One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  Nate hung up the phone. He was so sick of everyone’s good intentions. He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. Was he supposed to go out there and talk about them in the hallway? Where anyone could hear them?

  He strode across the room, his fingers curled around the knob. Anyone, including the reporters she wanted to avoid, could be out there. He ripped open the door, remembering too late that she was chained to the other side. She skidded around, her shoulder whacking against the steel door.

  “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I thought this through, except the pins and needles thing and you bypassing me to get inside thing.”

  He crouched down, searching her gaze for the woman who’d walked away from him. Instead they were clear and incredibly steady. “What are you doing here, Miranda?”

  “Fighting for you.”

  “By creating your own sit-in?”

  Wispy tendrils of hair curled around her face. The only clue to how long she’d been out there was the lopsided braid that was slowly unraveling. “I had to get your attention somehow.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little too late?”

  Her gaze never faltered. “No.”

  “What if I don’t want to fight?” The spark of hurt in her eyes made him want to snatch the words back. No matter how many lies were between them, he didn’t want to hurt her just for the sake of his pride.

  She looked at her hand attached to the door then back at him. “That’s okay. I can be the stubborn one this time.”

  His brows snapped down. “What does that mean?”

  “How many times did you bang on my endless walls, Nate?” She tipped her face up, her chin as stubborn as her neck was elegant. “You wanted to know all about my past, right? Who I am. Well, this is the first step in my first official tell-all. I don’t care who knows. I’ll talk into my phone and post it to all the social media outlets if that will make you listen. I’ll let Ryleigh write an app for it.”

  “Miranda—” At a loss, he stood up. “That’s not what I want.”

  “It’s what you’re getting. The true me, and I’m going to tell you every little piece of MJ Lyons’ history until you know me inside and out.”

  He backed away and she clamped a hand on his forearm. “I love you, Nate.”

  He bumped into the door, sliding down until she was in front of him once more. “Say it again.” The words were out before he could stop himself. His pulse roared in his ears but he could see her lips as she said it again.

  Her mossy green-and-gold eyes swam. “You’re right, you need to know the real me. And maybe you’ll love this Miranda too.”

  Everything she said was heartfelt and backed with the heat of conviction. None of the things he’d seen in her before. “Why now? It’s been months, Miranda. What if I’ve moved on?”

  She drew her thumb along his eyebrow just at the edges of his bruise. He shut his eyes. “Did you move on with a prizefighter?”

  He braceleted her wrist, pulling her away. He knew himself and knew what Miranda could do to his common sense. “It’s nothing.”

  She pressed her hand to his chest instead. “I think you’re just as miserable as I am. I don’t want you getting into fights because I messed with your head.”

  “What makes you think you’re so important?” Again she reached for his face and he reared back. “Don’t.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I deserve that. It doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere though.”

  He scrambled to his feet and shut the door, letting his forehead thunk against the door. Dammit, he did not need her back in his life.

  I love you.

  He slapped his hand against the cool surface and pushed off. Now? She had to say it now, when he was just beginning to think he could breathe again? He opened the door again and crouched down. Without thought he used his fail-safe to unlock the Thumb Lock. It was his design, and unless she—the print panel glowed red.

  Miranda lifted her eyebrow, smirking. “Come on now, Nate. You know I read all the instructions before I came over. The only fail-safe is my print and you have no idea what finger I used to create the combination.

  He grabbed her hand and smashed her thumb onto the pad and it still glowed red. Instead of allowing him to manhandle her any longer, she laced their fingers together, dragging him down to her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Off balance, he hovered over her, coming down hard on his knee right between her thighs. Her scent and her warmth enveloped him as she crowded in on him. She nipped his lower lip. “I was going to save this for later, but I’ll use whatever powers of persuasion I have to get you to listen to me.”

  His mouth hung an inch away from hers. He could taste the mint chocolate on her breath and his salivary glands went haywire.

  Just one taste.

  It felt like forever since her taste had settled inside him.

  She lifted up until there was nothing more than will holding him back. He was good until the soft sweep of her eyelashes signaled her surrender. He caught her against his chest and the floodlights of a camera blinded him.

  “MJ! Is this your secret husband?”

  “MJ, is this your secret apartment?”

  “Is he holding you against your will?”

  Nate stumbled. Off balance, he crashed into the floor hip first, tangling with Miranda. The hideous rattle of chain could have been a death knell. “Son of a bitch!”

  Miranda instinctively huddled into him, hiding her face in his neck. He curled around her, blocking any angle of her face. “I’ll get rid of them,” he said against her ear.

  “No.”

  He tucked her behind him, standing to push the reporters back.

  “Nate! No!”

  He turned back to her, his mouth slack with shock. “What?”

  “Let me up. Let them see me.”

  “But—”

  Her chin lifted and all the fire he knew that was inside her unfurled. “I’m not afraid of them anymore, Nate. Let them see me.”

  The need to protect was so fierce he couldn’t see straight. He wanted to bash, punch, crush anything around them—anyone who wanted to get into her face.

  God, he was so fucked. Well and truly fucked over this woman.

  “You don’t need to do this.”

  She tugged at his shirt, at his shoulders. “I do. I can’t hide anymore. I won’t hide anymore.” She soothed her way down his back and shifted until they stood side by side. “He’s not holding me hostage. I’m here to win back my boyfriend.”

  He watched as her lips lifted into a smile he’d never seen. All feminine power and sin wrapped in freckles. He took a step back. Was this Miranda or the infamous MJ holding court?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Miranda could feel the inches become miles as the cameras drew closer and Nate pulled away. Going into this, she’d known the cameras would show up. It was far too good a morsel to pass up for the paparazzi. Not with her face plastered on every rag and entertainment magazine. They were out for blood and she was seriously sweet meat.

  Her body hummed from his touch. A close call to a kiss that would surely hold her through this experience. She could feel the mixture of anger and want radiating off him. She’d been so afraid that he’d forgotten her, but the minute she’d seen him the punch of awareness returned. It was always like that with Nate. As disconcerting as it was amazing. She didn’t realize just how much she’d missed it until her blood had fired again.

  Fear had always tempered it before. As if everything she felt was protected by a thick wool batting. The full force of it was addicting, but for the first time she didn’t fear an OD. No, this was a high that wouldn’t take anything more than it would return in full. It took her too long to realize it, and now she had to make him see that.

  The ridiculous questions intruded and her cuffs rattled when Nate tried to free her from the door again. She reached behind to still his fingers then spoke clearly for the reporters. “I’ll answ
er your questions, but not until you all calm down and drop the asinine ones.”

  A microphone with her least favorite logo thrust its way through the crowd. Attached to the mic was Reporter Barbie with her slick platinum ponytail and heavy sweep of bangs. Her signature pink suit and stilettos were as familiar as a nightmare. Chloe Masters had delighted in misquoting and maligning her to punch up ratings. She, in turn, had given even more outlandish statements to see how far Chloe would go.

  The reporter never disappointed.

  “Nice to see you again, Chloe.”

  “My column has missed your antics, MJ.”

  She opened her mouth to correct her, but didn’t want to give her any more ammunition than necessary. Instead, Miranda lifted her cuffed arm with a little jiggle for effect. “Oh you know me, never a dull moment.”

  “Is there a reason you’re chained to a door?”

  “Just proving a point.”

  “That you have to lock yourself to a man’s front door for him to let you stay? You used to be so good at the one-night stands, MJ.”

  The biting comment was expected, but no less cutting for it. She’d taken a chance with the stunt. Desperation was obvious in the gesture, but she hoped Nate saw it for what it was. A rock-solid declaration that she wasn’t afraid of forever, and that she’d do whatever it took to get him back.

  Nate went rigid behind her and she tightened her free hand around his wrist to hold him at bay. The newest addition to Nate’s wardrobe, in the form of a black eye, let her know that she didn’t quite know everything there was to know about him either. He’d been the most patient man she’d ever known. Never once had he shown a hint of violence.

  And from the colorful palette surrounding the bruise, it wasn’t his first.

  “Nope, I just had to beg forgiveness because of vipers like you that have hounded him for months,” she said sweetly.

  Chloe’s cool veneer of polish cracked at the edges. “So it was you on that pier?”

  “It was. I’m a one-man woman these days, Chloe. As boring as a preschool teacher in Kansas.” Nate stiffened behind her, but she didn’t turn to him. Giving the reporter even a semblance of power was a mistake—especially this one.

  “You wouldn’t know boring if it bit you on the ass.”

  Surprised that she got under the woman’s skin so quickly, she straightened her shoulders. It used to be a helluva fight to rattle Chloe. And considering how fast she’d gotten here from Los Angeles it made her wonder just how well one of her finest enemies was faring these days. As with any A-lister whom the public loved to talk about, there was always another television personality waiting in the wings to outdo the rest.

  “Well, some things will never be boring.” Miranda smiled up at the stone-faced Nate. The distance in his eyes threw her off. She faltered until his fingers laced with hers. And when he tried to press the pads of each finger into the lock, she dug her fingernails in until he grunted.

  “Everything okay here, Nate?”

  Miranda took a step back, her skin reacting instantly when his hand settled on her shoulder—flushed and more alive with one touch than she’d been…well, since the last time he’d touched her.

  “Yeah, we’re okay, Jonas.”

  The man’s messy crop of hair and smudged eyes seemed out of place in the rather ordinary corridor of Nate’s apartment building. She’d have slotted him as a wannabe for the cameras except there was no artifice in the look. Jonas looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed after a long night of partying because he probably had.

  Chloe pounced on the newcomer, her baby-doll blue eyes sharpening on the distinctive leather cuff peeking from the battered rows of silver chains and beaded bracelets that climbed his forearms. Recognition hit both women at the same time.

  “Now this is much more like MJ. Of course you’ve got the rock star on the side with the pretty delivery driver.” She tooled the mic around into Jonas’ face. “How do you know, MJ? Are you lovers? Is there an affair?” Chloe’s eyes glittered with excitement. “Do you share?”

  “Whoa? With white bread here? Maybe with his brother Matt, but not Natey-boy. He’s as all-American as a family picnic.”

  Jonas looked rather pleased with himself, but Miranda did a mental head slap. And from the grumbling behind her, Nate was of the same mind-set.

  Chloe wiggled her fingers off camera to make sure her crew was getting this. “So, Matt…as in Matthew Cross from Sylar, and you share Miranda?”

  “Oh, for the love of God!” Nate’s disgust was evident.

  Jonas whistled. “Is this what reporters are like all the time?” he asked Miranda.

  She sighed. “I wish I could say no,” she said as Chloe and the other two reporters fired off questions.

  “Is there a videotape of the threesome?”

  “How long have you been together?”

  “Is that a diamond on your hand?”

  “Does the chain signify tying the knot?”

  Jonas dipped his hands into the pockets of his oversized black pants. “I prefer the real stage to this drama.” With that he gave a snappy salute and headed back down the hall.

  Miranda winced as Nate grabbed the chain and her wrist. “Get this off now.”

  “I’m not leaving until we talk.”

  “We’ll talk inside. This circus is not going to happen outside my door again, Miranda.”

  She looked up at him, the furious set of his shoulders and clenching jaw, then down to the lock and titanium cable that she intended on using as a last-stand gesture. She wouldn’t win Nate this way. She nodded and tucked the tip of each of her thumbs over the lock and it blipped green and unsnapped.

  Nate’s eyes were unreadable as he held the cable in his hand, not bothering to unwind it from the cuffs and her wrist. Instead, he dragged her inside and shut the door on the babbling reporter. Miranda had to admit the thump of either Chloe’s microphone or her nose into the steel panel was enough to make her feel a little better.

  “Nate, I’m sorry. I thought—”

  “You thought what?” He lifted the hand with the cuffs at the end. “Locking yourself to my door was the only way I’d talk to you? All you had to do was come to me, Miranda.”

  The hurt in his voice shredded her. “I was going more for the grand gesture.”

  “You knew that would happen. I saw it in your eyes when the paparazzi showed their monstrous little faces. You knew it. How they got by Sam is beyond me.”

  “Chloe is good.”

  “You sound almost impressed.”

  The incredulous tone to his voice rang a warning bell in her head. Tread carefully. “We’ve had a few go-rounds before.”

  He wrapped the cable around his hand, dragging her closer. “Is that what it was for? Headlines?”

  “No!” She struggled a little, the wildness of his usually calm eyes kicking her heart into her throat.

  “You wanted to make headlines again, MJ?”

  “No,” she whispered. This wasn’t going at all how she’d planned. “I wanted to tell everyone that I love Nathan Cross and MJ Lyons was out of the game. Maybe if I was boring enough, normal enough, they’d leave us alone! Then maybe I could have you back. Maybe I’d deserve to have you back.”

  He stared at her. The wild edged into hurt. “I didn’t hear you say that.”

  She edged back around to the door, dragging him with her. “Let’s go say it.”

  He jerked her back. “Just say it to me.”

  She stumbled into him, the cuffs digging in, but the pain was worth it if he listened. “I love you, Nate. I miss the Miranda that I am when I’m with you. Not MJ, not Miranda Woods work-a-holic, just Miranda.” She stared at the buttons of his shirt, at the center of his chest. Swallowing hard, she looked up. “I want to be your Miranda if it’s not too late.”

  “But you are MJ.”

  “I know.” Her voice went hoarse. “And I meant it when I said I’d tell you everything. From family tramp to recluse and everythin
g in between. I prefer that part not touch you, but I understand that you need to know it. And it was unfair of me to think it didn’t matter.”

  He drew her hands together in front of him. All that was left was the cuff that dangled between them. “I don’t know where that key is. In my bag outside maybe?”

  Nate flipped the other cuff’s catch through the channel and around his own wrist until it snicked tight.

  “Nate! I don’t have the key.”

  “Good, because you’re not getting away again.”

  The quick surge of tears blindsided her. “Do I want to know why you know how to work cuffs so expertly?” she asked on a laugh.

  “Do I want to know why you have a pair?”

  She pressed her lips together, tasting the first fall of good tears in too many years to count.

  He circled her waist, dragging her cuffed hand behind her back until she was pinned to his chest. His mouth covered hers, crushing and overwhelming, as if he would swallow her whole.

  She looped her other arm around his neck and held on, the flavor of him as important as the moment. Letting go, she opened for him. All the love she’d ever hoped to find was there for the taking and the fear was absent—truly absent.

  She took, drowning in him and the taste of every hope she’d thought possible. When his fingers dug into her back, she twisted her trapped hand to cover his hand and reveled in the idea that he was just as moved. His other hand pushed under her shirt, the tips of his fingers tracing over her belly then her rib cage. Hooked on the drugging lust that all too often frightened her, she let it take her away.

  Control frayed as he took the kiss deeper, his mouth racing over her neck and down to her shoulder, pushing the shirt aside for more of her.

  “Miranda.”

  The half-crazed sound of her name on his tongue had never been sweeter. Tipping back, she moaned as he pushed her dress up. Feasting on her neck took a backseat to the bare skin under the layers of tank tops. His teeth scraped over her nipple, drawing it to a bead before sucking deeply.

  Her fingers twisted in his hair, she was off balance with one arm behind her. But instead of complaining, she held on and reveled in a man who could want her this much. The shock of giving up everything to him was second only to the pleasure she’d forgotten.