Page 33 of Guarded King

“But he’s not painting at the moment?”

A breath gusts out of me. Why is he suddenly so interested in my life outside work? “Dad has rheumatoid arthritis.” I try to keep my explanation as matter of fact as possible. “It’s an autoimmune disease that makes it difficult for him to paint. I moved back in with him after he had a bad fall.”

His gaze sharpens. “That must be difficult.”

Flustered, I stutter, “W-We’re doing fine. Should we get back to?—”

“So you have someone looking after him while you’re at work?”

With a huff, I throw my hands in the air then pin him with a look. “Why the sudden interest? I’ve been working for you for over three weeks, and you’ve barely smiled at me, let alone shown any interest in my personal life.”

He leans forward and braces his elbows on his knees, seemingly unaffected by my outburst. “You’re right, and I’m sorry about that. You’ve been doing good work. I should have made that clearer.”

To say I’m taken aback by his admission is an understatement. “I—uh, thank you, Mr. King.”

One brow twitches up, and a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “You can drop the Mr. King. If we’re going to eat pizza together, you might as well call me Roman.”

My stomach dips at the hint of playfulness in his tone. “Okay, um, Roman.” It feels strangely intimate to call him that to his face. Does that mean he’ll call me by my first name? If so, what will it sound like when he says it in that deep, sexy voice of his?

Nope.

I can’t be thinking about how sexy my boss is. “Do you want to keep going until the food gets here?”

With a nod, he picks up the file in front of him, and we get back to work.

Half an hour later, there’s a knock on the open door, then Phillip saunters in with a pizza box and a grin.

“This is a first.” As he places the box and a stack of napkins on the table, a delicious smell wafts over to me, making my mouth water and my stomach growl.

Phillip laughs. “Looks like I got here just in time.”

“Did you get something for yourself?” Roman asks him.

“Yes sir. And I gotta say, the lady has good taste.” He shoots me a grin which I return.

Roman looks between us, brows lowering. “I suppose we’ll see.”

After Phillip leaves, I open the box, revealing a cheesy, saucy masterpiece covered with plenty of pepperoni and red chili flakes. Perfect.

Across from me, Roman is studying the pizza like an unfamiliar specimen. For all his talk, I get the sense he’s never eaten pizza from a box like this before.

I take pity on him. “Do you have plates?”

“I don’t keep any in the office, no.”

A laugh bubbles up in my chest. I tried. Too hungry, and too deprived of the taste of my favorite pizza, to wait any longer, I pick up a slice and bite into it.

Eyes closed, I lick my lips, relishing the taste. “Mmm, so good.” It’s true, but my words are also an enticement. I want to witness Roman’s reaction to the flavors.

But when I look back at him, he’s staring at me, not the pizza. More precisely, he’s focused on my lips. Without thinking, I lick them again, and the way his jaw clenches and his pupils flare sends a jolt directly to my core.

“Are you going to try some?” I ask, hoping to distract myself from the tension thickening the air between us. Unfortunately, my voice comes out breathy again.

For a long moment, he just watches me. Then, finally, he looks back at the pizza and picks up a slice. He eyes it, then me, and I raise my brows, giving him a bright, slightly-too-innocent smile, then wait to see what he does.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ROMAN

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