When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss (Aspen Grove)

Chapter 12

T he moment Dawson and I shared at the club still lives rent-free in my mind a week later. It was the hottest sexual experience I’ve had thus far. I didn’t care that a thin glass wall was the only thing that separated us from hundreds of people. I was done for the second Dawson called me his good girl .

I don’t have a rational explanation for my impulsive behavior, but Dawson brings out a side of me that I didn’t know existed. When I’m with him I feel bold and free to speak my mind without fear of judgment. We’re straddling a fine line, pushing our professional boundaries and truth be told, I’ve never felt more alive.

What happened at the club was like lighting a matchstick in a tinderbox, setting a blazing inferno to the delicate balance of control I’ve been holding on to.

Seeing him there sent a course of jealousy through my veins. The idea of him cozying up to another woman and flirting or having a meaningful conversation bothers me.

It doesn’t help that part of me has wanted to kiss him again since the night at the tattoo shop, and once his mouth was on mine again, I couldn’t find it in me to stop him from going further. Images of him gazing at me with those bright blue eyes as he traces my jawline torment me. His scent lingers on the dress I wore that night—a reminder that it happened.

It’s another late night at the office, and I should be responding to emails, but I’ve been staring at my computer for the past half hour. Today has dragged from all the tedious tasks Rob has asked me to do.

The elevator’s chime catches my attention, and the same courier from the first night Dawson had food delivered comes down the hall.

Dawson exits his office with his hands in his pockets, watching the guy like a hawk.

The courier is careful not to glance my way when he hands Dawson the bag.

“Good to see you’re on time tonight,” Dawson says, passing him a hundred-dollar tip.

“Thank you, sir,” the courier says, pocketing the cash as he walks back to the elevator.

Dawson may be abrasive, but he recognizes and rewards those who deliver results.

“You still avoiding me?” Dawson asks as he passes by my desk.

I shift in my chair, glancing at the ground. “I’m not avoiding you,” I whisper.

He leans his hip against my desk, a little smirk playing on his lips. “Sure you aren’t.”

Okay, maybe I have tried to keep my distance. It’s been easier than expected, given that he’s been spending more of his time at Wes Irving’s office than at the firm over the past week.

However, true to his word, my calendar remains blocked out every day from 12–2 for me to study in his private conference room. When I arrive, there’s always a gourmet meal and a bottle of water waiting for me. Having a quiet space to prepare for the LSAT is such a relief. His kind gestures are another reason why I’m drawn to him.

Now that he’s here with me, I’m struck by how much I’ve missed him—though I’m certainly not going to admit it out loud.

At first glance, we have little in common. He’s a brooding thirty-five-year-old lawyer and the owner of a tattoo shop. I’m a twenty-three-year-old paralegal struggling to make ends meet, with a crumbling old house for a home, and a love for playing bingo with a group of merciless senior citizens.

A chance meeting brought us together, but now it feels like our chemistry is too difficult to ignore. Beyond my initial mortification that he caught me working there, I’m sure he’s wondering why when I have a good job at Thompson it’s made it possible to make ends meet while saving for law school, and I’m proud of my hard work. Still, I worry he won’t understand my motive, given the paralegals at his firm earn well above the industry standard.

“Can I ask you what you need the money for?” he asks.

I shift in my seat, refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s not anything illegal if that’s what you’re thinking,” I say with a hint of sarcasm. “There are just some extra bills I have to take care of. That’s all.”

Oak Ridge is one of the priciest assisted living facilities in the area, but Grams loves the staff and has several friends who live there. She spent her whole life working and raising me. Now it’s my turn to make sure she’s well taken care of.

Dawson furrows his brow, seemingly unsatisfied with my answer. “I wish you’d tell me more,” he says, placing his hand on my knee. “But I understand why you’d prefer to keep some things to yourself for now.”

My mind fixates on the last two words: for now . It feels like a promise that he’ll be here when I’m ready to share more. Whether I’m misinterpreting it or not, it brings me comfort knowing that he’s here for me. Aside from Noah and Grams, I don’t have anyone else in my corner who I trust implicitly, and there’s a part of me who wishes more than anything that Dawson could be another person I could rely on.

“Thanks. I admit it can be lonely at times.” The admission slips out unbidden.

Dawson doesn’t hesitate to lift my chin with his hand, coaxing me to meet his earnest gaze. “I know the feeling all too well,” he murmurs.

His gentle touch, and the rare glimpse into his own vulnerability, offer me an unexpected sense of calm.

When my eyes land on his mouth, there’s a sudden shift in the air. I catch myself licking my lips. This is dangerous territory, especially considering we’re in his office, but I’d give anything for a brief escape—from mounting bills, endless responsibilities, and the moral dilemma of my growing feelings for my boss.

It all fades when he leans forward, our faces mere inches apart, and the sound of our intermingled breathing fills the room.

It takes every scrap of willpower not to close the distance between us. We’re in uncharted waters, and it feels like we’re on the brink of something… Something that could change everything. If I surrender to my feelings, it could take us past the point of no return. Yet, as I look at Dawson, I can’t help but think that the right might be worth taking.

Like he can sense my indecision, he scoots closer, wraps an arm around my waist, and tugs me to his side. “No more running, angel,” he whispers, tipping my chin. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

His bold declaration ignites my desire, emboldening me to take the lead.

“Not if I kiss you first,” I murmur, bridging the last bit of space between us.

Taken aback by my daring gesture, he blinks momentarily before his fingers slide into my hair and he deepens our kiss. Lost in the magic of the moment, I place my hands on his shoulders.

“You taste so damn sweet, Red,” he groans into my mouth.

Our kiss is electric, igniting a fire inside me that has me craving more.

Dawson holds me like he never wants to let me go, and part of me hopes he never does. Which is why I’m caught off guard when he suddenly pulls away, leaving me dazed.

“What’s wrong?” I breathe.

“Nothing,” he insists, gliding his thumb along the curve of my lip like he’s having second thoughts. “But you’ve been avoiding me since the night at the club, and I don’t want to overstep any boundaries you’ve set since then,” he says. “You’re too important for me to risk doing anything to make you uncomfortable.”

A shiver runs through me at the sincerity in his voice.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but are you forgetting I’m the one who initiated the kiss?” I shift closer so our thighs are touching, eliminating the space he put between us when he broke the kiss. “When have I done anything I don’t want to do?” I ask, resting my hand on his.

Dawson gives me a pointed look. “For starters, you’re forced to work with me despite declining my offer, and you had to move floors because of me. If I remember correctly, that wasn’t something you wanted either.”

He’s not wrong.

At first, I didn’t want to work with Dawson to avoid speculation from our co-workers about the new girl getting preferential treatment. However, that only played a small part. The main reason I told him no was because I knew how visceral my reactions to him could be. Our first kiss laid bare the passion between us, which has only intensified with every heated glance, lingering touch, and playful exchange.

Dawson runs his thumb along the back of my hand, his eyes on mine. “You’re so damn beautiful, it’s almost painful.” He pauses briefly, exhaling slowly. “My office door is open, and anyone could have walked in on us.” A flush rises to my cheeks when I glance over to see that he’s right. “It’s difficult to think clearly when we’re together.” He admits.

I mentally scold myself for being so careless. It’s late, and everyone on our floor is gone for the night, but that’s beside the point. It would only take one person to see us for the fallout to be catastrophic. Irreparable, even.

I move my hands to my lap, running my hands across my skirt pleats, thinking about the consequences if we’d been caught tonight. I’m not naive enough to think Dawson would face as many repercussions if our secret got out. It always comes down to the one with the most to lose, which, in this case, is me.

Dawson isn’t the only one who’s not thinking rationally.

No matter how often I promise to maintain professional boundaries, we always end up caught in a perpetual loop of sexual tension and unresolved feelings.

“Where do we go from here?” I say, hoping he has a solution.

“I wish there was an easy answer,” he admits. “If I were a better man, I’d do the sensible thing and keep things strictly business moving forward.” A knot forms in my stomach, afraid he’s about to walk away from me. “But honestly, I’m not sure if I can do that. Can you?” I slowly shake my head. “We have to decide if this”—he motions between us—“is worth pursuing, consequences be damned. Because if we find ourselves in a situation like this again with no chance of being interrupted, I plan to do far more than just kiss you.”

I press my legs together as images from our encounter at the club flit through my mind. It was fueled by lust and forbidden desires. If we had let it go on any further, it could have left us both tangled in a web of regret, further complicating things. Adding the kiss we just shared to the mix, it’s obvious we’ve crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed. It could lead to a new chapter and have serious ramifications for both my heart and career.

Begging the question: Is the risk worth the reward, or will the potential consequences threaten the possibility of a chance at something real?