Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
JASPER
Oh hell, I really want to do well this summer, and not let my stupidly large attraction to Marsh mess that up.
Hearing the facts of the case we are working on was enough to inspire anyone. Even my organized, detailed work has been kicked up a notch. My mind just keeps telling me how I can’t lust after Marsh and do this job well. And then I realize that’s a quick ticket to burnout.
One of the things Marsh already warned me about in pursuing this kind of work is how hard it is to let go, even just to go home and live your life. Like when I didn’t want to take lunch the afternoon after his talk. There is always work to be done and always a client and a case that deserves it.
Drawing those boundaries sounds easy, but I can see now they aren’t.
So, by the end of the first week, I quit caring so much if my eyes linger on his ass, or if I noticed the kind way he let a potential client know that her case had no merit to pursue. If anything, those little glimpses of him as a man, as well as my steamy memories of our night, make the work worth it.
He’s asked me to call him “Marsh” rather than Mr. Caffrey, and I guess that’s good for our working relationship, but it’s hell on my libido that loves the feel of his name in my mouth.
Just like I enjoyed the feel of him in my mouth.
I sigh, pushing the stack of evidence index cards I’ve been working on to the side.
Marsh looked adorable yesterday when he explained the system, and he sort of blushed when he explained how he knew modern technology allowed other ways for this kind of trial prep, even more efficient ways. But this was his way, and so I dutifully set to the task as he asked.
“That looks good,” he says, taking the stack in his ridiculously large hands. He plants that plump left ass cheek on my desk…again. It’s a thing. His ass on my desk.
His eyebrows rise as he looks at me, a smirk forming on his mouth. Yep, definitely former frat boy.
I’m sure he’s reading my face as easily as he reads a case.
Instead of planting his ass, giving me directions, and then leaving, as has been his modus operandi all week, Marsh folds his hands together. The gesture is sexy, showing off his rolled-up shirt-sleeves, making my eyes draw to those large hands.
One can perfectly wrap the back of my head and hold me in place, as I well remember. And he also draws my attention to his forearms, the muscle there marking the landscape of his skin in long lines.
“We have a bit of an office tradition on Fridays,” he says.
“Oh?” My interest is immediate. I’ve met Penny, but that’s about it in the week I’ve been here.
“We go over to a local bar—The Black Diamond—for drinks at about three. Close the office early. I wanted to make sure you were invited.”
I nod. “Black Diamond. I’m guessing that’s next to the slopes.” I actually haven’t been to that part of Bear Valley. I’m staying in the more commercial area of town and haven’t ventured into the beautiful slope-side of town I’ve only admired in pictures.
“It is,” Marsh confirms. “Next to the lifts. You can grab a ride with me, if you like.”
I would like, very much, so I nod. If he’s offering to treat me just like everyone else, then fine, that is what we agreed to. I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s easy for him to do. Of course it is. It’s always easy to set me aside. There’s no reason for Marshall to have a different take than every other man I’ve ever been with.
I swing my bag over my shoulder and clean up my area as quickly as possible to follow him to his vehicle.
It’s a large, dark SUV, and it suits him. Marshall seems to be the kind of guy that molds the world around him to fit his tastes, and his vehicle is no different.
He opens the door for me, which gives me pause, and I feel my face blush too hard to look him in the eye. He is far too likely to be able to read how flushed such a simple gesture makes me.
All I catch is a cool raised eyebrow—one of his quirks—out of the corner of my eye as he closes my door and walks to his own.
The drive is short, thankfully so for the way my cock wants to respond to the enclosed space and scent of Marsh all around me. Marsh is such the host, pointing out distinct parts of town that might be interesting to me as a visitor, and before I know it, we are walking down the cutest pedestrian walkway toward the ski mountain that looms ahead. The walkway is wide, lined with shops, bakeries, restaurants, and entrances to condos that are on the floors above the commercial spaces below.
We get to the end of the street, almost to the lifts, when Marsh gestures toward a beautiful building, all industrial modern with lots of glass and natural light. It reminds me of his office space.
This time he holds the door open for me, and I feel myself flush as I pass him, his arm outstretched above me. That’s all it takes. Just get me close to him and I’m basically a puddle.
There is another set of doors ahead of us, and a large party comes out, pressing me into Marsh’s body to make room for the group to pass. He smells amazing, and I long to press my face into the curve of his neck.
I look up before I can tell myself not to, and the scorching heat of his gaze over me makes me wish I had kept my messenger bag so I could pull it discreetly in front of my khakis. The air in the small vestibule is gone with the group as they pass through.
We just stare at each other until I hear Marsh’s sharp intake of breath.
“We should meet the others,” he says, and I can do nothing but nod.