Page 39 of Match Point

Sorcha sat on the couch, a noticeable flush on her cheeks, long legs crossed. She’d changed into jeans and a white blouse, but she still wore the red shoes. Sorcha standing in the dressing room, naked in those red shoes, would be forever branded in his brain. Panic hit and he needed to leave before he did something stupid, like fuck her again. “Are you r—” he bit back the rest of the question. He’d asked if she were ready seconds before she’d enticed him with her curvy body.

Yep, this wasn’t going to end well for him.

“Howler is waiting for us downstairs and Tucker is already in the car,” Sorcha said, not quite meeting his eyes. Was she having regrets? He frowned; temper sparked by the notion. She’d seduced him, not the other way around. You didn’t exactly fight her off, now did you?

“We should head down.”

She walked past him, the soft fragrance of her perfume trailing behind. He admired the sway of her hips despite his resolve not to, and followed her out the door to the elevators.

She hit the button, fingers clutching the straps of her purse. Eyes locked on the closed doors, she didn’t say a word. Something was up with her. Was she nervous or uncomfortable over what happened?

Their relationship was layered between business and personal. He was in charge of getting her life on track, and he had a bad feeling he’d just derailed it. Should he say something or remain silent on the subject? They’d need to discuss this at some point. It wouldn’t go away nor was he used to sweeping things under the rug.

The elevator doors opened, and she entered, the silence stretching between them. “Howler’s taking us to an Italian place,” she said in a quiet voice.

He joined her in the car, staring at the floor buttons while the doors shut. “Vicenzo’s, it’s his favorite. Plus, the owners are his friends.” For the first time in his life, he was grateful for small talk. Why he felt the urge to fill the empty space was beyond him. He’d never been uncomfortable with silence. Today, it was nerve-racking.

“Do they serve pasta?” she asked, more confidence in her voice as they descended. “I’m dying for some fried ravioli.”

His thoughts were jumbled. She was hungry. Better to take her cue and put them back on even ground. “Two things wrong with that question. Can you guess which ones?”

Her profile to him, a smile tilted her lips. “Serve and dying?”

Healthy color added to the internal glow of a woman well-satisfied. And he’d been the man who made it happen. There was a discolored patch of skin on her neck where she’d tried to cover the scratch from his beard. He looped his thumb into the front pocket of his jeans, anything to keep from tracing a line down her throat with his finger. “Nice try, but no. Pasta and fried.”

Light laugher sounded in the small space. She met his gaze for the first time since they left the dressing room. Blue eyes smoldered with an inner light of challenge. “So, the ravioli is okay?”

“Sure, you can have one.” He took a step closer, unable to stop the momentum. The air turned heavy, every nerve in his body aware of the sensual woman. Damn, it was going to be hard to quit her. He leaned in to whisper in her ear and allowed his lips to caress the shell. “One being the operative word.”

“That’s fine, I only intend to get one order,” she said, the comment spoken in a breathy voice.

“Defiant to the end.” He brought her earlobe into his mouth, tugging at the soft flesh. The elevator stopped and he reluctantly moved away.

“Damn straight, I…—”

The elevator door opened and the flash of a camera went off, blinding him.

“Holy hell!!” Sorcha raised her purse, blocking the skinny guy on the other end of the camera from seeing her face. “Go away, Tim, you slime ball!”

“Aw, come on Sorcha. Smile for the camera, it loves you, Princess.” The guy was average height with wild hair pulled back in a ponytail. From the rumpled state of his clothes, he looked like he’d slept in them.

Leo’s military training kicked in and he pushed his way between Sorcha and the vile man. Forearm out, he walked the guy backward, freeing Sorcha to slip behind him. “Sorcha, go out to the car. I’ll take care of this.”

The shorter man tried to evade him by twisting his body. Leo kept pace with the guy, refusing to back down. During the past few weeks, Sorcha had been isolated from the public. This was bound to happen at some point, he just wasn’t expecting it.

“Is this your boyfriend?” The photog narrowed his eyes, glowering at Leo. “What are you going to do, boyfriend? Punch me? Threaten to break my camera? I’ve heard them all, so bring it.”

Leo raised a brow and cocked his head, unwilling to bite. He crossed his arms and stared the guy down. Violence solved nothing and the best way to take down a pushy opponent was to do the unexpected. He’d had enough fighting to last a lifetime in the army. He withdrew a card from his back pocket and handed it to the guy. “I represent Sorcha. If you want an interview with her, you need to make an appointment. Leave your number with my office

The startled guy stared down at the card, camera dangling at his side. Leo didn’t wait around but rushed outside, anxious to leave before the guy came after them.

Chapter Thirty-One

Sorcha stared out the window, relieved to see Leo to appear without the photographer. Her earlier euphoria had been ruined by his unexpected arrival. It was an added bonus to be at Grams’ house and not be tracked by the paparazzi.

Tucker and Howler were in a heated debate over the fate of the Pioneers and she was glad for their preoccupation. The car door opened, and a rush of wind preceded him. Leo plopped down on the back seat next to her, his broad shoulders crowding the confined space, jean-clad thigh flush to hers. She licked her lips, still swollen from his kisses, and searched the people on the sidewalk for her stalker. It was naïve of her to think that Tim wouldn’t find her. Once she hit the spotlight again, the roaches would come crawling out.

Howler pulled into traffic and Sorcha relaxed back into the seat. She chanced a glance at Leo, her mind spinning. Now what? Should she act like nothing had happened between them or expect more of the same thing? Did she want more of the same thing?

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