“Repeat after me: the Saints are the best team in the NFL. Seven wins, back to back. Not to mention Brees is on fire. Enough said.”
Declan scoffs and throws out his hands. “You’re so full of shit. The Rams have got unparalleled talent with Donald and Gurley. Goff too. Oh yeah, and a six and zero start to prove it.”
“And their first loss was to who? The Saints, that’s who.”
Dad breaks them up with a loud bark. “You little shits don’t know what you’re saying. The Patriots are by far the best team.”
That blasphemy bands Declan and Flynn together and the three of them get so loud a nurse pops in with a finger against her mouth to shush the brood.
Mags and Quinn play checkers on the table near the window. Her cheeks flush pink over something Quinn says and then she throws a piece at him, which he dodges while laughing.
It may not be the house we grew up in, but Dad’s home is full. Full of family and laughter, and it eases the ache that bloomed in my chest when I walked in to hear his cough and the whir of his breathing treatment. The pain doesn’t dissipate fully.
He’s still in a hospital bed with an oxygen line snug under his nose, but his smile and rosy cheeks are a balm to the fear hovering in the room. How many months before we’re orphans? The death of a parent renders you homeless, adrift in a sea without an anchor. We’re going to lose our last one. No doubt sooner than any of us are prepared for and there is nothing I can do about it.
The loss of control makes me restless. As I shift from leaning against a small dresser, the door swings open and a three-year-old blond cherub bounds in. Ava’s smiling face swings from me to Dad, to Aunt Mags, to the rest of her uncles, and finally, to Lachlan. He scoops her up as she screams, “Daddy” and chokes him with a lock on his neck.
April, her mom and Lachlan’s ex, doesn’t look nearly as pleased to see him. “Seven o’clock. Not a second later,” she huffs. “And I get her back early next weekend to make up the time.”
The only acknowledgment from Lachlan is his clenched jaw and then a sigh when the door closes behind April’s animosity. There’s a long, messy story there. It starts with Lachlan’s habit of picking up strays. Dad’s bar is one of them. Lachlan took over when he couldn’t keep up with it after Mom died. April is another and his relationship with her, tumultuous on its best day, ended badly before Ava was even born.
After Lachlan murmurs something that makes Ava scream in giggles, he hands over a wriggling toddler to her besotted granddad as she cries out for “Pops.”
The latest round of chaos brings in a second nurse, this one with dark hair and an hourglass figure. My heart may stop. My breath stutters for sure, and I close my eyes. Maisie is never far from my thoughts and this look-alike, although not nearly as heart-meltingly gorgeous as my legal assistant, blasts her back to the forefront of my mind. What is she doing? Who is she with? How does she fill her weekends—is it with family or does she have someone? Someone who holds her like I did. Someone she sighs for, a man whose hair she tugs as she did mine when my tongue was in her mouth.
Clenching my lids tighter, I groan. I can’t help it. The mere idea of her drives me mad. I want a repeat of that encounter so badly my dick twitches with the most unimaginably bad timing, which both infuriates and baffles me.
When I was fourteen, I had a Rubik’s Cube. Most people took their time and tackled the colors one by one. Not me. I wanted to conquer the whole thing at once. Learn it inside and out, understand the complexities, and unravel the puzzle. I solved it in an hour. I’ve applied the same determination to everything I do. Being a support to Dad after Mom died, school, the firm, my family, and each case I handle—every problem presented, I’ve mastered. But Maisie? Dear God, that woman. I can’t figure her out. And I’ve thought about her a lot, too much since that moment in the library last week. She wants to learn. That much is clear. Apparently, though, her interest lies not only in law but sex education, and she wants me to be her teacher.
Why me? Sure, my firm is highly sought out and I’m great at what I do. Learning legalities from me makes sense, but add in the personal component and it would make everything messy, so there has to be more to it.
When I open my eyes, it’s to find Lachlan watching me with a smirk. But he doesn’t delve into my thoughts. Instead, he nods toward the door and says, “Walk with me.”
I agree and after a quick excuse to Dad, we’re out the door. Down the hall and into the back courtyard, we head to a bench. I tug my collar closer around my neck as we sit. The large oak off to our right rains orange and yellow leaves.
Lachlan pokes around his inner coat pocket and taps a cigarette out of his pack—a bad habit he’s been trying to quit for the last six months. “I’m down to three a day,” he says after lighting one and taking a long pull.
I nod but stay silent because it’s something he’s got to work out on his own. We’ve already talked about one family member on oxygen. I don’t want to make it two.
“Kav’s had a good month.” He redirects to a less troublesome topic.
“It sure as hell did. Flynn’s done a stellar job managing the place. You taught him well.” Launching a second Irish pub outside of the college town we grew up in has turned into a win for the family, and given Flynn the direction he’s needed for a while. Even better for him, Manhattan gives him about a million more female reasons to be bad.
“Pops taught us how to run the business. I just reinforced Flynn’s education.”
Clouds swirl in the sky, the sun peeking through each opening it can find. Winter is right around the corner. As soon as the kaleidoscope of fall color ends, the sky will turn gray and the city will too. My mood beats the weather to it. I can’t quite rid my mind of a sweet brunette with a killer ass.
Lachlan takes a drag, studying me while blowing out smoke in a slow stream. “Who’s got you so torn up inside?”
Like Declan and Flynn, Lachlan is my twin at only ten months apart. My parents were seriously hot for one another. That made Mom’s death doubly hard on Dad. He’s never recovered. As for Lachlan, he knows me better than anyone.
“That obvious?” I ask, suddenly wanting a drink. Whiskey, neat. And a stool at Lachlan’s bar to go along with it. I long for the dim lights in Kavanagh’s. The sun has my inner workings on display and I’m not ready to admit I’m having doubts. Doubts about keeping my relationship with Maisie strictly business.
“It is, yes. But the question is who is she? You don’t normally get worked up over a woman.”
“She’s my legal assistant.”
He hisses out a laugh and bends at the waist, like this is the funniest story he’s heard in weeks. And he’s a bartender, so he hears a lot of them. “Jesus, Jayce, not you too. Learn much from Quinn?”
“I understand his predicament. And how asinine the thought of engaging in something similar sounds. It’s maddening. But she’s . . . unique.”
“As in, hot, or what?”
“Not just hot. But yeah, we’re talking nuclear-level bombshell. She’s unlike anyone.”
His brow arches over his eye, and I know he has doubts to the veracity of what I’ve stated, but he plays along. “Alright. She’s freakishly gorgeous. If that’s true, I can appreciate the temptation. But let’s break this down. You’re the boss. She’s the employee. You have sole discretion over her employment status.”
I shake my head. “Not true.” As of two days ago. At this moment, I couldn’t be more thrilled with the unexpected change in responsibility. “Lucas manages the assistants and has hiring and firing power. Maisie just supports my cases.”
Lachlan levels me with a harsh stare—one a weaker man would wither under. It’s the same glare I use on my opponents in the courtroom or when Keller acts like a dipshit. I give it right back until Lachlan smiles.
“Besides being hot, what makes you want her even with all the trouble it could bring?”
To my surprise, the answer is easy and it has nothing to do with Maisie’s
amazing ass. “Her transparency. She doesn’t hide behind pretense. When she wants something, she asks for it.” The thing is, and the point I can’t stop thinking about is that I see honesty in her eyes. This pure clarity. I don’t come across it often and it’s my job to detect lies.
“And she asked to have sex with you?” Lachlan takes another drag on his cigarette and then watches his exhale mingle with the cool air.
“Actually, she did,” I say, encouraged by the truth. “Very specifically, she said she wanted her job at the firm to prep for the upcoming year at Columbia Law. She’s already admitted to the program so she can’t be looking to me for anything but experience. Secondarily, she mentioned wanting my dick.”
Lachlan laughs. “I think I like this girl. Bring her to the bar and I’ll put her through her paces. We’ll know what she’s after before finishing three drinks. Guaranteed.”
“That’s just it. I’m not convinced she wants anything from me. Other than my mind and my body,” I repeat Maisie’s reasoning while fighting back a smile.
“You’ve got a thing for her.”
“A thing.” A thing. That’s exactly what Maisie called it. But I shrug because I don’t know how to explain the crazy need I have when I’m around her. Or why I’m considering adding a huge complication to my already complicated life. It’s bizarre. And so is this conversation. Why do I feel like I need Lachlan’s permission to be stupid?
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” I scrub my face with my hands, frustrated. “I like what I know of her so far. She’s candid. She’s smart and produces good work. And Christ, she is a vision in a skirt.”
He nods, stubbing out his cigarette and pocketing the bud for the trash. Then he studies me, really studies, before relaxing against the back of the bench and tipping his head toward the sky. “Do you remember Avalanche Lake? Dad took us one summer, just you and me. Mom stayed home with everyone else. I was thirteen and all I wanted was to fish from dawn to dusk. But when we got the boat in the water, it had a leak—a hairline fracture in the back somewhere and it took on water. Remember that?”
“Vaguely.” We fished with Dad a thousand times over the course of our lives. None of the trips stand out more than the rest; nothing other than a peaceful feeling settles over me. They are some of my favorite memories. “But what does fishing have to do with anything?”
“Just listen. That leak damn near ruined my plans. How could we fish if the boat was underwater? But Dad? He sat my ass in the back and gave me a cup. The only thing he said was ‘scoop.’ Scoop.” Lachlan laughs. “The two of you sat up front with your hooks in the lake and for two hours I tossed water out one cup at a time, with my pole slung over the side. I got to fish, but I had to work for it. When we finally got back to shore, Dad told me if I wanted something bad enough, I had to find a way to make it happen.”
I can’t help my smile. Dad’s advice was always simple but relevant. “Scoop.”
“Yeah, so if this girl is what you want then find a way. But for God’s sake, do it carefully. That firm is your life; so is your reputation. Keep whatever shit you do with her under the radar. No one can know you’re fucking around with an employee. Trust me. She could ruin everything.”
I mumble my agreement, even if I’ve never been one to hide. But of course Maisie would have to remain a secret. It’d be necessary. If we pursued a relationship, even a strictly physical one, everything would be on the line.
No one, absolutely no one, could know.
Chapter Five
“Show You” 3:00
Maisie
I HEAD INTO the office early Monday morning, so early few people are around to see my skintight peach skirt that ends just below the knees. My boobs look fantastic in a gray sweater that’s snug enough to accentuate every round curve I own. And boy, do I own them, rocking my hips with every step. I feel good. I look good.
I’m ready for another staring contest with Mr. Kavanagh.
First stop—the break room. Coffee is a must. I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t like it. Only a robot would fail to appreciate caffeine.
Focused on cream and sugar and with my back to the door, I don’t see anyone. It’s a feeling, an electric jolt to my heart that has me pause and turn. Mr. Kavanagh. He stands in the doorway, eyes shimmering like the setting sun. They burn right into my soul yet it’s his hand that comes up to rub against his chest. As if he can feel the heat and he has to hold it inside or it might explode around us.
He’s extra broad today, his powerful shoulders wider than I remember. And his face, the chiseled jaw, straight nose, full lips—they’re more handsome than it seems possible for one man. His three-piece suit is tailored to his exact specifications, it hugs and clings to hardened muscles.
Air hisses out of my lungs as he walks toward me, and for a moment I can’t breathe. The HVAC team must be working on the ducts because air has left the room and I’m suffocating. Breathless, I open my mouth for a long gulp of oxygen but I have to shut it quickly because he’s here, crowding me in against the counter.
“Good morning,” he murmurs while his eyes trace every inch of my face. Just my face—they never once stray to the long line of my cleavage.
Say something witty.
Be cool.
Keep calm and don’t palm his dick—I’ve got to remember to write that on a sticky and leave the note with the other reminders in my desk.
Hands off. I’m a master at restraint even though the heat of his body warms my own. I clear my throat before asking, “Where were you Friday?”
Ugh, face-plant. Palm to forehead. That’s what you’ve come up with, you twit? It is, because as stupid as it sounds, I missed him. Ridiculous, but also true.
While his mouth twists at the corner, I fumble for more words. Something intelligent, sparkling and dynamic, and yet . . . nothing comes. For the first time in my life, and with his gaze stroking my cheeks, my neck and right back up to my eyes, I feel revered and . . . overwhelmingly beautiful. Wide ass be damned because his eyes say he appreciates everything I am and not what I should be.
I had no idea I could feel so delicate . . . so wanted.
Brakes screech in my mind. Hold up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Gah, that smirk. It’s sinful, downright dangerous, and I shiver as he leans in and grabs a mug from the top shelf behind me. That air I was looking for earlier—gone as a psi of pressure escapes my lungs when his breath fans over my ear. I clutch his lapel, fingers twisted into the fine wool to keep me upright. His chuckle is low and vibrates against my knuckles. It’s that rumble that draws my gaze past the subtle texture of his chin and to his face where I look at him, really look. The fine lines beneath his lower lids are more pronounced, as are the faint bruises under his eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask, gripping his suit coat tighter so he can’t retreat.
His eyes snap from my mouth to catch my gaze. “Fine.”
I don’t think he is. He’s tired and I can tell. Instead of verbalizing what we both already know, I brush my finger over the discoloration beneath his lashes and then to his cheek where day-old stubble darkens his skin. “It looks like you didn’t rest all weekend. Like if there was a bed in the office, you’d drop into it and sleep for days.”
He raises his hand up to hold mine to his cheek as his lids flutter closed. The minute stands still, intimate. Early morning commotion in the office and the start of the day are out of reach—it’s just us, with his palm warming my skin and his breath on my lips.
“I’d help you relax if I knew how. Maybe yoga? I downward-dog dare you to try it,” I whisper.
“Maisie.” His eyes open and his smile? It’s so soft. “I’m fine. A long Sunday, that’s all.”
“Want to tell me about it? I’m a good listener.”
He pauses as if weighing his options. “Not much to tell. I drove to Hamilton and back, couple hours each way. My dad’s sick and it was hard to see him so weak. My brothers are the best dicks and
my sister the sweetest girl. She has too much on her plate because, as dicks go, they’re all self-centered, but we’re family and we work it out.” He shrugs as if he didn’t just become vulnerable in my presence, something that both intrigues and terrifies me.
It’s a tender moment, as intimate as my hand held to his face. I try to slip my fingers from beneath his, but he holds on for a few seconds longer. Then he steps back an inch. Dropping our joined hands to waist level, he studies my painted nails as if they’re fine art.
“My dad’s going to die.” He shakes his head, his voice filled with wonder. “I’ve never said that out loud before now.”
“Sometimes it helps to talk about your fears. I’m glad you told me.”
And I am, even if it’s more than I expected or know how to deal with. I’m not great with emotions. Mine, or anyone else’s. After many a session with Ridgewood’s counselor, I learned shutting down on feelings was my self-preservation tactic to combat my mothers’ constant criticism. If I didn’t feel—I couldn’t hurt. But the second I held his cheek, asked him to share why he was so tired, we crossed some invisible line.
“I thought about you,” he says, tilting my face so he can study it. His expression is perplexed as if he’s reading a mystery. But his smile is gentle. So is his thumb holding my chin in place. “I thought about that day in the library, and kissing you. I thought about kissing you every day last week. I couldn’t stop. Not while I was with clients or during court, or during the two-hour drive back home. Even when talking to my dad and worrying about how much time he has left or with his doctors discussing his care—you were always in the back of my mind.” He sighs and his thumb drops to drag across the line of my jaw.
Breach of Contract (Kavanagh Family Romance Book 1) Page 5