This little girl says totally more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life.
“I can’t chance you running off again, Gabby. I love you more than anything, but you haven’t given me much reason to trust you lately. Not to mention scaring London last night with that story about someone staying in her playhouse. That was uncalled for.”
She starts to interrupt me, but I hold my hand up and she closes her mouth.
“You can’t just scare people like that. It’s not funny.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, and bites her lip. Her blue eyes are big, reminding me of her mom’s eyes, and I feel myself soften.
“If I give you back your cell phone—”
“Oh my gosh, yes!”
“Which still does not have any data available to you and you can only call me, your dad, or Grandma, who is currently on an airplane, so you can call me if something were to happen.”
“Nothing is going to happen. I’ve totally got this.”
“We are going to the Lobster Shack,” I inform her, and write it down on the pad by the refrigerator. “I’m picking London up at seven, and I’ll be home by nine, which is before dark.”
“Well, that’s a boring date,” she says with a laugh.
“Don’t push me, Gabby. I shouldn’t leave you here in the first place.”
But the idea of not seeing London tonight makes me nuts.
Not that I would put Gabby at risk if I thought she couldn’t spend two hours by herself. She can, but she’s been so . . . challenging lately.
“You should leave me here. I have food, entertainment, and a way to reach you should there be an emergency.” She’s put her serious face on now, reminding me of the sweet girl that she’s always been.
Reminding me so much of her mother.
It’s so damn good to see her again.
“You’re funny, you know that?”
“Oh, I’m totally funny,” she agrees. “And you are going to be late if you don’t go.”
“I’m early. She lives right next door.”
She shrugs and takes a few slices of pizza on a plate into the TV room. “Girls don’t like it when a guy is late.”
“How do you know this?”
“I’ve seen movies,” she says. “Go have fun. I’m totally fine.”
“Yes, so you’ve said. Here’s your phone.” I hand it to her and watch as she turns it on with glee. She’s been grounded from using it for two months, only getting possession of it when she’s at a lesson or somewhere that she may need to reach someone. No chitchat with her friends.
“Can I text Larissa?” she asks.
“Who’s Larissa?”
“My best friend,” she says. “I haven’t talked to her in forever.”
“Or, you know, since school got out a couple of weeks ago.”
“Forever.”
“Yes, you can text her, and only her, unless you need to call me or your dad.”
She nods happily. I hope I don’t live to regret this.
I quickly change into jeans and a black button-down, check my hair, and then run downstairs to say good-bye to Gabby, who barely acknowledges me as she eats her pizza and texts with her friend.
She’s going to be okay.
I get in my car and make the quick trip over to London’s house, ring her bell, and wait for the gut punch that always happens whenever I see her.
She swings the door open, and sure enough.
Gut punch.
Fucking hell, she’s beautiful. Her dark hair is pulled back in a single braid and her blue eyes are wide, her cheeks a bit flushed. She’s in a simple blue sundress that manages to make her look even more petite than I remember her being yesterday.
Her legs are bare, and I can’t help but imagine what they’d feel like wrapped around my waist while she moans in my ear.
Settle down, Cavanaugh.
“Hey,” she says with a smile. “You’re a tiny bit early.”
“Gabby says girls like that.”
She laughs and walks away from me into the house toward the kitchen. She has a slight limp, but it’s getting better. I’ve hated watching her limp. Not because I’m an asshole, but because there’s literally nothing I can do to help her, and that’s just about the worst feeling in the world.
But it’s good to see how much progress she’s made in her recovery. She’s an incredibly strong woman.
“I just have to lock up back here and grab my bag,” she says, her back to me. “Is Gabby at her sleepover?”
“No, she insisted that she’s not feeling well enough for it, so I told her she could stay home.”
“Oh.” She stops cold. “She can join us.”
I smile at her kindness and cross to her, pulling her into my arms the way I did last night when she’d been so nice to Gabby. She’s so fucking small, but she fits against me perfectly. “No,” I whisper, and kiss her forehead. “She can’t. I love her, but it’s time I got some time alone with you.”
She takes a deep breath and fists her hands in my shirt at my sides, making me wish I could strip us both naked, boost her on this kitchen counter, and have my way with her.
But we’re not there quite yet.
“Does the Lobster Shack sound okay for dinner?” I ask, pulling away and breaking the sexual chemistry.
“Sounds delicious,” she says with a smile. “Let’s go.”
I lead her out, wait for her to lock her door and set the alarm, and then we’re on our way to the nearby restaurant.
“So does this mean that Gabby is alone?” she asks.
“It does.” My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I’m still not convinced this is a good idea.
“She’ll be fine,” London says with a confident nod, as if she’s trying to convince both of us. “You look nice.”
I smile over at her and let my eyes travel leisurely over her body. “You’re fucking stunning.”
Her eyes widen before I look back at the road and I hear her clear her throat. That’s right, the attraction is there.
“Thank you,” she says quietly as I park in front of the restaurant. It’s on the beach, and serves seafood, as the name suggests. The decor is fishing nets and life preservers, boat oars, stuffed fish. It’s as casual as you can get.
We’re shown to a table, and the hostess gives us each a plastic bib along with our menus.
“This is sexy,” London says when we’re alone. “I should wear this daily.”
“You’d look amazing in anything,” I reply as I tie my bib around my neck. “I wonder how this would look in a courtroom.”
She snorts out a laugh and covers her mouth with her hand. “I think you should try it. It could be a new fashion sensation.”
We order the famous bucket of food and a beer and I check my phone for the fourth time since we got here eight minutes ago.
“She’s fine,” London says patiently. “I promise.”
“If she runs off—”
“She won’t.” She reaches across the table to take my hand in hers and squeezes tightly. “She’s not stupid. Stubborn and moody, but not stupid. She ran away because she knew you’d find her. And now she wants you to trust her.”
“You’re an intelligent woman,” I reply, and guide her hand to my mouth. I plant a kiss on her knuckles before she pulls it away and rests her chin in her hands, watching me.
“I was once a girl her age,” she says with a shrug. “Just wait until she’s sixteen.”
I cringe. “Her dad can handle that.”
“You’re still close with her dad?” London asks as she takes a sip of her beer.
“Very. He’s a partner at our firm. It’s me; Gabby’s dad, Carter; and my brother, Quinn.”
“All three of you are lawyers?”
“Yes.”
“Do you handle a lot of estate law?”
I smile and shake my head no. “I did that for your dad because I admired and liked him. I’m a corporate attorney.”
“Ah,” she says wit
h a nod. “So was Dad. No wonder you got along well. You’re awfully young to own a firm, aren’t you?”
“How old do you think I am?”
She cocks a brow, and then laughs. “I don’t know, thirty-five?”
“I’m almost forty.” I take a sip of my beer, waiting for her response, but there isn’t one. “Does the age difference bother you?”
“It’s eight years,” she replies. “I’m not a minor. I think we’re good.”
I tilt my head to the side, watching her.
“So tell me more,” she says. “How did you come to own a successful corporate law firm with your brothers before you’re forty?”
“It is unusual,” I concede. “About five years ago I was an associate attorney at a firm and got the case of my career. I won’t bore you with all of the legal terms, but needless to say it made me a lot of money. More than I thought I’d make in my career. So I left that firm and asked my brothers to join me in our own. We’ve managed to build a reputation and an impressive caseload.”
“Your offices are beautiful,” she says as the food is delivered. Rather than setting plates in front of us, they dump the food on the table, pass us a mallet, a knife, and a fork, and leave us to our own devices.
“I wonder if they have a bib dress,” she says with a smile. “I think this is going to get messy.”
“Messy food tastes the best,” I reply, and reach for a crab leg, which I smash with the mallet, and immediately spatter us both. “But a bib dress might be a good idea.”
She’s laughing as she reaches for a small piece of corn on the cob and takes a bite. She squirts juice from the corn across the table and it hits me in the face.
“Who knew dinner would turn into a battlefield?” I ask, laughing so hard my stomach muscles start to hurt.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” she says, also laughing. She reaches across with her napkin and wipes the juice away. “I’m going to need a shower after this.”
And, just like that, my cock is at full attention.
“How did you get into theater?” I ask, ignoring my dick and willing it to calm the fuck down.
“I don’t even remember,” she says, hammering the hell out of a crab leg. “I’ve always taken dance and music lessons. I’m quite sure my mom put me in them when I was a toddler. I was like a fish in water.” She takes a bite and then gets serious about destroying another leg. “I’ve never had stage fright. In fact, it’s a rush for me. It’s like—” She stops to think about it and then shrugs her slender shoulder. “I don’t know what it’s like. Really good sex, maybe? That euphoric feeling that rushes through you. But rather than just a few seconds, it lasts for a couple of hours when I’m onstage.”
“It’s adrenaline,” I reply, and she nods enthusiastically.
“Yes, absolutely. My mom loved it. She enjoyed the frilly, girly outfits that I’d wear for recitals, and she enjoyed helping my high school with costumes. I think that my mom would have been an amazing fashion designer.
“And my dad was way more reserved.”
“Is that code for he hated it?”
“With a passion,” she replies with a nod. “He was a controlling man. And he was wealthy, but that money came with strings. His thinking was, if I’m paying for college, or anything else, for that matter, you’ll do as I say. But I didn’t want to be a doctor, or a lawyer. I wanted to be a performer.”
“So how did you manage to talk him into it?”
“We agreed on a school in New York, and I went to school while also auditioning, taking dance and voice classes, and working full-time. I decided that I’d do both, and I’d prove to him that I’d make the performing a success.”
I can’t take my eyes off of her. Her animation in the way she moves her hands and face while she talks is hypnotizing. It’s no wonder she’s so successful as a performer.
“Wow, that’s a lot of work for a student.”
“I didn’t care,” she replies before taking a bite of a potato. “I wasn’t interested in anything else. I was a virgin until I was twenty-two because I didn’t give two shits about boys or anything else aside from the work. I graduated with honors and still managed to land roles on Broadway.”
“That’s amazing,” I say. “I’m sure your parents were very proud of you.”
“Mom was ecstatic. Dad was reluctantly tolerant.”
“That sounds harsh.”
She shrugs. “I know. I loved him, very much, but he didn’t make it easy for me to be an adult. He liked to have his thumb on all of us. It’s why my brother rebelled so strongly. My mom . . . she loved him. And she didn’t mind working as a housewife and mother, despite the fact that she could have done so much more.”
“She was fulfilled,” I suggest.
“I think so.” She thinks about it for a moment. “I hope so.” She leans back, patting her flat stomach. “I’m full. You’re going to have to roll me out of here. My apologies.”
I laugh and toss my napkin on the table. “I call uncle too. Are there some of those wet naps over there?”
She searches at the end of the table and comes up with several small packages of the premoistened towelettes so we can wipe our hands mostly clean. Before we take our bibs off, I reach for my phone.
“Do you mind if I take a selfie of us like this?”
“A first-date bib selfie? Doesn’t everyone do that?” She leans in to smile for the photo and then we ditch the bibs and I pay the bill.
“I’d like to pick up dessert on our way back,” I say as I lead her to the car. “I know it feels like I’m trying to cut this short, and I’m definitely not doing that. I’m having a great time.”
“But Gabby is home alone,” she says with a nod. “I get it. I’ve had fun too.”
“Why don’t we pick something up for all three of us, and we can eat it out on my deck and watch the water?” I suggest, earning a wide smile from her.
“I’d like that. I know a place with great pie.”
“Lead the way, my lady.”
She directs me to a little shop that you’d miss if you didn’t already know it was there. When we step inside, the smell of delicious pie greets us.
“What do you suggest?” I ask London.
“The cran-apple is my favorite,” she says. “But really, you can’t go wrong with any of it.”
“We’ll take a cran-apple,” I say to the lady behind the sales counter. “Do you sell ice cream here as well?”
“We do,” she says with a smile. “Would you like a half gallon of the vanilla?”
“That’s perfect.”
Before long we’re headed home with our treats. Gabby’s where I left her less than two hours ago, and barely glances up from her movie when we walk past her to the kitchen.
“So glad we’re not burglars,” I call out to Gabby, who just waves at me.
“Told you she was okay,” London says with a smile, and sits on the stool at the island while I find a knife and plates. I dish us all up, deliver Gabby’s to her, and then lead London out to the back deck, which has killer views of the water.
“This is beautiful,” London says as she sits with her dessert.
“It’s the same view as yours,” I remind her.
“Yeah, and it’s still beautiful.” She smiles and takes a bite of her pie, then lets her head fall back as she moans in happiness. “Oh my God, so good.”
“Do you make that noise often when you eat?”
“What noise?”
“The moan.”
She frowns. “I don’t know, why?”
“Because if you do, I’ll have to make sure I don’t eat with you anymore. It makes me want to fuck you, London.”
She stops, her fork halfway to her mouth, and stares at me with her jaw dropped.
“Well, you’re blunt.”
“Frankly, I don’t know any other way to be right now because I’m so turned on I can barely see straight.”
“And flattering.”
“I’m not flatt
ering you, I’m being honest.” I continue eating my pie, letting the conversation die, and she digs into hers as well. She sets her plate aside when she’s finished and, to my surprise, sets mine aside as well before climbing into my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck, threading her fingers in the hair at the back of my head.
“Gabby can’t see us,” she says quietly.
“No, and she’s preoccupied with her movie anyway, but I’m not getting naked with you out here.”
She smiles and drags her fingertips down my cheek.
“No, no getting naked tonight. But I’ve wanted to do this for a few days.” She leans in and presses her lips to mine, and I take over, gripping her wrists in my hands and wrapping them behind her back, pressing her chest to mine as my mouth devours her. She’s sweeter than the pie, and feels like heaven pressed against me.
She makes that little moan, grinds herself against my cock, which is pressed painfully against my jeans, and I want nothing more than to lay her back, strip her bare, and take my time exploring every fucking inch of her.
But Gabby’s here, and we’re outside, so this is not the place or the time.
God damn it.
“London,” I whisper against her mouth. “As much as I hate myself for it, I have to stop this.”
“I know,” she says, her eyes closed as she leans her forehead against mine. “What is it about you, Finn Cavanaugh?”
I kiss her nose, her forehead, then let her arms go and she braces herself against my chest as she leans back and stares down at me.
“Don’t answer that,” she says as she shimmies off of my lap. I see the cringe on her face when she moves her leg a certain way and I feel like a complete douche for not being more careful with her. “I’m not fragile,” she says, as if she can read my mind.
“No, you’re not.”
She clears her throat, brushes some stray hair off her cheek, and seems to wrap her dignity around her.
“You are sexy as hell, and I hope I get the chance to see you again,” I say as I glide my finger down her bare arm. She sends me a bright, happy smile.
“I’d like to see you again too.”
“My mother is arriving in the morning,” I reply, and she looks surprised. “She called me today, so it’s a last-minute visit, but she’ll just be here for a couple days.”
All the Way: A Romancing Manhattan Novel Page 4
