Page 16 of Rulebreaker (Gamebreakers #4)

SIXTEEN

Lily

I figured Atlas’s house would be ginormous, but it’s actually pretty modest for a billionaire. He continues to surprise me, but the biggest surprise was that I agreed to come here.

As my Uber pulls up outside the gate, I feel a moment of panic. I’m doing this. I’m going to spend time with a guy I really like, at his house, just the two of us. And that has disaster written all over it.

It’s also the quickest way to catch feelings but the magnetism between us is making it increasingly difficult to say no to him. Not to mention the size of his–

My thoughts go on the fritz as he comes out the front door and lifts a hand in greeting.

Fuck.

He was watching for me.

Like he’s looking forward to this .

I know this is a bad idea but I seem to be full of them, so what’s one more in a long line of mistakes?

Smiling at the driver, I thank him, grab my overnight bag, and step out of the car.

Atlas is wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, and I can’t decide if I like this look or him in a full suit better.

“Hey, Texas.” He meets me halfway up the walk, pressing a soft kiss to my lips as he takes my bag.

“Hello yourself.” I follow him up a few steps and into–a grand foyer.

The outside of the house is modest but there isn’t anything modest about the inside.

Marble and crystal and expensive artwork line the walls, everything done in black, white, and chrome.

Not to mention glass everywhere. This is such a stark contrast to my expensive but more homey decorating style, I can’t help but smile.

“What’s funny?” he asks, leading me deeper into the house.

“Just how different our tastes are in decor.”

“You don’t like modern-expensive?” he asks dryly.

“I like lots of expensive things, but less modern and more…homey.”

“Define homey.”

“Well, I’ll show you once we’ve had a chance to settle.”

“I’ll take your bag up to my room and then we can talk. Have you eaten?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t know how long my interview this afternoon would run…”

“Give me two minutes and then we’ll discuss dinner.”

He disappears around a corner, leaving me to explore.

And it’s more of the same.

A leather couch that looks like no one’s ever sat on it. Chandeliers that glisten with a billion crystals. A Persian carpet that probably cost more than a car. And so much more, but not a single personal item.

Except…I remember him mentioning his den.

I turn, making my way down a long hallway, in search of it, and there at the end are French doors that lead into what he said was his favorite room in the house.

And it’s like stepping into a different world.

Dark mahogany wood makes up the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on one wall and the gorgeous desk that looks old but well-used. Across from it are two matching chairs with burgundy cushions and a rolling mahogany and glass drink cart–filled with crystal decanters and glasses is tucked into a corner.

Then there are the pictures he mentioned.

Of Frankie.

Of a very young Atlas–I would guess no more than fifteen–in a hockey uniform.

And one that gives me pause.

Five college-aged men in hockey uniforms on the ice, arms around each other.

I immediately recognize Atlas, Banks, Dash, and Royal. So the final man in the picture must be his friend Colt, the one he lost. And he was adorable. Handsome with a mischievous smile. Someone I believe I would have liked even though I’m not sure why I feel that way.

“You found my favorite room.”

I smile without turning around, continuing to study the picture I'm holding.

“I did.”

“Do you hate this space too?”

This time I turn, the picture still in my hand. “I don’t hate any of your rooms. I just find them a little soulless. Like you’re trying too hard to tamp down your emotions.”

Our eyes meet, and I note the vein throbbing in his temple.

“I’m sorry–does that offend you?” I place the picture back where it was before approaching him. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain, and the last thing I want to do is hurt his feelings.

“It doesn’t offend me, Texas. Just surprises me that you can read me so well after such a short time.” The vulnerability in his voice is captivating, something I’m willing to bet not many people hear when they talk to him.

I lift a hand, gently running my fingers across his temple. “We all have our demons, Atlas. And we tend to recognize them in others.”

“You have demons, Lily?” He studies my face gingerly.

“Like many women creeping up to thirty, I’ve lived a full life, and with that comes mistakes. Regrets. Things we can’t change so we learn to live with the pain, the shame, or whatever it may be.”

“I try not to dwell on the past,” he says after a moment. “All we can do is move forward.”

The last thing I want is to talk about the past, but it’s so easy with him. I feel…safe. Wanted. Happy.

“I try to do that too,” I admit softly. “But it doesn’t always work.”

“Do you regret the direction your life has taken?”

“Not professionally, no. But my personal life has taken a lot of hits.”

He nods. “Same. But I wouldn’t trade it. I have my family–the family I chose, not those I share blood with–and enough money to tell the past to take a hike.”

“Sometimes money isn’t enough. ”

I see a spark of something in his eyes–annoyance? Disbelief–but then it’s gone before I can decipher it.

“Let’s talk while we make dinner,” he suggests. He holds out his hand and I take it, letting him lead me through the house and into a professional chef’s wet dream.

I have a fantastic kitchen, but his is gorgeous. So much so I want to take pictures and immediately remodel the one in my Tennessee home.

“Good Lord in heaven,” I breathe. “This is amazing–is that a hidden pantry?” I push at the large cabinet and sure enough it reveals another room behind it with a second fridge, a sink, another dishwasher and cabinets galore.

“I don’t entertain enough to get much use out of it,” he admits, leaning against the doorway. “But my housekeeper seems to get a kick out of it.”

“Can I copy this layout for my house?” I ask, drinking it all in.

“Of course.” He seems amused by my interest but that’s better than the far-too-serious road we were just going down.

“You cook?” I ask.

“Not a lot but enough. I make a great gnocchi dish with mushrooms and truffles.”

My stomach inadvertently rumbles.

“That sounds good. Can I help?”

“Sure.” He starts pulling things out of the pantry and refrigerator and before I know what’s happening I’m grating a huge block of parmesan while he boils water and sautés mushrooms.

“Do you cook?” he asks.

“I know how, and I used to love it, but I can’t remember the last time I actually did it. I’m almost never home, you know?”

“Why are you single, Lily?” There isn’t so much as a hint of censure in his voice, but it’s a question that’s going to be incredibly difficult to answer. “And don’t give me any bullshit about being busy. Tons of rockstars tour like you do and still have relationships.”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“But I asked you first.”

I sigh and put down the block of parmesan. “It’s complicated, Atlas. The music industry can chew you up and spit you out if you let it, and I refuse to let it, which means I have to be tougher than any man I cross paths with professionally. And men don’t like women with bigger dicks than them.”

He pauses, his expression thoughtful. “I suppose there’s some truth to that.”

“Would you date any of the tough-as-nails women you run into?”

“Well, it seems to me I am .”

Oh, shit.

Are we dating?

Is that what this is?

Discomfiture crawls over me and I’m not sure how to respond, so I turn back to the parmesan and start vigorously grating it again.

“Why do you avoid my eyes whenever we have a serious conversation?” he asks quietly.

“Because I don’t know the answers and it makes me feel out of control.”

“Lily.” Warm hands land on my shoulders. “Babe–look at me.”

I don’t move for a beat, closing my eyes as I try to come up with a way to tell him the truth.

“Atlas, I don’t–”

“Shhh.” He puts a finger on my lips. “If you don’t want to tell me about your demons, you don’t have to. Not now, at least, but you have to start letting me in. We can’t do this if you don’t. And we both know there’s more between us than sex. ”

“Yes, there is, but how would we do this? I have to go back on tour and you can’t just fly out to meet me one weekend a month or whatever. That wouldn’t be enough for either of us.”

“I can work from anywhere,” he responds. “I go into the office because it keeps my team on their toes, but Briar can handle almost anything that comes up, and I have a jet that can take me anywhere I want to go, whenever I want to go there.”

“Atlas, I don’t know if I’m ready for…serious.”

“I don’t know if I am either but how else will we find out?”

“I’m scared,” I admit.

“Of me?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Of us. Of this . Of how it feels when we’re together. I like you. A lot. And that’s terrifying to a woman like me.”

“Well, if it helps at all, I like you too. And I’m also terrified.”

“You are?” That’s a little hard to believe. “I didn’t think anything terrified men like you.”

“Well, you’re wrong. I’m terrified of something happening to Frankie. I’m terrified that the hockey player Briar is dating is going to break her heart and then I’ll have to kill him. And more than anything else, I’m terrified of falling in love. I’ve never done it.”

“You’ve never been in love?” I ask in confusion. “Not even in college?”

He slowly shakes his head. “I’m not even sure if I know how.

I love people, of course–Frankie, Briar, my brothers–but that’s a different kind of love.

This thing with us? It’s something I’ve never felt before and I have no idea how to classify it.

Or you. But I’m trying to be…brave, because I think you’re worth it. ”

Without responding, I bury my head in his chest, luxuriating in the way it feels when he wraps his arms around me. This is crazy, and happening way too fast, but I couldn’t slow things down now if I tried. And the truth is–I don’t want to.

All I want is him.

Even if he shatters my heart.

“I think you’re worth it too,” I whisper.