The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)(49)

I opened my eyes, and Brogan stood frozen, his gaze fixed on my mouth. His brown eyes dilated, holding a different type of hunger than the one rolling around in my stomach. That look transported me back to last night—the feel of his fingers running through my hair, the softness of his lips as they devoured mine. The sauce spoon still hovered inches from my lips, shaking ever so slightly in Brogan’s grip. For the first time, he looked unsure of himself. The boardroom persona had been stripped, leaving him open, vulnerable.

He must have realized the shift in his own demeanor, because he quickly deposited the spoon on the counter, clearing his throat. “I’ll make sure to relay the message to Nona.” We stood there in silence for a few moments, both staring at each other. He opened his mouth and closed it, as if he were debating what to say. Maybe, Meet me in my bed in thirty seconds, or, Please, let me help you out of these clothes and take total advantage of you and christen this leather couch.

Instead, he said, “Will you set the table? Plates are over there.” He pointed to a cupboard above the long expanse of granite. Okay, so no clothes would be coming off yet, but dinner was a step in the right direction.

“Sure.” I made my way to the cabinet and grabbed two plates. I set them on the table, along with utensils and napkins. The motions felt so comfortable, like we’d been doing this for years, almost like I belonged here. This was the second time feeling this way at his place…a dangerous thought when I didn’t know what this was between us. I barely knew the guy. He was my boss, and he was cooking me dinner. We’d kissed a whopping two times, and suddenly everything in my world was feeling a little topsy-turvy. Was this a typical occurrence in his household? With Brogan’s good looks and money, I doubted his bed stayed vacant for long.

“Everything okay?” He gave me a sideways glance as he poured the sauce in a bowl and extracted meatballs from the oven.

“Yeah.” Maybe? I didn’t know.

I sat down across from him at the table, tapping my fingers against the edge of the glass.

He cleared his throat again, this time shifting restlessly in his seat. “I don’t do this very often. Usually, it’s just me and Bruce.”

It made sense. Even if he could easily make anyone’s “Most Eligible Bachelor” list, he didn’t make it out of his office enough to even go on a date.

I snorted. “The conversation must be stimulating.”

“Bruce is good company. Excellent table manners.” He reached down and scratched Bruce’s pudgy head.

“My disappearing wardrobe is clear evidence.” I rolled my eyes.

Brogan’s mouth pulled into an attractive smile that set my pulse into an unsteady tailspin. “We’re still working on manners.” He looked down at Bruce and said, “I think we have a long way to go. I’d like to reimburse you for your ruined clothes.”

I thought about saying no to this, but when would be the next time I could afford nice clothes? Plus, I wouldn’t need new clothes if it weren’t for Bruce. “You can add it to my paycheck.”

“I’ll let Tony know first thing in the morning.”

I nodded and bit into the tender meatball with the perfect amount of garlic and seasonings. Juice dripped down my lips, and I quickly blotted the mess with my napkin. “These are amazing balls.” Oh my God, did that really just come out of my mouth? My eyes widened, and if there was a beach nearby, I’d have gladly shoved my head in the sand right about now. “Meatballs. I meant meatballs.”

“Your way with words never ceases to amaze me, Taylor.” He had the audacity to smirk. “I’m glad you like my meatballs.”

I cleared my throat and tried to steer the conversation back on track. “Is it another recipe from your grandma?”

This time a genuine smile crossed his face, one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Yes. I made a few alterations to the recipe, though.”

I took another bite and rolled it around on my tongue, trying to place the flavor. “Nutmeg?”

He nodded, impressed. “Yes.”

We went back to eating, and as I stared at him from across the expanse of the table, I wondered how this could possibly work out. Flirting and kissing were one thing, but what did this mean? I couldn’t possibly go to work and pretend nothing was going on between us and then come over in the evenings while he cooked me amazing Italian food, could I?

Umm, yes, I totally could if it involved these meatballs.

My normal go with the flow mentality had been thrown severely off-kilter by last night’s events, and the lull in conversation posed perfect timing for the question that had gnawed at me the entire day.

“Brogan?” I finally said, not able to contemplate these thoughts one more minute like a damn lunatic.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want this”—I pointed between us—“to affect my job.” I couldn’t move forward with this if it put my job in jeopardy, no matter how much I liked his sweet mouth on mine. “I have my mom to think about.”

His expression turned serious, and he dragged the tines of his fork over the edge of his plate. “Nothing that happens outside the office will influence my opinion of you at work.”

“Good.” Right, one element of my neuroses out of the way. Now I could focus on the big question. “Then what is it that you want out of this? I want things to be clear.” Because we all knew where ambiguities went. A straight course to crazyville, and I sure as hell wasn’t boarding that train.