Page 4 of Worth Every Risk

“Uh-huh. You have a voice so hot it could deep-fry a Mars Bar.”

He stares at me like I’m a dog that’s started talking. “You don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

Rude.But I refrain from objection because he has a point, and his comment is so close to sounding like a command—and thisman giving orders would be sexy as hell—that a nervous giggle slips out my mouth.

“I’ve been told that. It’s my thing. When I’m nervous, I get verbal diarrhoea. Doesn’t mean it’s not true though. That you have a really… great voice.” I nearly say sexy, but catch myself just in time. I don’t want to come on too hard; I’ve only just met the guy. “You’re also older than you looked from the street. When I saw you through the gate, I was thinking maybe you were thirty. But up close, I can see the lines around your eyes. And you have greys in your hair. Just over the ears. So I’d say…” I stop talking, aware his expression is narrow and there’s something close to disgust in his gaze.Crap.I’ve just analysed his face out loud, which is so much worse than him asking me how old I am.

“Go on…” he says, and I sense he wants to hear what else I have to say as much as he doesn’t.

“I don’t know. Sorry. I’m being really rude. I don’t even know you. Oh, wait…” There’s a pair of my knickers attached to his shoe. How did that happen? I don’t know how I missed them, or how the hell they got stuck there like a bit of loose toilet paper, but before I can question it, I dip to the ground and snatch them.

They don’t move.Shit. He’s got them pinned beneath his huge foot.

I tug them again. “Erm, excuse me…”

The toe of his boot shifts and my panties are free. I stand up to find him looking at me like I’m crazy, and in response, I flick them around my finger and stuff them in my back pocket. “My underwear. Sorry. I mean… not that it’s a big deal. You look like you’ve seen a lot of women’s underwear.”

I am talking absolute rubbish now.

He fixes those dark, humourless eyes on me. “You make a lot of assumptions.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I just say what I see. You’re a really handsome man. Like, freakishly so, actually. If all men around here look like you—”

“Kitchen’s downstairs,” he interrupts. “Mrs Minter will show you around when she gets back. Your room will be up on the top floor with Lucie, so you might as well leave the case here for now.”

“Oh. Okay.” I feel a little dejected at the way he cut me down, and I hold his gaze as I gather the courage to try and rectify the situation. “Look, I think maybe we’ve got off to a bad start. I’m getting the sense that you don’t like me much, and really I’m not that bad. I’m nervous. That’s it, mostly. Sort of. I mean, I like talking. Human beings are interesting, you know?”

“They are. Which is exactly why you should Google your employers in the future. It always pays to be prepared.”

“Right, okay. Will do. I mean, I prefer meeting in person than over a screen, but yeah. Maybe.” For want of something better to do, I stick my hand out to him again. I’m behaving like an idiot, but he doesn’t comment on it, and takes my hand, as if us shaking hands twice in the space of fifteen minutes isn’t really weird and awkward. “I’m glad we’ve met.”

He releases my hand and lets his arm fall to his side, flexing his fingers. “You are?”

“Yes. I don’t know anyone in London. This is the first time I’ve ever been here. I’m completely alone.” I force a smile, which is hard because admitting I’m alone in a huge city doesn't feel like a good thing. And for all I’m trying to break down this man’s exterior, he’s chock full of resistance. If he’d been even a tiny bit friendlier, maybe I wouldn’t have been so nervous, and then I wouldn’t have made such a fool of myself. By this point, what with my pasty forearms and waggling fingers, I’d have had a lesser man at least smirking by now, but I’m not even causing a chink.

I’ll give it one last shot.“I could really use a friend, and I can sense there’s a cool guy that’s worth getting to know underneath the big-burly-gardener-hunk thing you have going on.” I sweep my gaze over him, trying to get a decent read on him. On impulse, I reach out and tap his chest with my knuckle. “I reckon you’ve got a kind and caring soul under there somewhere.” This gains me no reaction other than the furrows between his brows deepening, so I snatch my hand back and change the subject. “Do you live here too?”

A hint of amusement sparks behind those dark eyes. I sense it more than see it, because his face remains stone cold. “Yes.”

“Great. Then we’ll definitely see one another. Do all the staff live in?”

“No. Not all.”

A tense beat of silence fills the large entrance hall.

“Okay, I’ll see you around then…” I leave my sentence hanging, waiting for him to add his name.

“Matt,” he says. “It’s Matt.”

“You can call me Aries. Matt and Aries. That’s nice. Not really the same type of name though, is it? Matt is very ordinary. No offense. At least there’s an edge to Aries. You know, a conversation starter. Icebreaker. ‘Why are you called Aries?’ type thing.”

My babbling has reached epic levels; I blame Matt. I can’t even tell if I’m flustered because he’s so gorgeous, or embarrassed because the responses he’s given me are so minimal I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall. Either way, I’m making a fool of myself.

“I’m not going to ask,” he says, and for some reason, I feel like I’ve propositioned the guy and he’s slapped me away like a mosquito. Itchy heat spreads beneath my clothes.

“Right. Okay. Bye,” I mutter, feeling so awkward that I almost run in the direction of the stairs that lead to the basement. But,despite our bizarre first encounter, I’m already plotting how I’m going to break down the defences of the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

Maybe this summer might be fun.

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