Breach of Contract (Kavanagh Family Romance Book 1)

by Elizabeth Miller

  “It’s nothing,” I lie, pulling my cell from my pocket as evidence. No new calls or messages. Disappointment drags my tone down and into a mumble. “I’m texting a client.”

  “You’re acting skills suck. And I’m not talking about tonight. That morning I called early and you rushed over because of my panic attack. No questions. You were just there but I knew the minute I saw you that you hadn’t been alone. The marks on your neck were just confirmation.”

  I swallow another denial. It doesn’t feel good. Keeping Maisie a secret hasn’t felt right in a long time.

  Ash sips her lager, eyeing me over the tipped bottle. “You don’t have to tell me about her until you’re ready. What I want is your happiness, because you’re a large part of mine. So is your family. It brings me joy to help you and them. I have gobs of money. So much, I don’t know what to do with it. Let me do this. And if you feel the need for recompense, go to the opening night of my solo performance. It’s December twenty-seventh. I could use a boost to my self-confidence. ”

  God, this woman. Her smile reaches her eyes as they sparkle by the light shining out the window. It’s wrong to constantly benefit from her friendship, to indebt myself further to her generosity. And I never want her to feel as if that’s why we love her. “One of my sisters was born into the family, and the other found us a quarter of the way through life.”

  She nods, her smile quivering.

  “I won’t stop you from helping with Kav’s, but if you insist on doing it, you’re coming in as a partner. Because that’s how this family does it.”

  She stretches her hand between us. “Deal.”

  I wrap my fingers around hers and pull her in. Tucking her head below my chin, I nod. “Deal.”

  A roar erupts from behind the door. Then it’s open and everyone tumbles onto the deck to join the embrace. I should have known they would eavesdrop. Nosy asses. But I make room for Mags, who kisses Ash’s cheek and squeezes her close. Lachlan, Quinn, Declan, Dani and Flynn are next. Somehow we end up rocking, and then jumping up and down. The Hamilton High fight song starts—I think it’s Declan’s idea. A rousing rendition. A lot of stomping feet and shouts to the sky. Wood groans beneath us and before I can get out a warning, the deck crumbles a foot to the ground and we’re a pile of laughing limbs.

  It needs some work. A lot of work, actually, just like most things in my life. But there’s something to be said about family. I’ll never have to go it alone.

  We file into the house one by one, brushing leaves off and grabbing new beers. Before we eat, Dad wants to watch us play charades, which means we take turns acting like fools. It’s a loud game, and there are laughs and a hell of a lot of heckling. These are the days I live for, yet it’s somehow off. Incomplete. When my phone rings, I know why.

  Ms. Walker is what the screen says. Maisie’s name tips the corner of my lips as I nod to the group that I’ll be upstairs. I close my old bedroom door behind me. The loft hasn’t changed much: a sloped ceiling, string lights casting a muted glow on the wood-planked walls. My phone chirps again and I answer with a smile. “How was dessert, beautiful?”

  Her breath rushes before it catches on a hiccup.

  “Maisie?”

  “Hey,” she says, her tone missing the normal luster in her vibrato.

  “What’s wrong?” Even as the words are out of my mouth, I internally calculate how long it will take me to reach Greenwich. I could be there in a little more than two hours.

  “Nothing. Not really. It’s just . . .” The quiver in her voice tugs at my heart. “It was dinner . . .” A whoosh and then a long horn blares on the other end of the line, picking up my pulse.

  “Where are you now?”

  “Going home. Henry is taking me. I just wanted to call. I’m not sure why, really. I know we’re just . . . you know. We have limits.” She laughs, but it’s uneven, and although we’re more than a hundred miles apart I hear her vulnerability. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “I’m glad you did, Mais. How were those mashed potatoes?”

  There’s that jagged laugh again, tight and full of hurt. “Nonexistent. I left before . . . I just didn’t eat, that’s all.”

  My heart thumps an unsteady beat as I feel her disappointment. She wanted that dinner. Shit. In the span of two seconds my mind hatches a plan. “How would you feel about some late night company?”

  “IT’S TOO EASY—to enter—fuck, peach,” I stutter when she opens the door to her apartment. The censure I was about to lay on her landlord for the piss-poor lobby locks dies on my lips. I’ve been half-hard since I entered her building but my dick surges against my zipper, liking what it sees. I like what I see: Maisie in black lace and silk short-shorts and a loose V-neck tank that hangs on the swell of her perfect tits. Her hair is twisted on top of her head, stray curls brushing her cheeks and shoulders. Trouble with a capital T. And I’m all smiles because of it.

  “What’s with the bags, sugar?” She takes one and peeks inside at the food I hijacked from Dad’s pantry. Declan bought enough to feed an army, so there was plenty to steal for Maisie and me.

  “Forget it. Dessert comes first. Give that back.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Pivoting on her bare heel, she’s in the kitchen in three steps and then reaches inside the brown paper. “What? Did you—Jayce.” She spins, pointing a potato at my head like a weapon. “You brought me dinner?”

  “No.” I slide up next to her, dropping the second bag beside the first and eliminating any remaining counter space. Two seconds later, I relieve her of her sidearm and snake my hands around to grab her ass. I pull her against me and my cock sighs in relief, or maybe that’s me. “We are making dinner. Turkey, taters, stuffing, green bean casserole, and a whole lot of dessert.”

  She blinks, chewing on her bottom lip while looking at mine. Her eyes trace over every part of my face as silence stretches for so long I consider I may have made a miscalculation. Maybe she just wants sex. No wine, no main course—just dessert. There are worse things in the world, but I had hope on the tip of my tongue. She eases my anxiety when her fingers land in my hair and she tugs me down, nose to nose. My vision is filled with Maisie and the brilliant smile pushing a dimple into her cheek.

  “Extra fried onions?” she asks, and I keep staring until I can form a coherent sentence.

  “Lots and lots of fried onions. Only the best for you, peach. Can I kiss you now?” I brush my mouth over her grin. “I think if you suck my bottom lip I might be able to restrain my dick until the food is in the oven.”

  Her laughter reaches in and squeezes my heart right out of my chest. “You’re being sweet, Mr. Kavanagh.”

  “I have my moments.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she murmurs. And then her tongue flicks across my jaw. “Sweet as sugar.”

  I think I might go insane if she doesn’t kiss me but then she’s there, her mouth open against mine. With my hands placed firmly on each ass cheek, I hold her still and tease her with my tongue. She moans, tilting her head, angling for a perfect connection and then we devour each other. Long, deep strokes—I can’t get enough. I push her against the wall and pin her hands above her head. She pulls my lip between her teeth and sucks. I growl my appreciation and bend, rubbing my aching cock into her heated center. This is going to get us nowhere but with Maisie naked and spread-eagle on the floor. I want that. God, how I want that, but I have plans that go along with my head between her legs.

  Stepping back, I clench her hips to hold her steady. “How about we peel some potatoes before I peel you out of that lace?”

  “Fuck dinner. I want my sugar fix.” She reaches for me and I laugh, sidestepping her quick grab.

  “Dinner before dessert. Didn’t your mom reinforce that rule?”

  Her face falls, and I instantly regret teasing her. “She did a lot of things.”

  “Hey.” I reach for her shoulder when she turns from me. “What happened?”

  She shrugs. “Typical Susan Walker crap.”

 
; “Tell me,” I say, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. Vulnerability passes through her eyes, a flash and then it’s gone. I tip her chin and press a kiss to her soft lips. “Come on. Tell me while we make this masterpiece together.”

  A heartbeat passes between us, but it feels like something more. Like just enough time for her to decide to trust me with her feelings. It’s the slightest nod that lets me know she does and my breath expels with relief, because I want this to go beyond sex. I’ve wanted that for a while now. I just need to work Maisie onto the same page.

  “Have you ever had mashed cauliflower?” she asks.

  The question confuses me until she gets to the heart of her story. As she replays her afternoon, anger ripples through me. The potatoes feel my full wrath while I peel their skin and listen to the bullshit Maisie is subjected to.

  “When I was fifteen, I asked her what was wrong with me. I really wanted to know. I’d look in the mirror and think—eh, I’m cute. Maybe not Beyoncé hot—but whatever. I mean, I wasn’t Fiona either.” Maisie pulls out a pot, one of three in her otherwise bare cupboard. I finish the potatoes and then retrieve a bottle of Chardonnay and pour two servings in glasses I brought from the house in Hamilton. I’m glad I did. Her kitchen is woefully understocked.

  I hand over her drink and say, “I don’t know who Fiona is, but I can tell you you’re a thousand times prettier than every star—the kind in the sky, on the big screen or on stage.”

  She hip-checks me into a smile. “Shrek and Fiona—Disney ogres. And you’re just saying that because you want in my panties.”

  I shake my head. “I do, yes. I like your pretty pussy, peach. Of that I’ve been clear, but you know your mom is full of shit, right? You’re perfect in every way.”

  “That’s what my dad says.”

  “Smart man.”

  “I think so. But no matter how vocal he was or how many fights they had over how she treated me, Mom never changed.”

  “I’ll never lie to you.” I wait for her to acknowledge that statement and when she nods I continue. “Your body.” Just the thought of it gets me hard. Looking at it as I am now, the slope of her breasts, the pristine ivory skin, her hourglass shape and flared hips, spikes my pulse to an unnatural peak. “I’m obsessed with the fullness. I dream about how my hands cup your ass and the round swell of your tits as they swing in my face when you ride me. There is nothing better. No one is better. So the only thing you have to do is love yourself, peach. The rest of the world will follow. They’re not worthy of you if they don’t.”

  She stares at me over the rim of her glass, and my heart lurches. Maisie looks at me as if she’s hungry, not for the food we’re making together, but starved for me and my promised touch. Her eyes follow as I bring my drink to my lips, then drop to my throat as I work the wine down in a long swallow. Lowering her gaze, she lands on my aching dick and thighs.

  “Like what you see?”

  “Mmm. I’ve never seen you outside of a suit and tie. You’re hideous.” She cocks her hip while studying me.

  “A beast,” I say, watching as she sets aside her wine.

  “Absolutely revolting.”

  I swallow my response as she steps into my space, her eyes twinkling with mischief and Maisie. She drags her fingers over my abs and my chest to circle my nipples. My breath catches in my throat when she goes up on the tips of her toes to whisper, “Take off the Henley and jeans and you just might be tolerable. We should try that.”

  Slowly, she licks her lips, and it’s her wet smirk that does me in. I press my mouth to hers, my eyes open as we share a breath back and forth. It’s intimate. More intimate than when I’m inside her body. Heat floods my veins. I feel her everywhere: her hands snaking into my hair, her breasts pillowed against my chest, her skin, and her tongue barely touching the tip of mine. My heart pumps wild beats, hard and fast, and loud enough that she must be able to hear them.

  Her lashes flutter, and with the subtle shift, the vulnerability I saw before returns. It guts me. How anyone could treat this beautiful, magnificent woman with disdain is beyond comprehension. She should be worshipped daily, and I’ll be the man to do it. My job now is for her to see this, us, as more than words written in a contract. There is work to be done, just like everywhere in my life. But as I press my lips to hers, I smile. Because I’ve got this.

  Reluctantly, I break us apart and glance at the turkey waiting to be stuffed. “Back to cooking, peach. You can undress me later.”

  She groans. “Right. Dinner before dessert. Got it.”

  We work side by side, trading glances. A silent bond is fortified by the occasional touch. My fingers trail up the back of her arm. Her hand finds my ass and the pocket of my jeans, where it slips in as she lays her head on my shoulder. Every point of contact, every look sparks the air in her tiny apartment.

  My mind is full of Maisie and yet my thoughts turn toward Mom and a day I stood beside her in the kitchen. It was just me listening, doing exactly what she told me with the turkey and the bread for the stuffing. I can almost feel her hand on mine when I open the jar of thyme, but it’s Maisie’s fingers that brush over my arm as she reaches for a bowl. I haven’t felt this full, this complete and peaceful in years.

  As we load the green bean casserole with fried onions, Maisie becomes a temptation I can’t ignore. I aim for a distraction and it comes in the form of a question. “What do you want to do more than anything?”

  “Besides ride you reverse-cowgirl?”

  “That’s a given, and it’s happening.” I look at my watch and then the state of the little turkey about to go in the oven. “In about ten minutes. So what’s the next thing on your list of must-dos?”

  “Walk a runway.”

  Peach and her legs and ass on a runway. I like this visual, but why imagine when I have the real thing right here? “Show me.”

  She snaps two pins from her hair, shaking the curls out. Shoulders back, head up, she exudes confidence as she walks a short line from one corner of her apartment to the other. At the end, she kicks out a leg and turns, her eyes intense as she stares me down on her way back. I whistle, but it’s cut off as she stops and breaks into a lively rendition of air guitar. Then the worst vocals are added. She’s really and truly a terrible singer and I quirk a brow at her off-pitch Aerosmith wail. I plug an ear and down my wine as if it will dull the sound.

  “What?” she deadpans. “You asked what I wanted to do the most. Singing is number three on the list. Maybe rap is a better option. Think MoMo needs a backup?” She cocks her body at an angle and flips her wrist twice in a just-as-awkward mime of a hip-hop artist.

  “You might want to stick to modeling.” I point out, laughing.

  “Maybe I could be in the movies? You know, the kind without scripts.”

  Shit. Maisie turns her back to me, peeking over her shoulder with her lids falling and eyelashes fluttering. Her fingers slip under the strap of her tank, sliding it over smooth skin and down to her elbow. The other side follows suit and before I can adjust my growing cock, she shimmies the shirt over her hips where it pools by her bare feet. And now it’s her shorts she tugs on, teasing me with the crack of her ass.

  “Goddamn, peach,” I breathe out, and turn only long enough to stuff the fucking turkey in the oven and set the timer. That bird will cook long enough for me to enjoy my dessert twice. “Get over here,” I demand, pointing at the floor in front of me.

  She drops her shorts and saunters naked and beautiful with a hip-sway meant to drive me insane. I am insane. Crazy for her in every way. I’ll get her on the same page, starting right now. I’m going to enjoy the shit out of my girl. And she is mine.

  In one second, I have a hand on the back of my shirt and I tug it over my head. In the next, I flip the button on my fly and my dick surges, loosening the zipper.

  Her mom is an ass, and I don’t think that lightly when mine was so good. But after the shit she’s said and done to Maisie, there isn’t another opinion I can form.
The only thing I can do is build her up and help her forget.

  And I do.

  For the next five hours, I fill her full of her favorite things. Then I wring every thought out of her mind. Every thought but me and how to ride my face. With pornbud.com playing on loop in the background, and with the lights on so we can see everything, I show her how it’s really done. No acting here. In the end, she begs. The sweetest words I’ve ever heard.

  We eat. We fuck. We talk and do it all over again. Leftovers have never tasted better. Neither has a woman.

  Two days later, I hate to leave. I’m sated but still hungry. And I’m not sure I’ll ever have enough of Maisie Walker.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Nervous” 2:44

  Maisie

  MR. KAVANAGH CONSUMES my days, my mind, and my evenings. He has ever since leaving my apartment after the incredible Thanksgiving weekend we shared.

  Everyday there’s been something new. This week, Monday rolled around and I found an ivory peony on my desk. Just one in a small crystal vase. It was as white as the snow on the ground, beautiful and fresh even though it’s late December. Later he fucked me in the supply room with a hand over my mouth to stifle my scream. When I arrived Tuesday it was a vanilla latte from About Coffee. Totally outside of his morning commute but my favorite place. That evening it was a quickie in the elevator after he hit the emergency shut-down button and used a piece of tape to block the security camera.

  Yesterday, it was a note tucked under my keyboard. It was short but far from simple. I smiled at Your heart is truly stunning. I melted for Your body is flawless. But it was hard to swallow past a lump when I read Your mind is perfection and made to make your dreams come true. My dreams. God. Did I even know what they were anymore? For so long, it was to prove to my mother I could get through law school. But now, after telling her off and finding my voice, I’m not so sure it is.