Page 5 of When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss

His declaration sends a flurry of butterflies through my stomach, making me wish he’d kiss me now.

He trails his finger along my arm in teasing strokes. The tension between us crackles like a live wire, making it impossible to focus on anything but him.

“Is that so?”

Cole may be abrasive and just told me to leave five minutes ago. Yet, he didn’t hesitate to protect me when Kevin showedup, talked me out of getting a tattoo I’d no doubt regret come morning, and made me feel more alive than I have in ages, which is a stark contrast from my boring, predictable routine.Is this really happening right now?

I inhale deeply when he captures me around the waist and pulls me against his chest, a spark of electricity coursing through me at his touch. I might be going on a dating hiatus after tonight, but there’s no denying I’m attracted to this man.

“Tell me I can kiss you, Reese.”

It wouldn’t hurt to do something reckless for once, right? I’ll probably never see Cole again, and I have a feeling he knows how to satisfy a woman.

“Yes, please,” I murmur.

I’m frozen in place when he leans in to kiss along the edge of my jaw. My breathing quickens and I glance up to find his cold gaze softened, replaced by a deniable hunger that radiates desire.

Cole’s mouth finds mine in a possessive kiss and his tongue dances along the seams of my lips, coaxing me to let him in. He lets out a low growl when I open my mouth and welcome him inside. He lifts me onto the reception desk, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist as my fingers grip the nape of his neck.

“Fuck, I knew you’d taste sweet, Red,” Cole murmurs.

Emboldened by his words, I nip his bottom lip, moaning as I delve my tongue inside his mouth. I never expected a kiss to be so intense—an all-encompassing mix of passion and desire.

He rocks his hips against mine, his bulge rubbing against my core. My nipples grow achy, and I’m pulsing with need. I’m on the verge of begging for more when the rumble of a car engine outside has me pulling away. I’m met with Cole’s gaze, his striking blue eyes studying me closely as if gauging my reaction.His hair is tousled from my grip, chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon, and his pupils are dilated.

Oh my god.

I just kissed a stranger.What was I thinking? I wasn’t—that’s the problem. His good looks and blunt honesty clouded my judgment.

I’ve got to get out of here.

I shove at Cole’s chest, causing his grip on my waist to slip, and I fall from his arms. Thankfully, I land on my feet, with a loud umph passes my lips when I hit the wood floor.

“You all right?” he asks, concern evident in his tone.

“Yep, just peachy.” I bend down to pick up my purse, which I dropped on the floor during our make out session. “I have to go.”

A flicker of emotion flashes across his face before he masks it with an impassive exterior. “Yeah, okay,” he says as he steps back.

My cheeks flush with embarrassment. That kiss was incredible, but he doesn’t seem fazed. He must do this kind of thing all the time—he has heartbreaker written all over him.

“Thanks for letting me hide out here. I really appreciate it,” I tell him as I rush toward the front door. “And for the record, you’re far more likable than you make yourself out to be.”

He laughs dryly. “Not a single person in New York would agree with you.”

“They must not know you as well as I do.” I wink. “It was nice meeting you, Cole.”

I bolt out the door before he can respond. As I head toward the subway, my mind buzzes from the unforgettable kiss I just shared with a tattoo artist in Brooklyn. I touch my swollen lips, etching it into my memory so I’ll never forget the thrill of doing something so exhilarating and spontaneous.

Three Months Later

Rob spits out the bite of the scone as if it were spoiled. “What the hell is this?” he demands, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I specifically asked for cranberry orange. There’s no orange in this.” His tone drips with disgust as he pushes the pastry aside.

He slouches back in his chair, his appearance reflecting his sour mood—thinning hair slicked back, his stomach straining against the buttons of his white shirt, and a rumpled suit that looks like it’s seen better days.

“They were out so I ordered the closest thing they had,” I rush to explain.

It’s my first week working for Rob, and I already loathe him. Now if only I could express my frustration without risking my job.

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