Page 103 of Worth Every Risk

Matt lurches away from me like he means to go after them. “That’s it—”

“Please, leave it,” I beg, tugging him back.

“Whore,” comes a voice.

Matt’s features shift, and for a second its like he barely sees me, lost to a sudden onslaught of rage. He tries to head towards the boys, but at the idea of him leaving me, I cling harder to him, my fingers pressing into his biceps.

“Stop. Please.”

He looks down at me, then at the group of boys. There’s such danger flickering in his eyes that I know he wants to yell at them. Maybe even hit them. But I can’t let him go around unleashinghis temper on drunken kids. “They don’t get to do that,” he growls. “To call you that—”

“I don’t care. Let’s just go home.”

He breathes heavily through flared nostrils, the strong line of his jaw firm like he’s clenching his teeth. His hand slides to my waist, tightening against me.

I glance up at the group of boys, and one of them catches my eye. A shiver courses over my skin. There’s something familiar about the kid, but I can’t place it. A horrible feeling settles low in my stomach, and I know I won’t be able to shake it off until I work out what has disturbed me.

“Those little shits,” Matt mutters.

“Please,” I say. “They’re just drunk.”

I hold eye contact, my fingers fixed tight to his arm, until finally the anger seeps out of his gaze. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Matt calls his driver, and we walk hand in hand to where the car is parked down a side street, but somehow I don’t feel the comfort from Matt’s touch that I did before.

“All okay?” he asks as we reach the car and he opens the door for me.

I nod. “Thank you for dinner.”

I gnaw on my thumbnail and stare out the car window all the way home. Something isn’t right, but I don’t know what it is. I suspect Matt senses it too because he doesn’t speak or touch me, keeping his hands firmly planted on each of his thighs.

Perhaps it’s guilt… the inevitability of getting caught doing something we shouldn’t that’s really hitting home right now. Whatever it is, the fine balance of our little world has been knocked askew, and I don’t know how to put it right.

Back in my room at home, I wait all night for a message from Matt to come through on my phone, but nothing does. I can’t shake the eerie sensation that something ended tonight, and apanicked pressure swells in my chest with no relief, until I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.

When I wake the following morning, I find Matt sitting on the edge of my tiny bed, dressed in his suit. A particularly dapper navy linen suit. Fuck, he looks good. Any worries I had about last night dissolve as he smiles at me and runs his fingers through my hair, watching the red strands filter across his palm before dropping onto the pillow.

“I love your hair,” he says, still mesmerized by it as he continues to play with the strands. I let him do it a while longer before I rub my eyes, giving him a deliberate once-over.

“Why are you in a suit? Isn’t it Saturday?

He curls a lock of my hair around his finger, keeping his gaze on it like I haven’t spoken. “I thought this whole Scottish redhead thing was an urban legend.”

“Do you mean stereotype? Because yes, it’s a stereotype. I’m a stereotype.” Irritation has my words coming out a little too fast. “Just what every girl wants to hear. And yes, I’ve heard it before.”

Matt’s eyes glint at me, all dark and mischievous. “Are you talking to me, or having an argument with yourself?”

I huff. “Why are you wearing a suit?”

He smiles, rubbing his hands down his muscular thighs and leaning forward as he says, “Because we’re taking a trip.”

I sit up, alarmed. “What? Who is?”

“Me and you.”

I must be dreaming. “We only just came back from holiday. And who’s looking after the kids? We can’t ask Alec again.”

“Nico and Kate are coming over to babysit. In fact, they’re probably downstairs already. They’re great with Lucie. She’ll be fine.”

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