One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  He makes you happy.

  He is your happiness.

  For once she thought she might agree with the voice of her past. She scrubbed the tears off her cheeks and crawled over to the television. Nate’s shoulders filled the screen. She ignored the chirpy-voiced reporter. She didn’t care about what she had to say. It was Nate that she focused on. Nate that held every ounce of her attention.

  She watched herself wrap her arms around those big strong shoulders and let him kiss her blind. How could she turn that away? Was that really what she looked like when he was around her?

  Destroyed, she blindly pushed buttons until the room was dark and blessedly silent. God, how long had she been in that room watching? She’d taped every one of them that she could find in the listings. Once upon a time she had watched them faithfully to ensure her status. She’d been very much like her sister, living for the fame game. What Jazz didn’t understand was that there was no winning. There was always going to be someone who came along to make an A-lister obsolete.

  All the wonder and happiness in the world couldn’t combat the confusion and anger on Nate’s face. Invading his privacy was bad enough, but the confusion and anger would loop to his friends and family until another juicy story came around. Reporters were calculating and relentless. All it took was a license plate or a name for them to ferret out information.

  God, what he must think of her. She pulled off her hoodie and yoga pants and poured herself into the shower, scrubbing until she was as pink as she was numb. She pulled on jeans and a fisherman’s sweater, but still couldn’t warm up.

  Just as she was rolling socks over her feet her doorbell rang. She’d ignored it all day. Ryleigh, Max and even Leo had all been upstairs to lure her down to talk. She’d feigned a migraine. At least that was one truth. The migraine was as real as the videos she’d watched all fucking day.

  But it wasn’t why she didn’t want to talk to them. They might not know about the video, but they would. Media was their lifeblood, there was no way they wouldn’t hear about this one. Behind the peephole was the only person she could handle right now. “Macy.” She swung open the door and hauled her inside, wrapping her arms around her.

  “Hey now! You’re crushing Prada here.” The laughter and the sobs were interchangeable. Macy slid her palm down Miranda’s hair. “Oh honey.”

  “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

  “C’mon, let’s bring the blubbering inside, woman.” Macy threw her arm over her shoulder. Chanel and peppermint surrounded her. Her best friend was a dead ringer for Wonder Woman in stature, stacked rack and hair. Draped in a pantsuit that cost more than her payroll for the month and enough diamonds to pay for hosting for her clientele for a year, Macy Black had never looked better.

  “How could you have fallen off the map and still stayed hot? It’s not right. The clothes have to go, but your skin is amazing. God, are those Diesel jeans with a Wal-Mart sweater?”

  “No, snob. Hand-woven Irish fisherman’s sweater.”

  “Makes you look like an Irish ragamuffin.”

  “I didn’t even know you knew that word.”

  “I’ve watched Annie with my niece.”

  The laughter won out over the sob this time. She grabbed Macy’s suitcase and led her over to the couch. “I thought I was done crying. Do you realize the last time I cried?”

  “Probably at the Battle-Axe’s funeral.”

  She sat down next to Macy. “No, I don’t think I cried then either. I don’t remember any part of that day.”

  In an unaccustomed show of affection, Macy tucked a lock of Miranda’s hair behind her ear. “No, you’re right, I don’t think you cried that day. I don’t think you were entirely sober either.”

  “Countless pills were pushed into my hand that day.”

  “I think I was just as stoned as you were. Of course that was to get me in the door, nothing like what you needed. You disappeared the next day. I was so afraid I’d be attending your funeral next.”

  Miranda curled her fingers over Macy’s fisted ones. God, she’d lost so much time after the funeral. She’d been in a haze for weeks, hiding in posh hotels that didn’t have any connection to her family’s name. “I know, I’m sorry. I had to go. I was drowning.” She leaned forward and they touched foreheads. “I’m sorry I shut you out.”

  “Don’t do it again.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Promise.”

  She laughed again and nodded. Twenty minutes later she had Macy up to speed on what happened with Nate and the full extent of her jackassery.

  “First of all, I’ve seen this Nate on television of course. Who hasn’t?”

  Miranda winced.

  “C’mon, Randy, you can’t turn on the television without tripping over it. You’re big news.”

  “I don’t understand why.”

  “Slow news day.”

  She snorted. “Obviously.”

  “If you hadn’t completely fallen off the map you would be just a Where Are They Now blip on the radar. But you had to go and change your name and disappear so that everyone salivated over you.”

  She fisted her hands and slammed them on the cushion. “I’m not that interesting. If only they could see me now.”

  “Maybe that’s what you need to do.”

  She sat back. “What?”

  “Come with me to the Black Gala.”

  “God no.” Just the thought of a party had every organ in lockdown.

  “C’mon, it’s perfect. Everyone who’s anyone will be there. The press, entertainment people, even my reclusive father comes out for this one. Show them that MJ Lyons is still alive and kicking, just not interested in the glitterati.”

  She frowned, banding her arms over her belly. Maybe then she could keep the fleet of butterflies down to a dull roar in there. “Mace…”

  “Bring Nate.”

  She pulled her knees up to her chest, holding herself tighter. “I can’t. Nate wouldn’t understand.”

  “I don’t know this Nate, but from what you’ve told me, you should give him more credit. He waited you out, didn’t he?” Macy shoved her. “I saw this guy. How did you ignore him for years? I mean come on, he’s like a Roman gladiator with those shoulders.”

  Miranda couldn’t stop the smile. “He fucks like one too.”

  “Oh do tell.”

  “I think I love him, Mace. And I think I screwed everything up.” Saying it eased the throb that had been sitting on her temple since the night before. “It’s so fast, so out of control.”

  “Said with all that Miranda fear. MJ would buck up and go after him, make him hers.”

  “MJ’s a maniac.”

  “MJ’s brave and resilient and amazing.”

  She closed her eyes. “I want Miranda to be amazing.”

  Macy turned her, shaking her until she opened her eyes. “Stop hiding and you will be. Dammit, Randy, why does it have to be all or nothing?”

  The words were exactly what she’d said to Nate the night before. Word for word. “I can’t be her again, I just can’t.”

  “Maybe you need to be Miranda Lyons for a while. She might surprise you.”

  “Thanks for putting me up.”

  “How could I say no when you looked so pathetic hiding in my garden.”

  Nate accepted the beer from his brother. “If you hadn’t moved the key, I’d have been inside instead of looking like a criminal.”

  “If I left it in the same spot every time I couldn’t outwit the burglars. Luke’s told you that a million times.”

  Nate leaned back, resting his beer on his buckle. “I live in an apartment building. I don’t have a pet rock I can hide my key in.”

  “You leave Herman alone.”

  He couldn’t stop the laugh. His brother Noah had always been a little off. It was probably the grease he worked with. “I figure you owe me for the hours spent building this place.”

  “You told me you were more intent on figuring out how po
st and beam worked than marking the hours.”

  “True enough.” Nate sipped his beer. “I’ll just crash on the couch for a few nights.”

  “I have a spare bedroom.”

  “No shit, since when?”

  “Since I managed to finish that room, no thanks to you.”

  Nate blushed. “Sorry about that.”

  “Just tell me your sudden disappearance had to do with the hot redhead I keep seeing on the television.”

  He winced. “Man, even you saw it?”

  Noah stretched out his long legs, the first peel of his beer label curling over his thumb. “Yep. You’re very photogenic, little brother.”

  “Eat nails.”

  “So, are you hiding from the cameras or the girl?”

  He honestly didn’t know. Two reporters tried to stow away on his truck when he was filling it for his daily run for fuck’s sake. By the end of the day, he’d called in and feigned the flu. He had a ton of sick time available. Miranda hadn’t texted once.

  “You’re brooding. That’s my job.”

  Nate took a gulp of beer. “She hasn’t contacted me.”

  “Doesn’t mean she won’t.”

  Nate scrunched down in the oversized leather couch. “I don’t know, Noah. Her track record sucks.”

  “I wouldn’t know, because you haven’t brought her around.”

  “Yeah well, she’s not exactly good at the whole meet-the-parents thing.”

  Layer two of the label curled around Noah’s wrist. “Did you try?”

  “Hell, I barely got her to sit in my company without bolting for the door.”

  “Well, now you know why she’s so skittish.”

  “What? Because she’s famous? Who the fuck cares? What I care about is that she lied, straight to my face day after day.”

  “Oh really? Did you ask her right to her face? Oh hey, now that we’ve stopped boffing, are you this MJ that the TV won’t stop talking about?”

  Nate shoved a fist under each arm. “Of course not.” His jeans pocket rumbled.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  “Nope.” At his brother’s raised brow, he sighed. “One of the reporters got the number and the stupid thing hasn’t shut up since.”

  “Change the number.”

  “I can’t then—” He growled at his brother’s knowing look. “Then she won’t know how to get a hold of me.”

  Noah crumpled up the label and stood, taking his empty beer bottle and Nate’s. “Another?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t sound so depressed. Girls don’t live here for a reason.”

  “Because you’re too grouchy to keep one around,” he called over his shoulder.

  Noah jammed the bottle into his collarbone. “There hasn’t been a female that left this house without a smile.”

  “That’s because there hasn’t been one here.”

  Noah swiped the back of his head. “The hell you know.”

  He laughed because he was supposed to and dug out his phone because he couldn’t stop himself any longer. Eleven missed calls, eight voicemails and one text. He flicked his thumb over the screen and Miranda’s name scrolled by twice.

  Dialing into his voicemail, he opted out of every call until he came to hers.

  “Nate. I—look, can we talk? Call me.”

  Wrapping his fingers around his phone, he tapped it against his forehead. He wanted to call her, but at the same time he didn’t want the fight that he knew would be brewing. And most of all he was afraid that the minute they spoke he’d lose her.

  “Brooding.”

  He leaned on his knees. “I learned from the best.”

  “Look, don’t be like me, kid. Go out there and live.” Noah stood, opened the door to his wraparound porch and Nate followed.

  He looked out over the water, standing by his brother to wait for the rest of his lecture. Alcatraz Island dominated the view. Puttering fishing boats coming in from their last run bobbed along the pier. He’d always envied his brother’s view of the water.

  “I didn’t go after Jill and I regret it to this day. Pride makes for lonely weekends and one-night stands don’t mean shit the next morning.” Noah turned to him. “At least talk to her.” Before he could open his mouth, Noah lifted his hand. “Here, ask her here. I have stuff to do at the shop.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Find out her side of the story before you condemn her, asshat. Just don’t have make-up sex in my bed or on my couch, that’s all I ask.”

  He slung his arm over Noah’s shoulder. “You’re a good man.”

  Noah shrugged him off with a grunt. He’d never been good with displays of affection. “I am, but that doesn’t mean you get to do the nasty in my house.”

  Nate dug his phone out of his pocket. “Sex isn’t on the top of my priority list.”

  “Did you turn in your balls when you walked in my door?”

  He laughed. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Miranda pulled her car into the winding drive. Nate had texted her with an address, but had been less than forthcoming with any further details. She’d been to his apartment once, and this was as far from the hillside apartment as you could get.

  The house had the basic shape of a barn, but the wood was a warm, natural color instead of the typical red. It looked as if it should be in a New England town instead of overlooking Alcatraz. She climbed the stairs. The wood was butter soft under her hand. It was an honest-to-god wood cabin in the middle of San Francisco.

  Fidgeting with her coat, she looked around for a doorbell. The door opened before she could knock.

  “Miranda.”

  She hunched her shoulders, unable to look up at him. She didn’t want to know what he thought of her. Every nightmare coalesced in her brain until all she could hear was white noise. He knew. He knew who MJ was.

  Out. Go. Disappear.

  She turned around.

  “If you walk away, I won’t chase you. Not this time.”

  That stopped her. The warm light from the wide windows felt like a spotlight. It threw her shadow down the stairs, leading her away from the light of truth.

  “I need explanations now, MJ.”

  She flinched at the name. “I’m not MJ. Not anymore.” She gripped her hands until the bones threatened to crunch. Would there be horror in his eyes? Pity? She wasn’t sure which would be worse. His voice wasn’t the warm, dark chocolate she’d come to rely on. To need. “I’m Miranda Woods. I’ve been Miranda Woods for three years, eight months and thirteen days.”

  “Why?”

  Such a simple question. Such a wealth of inquiry and damnation in that one word. “What you saw on TV.” Her laugh was harsh. “I was all that and more. The things I’ve done, I might never be able to talk about, Nate. There are things that I don’t remember, things that are too dark to even say out loud. Some of the things I’ve done would make a rock star flinch.”

  She turned around, forcing herself to face him. He was the first man to mean anything to her. He deserved that much at the very least. She looked into his eyes, shuttered with pain and confusion. She was oddly thankful that disgust wasn’t on the table. Not yet anyway. “Do you want full disclosure? I wouldn’t blame you if the idea of MJ,” she swallowed against the darkness sitting under her breastbone, willing herself to go on, “I wouldn’t blame you if you hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you, Miranda.” He held out his hand. “But if we have a hope in hell of a future, there can’t be any more lies.”

  She closed her eyes, the tears that leaked free running unchecked as she clasped his big, warm hand. “I can make you hate me, Nate. There’s so much you don’t know.”

  “I knew you were a woman with a past. I knew that going in, Miranda.” His other hand cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing away the worst of her tears.

  She pressed her cheek into his hand, opening her eyes to the sadness in his gaze. She covered his hand wi
th hers for a moment, then followed him inside. The outside had been impressive, but the vaulted ceiling and fireplace turned the house into a showcase. More wood lined the walls and the ceiling with an intricate and fascinating series of planks. All of it unstained, just the naked truth of the wood. The knots and scars seemed to be as important as the obvious craftsmanship. Well-worn leather and a mixture of electronics and hand-carved furniture shouted a male influence. Oddly, she felt at peace and safe. She headed to the French doors that led to the porch. The sound of water and the distant bleat of ferries comforted and lured.

  Turning, she slowly made her way to the couch. Nate stood half a room away from her, but the distance could have been miles. “Sit. Let me tell you a story.”

  “Is it a story?”

  “It’s going to sound like one,” she said with a hollow laugh.

  He sat down, swiveling to face her, his large palm cupping her knee. “Just tell me the truth, Miranda.”

  She sat back against the arm of the couch, twisting her hands in her lap. “My real name is Miranda Jayne Lyons.” She took a shaky breath. “I haven’t said that name in so long.”

  “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  The matter-of-fact way he asked made the telling a little easier. “Lyons Hotels in New York, California, Mexico, Milan, Paris…” She trailed off, making a whisking motion with her hand. “If there’s a high-end hotel in a major city in this world, Lyons Enterprises probably has a hand in it. Add in the finance and banking and my family has a wide reach.” She watched the light bulb go off over his head. “Yup, that’s my family. My grandfather built it and my father lived off the fortune, working when he felt like it.”

  “Jason Lyons,” Nate said flatly.

  “Ah, so my father’s lovely reputation is still just a little more famous than mine.” She picked at a cuticle until he stopped her, lacing their fingers together instead. “You know, there was a time when that would have pissed me off.”

  “What would?” he asked, obviously puzzled.