “I can’t wait. Damn you, take me now.”

He swore savagely. “Jesus, let that condom still be in my frickin’ pocket.” He reached over and grabbed his pants, tearing through the material until the foil package fell out. In seconds, he was sheathed.

He tugged down her panties and removed his fingers. Rearing up and spreading her legs wide, he poised at her entrance. A tiny gleam of truth pierced through the fogginess, reminding her he was about to re-claim a part of her she’d thought to keep separate. Fear choked her and she moved to push him away, her mouth open to tell him no.