“Okay,” I say, focused on him while he pulls his suit coat from the back of his chair. As he shrugs it over his shoulders, my gaze swings to the contract he’s juggled from hand to hand. I watch as it disappears into his breast pocket.
“What will your meeting accomplish?” I ask as he takes my arm. He walks me to his door and then out into the suite where we’re greeted by low lights and the steady hum of air through the ventilation ducts.
“I’m going to make her drop the suit against MoMo, have her back off and retract her stance, and push her to make a statement about the importance of freedom of speech. Mo gets to keep rapping about crazy shit, and she gets to deliver her brand of religion to anyone who wants to listen.”
“I get it—constitution upheld. But who will speak to her hypocritical preaching? Blume takes millions from her followers when she has a corrupt moral compass. Don’t you think people should know?”
“That’s not our problem.” His gaze bears down on me as hard as his tone while he steers me toward the library. “What would you have me do?”
I shrug. “Release the details to the media.”
He shakes his head. “My priority is freedom of speech, which is the basis of Mo’s lawsuit. I have enough information to compel her to drop it without ruining anyone’s career. It’s not necessary.”
“I don’t see it that way. Our duty is to Maurice Spears, but as you win his case you’d also educate millions of people on the woman they look up to. She’s not a saint.”
“They’ll find out eventually, but not from me. Secrets have a way of bubbling to the surface.” He catches my eye while touching his breast pocket and the contract underneath.
Hair at my nape bristles, but we’ve made it to my cubicle, and I turn away.
“Get your purse.” He looks around. Really looks around. I laugh at the distaste marring his beautiful features.
“First time in the Hen House?” I ask, as he studies the peeling plaster walls.
“First time I’m chastising the interior designer and not checking out your tits.”
I smile and shut down my computer. “Stop it. You didn’t know who I was until last week.”
“Not true.” Taking my trench from the wall hook, he holds it up for me to slip into. His arms wrap around my waist, bringing the belt with them as his legs and chest line up with mine. I shiver when his breath fans over my cheek. “I’ve always known you, peach. You’ve been the thought at the back of my mind and the word on the tip of my tongue. ‘All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.’”
My breath lodges in my throat in a big ball of wishful thinking. Jayce’s brand of ‘just fucking’ confuses me when he adds sweet words. They shoot straight to my heart. “Shakespeare?”
“Mmm,” he murmurs.
“Why do you say such sweet things?”
“Come on, peach,” he says, ignoring my question for the second time. Kissing my neck, he taps my ass to get me moving. “Let’s get out of here.”
The truth of the matter is I don’t want my time with him to end. Not now or in the five minutes it will take for us to reach the lobby. But provision four was clear. We’re strictly physical.
As we walk out, I hit the lights. The office is washed in a glow brighter than the after-hours’ florescence. I narrow my gaze on Carla’s desk and her monitor that’s still powered up. That’s unusual. We all have confidential information housed on our PCs and were told to shut down at the end of day. Did she leave in a hurry?
Is she still here?
My pulse kicks up and I look around as we move through the library and down the hall. Silence is our only companion. Which makes sense. It’s Friday. The firm is normally deserted by six and then business picks up again on Saturday morning. She must have forgotten to log off.
The elevator waits like it knew we were coming and opens at the press of Mr. Kavanagh’s finger on the button. Standing shoulder to shoulder in a four-by-four box turns into an interesting ride. The tension that knots my insides when he’s near is magnified and fills my lungs to capacity. His hand clenches into a fist inches from mine, and I stretch my pinky far enough to feel his heat. We’re so close, yet so far away.
Sex with him is fun and beyond satisfying, but I’m still ravenous. One trivial word fills me with fear: more. What would it be like to go to dinner, dancing, the theatre with him by my side? For a minute, I let myself entertain what would happen if I didn’t work at the firm and he wasn’t my boss. What if we met on the street corner in the rain and he offered me his umbrella? Would I feel the same pull when his eyes glowed even though the sun was hidden by clouds? If it wasn’t wrong to want my boss, would I need him the way I do?
God, yes. I’d still possess this incessant and brutal longing that consumes me. But wanting more will only end with me and Vinnie watching porn on Saturday night—alone. And wishing I could be with a man whose only interest in me lies within the boundaries of contracted intimacy.
An uncomfortable energy prickles along my nape and under my skin. I need a break from him and the contract running on repeat in my mind.
The ping announcing our arrival to ground level rouses me from thought. Jayce motions me out and I toss over my shoulder, “Have a nice weekend, Mr. Kavanagh,” and then fly across the lobby and through the circular doors, intent on keeping my distance as stipulated in provision one. Professionalism and secrecy is a must.
I welcome the night air with a deep breath. Stars sprinkle the sky, dim sparks because the city remains alive with lights and constant movement, its breath the people—their stories the pulse. I surge onward almost blindly.
“Ms. Walker,” Jayce calls.
I move faster. Burrowing my fists in my trench pockets, I dig in to the autumn breeze and weave through a mingling party of four.
“Maisie, wait.”
For what? To review the words stumbling in my head, the document that outlines all the reasons why I shouldn’t want him to follow me home and tie me to my bed? It’s easier to run than face the truth.
I rush ahead. My heel catches on the curb but momentum pushes me forward. I flail my arms. A taxi rounds the corner. Oh, shit—it’s not stopping.
Arms wrap around my stomach, pinning me to a hard chest. I pant through the blare of a horn, even though I’m not winded from the walk. Cinnamon and leather rush my senses. Mr. Kavanagh squeezes me for a second, and then bends to yank my shoe from the wedge in the sidewalk.
“Jayce.” I step away as soon as I’m free and then shake my head to knock some sense into it. “I mean, Mr. Kavanagh. I appreciate the extra attention to the contract this evening, but, uh, I need to get home.”
Closing his eyes for the briefest second, he murmurs my name again as if it’s a sacrament and he’s preparing to kneel at my feet. But he towers over my five-and-a-half-foot frame, staring down at me with an insatiable appetite I can only hope I’ll get to appease. It says so, anyway, in provision six. Neither he, nor I, can stray outside of the contract. Line after line of size-twelve black font blurs his face as I get lost in each stipulation.
“I’m not ready to let you go.” He licks his lips, a quick swipe that reminds me how full they are, how they feel pressed to mine. “Why are you running?”
“What are you asking?” He wasn’t supposed to stop me, or look at me with such tenderness I could pool into liquid need on the sidewalk. Hope sparks like the fire in his eyes. The same spark burning in my chest.
Maybe, just maybe, he’s interested in more too.
Chapter Eleven
“Mercy” 4:09
Jayce
KEEPING MY HANDS off Maisie Walker is a testament to my self-control. Or it’s a newfound superpower and my name is really Clark Fucking Kent. Her smile squeezes a dimple into her cheek, and it’s goddamn adorable. It triggers an incessant demand to offer her more than words in a contract. But I’m not sure how that would work given our circumstances at the office.
I also
want to touch her, grab her waist, spank her ass, and smooth her brow when it pinches together. Just like now. I reach to do so and at the same time my own frustration boils with the blare of a nearby horn.
“Answer me. Why are you running?” I’m definitely not okay with her easy dismissals.
Maisie studies me while cool air swirls, as do pedestrians crossing at the walkway and not giving two fucks we’re impeding traffic. Sauerkraut from Will’s hotdog stand is pungent but still makes my stomach rumble. It’s late and lunch was a long time ago. But hunger takes second place to the energy charging the air between us. It’s palpable and I can’t help but shift closer.
Pressing into her space doesn’t help Maisie with an explanation. It’s only after a car door slams that she finally blurts, “I’m tripped up in my head, and I don’t normally have a problem there. But it’s like my brain is stuttering. Your kind of alpha male I-will-spank-your-ass-and-add-a-dash-of-sweet-to-the-sting confuses me. I like it—which means I like you—which translates to I’ve already made a mess of things, and I just signed on the dotted line days ago.” She ends on a sigh, and a mumbled, “I’m already failing. So typical.”
“That’s why you sprinted out of the building and came within inches of eating the front grill of a cab?” I shake my head and push a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “We need to talk about safety. I appreciate your legs in such situations—they’re fucking fantastic. However, I’d like to keep you alive so they can wrap around my waist. Don’t do it again.” I nail her down with my eyes. Really, I give her that look that shrivels grown men into whimpering babies in open court.
But Maisie? She just lights up the night with the brightest, super-watt grin and her flawless white teeth. All of them except for the front left and it’s that slight crooked imperfection that makes her completely perfect.
“You’re worried about me?” she asks.
“Jesus, woman.” I lean in so my lips glance her ear. “My mind is not stuttering around this issue. I like you too. I like your mouth on my cock. I like the tight grip of your pussy and how it sucks me dry when you come. There are many things I like about you, Ms. Walker, including my handprint on your ass. And my palm will connect with it in three-point-five seconds if you don’t find me some food. I’m starving.”
When I pull back, she nods. “Note to self. Mr. Kavanagh is cranky when he doesn’t eat. But how does this work? We can’t be seen together in public.”
A sea of unfamiliar faces surround us. She’s right. Of course she is. Just one person in the mass of many could trip us up. Keeping our relationship a secret is going to be harder than I expected though. Sex is not our only link. There’s an emotional charge that connects us, a curious energy I don’t fully understand. The crazy part is that I want to. The little I know of her has me starving for more. Surely we can work around her employment status.
I shift an appropriate distance away and say, “Give me your phone.” She does without question, grabbing it from her purse and handing it over. I tap in my number to send a text to myself. “I’ll reply with my address. We can eat there. Give me an hour to grab some takeout. Do you have a preference?”
When I glance away from the cell to return it, she has her bottom lip sucked under her teeth and those eyes. They consider me with such sweet longing I can’t help but grin.
“What?” I ask.
“Nada. I’ve got nothing but an open calendar.” Her fingers lightly touch my hand as she takes her phone and my breath catches in my chest. Damn heart pounding out of control. But she just winks with a cool air of confidence and whispers, “I like Chinese. Surprise me.” That’s it. Then her ass is swinging as she walks away—again.
But I don’t mind. This time I know I’ll have her in my apartment in a matter of minutes.
TWENTY-TWO HORNS, eleven impatient drivers in the form of revved engines, and one siren have kept my attention off of Maisie. It’s close to nine when a knock interrupts my count. I haven’t yet had time to change out of my work clothes so I roll my sleeves to the elbows on the way to let her in.
When I open the door, I vaguely note her legs are encased in dark, skintight jeans and God, her tits. They’re on display in a fitted V-neck sweater. A loose coat and a bag over one shoulder complete her package. But it’s her eyes, those bottomless pools of gray–blue that compel me to drag my hand to her neck and pull her inside.
I don’t give her a chance to say hello. I want her in my arms and so she’s there with her mouth on mine. I kiss her, inhale her sounds, the soft noises she makes and her sigh when I pull back just enough to start all over again. We kiss until I can’t breathe and the elevator dings with notice that someone else has arrived on my floor. I drop my hand to grab hers and kick the door shut.
“Peach.” The growl in my voice is not exaggerated. I want her. It takes brute strength on my part not to strip her bare right here on the floor, a step in from the hall. But sex can wait—I have something else in mind. “Come in.”
She smiles against my lips. “Hello to you too.” Moving inside, her fingers slide from mine slowly as she steps beyond the foyer to glance around my apartment. A dimly lit lamp. Two couches facing each other are centered by a glass coffee table. “Nice place.”
“Thanks,” I say, inching up behind her while she takes in the view of Central Park from the picture window.
Since I left her earlier, she’s piled her hair on top of her head. Only I prefer it down, so I press my mouth to her neck and pick the pins from the loose knot one at a time. She smells like summer, light and airy with a hint of sweetness. Curls fall to her shoulders and my dick stirs again behind my zipper.
This girl. I smile and kiss her skin once more. “I picked up Dim Sum. I hope you’re hungry.”
“I could eat.” Instead of heading toward the table where I have cartons of Chinese food, she makes her way to the fireplace. A slight tremor vibrates through her and she crosses her arms underneath her breasts while looking at the picture frames sitting on the built-in shelves beside it. “You like photography?”
“My sister, Maggie.” I point to the brunette in a family photo and then switch on the gas flame to warm the room. “She doesn’t go anywhere without a camera. Every year we get a new picture or five for Christmas. It’s tradition.”
“You’re all so happy.” What seems to be longing softens her voice into a murmur. “Tell me about this one.”
My gaze locks on the caption she motions to. Dad sits center stage on a huge log. The six of us surround him, laughing. “Camping in the Adirondacks six years ago. Declan had cracked a joke and we gave him shit because it was so bad.”
“What was it?”
“Hell if I remember. Probably something like this: What did the fish say when he swam into a wall?”
The corner of Maisie’s mouth quirks up as she looks at me. “I don’t know. What?”
“Dam.”
She throws her head back and laughs. The kind that comes from the stomach, moving through her whole body and I’m fascinated by her simple enjoyment. Nothing, no one, has ever looked better in my apartment.
“I like his style.”
A low rumble sounds in my chest. “You like my style.”
Taking her time, she looks me up and down. My bare feet, my straining cock, my chest rising and falling under her scrutiny, and my arms and the fingers itching to grab her waist. My lips are next, then my eyes. She studies me, seemingly fascinated by her discovery. And I stand there, giving her all the time she needs to find what she’s looking for.
“I really do,” she whispers, licking her bottom lip. Her eyes find mine for a second before darting away. “And I like that you invited me to your apartment. Thank you.”
I blink from her profile to the frame she reaches for and back again.
“What about this one?” she asks.
It takes a moment to catch my breath. Shadows dance across her delicate features as flames dip and lick in front of us. She’s stunning. So heart-wrenc
hingly beautiful and honest, I don’t care that she’s an associate at my firm. I’m all in. Every part of me knows it—my thumping heart and racing pulse, the shiver lighting up my skin. It takes effort not to tell her, to rush her into something bigger than words in a contract. Instead, I focus on her question and the photo she’s holding.
“That’s at Kavanagh’s. Lachlan took over the place when Dad couldn’t keep up. I can’t remember what we were doing. He put me to work or some shit when I went home for a visit.”
Maisie touches the glass, running a finger over my smiling face. “Why did you become a lawyer if your family already had a business to run?”
“Because I like to argue my point. The right point.” I shrug and remove the frame from her hands so I can hold hers. “Some kids want to be a fireman or a doctor, and I liked the law. My folks were big on telling us to follow our dreams so I went to school.”
A cloud passes over her eyes. “They wanted that for you. To be happy?”
“Of course. What about you? Why law school?”
“To prove to my mother I can do it.”
“That’s it?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
I don’t think it is. The program is grueling. If a student isn’t committed, the dropout rate is high. But something holds me back from saying this out loud. Maybe it’s the sudden downturn of her mouth, or the pleading look she throws my way.
“You know what?” I ask, tangling her fingers with mine.
“What?”
“You can do whatever you want. Just for you, because your happiness should be the most important thing to the people who love you. If they’re not supportive, that’s on them.”
She’s got her lip under her teeth again, sucking and nibbling her way through a thought only expressed with her widened eyes. When she shifts closer, the bag draped over her shoulder falls to her elbow.
“Here, let me take this—Jesus,” I say as I remove the weight from her arm. “What’s in here?”
Breach of Contract (Kavanagh Family Romance Book 1) Page 12
