Breach of Contract (Kavanagh Family Romance Book 1)

by Elizabeth Miller

  “Oh, I brought drinks.”

  While I hold the bag, she riffles through the contents to retrieve a bottle of orange juice and then a pint of peach schnapps. “Fuzzy navels.” I laugh. “Perfect choice.”

  “I thought so.”

  I lead us into the kitchen, her hand still tucked in mine, and I only release it to mix our drinks. I clink her glass before taking a sip. It’s sweet going down and she closes her eyes to savor her swallow. I’ve never thought much about my apartment, other than it’s a great investment. A place to sleep and work from when I’m not in the office. But with Maisie—I like her here, in my space. Her curves and laugh somehow soften the straight lines and cool tones in the gray cabinets and sterile white quartz counters.

  “It’s so good,” Maisie murmurs while lowering the rim of her glass. “But don’t let me have too many. Alcohol and me.” She points to the bottle and then twirls a finger in a circular motion by her temple. “We have a love-hate relationship.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah. I love it going down and then, well . . . call me crazy. I can’t be held accountable for what I do to your body later.”

  Shit. I stop, drink to my lips, and stare. Just stare. It takes a minute to catch my train of thought. With one line she completely derails my honest intent of leaving sex out of our evening plans. We can compromise. “Thank fuck for fuzzy navels, then. You can have me, but only after dinner. I’m starving.”

  “Poor baby. Let’s eat so I can have dessert.” She winks and turns toward the table. I trail behind, admiring her ass and itching to get a hold of it. First things first.

  I’m beyond stupid for my legal assistant. And the craziest thing is—on top of all the insane shit going on—I’ve accumulated a pathetic amount of data on a woman I’ve professed my like to.

  As Maisie makes our plates, divvying up the cartons with an impressive display of chopstick use, I ask, “What’s your most prized possession?”

  “Easy.” She smiles, and it settles somewhere behind my ribcage in a sharp jab. “Betty White.”

  My brow rises. “As in, the Golden Girl?”

  “Her too, but Betty is what I call my sewing machine. It’s a vintage Singer. She’s aged beautifully and can do everything better than a new edition.”

  “The sewing machine?”

  She nods. “My friend Sasha owns a secondhand store. That’s where I find most of my treasures, but Betty is the best one ever.”

  “Why?”

  “Designing. Right now I’m creating costumes for an off-Broadway theatre company. I couldn’t make beautiful things without her. We understand each other,” Maisie says, as if this makes all the sense in the world.

  “You and the sewing machine?” I press my lips together to hold in a laugh. This girl is too much. “What else?”

  “Want to know a secret?”

  I nod. I want to know them all.

  “I smoked pot once. I was fourteen at boarding school.”

  “Rebel,” I tease as her nose scrunches.

  “I kinda felt like it at the time. Badass and all that, but it made me sad more than anything, so I never did it again.”

  “It’s important to know your boundaries and what feels good. What else? Give me more. Something no one knows.”

  She thinks for a minute, moving rice around her plate. “My mother hates me. This information is not so classified. But the part that I’ve never put together into words is that I wish I could stand up to her. I wish I could tell her how she makes me feel. Anyway, it’s just—I don’t know.” Her voice is soft as her gaze drops to her meal. She picks through her eggroll one piece of cabbage at a time and pulls out the tiny shrimp hidden inside. Pushing them off to the side of her plate, she finally glances up. “I constantly missed the mark with her and she was vocal about my failures. Too driven, but not smart enough to get anywhere. Too fat to find a boyfriend, not pretty enough to get married. Too outspoken, yet I didn’t have enough of the right things to say.”

  She looks so sad my chest aches but then she smiles the smile that can stop traffic.

  “Here’s the thing, though.” She leans in and takes a long sip of her fuzzy navel. “I am smart enough. Smart enough to know I like my ass and the hips that hold it together. Bright enough to figure out I prefer Chinese takeout to kale and spinach salad. Confident enough to make my life my own, not the one my mother wants for me. I’ll never settle.”

  I think about law school and that she may already be doing so, but I refrain from commenting with an opinion for now and just say, “You shouldn’t.”

  “Know what else I like?”

  “Tell me everything.”

  She laughs but gives me what I want. “Peanut butter and jelly. Vanilla lattes from About Coffee. My Kindle and a good romance. The first snowfall of the year and a hot day at the beach. I like the direction I’m headed. I’ve got to live with myself every day for the rest of my life, and I don’t want to look back on my decisions and be disappointed by any of them.”

  Behind my ribs, my heart thumps out a fragmented beat. “How’re you doing so far? Any regrets?” The contract and her virginity explode in my brain in a wave of remorse. I should’ve been more careful with her feelings.

  “None,” she says, beaming. “I love my job and my apartment. I’ve got a best friend who lives a thousand miles away, who loves me better than my sister, and I found this guy who makes me scream in the best possible way. Besides the mom drama, I really like my life.”

  Relief washes through me as she picks up a bite. She doesn’t nibble—not Maisie. She takes a mouthful that leaves sauce on the corner of her lips. I reach over and swipe it away with my finger, only to wish it was my tongue.

  “It’s so good. What do you think?” She points to my plate with her chopsticks and my chest pain returns twofold.

  I eat and watch her while I chew. I can’t look away. My gaze is intense. I know it, I can feel it in the air as it thickens, and becomes so electric she squirms in her chair. I’ve never wanted to know another woman more than I want to know Maisie. I could listen to her talk all night.

  When I do speak, I can barely get the words beyond my dry throat. Only she can quench my thirst. “It’s better than I thought possible, peach.”

  It is. Dim Sum is great; the conversation is better. She’s exquisite. I listen and encourage her. She asks questions and I deflect because she’s more interesting. Boarding school and Piper, her godson. Where she has vacationed and where she wants to go. Design, sewing, creating. The way she talks about it—I’ve found her passion. But I wonder if she knows it is? Two drinks follow the first, but when I take my last bite, she puts on the brakes.

  “If you don’t give me a fun fact about you, I won’t suck your dick. Not even one lick.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. It rolls up and out of my stomach. She’s so perfect. “I like the way you negotiate, peach. But that won’t do at all.” Still smiling, I take the napkin from my lap and toss it on the table. “Up,” I demand, taking her arm to help her do it. Before she can say anything, I have her over my shoulder and my hand finds her ass with a good thwack.

  Her laughter brightens the darkened hall on the way to my room.

  “If you must know, my sweet peach . . .” It’s my turn to grin as I toss her on the bed where she bounces. Pulling my cell from my back pocket, I set it on the nightstand and follow her down. I crawl over her body, my nose trailing slowly up her inner thighs to her mound where I nip and she yelps. I move to her naval and her breasts where I find an extended nipple. I bite it through her sweater. Tugging, I watch her reaction. Her lids and how they lower. Her parted lips, and the bottom one as she nibbles it.

  “Tell me,” she moans at the same time my hips grind between hers. “Tell me so I can have your cock.”

  I hover, my elbows bent to keep my weight from crushing her, but balanced close enough so that each breath scrapes her tits against my chest. I can’t wait any longer. I want her to have my dick to
o. But there’s one craving that must be satisfied before I give it to her. “I’ll tell you but it’s a secret. No one can know.”

  She nods, nods, nods. “Promise. Cross my heart.” Which she does, and then her hands land on my cheeks to hold me in place. Like I could move. I never want to. Not when her thumb traces the line of my mouth, or when she leans up to brush her lips against mine.

  Shit. This will kill the mood. But I need to confess. “I play the ukulele.”

  Her eyes round. She’s got that lip tucked between her teeth biting back a smirk. “You—you play the what?”

  Her chest rumbles beneath me and then she bursts out laughing so hard she shakes the bed, and I can’t help but admire her while she rolls in hilarity. Her hands find my shoulders and she holds on, tucking her nose to my neck so her giggles are in my ear. Oh, God. I’m so hard and the squirming, her heat, the friction, she’s going to be the death of me. Again. In my pants if I’m not careful.

  “Play it for me.”

  “Later,” I say pushing her sweater up to expose her bra. Fuck yes.

  She wiggles, helping me to get it over her head and then twist the button on her jeans. Together we work her out of her clothes and then mine.

  Naked and hard as a rock, I move and settle between her thighs. She’s lush, soft, perfect. I look up and groan. She’s risen to her elbows, watching me with those inquisitive eyes. And her tits. God, they’re a round, plush sight, swollen and bursting from her bra. This is by far the best vantage point to reach up and tug the white lace down. Her nipple pops free, a dark rose, puckered, and with a hard bud begging for my mouth. My fingers will have to do and I reach to pluck it. She whimpers. I do it again.

  “I said to myself earlier that I would take my time tasting you and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Then you can have my dick. Deal?” I push her legs farther apart, inhaling the sweet scent of her pussy, and glance to find her nodding.

  “Anything you want.” Her breath punches around the words.

  “I want what you do.” I stroke my finger through her slick folds, and then wrap an arm under and around her hip to keep her open. “I’m going to eat your pussy and love it. I’m going to lick and tongue you until you’re soaking wet and needy and gripping my hair just to breathe. Isn’t that what you want?”

  Her eyes go wide. “You remember?”

  “Oh, I do.” I blow softly against her clit. She jerks beneath me, her pussy already glistening a pretty pink. “I listen to everything you say, peach. Everything.” I groan into her heat.

  At the first swipe of my tongue, she arches from the mattress and drags in a deep breath. And oh, Lord, do I feast. I was hungry before, but not like this. She’s sweeter than I remember, velvet to the touch, and I take my time. I lick and bite and suck until her fingers twist in my hair at the same time as I pull a scream from her lungs with my mouth. And then I do it again.

  She begs in the end, writhing beneath me. “Mercy,” she says. Mercy.

  I don’t let up. I can’t. Crawling over her body, I kiss her. Crazed and overdosed on Maisie Walker, I give her what she wants. I work my cock into her tight channel. I try to be soft. But I can’t. I can’t. I take her. I kiss her lips. I fuse her mouth to mine and don’t let up. Not for one second. Not until her pussy clenches around my cock, taking everything from me one long stream at a time and we collapse in a heap of exhaustion, sweaty and spent.

  Spooned against me, her back to my chest, her breath evens out and seconds later, I follow suit.

  I don’t know when consciousness grips me, but when it does, I roll her onto her stomach and wake her with my fingers between her legs. I take her again. She begs again. It’s a pattern we follow until night gives way to the barest hint of light and the sky turns purple, a dark violet brightening every second.

  It’s my phone and not Maisie’s mouth that brings me to the surface. I rub my eyes and grab my cell from the nightstand.

  Ash. Her name appears on the screen. I glance at Maisie, sleeping on her side, clutching the pillow in one hand and my arm in the other. I work her fingers free and then slip from the bed before she wakes.

  Closing the bathroom door behind me, I answer. “Hey. What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s early. I’m . . . I can’t sleep. My heart, it’s racing. I can’t breathe. I think I’m having a panic attack. All I can think about is Harry. Can you come over to talk?”

  Fuck. I run my hands through my hair, staring at the wall and imagining the sleeping figure on the other side of it. I don’t want to leave Maisie. But I have no choice. This is Ash. “Of course. Anything you need.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Where Were You In The Morning” 3:19

  Maisie

  “LET ME SEE it again,” I demand of Piper via Facetime. She holds up her ring finger on her left hand and waggles it back and forth. “That rock sparkles like the sun. It’s the size of it, too. Damn, Caden.”

  The mammoth former SEAL chuckles in the background. Through my little screen, beyond the corner of Piper’s face, his washboard abs peek out of his open flannel. Along with the dangling feet of the baby he holds in his arms.

  My cheeks hurt from smiling. And via the mini-picture of myself on display I can see they’re pink too. Midday in Manhattan boasts a high of thirty degrees, unusually cold for November. It doesn’t stop traffic in the city. The whir of cars crowd the streets, one so loud it’s easy to diagnose the need for a muffler.

  “When’s the wedding?” I ask. “I’ve got to plan ahead for time off. And dress shopping? Or, maybe, I can design it? Oh, Pidge. Can I please?”

  Her grin could melt Antarctica. “Caden and I were just talking about a visit to New York in January. We could shop then, or you could take my measurements.”

  I fist pump the cold air. “Done. You’ve got yourself a keeper, Pigeon. Caden is hot, has good taste in jewelry, and he recognizes your need for me. I’d totally be jealous if I wasn’t sleeping with my boss.”

  You could hear a pin drop on the other end of the line. Piper’s mouth falls open, and then Caden’s cheek slides in next to hers so I can see his turquoise eye and one of hers, the color of night. Then a baby hand sneaks in and bats at the phone. “Sleeping?” Piper asks tentatively. “As in, sexing? As in, you had sex. As in, you did the deed, copulated, got laid, bow-chicka-wa-wa, shagged, lost your V-card, banged, boned, screwed, scored, did the nasty with your boss? The boss.” She ends winded and Caden and I both stare, awed by the breadth of her vocabulary. “You sexed up Mr. Kavanagh.”

  I laugh. “I so did!”

  Diego barks at my feet as if in support of my milestone.

  “Mais,” they both say, but Piper takes over the conversation. “When? How? Was it good?”

  “Days ago. On his desk. And yes, it was perfect. The best combination of sweet and dirty.”

  “On his desk.” Caden nods, but three lines appear above the bridge of his nose.

  “Trust me. It was spectacular and so was the second time. And last night was just as mind-numbing. Then he left before I . . . I don’t know if I should call, or . . .”

  Where was he this morning? He was really sweet yesterday and he seemed so into me. So why wouldn’t he wake me before leaving?

  Regret. It’s the only thing I can come up with. He probably wondered why I didn’t disappear earlier. A more experienced woman would know to do that, but I fell asleep in his arms like I was meant to be there.

  My onetime smile vanishes as I remember his note on the bedside table.

  Peach,

  I’m sorry.

  J

  Doubt niggles in the back of my mind, that sinking intuition that saves me from trouble.

  “Oh, Maisie. Be careful,” Piper whispers.

  “I am. We have a contract—” There’s my heart again, thinking it should get involved by dropping to my stomach. I grin and bear the pain while yielding at the crosswalk. The guy in front of me has headphones on and a paper held open. One
headline stands out: SoHo Attack on Thompson, Second in Two Weeks.

  “What?” Caden slams his hand on their counter, drawing my gaze back to the phone. “He made you sign a legal document?”

  “No. Yes.” When the crowd moves forward, I follow the flow on autopilot. “The contract isn’t like that. I mean, it is, I guess. But it’s for the firm’s protection. And mine. It just, I don’t know, outlines our boundaries. That sounds horrid, doesn’t it?” I look away from the rage in Caden’s eyes, only to find sadness in Piper’s. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Oh, honey.” Piper pushes her fiancé out of the picture, whispering something to him.

  Caden doesn’t look happy about it. “Let me know what you need, Maisie. I’m only a flight away.” JT squawks his goodbye and they both disappear.

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds, Pidge.”

  “Are you sure? Because a contract kind of sucks. Is this what you want?”

  The store in front of me has black brick with painted pink words on the window. CeCe Dolls. I nod as I glance back to my phone. “It is for now. Be happy for me, okay? I’m touching a real live penis, and the contract covers the things everyone having sex should talk about. Like monogamy.”

  “And keeping you behind the scenes?”

  Filthy secret. The words settle into my muscles, tense and tight. “Yes, but we work together, so it has to be that way. He’s my boss, and I knew going in we’d be complicated. Every new relationship is.” But it’s not a relationship. I know this. It’s elicit and secretive, and it’s supposed to be fun. It is fun.

  Except for this morning when I was wondering why he left.

  Piper sighs. “I’m happy for you as long as you’re happy, okay?”

  An incoming text buzzes through my response, and for a heart-pounding second I think it must be Mr. Kavanagh. Hope fizzles like the steam from a sewer grate. “Ugh. It’s my mom with a reminder about Thanksgiving. Any chance you want to come to New York for dinner and then a shopping spree? Better yet, we could skip the Walker feast and I’ll come to you.”