Page 38 of Kentrell

That kiss ain’t just rock her—it woke something up.

My tongue slid across my lip again as I watched her come down from it, chest rising fast.

“I don’t usually kiss,” I murmured, brushing my thumb along her cheek. “But something about you got me breaking my own rules.”

And if one kiss had her damn near melting, I already knew what the rest would do.

Yeah. I was gon’ show her the side of love she’d only ever read about in her little law books—the dirty kind. The kind that ain’t got no safe word.

Just heat. Grip. Teeth. Thighs.

And my name, gasped into the dark.

"I'm sorry," Zoe murmured, voice low like she hated even saying it. It pulled me from the heat still buzzing in my blood. My brow tightened. Her taste was still wet on my mouth, and this woman—this woman—was apologizing?

For what we both wanted?

She fidgeted—pulling at the hem of her dress, smoothing her hair, trying to make everything neat again. But her eyes told on her. Surprise. Regret. Shame. They fought for space on her face like she ain’t know which one to commit to.

"I shouldn't have?—"

"Don’t say you didn’t want to." I cut her off cold. I wasn’t about to let her rewrite what just happened. Not after the way she opened for me. Not after the way she moaned into my mouth like her soul slipped out through her throat.

She could try and keep it professional, but I knew the signs. I’ve seen the look women get when they trying to pretend control. Hell, I’vefeltit. The quake in her breath, the way she clutched that dress like it was the only thing stopping her from climbing in my lap.

Zoe been fighting that heat since we met. But trapped heat builds pressure. And pressurebursts.

"You might as well let this shit take effect," I said, voice low and firm, watching the way her nostrils flared like she wanted to slap me. "You need to?—"

"What Ineed, Mr. Caldwell, is for you to uphold the same level of respect that I extend to you as my client," she cut in, sharp as a blade.

There she go.

Back in lawyer mode. Like she ain’t just melt under me.

"I apologize," she added, her voice tighter now, laced with pride and regret. "More for my own lapse in judgment. But it won’t happen again."

She stood up, gathered her trash like it gave her power, and strutted to the bin like she was walking away from a sin she meant to never commit again.

I stood too, grabbing my empty container and her discarded napkins. Quiet. Watching. Calculating. I left the tiramisu untouched—two perfect slices I left inside the bag on the corner of her desk. She’ll find ‘em later. Probably late in the day when the cravings creep in.

A peace offering. Or a warning.

"I don’t mix business with pleasure," she snapped, spinning around. Her voice was clipped now, eyes flashing fire. "My reputation here is impeccable. I’m anattorneywhen I’m at Hartman Towers, and that’s how you will address me."

She was pacing now, hands on her hips, like she had to walk off what just happened between us. But I wasn’t going nowhere. I stood in place, letting my silence press into her skin like a second mouth.

"What?" she barked when she caught me staring.

My smirk was slow, deliberate.

"So, you're an attorney in this building?" I repeated, watching her grimace like I’d just asked the dumbest shit on Earth.

"Yes," she snapped. "I just said that."

Her hand slid down to her thigh, that scoff on her lips enough to make a lesser man back down. But I didn’t. I held her gaze, kept my face cold. She wanted a reaction. I wasn’t giving her one.

"So, inthisbuilding, you're a lawyer?" I repeated slower, making sure she caught the emphasis.

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