Page 31 of Guarded King

The sad truth is that part of me wishes hewoulddo those things. Roman King is gorgeous, smart, successful, mature, and apparently not the type of man who uses those things to take advantage of women.

Unfortunately, my attraction to him is growing every day. It’s gotten to the point now that I may have indulged in a daydream or two about him over the last couple of weeks. Daydreams which have involved finding out what exactly he’s hiding underneath those expensive suits.

Daydreams or not, the reality is that not only is it unlikely he’d be interested in someone like me when beautiful women probably trip over themselves to be seen on his arm, but anything more than a working relationship between us would be inappropriate and would put this job I so desperately need at risk.

So no more daydreams. No more reading into things that aren’t there.

With a deep inhale, I sit in front of my computer and pull up my browser.

Tax credits it is.

“Notedown that we’re willing to share the costs of the solar installations,” Roman says. “But we’re not willing to front all the investment for the hub. We’ll suggest a phased implementation there.”

I jot down that note, then shift in my chair. Again.

Outside, night has descended, and the city has come to life, hundreds of lights flickering brightly around us in lieu of the muted stars.

When I look up from my tablet, Roman’s watching me with one brow raised. “Am I boring you?”

I hold back a huff. We’ve been sitting here for close to two hours, and he’s questioning my work ethic?

“Of course not, Mr. King,” I say, with a little more saccharine sweetness than needed. “Though maybe you should invest in more comfortable chairs.”

Dropping his pen onto his desk, he leans back. He’s still wearing a tie, but he’s loosened it and popped the top button of his shirt, leaving an enticing triangle of tanned skin visible at his throat. “My thousand-dollar leather chairs aren’t comfortable enough for you?” He shakes his head. “And you accuse me of being fussy.”

Spine snapping straight, I blink. “Fussy? We’ve been sitting here so long my butt is going numb.”

As soon as the words are out, I suppress a wince. Did I really have to admit that to him?

He scrubs his hand over his mouth, and I swear he’s hiding a smile—a real one.

“We can’t have that. Why don’t we take a break?”

Thank god. Stifling a groan, I stand and place my tablet on my chair, then put my hands on my hips and arch my back, trying to work out the kinks.

A low noise from Roman draws my attention. He’s focused on me, his jaw tight. The look on his face sends a thrill of awareness humming over my skin.

“Hungry?” His voice comes out low and rumbly and far too suggestive.

I take a deep breath and try to keep my own voice steady when I answer. “Yes, what do you feel like ordering?”

Those mercurial eyes flick over my face. “What would you order if you could have anything you wanted?”

“Anything?” A spark of devilment springs to life inside me. Letting my head fall back, I stare up at the ceiling for a moment, making a show of thinking hard. “There’s an amazing hole-in-the-wall pizza shop near where Dad and I used to live. As far as I’m concerned, they make the best pizza in New York. That’s what I’d have if I could have anything I wanted.”

If I thought I was calling his bluff, that someone of Roman’s stature wouldn’t deign to eat hole-in-the-wall pizza, I was wrong. For the first time since I met him, genuine humor lights up his face and crinkles the corners of his eyes, and damn if my heart doesn’t stumble over itself.

“That sounds delicious.” His voice comes out deep and smooth. “Why don’t you order, and I’ll send Phillip to pick it up.”

I blink. “Uh, are you sure?”

“I’m always sure. You should know that by now.” He reaches into a drawer in his desk, pulls out a wallet, and drops a black card onto the desk between us.

“Any preference?” I ask him as I pick up the black AmEx.

“Lady’s choice.”

“May I?” I point to his office phone.

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