When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss (Aspen Grove)

Chapter 10

B eing this close to you makes me want to throw out every rational notion and kiss you.

Even a day later, Dawson’s confession remains imprinted in my mind, and the memory of his touch still lingers. His hands were firm yet gentle as he cradled my face, and he looked at me, like nothing else in the world mattered.

If he had closed the last few inches between us, I would have kissed him. In that moment, all I wanted was to feel his mouth against mine.

Admittedly, my willpower is fading where he is concerned, and if we end up in a similar situation again, I don’t think I’ll be able to resist.

I force myself back to reality, fighting to keep my eyes open, I scan the email on my computer screen, struggling to make out the blurring text.

My supervisor at the club called me last night, begging me to cover for another server who was out sick. The club stayed open late, and after helping Noah with the closing duties and the long commute home, I didn’t get to bed until four in the morning.

The one upside to working last night was the massive tip I got from being assigned to a bachelorette party on the second floor. It’ll go toward my unexpected plumbing bill.

I pause, rubbing my eyes, ready for a break from trying to make sense of this email. I pull out my phone to check my messages.

Noah: How are you feeling this morning?

Reese: Like I’ve been hit by a freight train…

Noah: On the bright side, at least you’re not dealing with a hangover on top of your lack of sleep.

Reese: True, but a hangover would mean I’d at least have some good stories to tell.

Reese: How are you holding up?

Noah: Thank god for the coffee shop around the corner from the courthouse.

Reese: Coffee is always the answer.

Noah: That might be the most brilliant thing you’ve ever said.

Reese: I could totally go for a pumpkin spice latte.

Noah : I’ll get you one during our next study session.

Reese: You’re my hero.

Noah: I always aim to please.

While I love the seasonal blend of cinnamon and nutmeg in a pumpkin spice latte, I usually save it for the homemade version due to the cost. However, I’m not one to refuse when Noah offers to buy me one.

I feel bad that we always study at his apartment and that I have an open invitation to spend the night whenever I want, yet he’s never been to my house. If he found out that my furnace was out and that I didn’t have hot water, he’d insist I move into his studio apartment until I could get it replaced. But I can’t invade his space, especially since he likes to invite his dates over to spend the night. Noah’s social life is thriving, despite him being just as busy as I am.

I place my phone back on my desk and move to review my work calendar, only to notice that 12–2 p.m. is blocked out, which is strange since it wasn’t yesterday. Maybe Rob has grown tired of not having me to himself during set hours each day and decided to take over my lunch hour. I wouldn’t put it past him.

I’m a nervous wreck for the rest of the morning, and unsure what to expect when I arrive at the assigned conference room at noon. What I don’t expect is to find Dawson at the head of the table with a paper bag in hand.

“Did you block out my calendar during lunch, by chance?”

“I did.” He takes out a gourmet sandwich, bottle of water, and cup of fruit, lining them up on the table. “Why didn’t you tell me you were studying for the LSAT?” His gaze lingers on mine, waiting for an explanation.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “How do you know about that?” I say.

I haven’t told anyone at the office. Most firms would view my plans to attend law school as a distraction or a lack of commitment since I’ll have to quit at some point if I get accepted. I’d like to believe Dawson is different, but his ruthless approach to business makes me uncertain.

“You left your study guide on your desk yesterday.”

Oh no.

I’ve been using my lunch breaks to study, but when Rob called me down to his office, I was in such a rush I forgot to put my book away. Rob would definitely take issue with my law school ambitions and claim that studying is a distraction from my work.

What if Dawson decides I’m not worth the effort and fires me?

I break into a cold sweat, my hands turning clammy at the thought. Dawson’s influence could end my chances at law school with a single call. My chest tightens, each breath feeling shallower than the last. I try to inhale deeply, but the air doesn’t seem to reach my lungs, causing me to wobble in my heels.

Dawson rushes to my side, catching me in his arms. “Easy there, Red.” My arms naturally circle his neck, clinging to him like a lifeline. He carries me to the conference table, where he’s set up the food and settles into a chair with me still cradled in his embrace.

His scent is calming, and I press my check against his neck to immerse myself in the heady aroma. He glances down at me as he gently cups my jaw with one hand, his thumb gliding lightly over my skin as if to reassure himself that I’m real. The tenderness in his touch and the heat radiating from his body overpower any guilt that what we’re doing is wrong.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asks.

I stop to think for a minute. “Um… I had a cup of coffee on my way to the office.”

He lets out a disapproving grunt. “That doesn’t count.” I watch as he unwraps a harvest veggie and goat cheese sandwich. “What were you planning to have for lunch?”

A bag of chips from the vending machine.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” I say, sticking with a safe answer.

“Are you hungry?”

The smell of fresh bread and herbs fills the air, making my stomach growl before I can respond.

Dawson chuckles. “Guess that’s my answer.” He positions me so I’m facing the table and pushes the sandwich and fruit closer. “Eat.”

“I’m not going to take your lunch.”

He leans back in the chair, a smirk on his lips. “I ordered it for you.”

“This is for me?” I wave a hand toward the delicious-looking meal.

“Yeah. You’ve been juggling a lot at work, so I wanted to help lighten your load. Now eat,” he instructs.

At this point, the rational part of my brain kicks in, reminding me that I’m sitting on my boss’s lap.

“I should probably sit in my own chair.” Dawson’s hand is resting on my thigh, but he doesn’t make a move to remove it. “Anyone could walk in,” I add.

Finding us in a compromising position would no doubt cause rumors.

Then why do I like it so much?

Dawson tightens his grip on my leg. “This is my private conference room. No one is going to interrupt us. Now eat,” he repeats.

I swallow hard, weighing my options. The right thing to do would be to move. However, not only was his gesture of getting me lunch incredibly thoughtful, but a part of me is also tempted to stay where I am just for a little while longer.

He makes my decision easy when he pushes the sandwich toward me. It’s a delightful blend of roasted vegetables and tangy goat cheese, each bite bursting with flavor, making me groan in satisfaction.

Dawson gazes at me with a tight expression, as if watching me eat is causing him physical pain. “Good?” he asks, his voice coming out husky.

“Delicious, thank you.” I glance around, not seeing another sandwich. “Where’s your lunch?”

“I’m meeting with a potential client at an Italian restaurant down the street later.”

“Oh.”

Most nights we work late, and he arranges for enough food to be delivered to feed a small army. At this rate, I’ll have tried every fine dining restaurant in the city in the year, all from the comfort of the office. It’s a stark contrast from Rob, who sends me on a wild goose chase every morning to get his breakfast, never permitting me to get anything for myself.

“At least let me pay you back,” I say, and plop a grape into my mouth.

“Absolutely not,” Dawson says, effectively shutting down my idea.

“But did you use a company card? Rob said that only partners are authorized to use it for meal expenses according to the employee handbook.”

Dawson pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you telling me when he makes you get him coffee and breakfast you don’t get anything for yourself?” I shake my head, shifting my gaze to the ground. “I’ve had enough of that piece of shit,” Dawson growls.

I place my hand on his arm. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a big fucking deal. He’s lost his privilege to a company credit card.” He takes a deep breath as he places his hand over mine. “I want to make one thing clear. You and the staff are all entitled to meals covered by the company. In fact, effective immediately, I’m giving everyone in the company a monthly stipend. I’ll have HR issue a memo about it.”

I give him a genuine smile. “That’s very generous of you.”

As I study his face, I notice something in his expression that I haven’t seen before—a gentleness in his eyes, conveying a silent promise that I can always count on him.

Dawson Tate may come across as callous and unsympathetic, but I’m starting to see that beneath his tough exterior lies a heart of gold. He might not want anyone to know he cares, but his actions reveal the truth, showing a sense of compassion and respect.

My attention is drawn to the rose tattoo peeking out from under his shirt sleeve. He doesn’t protest when I take his arm, rolling up the sleeve to his elbow, revealing the intricate sleeve of blackwork tattoos. “These really are beautiful. Did you design them?”

“I did,” he says, a hint of pride in his eyes as he watches me admire his work.

I run my finger along the lines of the compass, thinking back to the night at Steel the world could use more people like you.”

With a few simple words, he makes me feel seen, and his unexpected tenderness has me sinking deeper into his embrace. His commanding presence, the low rumble of his voice, and the way his piercing gaze seems to see right through me. His commanding presence, the low rumble of his voice, and the way his piercing gaze seems to see right through me is proof how easily

I put my sandwich down and take a sip of water.

“Thanks for lunch, I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” Dawson replies.

My body still when he reaches out to brush a crumb from the corner of my mouth, his thumb lingering against my lower lip.

“Maybe I should get up now,” I whisper.

Dawson drops his hand. “If you want to.”

When I don’t move to get out of his lap he brings his hand to the small of my back, trailing his fingers along the fabric of my shirt in a hypnotic fashion. My breath catching when he leans in to tuck my hair behind my ear, pressing a chaste kiss to my temple. He exhales slowly, the air brushing against the side of my face, and a soft moan escapes my lips.

“You’re so beautiful, Red,” he says softly.

His words of affection cause goosebumps to rise on my arms.

He gently grips the base of my neck and moves forward to brush his nose against mine. His touch is soft, almost reverent, as if he’s imprinting this moment in his memory. A whimper escapes me when he tilts his head to nip at my bottom lip.

“Fuck, your sweetness is intoxicating,” he says quietly.

I gasp when he seals his mouth to mind. Our electric kiss creates a fire inside me, leaving me craving more.

When I shift in Dawson’s lap, my eyes widening as my ass brushes against his cock, and I can’t help but break our kiss to glance down to see the evidence of how I affect him.

Unable to contain my curiosity, I tentatively move my hand between us to rest against his slacks. My breath hitches when I feel the outline of where his cock is pressing against the fabric. A guttural groan passes his lips when I move my fingers in a circular motion, teasing him.

“We can’t do more than kiss,” I whisper.

“I’d never dream of it,” he smirks.

He places my hand over his and pushes our joined fingers firmly against his hard on. “Feel what you do to me, Red.”

Just as my mouth parts for another kiss, his phone goes off, jolting me back to reality.

“Dammit,” he mutters.

I squeak in surprise, scrambling from his lap.

As my haze of desire dissipates, I’m acutely aware that my body was just plastered against his and that we kissed. No, we were doing much more than that. We were fucking with our mouths while I traced his dick with my hand in a conference room in broad daylight.

Oh god, we’re in so much trouble.

We’re supposed to be keeping things strictly professional, and what just happened was the exact opposite.

Without a second thought, I bolt toward the door.

“Reese, where are you going?” Dawson calls out as he stands, his voice a mix of concern and desire.

“Back to work,” I say, making sure not to look back, too embarrassed to let him see my flushed face.

I’ve never felt more conflicted. On one hand, I’m embarrassed for letting things go so far. I only have myself to blame since I’m the one who practically pounced on him, allowing my lust to overshadow any potential consequences. On the other hand, I can’t deny being back in his arms felt like that was where I was meant to be.

The worst part is, if things go south, not only is my job at stake, but I have a sneaking suspicion that losing Dawson would be equally, if not more devastating.