Chapter 6

Liam

Despite her assuring me that she's fine as I lead her to my favorite deli, I can see there's still some tension in her shoulders. Outside on the sidewalk, I take her by the shoulders.

"You don't have to put up a front with me. I've already seen you half covered in mud and pine needles, remember."

Her shoulders loosen up and her eyes relax. "It's just that I'm supposed to finish a pile of proofreading before my dad gets back from lunch."

"What about your lunch?"

"Us interns usually have microwaved ramen at our desks."

"So I guess this work is pivotal to the firm's success?"

Her eyes almost roll out of her head. "I'm working on old tax statements to try to find discrepancies. It makes my bones hurt from boredom, which I never thought was possible."

"So why is it so important that it gets done before your dad gets—oh." I can see by her averted gaze that my hunch is correct. Her dad doesn't want her around me.

"He's a control freak with everyone," she quickly says. "Me especially because I'm supposed to take over one day." It's clear she wants to change the subject and leans toward the deli entrance. "I'm starving and smelling that fresh bread is torture."

I don't want to torture her, so we go inside. She's like a kid in a candy shop, inspecting the sourdough rolls, the tomato buns, and the crusty, mini baguettes before choosing. She cranes her neck to see into the kitchen and I ask Debbie, the owner and a regular at my shop since she refuses to upgrade her 1990s car, to give us a tour.

The middle-aged baker looks stunned at my request but warms up to it when she sees how interested Kayla is. I tune out the kitchen talk and let my eyes settle on my girl. All the tension is out of her body and her face has an honest smile as she asks question after question. The sadness I've grown to hate seeing lurking in the background returns when Debbie tells her she's welcome to help out. Her demeanor goes from someone giving her the pony she's been begging for to snatching the reins out of her hand.

"Okay, I'm about to eat my own arm," I say, slipping my fingers around Kayla's and squeezing.

We choose one of the small tables in the corner, with a view out on the park. Kayla smiles shyly at me and whispers a thanks.

"For what?" I ask. She can't mean the sandwich. Doesn't she know I'd buy her this whole place if I could?

"For asking for the tour. I was dying to see the kitchen. My mom and I are addicted to her banana nut bread." She goes on to tell me how she's tried to recreate it but gave up.

"How come?" I ask, sinking my teeth into my BLT.

"No time."

"Since you're on track to run one of the biggest investment firms in the state?"

She seems to get smaller in her chair across from me. The sadness is back, and the high color from the excitement of the tour drains out of her cheeks. I drop my sandwich to reach for her hand.

"Why are you doing it?" I ask, frustrated. Not at her, at the thing that's tearing her apart before my eyes. "You clearly hate it." Waving my hand at the bread display, I say, "You clearly love this."

She nods. "I do love baking. I dream about chocolate chip cookie recipes. You can make fun of me now."

The way she tries to joke away her passion pisses me off. "I'm not laughing."

"Neither is my dad," she says. "He'll cut me off if I so much as try to work in a place like this in what little spare time he lets me have."

Fury almost makes me hit the table, but her warm hand in mine focuses me. I have to find a way to get her everything she wants. But I'm a far cry from the richest man in town. When I ask her what she means by her father cutting her off, she says he's told her he'll stop paying for her college. She doesn't finish the sentence and I have a sinking suspicion that not seeing me is part of the deal.

I'm torn. How can I give her everything she deserves if the very act of being with me is going to make her lose everything?

But she's mine. I won't let anyone steal her away from me. And I won't let anyone steal her dreams.

"Finishing school is that important to you?" I ask.

She swallows her bite of ham and cheese, and her eyebrows scrunch together as she considers my question. "Actually, I've gotten everything I need from it. If I wished on a pumpkin or something, I'd use what I learned to start my own business. Maybe keep taking management courses, but those are available online. Whenever I'm in class, all I can think about is how much more I'd rather be practicing the perfect whole wheat loaf."

Once again, she looks embarrassed, as if her dreams are worthy of being mocked. I realize it's because someone's been telling her that her whole life. I can't believe I want to punch her father when we've barely spoken three words to each other, but if he's the one who's made her feel this way, he deserves it.

My mind reels, but Kayla is smiling again and digging into her lunch with gusto. I get distracted by her tongue darting out to lick a drop of mustard from her lower lip and my vision blurs.

"That doesn't sound impossible," I say, reaching to drag my thumb across the spot she just licked. There's nothing there anymore, I just have to touch her, completely focused on her lips. Her cheeks go red and her eyes dance from mine down to my own mouth. "I think your problem is that you're wishing on a pumpkin. Who the hell wishes on a pumpkin?"

Her laughter tightens my chest and she shrugs. "I don't know. Isn't there a pumpkin in Cinderella?"

"I don't know either," I admit. My dad certainly wasn't reading fairy tales to me when I was little. There was too much work to do during the day and nighttime was for drinking while I sat in front of the tv and ate canned soup. "You know, when I was about six, my dad had a girlfriend for a short time and she used to make the best peanut butter cookies. The house always smelled good before my dad's drinking scared her off."

Her brows shoot together and she squeezes my hand. "I can make you some peanut butter cookies," she says shyly. "I don't know if they'll stack up to your memories, but I'll try."

How can my chest get any tighter without knocking me out? "You think you can steal some time to do that?" I tease. She nods, sending her blonde hair cascading over her shoulder. "But will you be able to sneak them to me?"

I want to still be teasing, but I hate that she has to break rules to see me. Her father never even gave me a chance before deciding I wasn't good enough. Maybe I'm not. But for now, I've been able to put a real smile on her face.

"I'll find a way," she promises.

"I'm holding you to that." God, I really just want to hold her.

After lunch, we meander back to the duck pond with half a loaf of day-old bread. Ripping a chunk off, she heaves it into the water and then scowls toward the tall building she thinks she's going back to. Dragging her eyes away, they settle on the rickety merry-go-round that's chugging in circles on the other side of the pond.

"Every year, I wait for news about that old thing bursting into flames," she says.

I crack up. "I guess that means you don't want to ride it?"

With another hard frown toward her office, she turns to me with a defiant look. "I absolutely want to ride it."

Hand in hand, we hurry around the trail toward the merry-go-round, which is flanked by stands selling tourist trinkets and tickets to the historical museum next door. The teenager operating the ride looks at us warily, telling us it's only supposed to be for kids.

"If I break it, I'll buy it," I say, making both of them smirk.

Kayla playfully whacks me on the arm. "Don't joke about that. What if this is the summer it goes up in smoke because we're too big?"

"Eh, you're not too big," the kid says. "It's a dumb rule and parents are always ignoring it anyway."

He lets us on and even keeps it going longer than I suspect is usual. Maybe I'll give him a tip on the way out. We start out on horses next to each other, one going up while the other goes down. I try to kiss her as we pass and her laughter rings out over the tinny music as I miss.

Scrambling down, she heads for one of the ornate benches and plops onto it. The kid half-heartedly tells us not to move while the ride is going, but only shrugs when I head to sit beside Kayla. Swinging my arm around the back of the bench, I slide close to her. My old, battered jeans are a stark contrast to her crisp black skirt.

Her slender knees are pressed together, her pale skin below the hem needing to be sun kissed. Or kissed by me. With a smile, she turns to me, forcing my gaze up her body to her face, even prettier now that there's a spark in her eyes.

"I'm not going back," she says. "If I'm getting in trouble, it's going to be worth it." There's a question in her baby blues and I nod as I lean closer.

"It'll be worth it," I promise.

Our lips touch and the ride grinds to a stop, the music ending with a squeak just as her mouth opens to my tongue. So much for the kid's tip. Kayla laughs and jumps up, dragging me toward the museum. We went there dozens of times on school trips, but we see it with fresh eyes, pointing out our favorite exhibits and reminiscing about the things we used to get up to.

On the way out, we take pictures in the photo booth and while we make faces for the camera, I can't take my eyes off of her. Her joy lights up my world. Knowing I'm the cause takes my breath away.

After the museum, we window shop, finally finding ourselves close to Ronny's Pizzeria, a block from my place. She claps her hand over her stomach and says she's starving, giving me a hopeful look.

We order and check the pinball machine, high fiving when our initials are still the top spot. Her hand curls around mine and the feel of our palms pressed together is enough to make heat course through my veins.

This isn't like anything I've felt before. It isn't just a stolen summer thing. She's going to be mine for much longer than that. Forever.

It was our plan to eat there, but a rowdy softball team crowds in, taking up most of the tables. "These guys are already halfway to sloshed," I say. "Want to eat at my house?"

She tucks her arm through mine. "I can't stand being around drunk people, either," she says, pulling me out the door.

"Thanks," I tell her.

"For what?"

"For getting me," I say.

"Well, thanks right back at you, then." At that moment, a sleek silver car rounds the corner and she gasps, yanking me into the alley and pressing herself against the wall. "That's my dad's car," she hisses, looking furious, embarrassed, and on the verge of tears.

The car passes slowly, as if he's really out searching for his adult daughter who might be getting a bit too close to the wrong type of guy.

"I'm really sorry," she says. "This isn't because of you."

"So you'd be hiding next to a dumpster if we weren't together?" My anger fades when she grips my t-shirt, looking up at me with anguish. I hate this, but I'd do anything for Kayla. "It's fine," I tell her, meaning it. "I get it. Now come on, let's get back to my place before he circles."

Her grateful smile erases any last shred of anger. Her father doesn't matter, only Kayla does.

At my door, she holds the pizza box while I open it for her. Ducking under my arm, she stops and tips her chin up. I've been craving her mouth ever since the merry-go-round and can't resist dipping to brush my lips against hers. Her free hand circles my waist and she presses close to me, sighing as she opens to me.

I lead her inside without breaking our kiss and as soon as the door is closed and we're in the darkened living room, she drops the pizza box on the couch and wraps her arms around my neck.

I had a plan, thoughts about how this would go, but her eager grasp almost makes me forget them.

"Wait a sec," I say, pulling back. I shake my head at her disappointed look. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Not for that," she says.

So much for candles and a big speech. My cock is raging as her hands tug at my shirt. Tangling my fingers in her hair, I make her look at me.

"How about you be my girl?" I ask, searching her face, which goes blank.

"What?"

"Would it be so bad? Us being together? Not in secret." Why am I talking and not pulling her close? Why do I need her to say anything at all?

"It'd be…" she trails off, her hands sliding down my chest and making me throb. "I just— You don't want to know what my dad will say," she finishes bitterly.

"What do you want, Kayla?" I ask. "What will make you happy? I'm going to be here to help you in any way I can. Whatever you want to do."

Her eyes widen and her hands ball into fists. "In my whole life, no one's ever asked me that. What I want, what will make me happy."

Loosening my grip from her hair, I cup her face in my hands. "I'm asking," I say. "Tell me what you want. First thing off the top of your head."

"Kiss me," she whispers. "That's what I want."

She doesn't have to say it twice. Our tongues tangle and her moan mingles with my sigh. Standing on her toes her body presses against mine, her arms wrapping tight around my neck. She wriggles against my hard rod.

"What else do you want?" I ask, kissing my way down her neck while I tug her blouse out of her skirt. The feel of her hot flesh against my palm makes my fingers rough as I shove away her bra to get to her lush tits.

When my thumb brushes across her nipple, her fingers dig into my shoulders. "This," she gasps. "More of this."

My other hand curls around her taut little ass, tugging up her skirt, inch by inch. "How about this?"

When my palm meets her soft flesh and my finger traces along the bottom edge of her panties, she pulls closer to me, nipping hungrily at my lower lip.

"Yes, that too," she says.

"We could be great together," I cajole.

She pulls back. "I know. But…"

I don't let her finish, and she seems to forget her argument when I claim her mouth again, sliding my hand between her thighs and teasing her wet heat. This is a fight I mean to win, and we're both going to love every second of it.