Breach of Contract (Kavanagh Family Romance Book 1)

by Elizabeth Miller

  Mr. Kavanagh never judges. He just asks questions and forces me to answer. Before I could second-guess my goals any further, he was called away and I sulked through the latter part of the afternoon. But at eight he showed up to my apartment with educational videos preloaded on his laptop. We watched them all.

  While they ran on repeat, he used Vinnie against me, turning him on high and pressing the vibration to my clit while he pinned me down with his body and big cock. I fell apart. Four times. Then I told him I wasn’t sure that Columbia was really my dream. He held me and asked what I would do if I could do anything in the world? Anything. And my one and only thought centered on Betty White and beautiful designs. I buried my nose in his neck and considered a future I had never believed in before. Then he took me again. And again.

  Today I received a surprise delivery right before lunch. A gourmet peanut butter and jelly sandwich from Broadway Deli. I teared up with every bite and choked on Dee’s question, ‘Who’s the mystery man?’ I didn’t give in to her puppy-dog eyes. No way. Not when confidentiality is still a must. I kept him my secret. But the sweet gestures?

  It’s like he knows my soul can’t survive his onslaught. One day at a time he takes a new piece of it then turns me upside down and around. He is my only compass and I’m headed toward heartache. I know this. But still, I can’t quit him.

  Now he’s standing behind me. “Last night was extraordinary.” His breath warms my ear, yet a shiver tingles down my spine.

  I glance around at the silent library. When I’m convinced we’re alone, I relax into the hard heat of his body. Closing my eyes, I remember his mouth, the drag of his teeth on my inner thighs, and his tongue. Dear Jesus, his tongue is a fine tool. His fingers too, and oh, God, I can’t keep thinking about this in the office. “My panties, Mr. Kavanagh. Care to keep them dry, please?”

  Laughter rumbles in his chest. “Maybe you should stop wearing them.” His wanton hand slips up my hip, over the indent at my waist, and then edges my breast. My nipples knot into tight buds, my core pulsing with need.

  “We’re working, at work, not riding. Oh, shit. I like riding, Mr. Kavanagh. Your face and your big dick. Reverse cowgirl is everything I imagined and more. And sixty-nine.” I can’t help my groan. To taste him while he ate me was heaven. I grab his left hand as he clenches my ass. “I’d like to do that again.”

  “Maisie.” He drops his forehead on my shoulder, breathing deeper than when he snuck in behind me. “Friday,” he whispers. “I’ll pick you up at ten. Pack a bag.”

  “That’s tomorrow, Christmas Eve. Where are we going?”

  “Let me take you away from Manhattan, away from dinner in Greenwich. Let me surprise you.”

  “Give me a hint.”

  “Hmm,” he hums into my neck. “Why do you watch porn?”

  “That’s my hint?”

  “It’s my question.”

  Goose bumps pop on my arms as I check one more time to ensure we’re tucked securely away. When I hear nothing but my heartbeat, I turn to lean against the tall bookshelf, tipping my head to find his intense gaze. His eyes drop to my breasts, squeezed tight in a gray sweater, and then rise to find mine once more.

  “Peach.”

  A spark ignites my pulse. His voice does that, like a flame in the middle of a parched forest. Dangerous. I have no idea what’s between us, but whatever this is, it’s incendiary. He’s a force of nature, scorching my world into a new landscape.

  “Tell me,” he grounds out.

  “Why?”

  “I want to know.”

  He pushes for an answer, and I scramble to find one. “It’s raw.”

  His eyebrow quirks up as his fisted hand lands above my head and he dips down. “And?”

  “And primal.”

  If he leans in another inch, his mouth will touch mine and I won’t be able to help myself. I’ll lose it right here in the library and ride him until the end of the day. I crowd the books, pressing so hard the shelf digs into the skin above my bra line. “More,” he growls.

  “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. This is not something I want to talk about here.

  “Say it.”

  “It’s provocative.”

  “Not enough,” he pushes again.

  I push back. Some strange desperation to be understood has my hand against his chest, rushing him into the books stacked behind him. He hits hard. The last in a line of periodicals wobbles and then crashes to the floor. “You want to know?”

  “Yes,” he demands.

  One hand on his black tie, the other behind his neck, I tug until his breath hits my face. “I like it because I shouldn’t. Because I have always watched from the outside, waiting to be seen and never knowing what it was like to feel, really feel accepted or admired. I like to pretend I’m one of the pretty people, desired, exposed, and pulsing with the heartbeat of life. It’s crude and beautiful, and I like the contradiction. I understand it.” I pull him closer, licking across his bottom lip. “But mostly, because I crave intimacy. I want to fuck and be fucked and feel. God, I want to feel wanted.”

  He twines his fingers though my hair and tugs. His grip is harsh, but his tone is soft. “More.”

  More? How does he know there’s more? God help me. I hold onto him tighter than I ever have before as my truth explodes around us. “I thought sex would cure the craving. But it only made it worse. Now I want everything.”

  I suck in a breath a second before his mouth crushes mine, his tongue weaving a dangerous path of temptation we have no time to explore. He consumes me. In one minute, he’s inhaled my biggest secret, leaving me breathless and weak in the knees. In another he’s forced my confession that sex is not enough. It’s not enough.

  He pulls away only far enough to place his forehead against mine. “I have plans for you, Ms. Walker. Tomorrow, be ready at ten.”

  Oh, my heart. The obnoxious thumping will give away my excitement to spend more time with him. “Okay. Ten tomorrow,” I murmur against his mouth. “I’ll be ready.”

  A door creaks open near the entrance. “Maisie?”

  Oh, shit. I push against Mr. Kavanagh’s chest as Dee’s voice cuts through the silent library. As fast as I find three feet of distance, I bury my nose in the full set of the United States Reports and rack my brain for what brought me here in the first place. I have no stinking idea.

  “Hey, Dee,” I call over my shoulder.

  “Mais, your sister is on line one. She says it’s import—” Dee stops mid-sentence and mid-stride while I rake my hands through my hair, smoothing it in place. Her gaze flicks to Mr. Kavanagh.

  “I’ve got it.” I pull a large volume from the stack of books, holding it up in triumph. “I’ve been looking for this report, but I found it. Right where it should be,” I mumble, ignoring Jayce as I grab Dee’s hand on the way out.

  “What the hell?” She shoots a look behind us, tugging at the fierce grip I have on her.

  “Nothing, it’s nothing. Mr. Kavanagh was prepping me before he leaves for the holidays. That’s all, nothing else.”

  “Prepping as in pumping?” She stops and does something completely ridiculous with her hips. I can’t help but laugh and then notice Carla watching us from Keller’s desk. Her eyes narrow in on me so I straighten my smile.

  “Besides,” Dee whispers, “we’re closed next week. As in, everyone is on vacation, including you. Emergencies only. And the partner on-call will take care of anything that pops up. So it’s something else. Holy sniz.” Her eyes light up like the Christmas tree in the corner. “He’s mysterio. Mystery man. Mr. Mystery. Spill the details, girly.”

  I groan and cover my eyes with the stupid report. “Dee, I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. I love a salacious story.”

  “What do you mean, yes I can. You know I can’t. I know you know we can’t tell,” I whisper-yell and tug her into the empty break room before shutting the door behind us. My sister can wait. “Jingle Bells” is piped in through the overhea
d speaker, all jolly and shit. “Tell me it’s the same for you and Drake. Mum’s the word and all that. Did he make you sign a contract, like a nondisclosure?”

  “What?” She laughs and then her grin fades as I gape at her. “No. I haven’t signed anything. I just didn’t give details because I’ve been divorced for like five seconds and I’m not sure—wait. Did Mr. Kavanagh . . . did you . . .?”

  I rub my chest to keep my heart inside of it. “You didn’t sign a contract.” Leaning against the wall, I tip my head to stare at the white ceiling. “Are you, you know—

  “Having sex?”

  I nod, nod, nod afraid of the answer. But it comes just in time to increase my chest pains.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” Shit. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Okay.”

  “But you did?”

  “Yup.”

  “Why?”

  I choke on a laugh, shaking my head. “To protect me, the firm . . . Mr. Kavanagh.”

  It felt like the right thing when we were just sex, but now? Now that he knows everything about me? It seems cold. And, in all honesty, I feel dejected knowing Jayce believed in written confidentiality with me, but Drake trusted Dee enough to go without.

  “Maisie?” Dee places her hand on my arm, reassuring. “I saw how Mr. Kavanagh looked at you.”

  I’m back to nodding, but I can’t speak above a murmur. “I know.” Because I do. I’ve seen it too. He cares. I know he does. But how much? Enough to change our arrangement? To amend the contract? To eliminate it all together?

  “Talk to him,” Dee says.

  “I will.”

  “Promise?”

  A long moment passes, the last jingle of the bells cheers the room and I finally look at Dee. “Promise. Cross my heart. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  I sigh as I turn and exit out the door. Once again, Mr. Kavanagh consumes my thoughts. His intense eyes and his grip on my hips, Thanksgiving dinner, flowers, and sweet notes. Together they all feel like a relationship. So does whatever is going to happen this weekend. But words in a contract work to extinguish my growing feelings, and I walk back to my desk with the soot of his hypocrisy darkening my vision.

  FRIDAY ROLLS AROUND with a big bout of indecision. What do I wear? After hours of internal debate, I stick with my initial pick—roughed-up skinny jeans, ankle boots, and a V-neck sweater that hits mid-thigh. Cute, casual. I can fit in anywhere. And that’s the question of the day. Where is Mr. Kavanagh taking me? It’s Christmas, for the love of God. And he’s spending it with me. Oh, my heart. My pitter-pattering heart. I don’t give it time to accelerate any further. He’ll be here in a minute.

  Just as I’m about to slide my cell into my purse, it buzzes with a text from Lily. Three of them.

  L: Henry and I miss you. Merry Christmas.

  L: We have our first play Monday night. Mom pulled some strings to get us into the after party. It’s supposed to be with some big actor. See you then?

  L: Bring your boyfriend. Can’t wait to meet him.

  Boyfriend? Could he be? Not when we’re under contract. No way.

  A knock on my door interrupts the thought. I open it to find Jayce and his smile. His smooth “Peach” is lost against my mouth as he kisses me. And kisses me. His fingers spear through my hair, tilting my head in a new direction so he can go deeper. And deeper.

  I’m breathless when he pulls away. His lips are swollen and red, his hair wind-tousled and sexy. “Good morning to you too,” I say and then drag him to my mouth again. We may never leave my apartment.

  “Come on.” He laughs and twists out of my grip. “We’ve got to get on the road.”

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask while picking up my faux Louis Vuitton weekender. I got it for a steal and you have to look really close to know the pattern isn’t quite right.

  “Hamilton.” His tone is as casual as my outfit. My pulse is not.

  “Hamilton, as in, your hometown?”

  He takes the bag from me and smiles. My hand finds his after locking the door and he has to tug me toward the stairs. “Exactly. Do you have everything you need?”

  I stumble on the steps and he glances back to check on my health. “Everything as in, everything I need to meet your family? Like your dad and sister and the bazillion brothers in those photos I’ve seen? In the house you grew up in. All of them. Under one roof. Your entire family meeting me? The legal assistant you’re banging?” The montage continues and escalates as we pass each floor until we meet the ground level and the Range Rover he has double-parked outside my building.

  Mr. Kavanagh opens the door and I slide onto the butter-soft black leather seat. He tosses my bag in the back and then climbs in next to me, his grin growing, so carefree and beautiful. “You are not the legal assistant I’m banging.”

  I pause and then stare as he starts the car and pulls into traffic. Clearing my throat doesn’t help the lump forming there. “But uhm, I am. Quite literally, I’m the employee banging the boss.”

  Pointing out the factual content of our arrangement only has his smile grow. He focuses on passing emergency vehicles a block down, traffic, and getting out of the city, all while my insides churn with confusion. Yesterday’s conversation with Dee makes my stomach hurt. Visiting his family? I open the window for a drag of cold air, twenty-eight degrees to be exact. So it says on his really expensive dashboard.

  “What are you doing?” He laughs and turns the heat up to beat the chill my near-hysteria has invited inside the once toasty SUV.

  “Breathing. Air—it’s good for you. Try it sometime when your insides are about to explode. Jayce,” I whine and tilt my head to stare at the ceiling. Also black. Also expensive. And not helping me calm down.

  He chuckles and glances my way while he merges onto the interstate. “Are you nervous?”

  “Me? Nervous? Why would you ever think that? No, I’m fine. Completely, a thousand percent fine hanging out with you and your family on the biggest holiday of the year when I’m just—I don’t know—”

  “My girlfriend.”

  “—sexing up my bo—” Wait. Hold on a sec. “What did you say?”

  One of his hands leaves the steering wheel and lands on my thigh. He squeezes me there, the pressure of his fingers an anchor to my soaring spirit. Then the weight is lifted, and he tilts my chin when I want to only stare at the tear in my jeans. Now he looks a little nervous, shifting his eyes from me to the road.

  “Yesterday you said you wanted everything. I want to give it to you.”

  So the important convo is happening now. It is, because the words are out of my mouth in a rush. “That was before I learned Drake and Dee don’t have a contract.”

  “What?” That got his attention, but I have to point to the freeway and the other cars zooming by to drag it away from me.

  “Your partner. You know, the one with blond hair and a killer smile?”

  “He does not have a killer smile.”

  “Oh, yes. He really does. And he’s also really into Dee. He totally has the hots for her. I’m sure you’ve noticed. Everyone has. He can’t stop staring at her with this smolder. Really, truly, a smolder to beat all smolders.”

  “What the hell is a smolder?” he asks while glancing over his shoulder to switch lanes.

  “And sometimes you look at me like that. A lot of times actually, but then we have this contract which in the beginning was okay. I got it. I understood why we had it—”

  He sighs. “Maisie.”

  “But now, I don’t know, it makes me feel a little ic—”

  “Peach.”

  “—ky. Fast forward to today and we’re headed to Hamilton. Hamilton, Jayce. On Christmas. Ho, ho, ho and all that jazz. This is so outside of just having sex with my boss. I feel like our agreement is outdated.” The tear in my jeans is completely fascinating. I wring my hands in my lap and wait for his response. And wait. A minute passes and finally, I look at him.

  He glances in my direction and back to the road. All
serious and shit.

  Uh-oh. Way to start off the holiday, Mais.

  “Can I talk now?”

  “I mean, sure. Of course. Anytime you want. I just needed to share how I’m feeling. I’ve heard that’s important—”

  I think he rolls his eyes. “Maisie.”

  “—in relationships. I’m not sure though, because I’ve never had—”

  “Peach.”

  “—one before. But this kind of feels like—”

  “I agree.”

  “—that’s what we—you do?”

  He smiles. Like, really smiles. And then he smolders. Really smolders. It’s the look—the one that causes my insides to melt. “A thousand percent. No more contract.”

  That soaring I felt moments ago? It’s totally back and taking me on a high I’ve never felt before. “As in, you’re my man?”

  His grin grows. “Totally.”

  “And I’m your girl?”

  He takes my hands, wrenching them apart so he can weave his fingers through mine. “You have been for a while.”

  “No more hiding?”

  Shaking his head, he says, “No more hiding.”

  “Even at work?”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Oh, my heart.”

  “Is it hanging in there?”

  “I think I’ll make it. But Mr. Kavanagh?”

  “Yes, Ms. Walker?”

  “Is there a side road around here? Somewhere off the beaten path, away from the freeway?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  The back of my head lands on the cushioned seat at the same time as I rub my thighs together. “I need to see you come while I ride you. My boyfriend. My freaking boyfriend. I want to feel you between my thighs—your thick, huge cock stretching me open.”

  “Jesus, peach.”

  “I know.” I laugh a little. My free hand rakes over my forehead and into my hair, tugging as if it can stop the insane thoughts tumbling from my mouth. “You just make me a little crazy.”

  He exhales a long breath. “That makes two of us then.”

  Chapter Seventeen