I never expected to fall in love. Especially not with my legal assistant. Or realize just how much I adore her when her cheeks are hollowed out around my dick. I almost laugh at the absurdity, but then she flicks her tongue against my tip and I clamp my fingers tighter.
“Jesus Christ, peach.”
She grabs my balls and tugs. I say it again. I glance down at the outline of her form, hidden underneath the comforter that had been keeping us warm. Now I’m overheated and it has nothing to do with the goose-down filling.
“God, you feel good.” My head tips to the pillow just as my hips buck of their own accord. She moans when I slide down her throat, swallowing around me. I lose all conscious thought. Nothing matters but the slick, wet heat of her mouth. Sensation rushes along my spine. Her fingers claw my bare thighs, my hips, my ass, digging in, clenching, pulling me closer, so close she’ll suffocate on my dick. But she doesn’t—she doesn’t—she takes me deeper.
“Fuck. Fuuuuck.” I erupt with no warning, just my fingers clenched in her hair and my body curling over hers.
I pant and shake, twitching in her mouth. She licks me clean, my good little student. She licks so good I shudder and harden again under her touch. “Get up here.”
Her head pops free, curls a scattered halo around her head—eyes bright, and that damn smile. Her dimple pops as she crawls up my body. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Kavanagh.”
“Ho, ho, ho. Get up here and sit on my face. Your Santa has a gift for his good girl.” I reach for her but she rolls away.
“Uh, uh. No can do, Mr. Klaus.” She shakes her head and her ass on the way to her bag by the door. “I have another present and it isn’t my mouth or my cunt.”
“Filthy girl.” I push myself into a sitting position, sheet bunched at the waist.
“You love it.”
“I do.” I nod, as she comes back to me with a small package in her hands. But it’s her tits I’d really like to unwrap. Sometime during the night, after we watched our video and fucked all over again, she put on panties and a cropped T-shirt. “What do you have there?”
“This”—she steps on the bed and walks over my legs until she drops, straddling my thighs—“is for you.” A bout of shyness hits and she lowers her lids. Stroking the red, cloth bow that is meticulously perfect, much like the work she produces in the office, she looks at me through her lashes.
Talk about perfect. Waking up with Maisie, sharing the holiday with her, is exhilarating and effortless, as if she was meant to be here all along.
“I hope you like it,” she says. This is more than a gift. This is an offering. Maybe her heart? The way she looks at me says it’s precious. Be careful. Cherish it. That’s what she’s really saying.
“Always. Every minute of every day, I’ll honor it.”
She shakes her head, laughing. “You don’t know what it is, silly. It could be a Mickey Mouse snow globe that sings ‘It’s a Small World.’ Then what would you say?”
“That I love it. Truly. Because it came from you.”
“Mr. Kavanagh.” Holding my cheeks in the palms of her hands, her eyes find mine. “I like you.”
My eyes close and I rest my forehead on hers. The words I speak are empty, hollow of the feeling in my heart which I’m not sure she’s ready to hear. “I like you too.”
Peppering kisses on my lips, cheek, and then chin, she ends with a smile pressed to the pulse in my neck. “Open.”
Resting her head on my shoulder, she produces the gift and I take my time with the ribbon, the paper taped to pristine crispness. The box is long, flat, and after pushing aside the tissue, I find a green and gold plaid scarf, a lion’s crest sewn on the end.
“It’s the Kavanagh tartan. I thought . . . you can’t be too careful in the winter. It’s cold. Like, below thirty. And the snow. It just keeps falling—”
I sigh. “Maisie.”
“—And you don’t have one. At least I’ve never seen—”
“Peach.”
“—you wear a scarf. I hope you like it because you can’t take it back. Well, you could. But it would be to me, because I made it. So I think—”
I grab her hips and flip us, so I’m nestled between her thighs. Her breasts and my present are pressed to my chest. “Stop talking, woman.”
“Oh.” She blows a breath out of her lower lip to move the hair from her eyes. It does nothing but ruffle the strands, so I do it for her.
“I love it.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do. Your thoughtfulness for one, is beautiful. That you made it is astounding. Where did you find the crest?”
“I stitched it myself. I found the pattern online. Did you know the Kavanagh name dates back to the twelfth-century king of Leinster? You’re royalty.”
“You looked up our history?”
“I am good at research. Oh.” She squinches her eyes shut. “Too stalkerish?”
“No.” I kiss her plump lips. “Incredibly thoughtful.”
“Yay.” Fist-pumping, she gloats below me. “I did good.”
I nod my agreement. “Now, before I, the bazillionth king of Leinster, bestow the reward for best present upon you,” I say with a completely terrible Irish accent, “I have one for you.”
Her smile. The happiness that radiates from her is a gift from God. It swells in my heart and I think it might escape my chest. “Stay right here.” I pinch her ass and then push off the bed.
After stepping into my briefs, I gather two things. A ukulele from the closet, because I promised. And an envelope from my bag.
Through her clapping and a squeal when she sees the instrument, I climb on the mattress. “Don’t hold this against me.”
“Never.”
Sitting with my back to the wall, legs out and crossed at the ankle where she lays her head, I play Maisie a song. A simple one. A fun one. “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz seems apropos. It certainly keeps the smile on her face which is gift enough for me.
“There,” I say with the last strum fading to her cheers.
“Well done.”
“Thank you, madam. Now this.” I hold the envelop out to her. One similar to the confidentially stamped contract I had given her months ago. “This is better.”
Scrambling to her knees, she takes it from me and slices through the top quicker than I can smile and appreciate her enthusiasm. She tugs out the first document and reads. And reads it again, her features falling as she does. Her chin wobbles.
“Mr. Kavanagh,” she whispers and looks up to find my eyes. “This is from Christian Siriano.”
“It is, yes.”
“Mr. Kavanagh.”
“Hey.” I grab her wrist and tug until she’s back in my lap, straddling my waist once more. She tucks her forehead to my neck and hangs on. For minutes. Long minutes. I hold her, rub her back, not worried one bit that I failed her.
She swallows. She does it again and finally she sits up, glossy-eyed but smiling. “How did you do this?”
I push her hair over her shoulder and then kiss it. With my lips to her skin, I start to answer as I pull away. “He’s a friend of a friend.” Namely Ash. “There’s a party at the Sky Room and he was asked to repeat his fall show as entertainment. I told him I knew the perfect model to walk the runway and he agreed.”
“He agreed. Just like that?”
“I can be very hard to say no to.”
She swallows again, her hands coming to rest on my shoulders. “Are you trying to kill me? Is that the endgame here?”
I wrap her in my arms, chuckling. “God, no. I need you in my life too much. This is all about your dreams, sweetheart. If there is any way in this world for them to come true, then I’ll make it happen.”
The grip around my waist tightens. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You can do that later with your mouth. I like your mouth, peach. There’s one more.”
“More? Mr. Kavanagh.”
“This is not so much a gift, but a nudge.”
>
Curiosity kills the cat, so they say, and she pounces on the envelope once more. The second paper is for her, for her future. The one she really wants.
“An application to Parsons,” she whispers, wide eyes glued to the document.
Guilt settles somewhere in my stomach, an awful ache. If she knew about Carla and the reference letter, she might think I was pushing Parsons to save myself from telling her I can’t produce the recommendation she’s hoped for. That it appears I’m choosing Quinn and my promise to help him over Maisie’s future doesn’t sit well. But that’s not my motivating factor. Her happiness is.
“It’s the best design school in the country,” I point out. “It’s also in Manhattan.”
“You think I should go?”
“I think you should do what your heart tells you is right.”
“And law school isn’t it.”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
Closing her eyes, she shakes her head. “I’m not sure.”
Rolling her so she’s on her back, I find my way between her thighs. “Nothing has to be decided today. The point is, you have options and a couple of weeks to decide which is best for you.”
“You’re the best.” She presses her foot into my ass, thereby grinding my dick against her pussy.
“At everything,” I say with confidence, and she laughs. I kiss her smile and then I kiss her until she can’t do anything but focus on my tongue in her mouth. I kiss her until she pushes my shoulders, forcing me to break away.
“Mr. Kavanagh?”
“Yes, Ms. Walker?” I murmur into the hollow above her collarbone.
“Oh, that feels . . . God, that’s nice,” she says as I work my way to her breast. Pushing up her shirt, I find skin and nipple. “But I’ve been meaning to ask . . . oh, snickerdoodle that’s good.”
“What, peach?” I murmur into her naval and then into her mound. “Ask me anything.”
“Yeah, uhm. I think . . . it was . . . on Monday . . .”
“What about Monday?” The question is breathed out as I pull aside her panties.
“Dear God.” She bows from the bed when I find her clit. “It can wait.”
But she can’t. Not a minute more. I wish her a merry Christmas, whispered words into her most sensitive skin. I thank her for coming to Hamilton and being mine. I sing “Deck the Halls” and she screams her release to fa-la-la-la-la—twice before we head downstairs for breakfast.
Life is perfect. For the moment.
“YOU HAD A good Christmas?” I ask Maisie, her lids still heavy from her nap. The ride from Hamilton to the city was elongated due to snow on the roads. I kept her up most of last night so I’m not surprised she slept for more than two hours.
“Mmmm.” She reaches for my thigh, fingers squeezing. “Beyond good. I love your family.”
“I’m rather certain the feeling is mutual.” My hand finds hers in my lap. “Don’t be surprised if Quinn proposes next time he sees you.” Damn jackass followed her around for the last three days like a puppy, sad sap eyes and all.
“He’s cute.”
I growl my disgust and her grin erupts in a giggle.
“But I have a boyfriend, so I’m officially off the market.”
“Damn straight you are.”
“And we’re monogamous? Me and the boyfriend,” she clarifies.
I glance at her before clicking my blinker on to exit the freeway. Lit by the dash, a flash of uncertainty sparks in her eyes. “Hey.” I implore her with a pause to look my way and when she does, I say, “Of course we are. I realize the contract was shit, and I’m sorry for that, peach. I really am. But the foundation of it is sound. We’re exclusive.”
Her brow pinches for a quick moment, but she recovers with her dimple digging in her cheek. The happiness is short-lived. She closes her eyes and shakes her head, just a quick hesitation like she has a question.
“What?”
“It’s nothing.” She waves as if waving away the conversation, and looks out the passenger window.
“It’s something. Tell me. Or has our honesty rule somehow been extinguished under our newly defined relationship?”
“It’s not that.” Biting her lip, she holds something in.
“Maisie.”
Tipping her head so it hits the seat, she talks to the ceiling. “I’ve wanted to ask for so long, I just haven’t. And now it’s tomorrow.”
“What?” I squeeze her fingers still clenched on my thigh. “Ask me.”
“I have a family thing. It’s with my sister and Henry. Only a few hours I’m sure, maybe cocktails after. Would you like to come?” She squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for my answer.
There is nothing I want more than to relieve her anxiety. I’m about to as I run through my schedule. I’m on vacation and had planned to spend all of it with Maisie. All of it but Monday evening. Fuck. Ash’s play. It’s opening night and I promised to attend.
“Maisie . . . God, I wish I could.”
She nods, studying me for a moment and coming to some sort of conclusion. “No problem.” Two words and the atmosphere changes—a chill in the air. She removes her hand from my grip and she puts it into her lap, her eyes landing there too. “It was dumb of me to ask.”
“It wasn’t. I will give you everything I can. Just not tomorrow night. I have a commitment I can’t break.” It’s Ash, I almost say and don’t. She’s a friend, a good one, whose taken advantage of because of her fame, is right behind the statement I hold close. I don’t know why I keep her a secret, other than I always have. I’ve always protected Ash from the public, and right now Maisie is included. The truth guts me and I open my mouth to tell her everything. “Mai—”
“Right. Totally, I get it. This was so last minute.” She smiles and looks at me. I should be relieved as we pull up to her apartment, but I’m not. My declination crushed the sparkle in her eyes. There is no dimple to be seen. Not even a hint. Her lids fall closed and she shakes her head. “I’m just tired. You’ve worn me out for three days and I think I’ll sleep for twenty-four hours. When I wake up, I’ll think about the applications. I’ll call you Tuesday with an update.”
“Peach.”
“Truly. It’s fine.”
She assures me as we get out of the car, as we enter her building, and up the six flights to her apartment. Assurance is in her kiss as we say goodbye. Promises are in her arms as they round my shoulders and she tucks her forehead into my neck. Her sigh is a vow.
But as I walk back to my car, the stabbing ache in my chest calls her a liar.
Chapter Twenty
“Stitches” 3:30
Maisie
THERE IS NO reason not to believe Mr. Kavanagh. I tell myself this for twenty-four hours. Asking him to be my date at the last minute is on me. Of course he would have plans. He’s not a shrew, even if Lachlan would have me believe that he is.
But something is off. Something isn’t right; my stomach tells me so as it churns with distrust. Stupid nagging intuition. Maybe it’s just the idiotic written agreement and what he said about it that doesn’t sit well. I realize the contract was shit, but the foundation of it is sound. The foundation? The foundation where the firm comes first and we can’t be seen together in public? Maybe this rule still applies to Manhattan. First and foremost, confidentiality? Or the part about monogamy? Is that really what he meant? I don’t know.
I just don’t know.
So I do what I do when life throws me a curveball. I design. I sew. Macbeth left me with yards of black velvet and I make a dress meant for a queen. A modern one that is. It fits like a glove all the way to my knees. The plunging V-neck in front and back verges on indecent. It shows skin and cleavage, maybe too much, but my boobs look great. Scratch that. I am great. And beautiful.
Mr. Kavanagh be damned. He may be busy, but I’m busy going out with Henry and Lily. I rock that shit with a pair of spanks that cinch my waist and cut off my air supply. Totally worth it.
I walk in
the lobby of the Wilson with only minutes to spare. It’s as bright as the seating area is dark. White walls, grand pillars, brilliant lights. Locating Henry is not a hard feat. I wave as he saunters my way with an arched brow and a finely tailored suit on his six-foot frame.
He whistles when he gets close enough. “You clean up nice, kid. Great dress.”
I look down to confirm the tight fit hides all the right parts and when I find it does, I smile. “My own design. Thank you very much.”
“Let’s dissect this.”
“Hell no, you are not touching—”
Moving his hands up and down, weighing my options, he says, “Designer. Lawyer. Parsons. Columbia. What’s it going to be?”
I roll my eyes. “Not you too?”
“Oh, someone else asking you to contemplate life choices? The boyfriend, perhaps?”
“Dee, Mom—seems like everyone, that’s who. Where’s Lily?” I scan the crowd for her wheat-colored bob.
“The bar.” He points to the opposite side of the room.
“She’s drinking? I don’t know much about babies, but I heard alcohol is a big no.”
He laughs. “Just chatting with a friend. Come on. Let’s find her and get you some wine before we take our seats.”
I look around on our way, imagining Jayce amongst the men. A sharp pang in my heart is the wish that he was here, waiting for me. The flutter in my stomach is his hungry stare stalking me while I walk toward him. The disappointment dragging my grin down is knowing he couldn’t make it.
Henry stops in line, scanning over my features. His brow tugs down. Ugh, Henry and his reflective moments. He always gets me. He always gets everyone, and that’s why he’s a good doctor. He listens, pays attention to the slightest change.
“Don’t start.” I ward him off before the lecture begins. “I’m fine. Nothing is wrong. Christmas was fabulous. I’m fabulous and tired. That’s it. End of story.”
“I’m going to believe you because I trust you’d call if you needed me.”
“Yes, Dad.” I sigh and then place my hand on his forearm to ease the sting. “I appreciate every time you’ve stepped in to save me, my very own superhero. But I’m not twelve anymore, Henry. You can’t protect me from Mom. Or call the college office about my application. Or—”
Breach of Contract (Kavanagh Family Romance Book 1) Page 22