Page 48 of When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss

My eyes widen at the mention of another woman. “Who’s Martha?” I ask, more curious than anything.

“She is my… She and her husband, Colby, adopted me when I was sixteen.” There’s pride in his voice when he speaks about them.

I don’t push him for further details, trusting that he’ll tell me more when he’s ready.

“She did an amazing job.” My eyes drift to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline. Moonlight streams through the glass, bathing the foyer in a soft, natural glow. “This place is incredible.”

“I’m glad you like it.” His gaze is heated, tracking my every move.

I tilt my head. “Why are you giving me that look?”

“What look?” he asks, with a straight face.

“The one that reminds me of an antihero in a romance novel who’s plotting to lock me away in a tower until I fall for him.” My voice drops to a playful whisper as I walk toward him.

My pulse picks up when he gives me a teasing smirk and adjusts his cufflinks. “This house might not have a tower, but I do have a wine cellar that might do the trick.”

“If you leave me alone with your wine, I might drink the most expensive bottle in protest, and I’m a terrible drunk.” I reach out, my hand drifting across his chest to smooth away a nonexistent wrinkle.

“Don’t worry, if you ended up drinking too much, I’d keep you out of trouble.” His voice is low and husky.

“What if I’m looking for a little trouble?” I let my fingers trace a slow path down the fabric of his shirt, in teasing strokes, hovering near his belt, fueling the charged energy between us.Dawson has a way of making me act boldly and I’m inclined not to hold back any longer.

He catches my hand, his grip gentle but firm, and murmurs, “Careful what you wish for, Red.”

I swallow hard. “Isn’t this the part of the night when you’re supposed to show me the guest room, and we go our separate ways?” I ask, taunting him.

Please say no.

“If that’s what you want.” His voice is unreadable, but his eyes betray the restraint he’s barely holding on to.

“And if I prefer another option?”

“Which is?”

“For you to take me to your room and spend the night showing me what I’ve been missing.” I close the gap between us, my chest pressing against his, and exhale before asking, “Do you want me, Dawson?”

He cradles my jaw in his hand and holds my gaze, his eyes fixated on mine. “I’ve wanted you since the night you stepped into the tattoo shop.” His voice drops low. “And right now, there’s nothing I want more than to take you up to my bedroom, strip you bare, and take my time worshiping every single inch of your delectable body.” His stubble brushes against my cheek. “But it has to be your decision.”

“What if I only want one night? No strings attached?”

For now, I just want to live in the moment without thinking about the consequences of our decisions or what tomorrow might bring.

“Then I’ll have to give you a reason to stay longer because one night isn’t enough time to do all the wicked things I have planned,” Dawson promises.

I square my shoulders as I let out a shuddered exhale. “Take me to bed, Mr. Tate,” I state, making my intentions clear.

A broad grin lights up Dawson’s face. “I thought you’d never ask Ms. Taylor.” He lifts me into his arms, and my legs lock around his waist.

Our bodies brush together, creating an intoxicating friction, with one hand clutching his neck to hold myself in place and the other trailing along the collar of his dress shirt. His heady scent fills the air, and I tilt my head forward, licking along the corded muscle of his neck unable to resist. He tightens his grip on my hips, grunting when my tongue grazes his jawline.

Once we make it to his bedroom on the second floor, Dawson sets me down, my hardened nipples rubbing against his chest as I glide down his body. My gaze moves to the bulge in his pants, and my fingers trace over the outline of his impressive erection.

He places his hand over mine, his expression tight. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.” He motions to my outfit. “Lift your arms,” he orders.

I do as he says and he tugs my hoodie over my head, discarding it on the ground. His hot breath tickles my skin as he peppers kisses along my neck. He unclasps my bra, releasing my aching breasts from their confines, and his pupils flare as he grazes my nipples in teasing strokes. I whimper when he rolls them between his fingers, pinching them roughly.

We’ve only just begun and I’m already consumed by need. If foreplay with Dawson Tate feels this good, I’m anxious to experience what sex with him is like.

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