Lovers' Dance (15 page)

“A bit. Hey, why do you call me poppet? Is it in reference to a toy puppet with strings, Matt?”

He was kissing behind my ears. “It’s a term of endearment.”

I wriggled a bit and he nibbled my earlobe, hands holding my hips as he arched his lower body against my ass. I turned over, causing water to slosh over the tub and splash on the tiled floor.

Matt obviously liked me straddling him in his tub. The look on his face said it all.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, cupping my breasts and lowering his head to lick the trickle of water off my nipples. “So bloody perfect.”

<><><>

She was sleeping, sprawled on his bed and making that sound he now quite enjoyed hearing. Matt closed the door with his heel, balancing the tray of breakfast with both hands as he quietly walked over to a table by the windows. He had found the two chairs that went with it in the pantry downstairs. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. His dark beauty. His sweet, sensual dark beauty. Last night had been exquisite. His guilt over hurting her disappeared after their lovemaking in the tub. She was so eager, so trusting, so undeniably addictive that he had lost count of how many orgasms they’d both shared. Through it all they had talked, giggling like children under the fresh sheets, touching with a familiarity you would expect from old lovers, not a virgin and a man whore…that had startled Matt. The ease he felt with her, it was so damn easy to talk to her. Lying on her toned stomach looking up into those brown eyes of hers, Matt had felt at peace; everything before felt contrived, hollow, as if he’d been walking through life shrouded in fog. He had told her things about himself very few people knew, and it had felt right. That was the most perplexing part. Why was he so damn comfortable around this beautiful woman he’d spent less than two combined days with?

It was her, the way she looked at him as if everything he said mattered. He was used to people following his orders without question, used to women staring at him in awe as they made designs on how to insinuate themselves further into his life. Everyone wanted something from him. But she looked at him with honest curiosity shining from her eyes, not greed. They were nothing like her. His past lovers suddenly seemed insipid in comparison. Going about their luxury-filled lives concerned only with satisfying their needs. Madison DuMont was so glaringly different from the women he dated, it shamed him. How could he have been interested in such shallow women?

She was only twenty-six, yet had such conviction in her dreams it filled him with pride. She had talked about her desire for dance to be open to everyone, regardless of race or money. Matt frowned slightly, not wanting to dwell on the issue of race. It made him uncomfortable focusing on the obvious inequalities of society.

His eyes roamed at their leisure over her nudity. So smooth and soft. So bloody hot. He should wake her to eat, but he wanted to watch her sleep for a few minutes more. Another frown graced his face as he remembered his feelings of deception when she had spoken of her family, skirting over her parents’ deaths with a brave smile as she regaled him with stories from her childhood so different from his.

That file was locked away in his desk in the study. He felt the need to destroy it, to hide his dishonesty of acting as if he didn’t already know her background. Damn Nathan. He pushed aside his irritation. If Nathan hadn’t brought the file, Matt wouldn’t have been compelled to see her again. He had to make sure she never found out about it. Yes, he would destroy it as soon as he had the chance.

He made his way over to the bed, sitting next to her and running his fingers over her toned stomach. He couldn’t resist trailing his fingers lower. The memory of being inside her moist tightness sent a tremor through his limbs. Heaven. It was heaven losing himself in her body, feeling her spasm around him as he pushed them into ecstasy could only be described as a heavenly act. Matt stroked her gently, eyes slipping closed in secret delight while his tongue traced his lips slowly. The taste of her…God, he was enthralled with this woman and, for the life of him, he couldn’t understand how it had happened so fast.

“Stop fingering me, you old pervert,” she murmured in a sleep-laced voice. Matt snatched his hand away, guilt covering his face as she opened her eyes and squinted at him.

“Good morning, poppet.” He injected as much formality he could in his greeting, never mind the slight dampness on his fingertips that he desperately wanted to taste…

<><><>

I smiled shyly at Matt, pulling the sheet over my body. “Is it?”

“Mmm hmm.” He was smiling back at me. It looked like a smug smile, a sort of cat-got-the-cream smile. I blushed furiously.

“It’s eleven thirty, and I’ve made you breakfast.”

“Really?” I scooted into a sitting position. “Is there bacon?”

Matt’s eyes crinkled around the edges. “Your hair is a mess.”

My hand flew up, trying to rearrange my curls into a less unattractive do. It was hopeless. That shower yesterday had soaked it, with no conditioner, not even a blow dryer, to smooth it back into sleekness. The effects of my Brazilian blow dry were gone. My wild curls were back with a vengeance.

“And have you forgotten what I said?” I teased. “You do not question a black woman about her hair.”

Matt leaned over to kiss me. If it was supposed to be a quick good morning kiss, he had failed. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him with unrestrained abandon.

“It’s a lovely mess,” he finally said after we’d stopped smooching. “Now get out of bed and have breakfast with me.”

“Matt, you really are bossy, and why can’t we eat in bed?”

He ignored my chastisement and started tugging me out of his bed. “Because it’s not the right thing to do. You eat at a table, that’s one of its main purposes, not lounging in bed getting food all over the sheets.”

Snob. I jerked my hand free and snuggled back under the sheets. “Well, I’m too tired and too sore to traipse all the way over there.”

Matt’s gaze swung from the bed to the table and chairs over by the large windows. “All the—it’s less than ten feet. Come on, out.”

I resisted, he insisted, and we ended up rolling around in the bed laughing at our childishness.

“Fine.” He finally relented after I’d wrapped my arms around the headboard and refused to budge. “On this occasion I’ll allow it.”

I smiled sweetly at him and blew a kiss. Oh my God. Matt and I had sex. Lots of sex. We had talked until four in the morning, holding hands, making out; and had
sex.
I snuck little glances at him as he went to bring the tray. He was sexy in those silk bottoms, bare-chested and looking like a Viking god. I smirked as he sent me a mock frown and placed the tray carefully on the bed. He removed the lid and took the delicate tea pot and two matching cups over to the bedside table. I crawled over to the feast. Mmm.

“What’s that?” The crispy bacon between my fingers gestured to the little pill on the tray.

“Morning after pill,” Matt explained, as he sat down and picked up a fork and knife to dive into his sausage. He was onto his second bite when he noticed my open-mouthed stare of horror. Was I the stupidest woman on the planet? How could I have been so careless? Letting him come inside me over and over again.

“Don’t worry, poppet. Take the pill and you’ll be fine. I’m perfectly healthy, by the way. Absolutely no sexual diseases.”

Oh
Christ
. I was the stupidest woman in the whole solar system. With shaking hands, I dropped the bacon and snatched up the pill, popping it into my mouth and forcefully swallowing without liquids.

“Calm down.” Matt’s cutlery clattered on his plate as he hurried to pour me tea. “You’ll choke. Here drink this.”

I gulped the tea, grimaced over its lack of milk and sugar, then regarded Matt with confusion. “Did you go to the pharmacy? Do they give these tablets to men? That’s most disturbing.”

“Heavens, no,” he said, amused at the suggestion.

“Where did you get it from?” I asked, even more alarmed. Did he have a stockpile of morning after pills hidden in one of his bathrooms? He was a womanizer. The Internet had implied so. An image of Matt politely handing out these pills to his partners after a night of debauchery popped into my mind. I was one of them?

Matt was looking at me strangely, trying to decipher what was going on in my head.

“Why are you shrieking, poppet? I had my secretary bring it over earlier on. Stop worrying and eat your breakfast.”

I ate my breakfast but didn’t stop worrying. I had sex with a gazillionaire. A white man who said he wasn’t a racist, but weren’t all white people raised with those tendencies? Believing themselves superior to all others. Knowing that they didn’t have to struggle to be seen and heard, to be valued for who they were and not the colour of their skin. Did Matt acknowledge his white privilege? Was he aware of it?

His chewing had slowed down and he was scrutinizing me with an intensity that made it uncomfortable to have my thoughts without fearing my face was giving me away.

“Do you not like the eggs, poppet? You’ve been poking at them for the past five minutes.”

“They’re fine,” I mumbled. What was this? What was I doing here? I had been so caught up in the volatility of our interaction, the important issue of ‘where was this heading’ had been pushed aside. Where could this end? Absolutely nowhere.
What the fuck was I doing?

“What are you thinking about?” Matt drawled, reaching over to take the fork out of my hand. He took the tray, placing it on the floor, then turned around to face me.

“Nothing much.” I clutched the sheet to my breasts a bit tighter. Our clothes were lying in a wet pile in the shower. My boots were probably filled with water.

“I find that highly unlikely, poppet. Your beautiful face is full of tension. Come here and tell me what’s bothering you.” He held his arms out. Being in his arms wasn’t a good idea right now. It was obvious my ability to think clearly went out the window where Matthew Bradley was concerned. And he was arrogant, issuing commands instead of requests. I doubted he was aware he was doing it.

Matt folded his arms and waited expectantly, well-defined eyebrows arched slightly. His silky hair was in disarray this morning. It was a good look for him. Oh, no. I had caught the fever. I had swirled and this was all going to end in tears.

“Matt, I—”

“I want you to stay over this weekend.” he said firmly, smiling to take the authoritarian edge off his words.

“I can’t, Matt. In fact, there’ll probably be a bunch of messages on my cell—”

“Spend the weekend with me, poppet.” His voice had dropped to a husky whisper and he was sliding closer to me. Close enough to slip a hand under my curls and grip my nape, which he immediately began to rub. Close enough to brush his lips across my cheek, moving to my ear and murmuring, “We’ll stay in bed and make love every hour on the hour. I’ll cook you dinner and let you eat it right here.” His moist tongue traced my inner ear and a shiver of desire darted from my head to my toes. “We’ll talk like we did last night and maybe watch telly. Stay with me.”

I turned my head, offering my lips, which he claimed with sensual eagerness. Then he made me forget about everything else. Everything but the way he touched me as if I was made of the finest crystal that should only be handled with the utmost care. I stayed

until later that night, when he drove me home dressed in one of his shirts with an additional bag full of wet clothes and boots. I was right. He didn’t know how to work a washing machine. We exchanged numbers and, in his words, ‘snogged like randy teenagers’ in his car before I waved goodbye and locked my front door.

Matthew Bradley was an enigma. I hoped he called me, ’cos I sure as hell wasn’t going to ring him first…

SIX

I WAS LATE. It took two trips from the car to get the shopping inside. In a mad flurry, I started cooking like a black version of Delia Smith on speed. I raced around the house, tidying up as best as possible given the time constraints, then ran upstairs to have a quick shower and put on the slinky blue, backless dress I’d bought last week. Things were hectic at the dance studio. We were working on a new production:
The Ice Queen and Princess
. Dante’s and my dance interpretation of
Snow White
. It was supposed to be ready in time for Christmas. We were now mid-August and still working out the kinks.

By the time eight thirty came around, I was ready. All that was left was to frost the cake I had baked, which was currently being chilled in the fridge. The table had been set, casserole ready to be eaten, and the wine glasses waiting to be filled. I glanced at the clock on the microwave as I whipped up my frosting. Shit. The candles. Where had I put them? They were by the coffee machine. A blue ‘three’ and ‘seven’. Matt would give me a stern look, left eyebrow raised in mock arrogance, and ask if I was poking fun at his age. I could picture it already.

We had been seeing each other for the past two and a half months. And by ‘seeing each other’, I meant a torrid affair that no one knew about. It had been my idea, the need for secrecy. He was Matthew Bradley, a rich businessman frequently in the public eye. I didn’t want the hassle that went with that. Matt had agreed without complaint when I suggested keeping our ‘thing’ private. He had agreed so easily, I wondered if it had been my idea or something he’d planted in my subconscious. He wasn’t ashamed of being with a black woman. He told me so many a times when we snuggled in my bed. He wasn’t embarrassed.
Was he?
I finished whipping the frosting, shoving aside that unsettling thought and began frosting his cake.

His birthday had been a month ago, but he was obligated to spend it with his family as his mother had arranged this massive party, which I saw pictures of in a magazine. Then he had been abroad for a few weeks with his older brother. We had decided to have our own little celebration together, never mind that it was a month late. I was dangerously close to becoming addicted to Matt, eagerly anticipating the sound of his key turning in the door whenever he came over. Going to his place made me uncomfortable. After the first night we’d spent together, I had yet to return. The thought of starchy George hovering over my shoulder, staring at me with that icy reserve as he judged me silently. I shuddered in my heels and continued smoothing chocolate frosting over the cake.

Matt had asked me a couple of times to stay over at his house in Kensington. He stopped asking when he realized it made me feel awkward, then demanded a key to my place one night after he had to wait two hours for me to come home from the studio. I smiled at the memory of him fuming in the bog-standard Toyota Prius he had bought to drive over to my place. Parking in front of my house with that flashy Rolls-Royce of his was a definite no. He had demanded the key, I had refused. I had been the recipient of mind-blowing sex that night, after which he promised to withhold if I didn’t have a key made for him by the close of business the following day. I smiled to myself. Matt had a way to go concerning his arrogance, but he was improving.

It was weird whenever I saw him on TV. His whole persona was different. One night at the studio, we were on a break in the rec room when his face was suddenly staring at me from the flat screen. It was all I could do not to choke on my water. He was being interviewed about the effects his family’s oil business was having on the surrounding environment. The interviewer didn’t know what hit him. Matt was absolutely charming at first, then switched to a razor sharpness as the interviewer’s questioning became antagonistic. I had watched the screen in awe as he fielded probing and leading questions before turning it around in such a way the poor man seated across the table from him became defensive, as if he was the one being interviewed. Then it was back to charming Matt, whom the interviewer thanked profusely for taking time out of his busy schedule to talk to him. I swore the man would’ve kissed Matt’s ass if it wasn’t inappropriate on national TV.   

I glimpsed at the time, it was almost nine. Thursdays he left the office as early as possible to get here. Damn. I missed him more than I should, very worrying that. The cake, complete with unlit candles, took pride of place centre table and I stood back to admire my handiwork. The only thing lacking was Matt. I went to sit and wait on the couch. He would love it. I hoped he loved his gift, too. When nine turned into ten, my annoyance was starting to grow. The food would be cold and I had put so much effort into making it right for him.

The first time he ate one of my meals, his face had gone a splotchy red and he swore I was trying to assassinate him as he drunk a pitcher full of water. Death by chillies he called it. I had eased back on my spicy seasoning since, but was gradually increasing the amounts in each dish I made him. He’d be able to handle the hottest curry by the time I got through with his palate.

When it got to ten thirty, my annoyance evaporated into resignation. He must have had to work late. I didn’t get upset over it. What would be the point? It wasn’t like I hadn’t ever dragged my danced out butt home gone one in the morning. I slipped off my heels and turned on the TV. If it got to twelve and he hadn’t arrived, I would text him to go straight home instead of driving all the way here. We could celebrate on the weekend.

<><><>

“It’s chucking it down out there.” Matt was hanging up his coat, kicking off his shoes and leaning the dripping umbrella against the door. A man capable of multi-tasking, nice.

“Hey, hon.” I went over to get a wet kiss hello. “You look exhausted.”

“I am, poppet. My idiotic brother forgot to advise me of a late meeting with bankers. I was almost out of the building when Rachel caught up to me and dragged me back in.”

I was ogling him. He looked good enough to eat in his expensive suit, hair slicked back to give the air of sophistication one would expect from a man of his stature. His chiselled jaw screamed masculinity, that stern nose of his giving the impression he knew his place in life and it was higher than most people. His lips, God, I could write sonnets about those lips. But it was his eyes that drew me. When Matt gave you the full weight of his stare, it was a heady thing, intoxicating, unnerving; being under his gaze felt like drowning to me. But not in a bad way.
Wasn’t that a bit messed up?

“Are you hungry?” I asked, helping him with his jacket. Sometimes I forgot how tall he was. Without my heels on it was more than apparent.

“No, we had food brought in around nine.” He tugged off his tie and threw it over the back of the couch. “And I have four reports that I need to go over tonight.”

I looked at the clock above the small fireplace. Eleven fifteen. It was late. Matt brushed past me, taking his briefcase over to the small desk in the living room I normally worked on. I bit my lip and sighed. It was obvious he’d forgotten. He hadn’t noticed my dress.

“Would you like a cup of tea, hon?” I asked, knowing the answer before he gave it.

“That would be great, poppet.” He was retrieving his laptop from the open briefcase as he pulled out the chair and settled in for work. I headed for the kitchen to make him tea. While I waited for it to brew, I started putting away the food and clearing up the unused dishes.

<><><>

Matt ran a tired hand through his hair, glad he was here, but annoyed at the work he had to get done. He could’ve gone straight home instead of coming here. He usually did when it got this late, but he loved it here. This was his haven. His home away from home.

He’d come to enjoy spending time in this cramped two bedroom terrace. It had grown on him to the point where he only truly felt relaxed when his key opened the front door. In here he didn’t have to pretend, to manipulate, to be Matthew Bradley. Inside this terrace, he was just Matt, a normal man doing normal things with an exceptional woman. He looked over his shoulder, eyes searching for his dark beauty. It never failed to surprise him how much he had grown to depend upon her outrageous exuberance that had forced him to stop taking himself so seriously. He only had to think of her, and a smile would grace his face, which was hard to explain when seated in the middle of board meetings with stuffy men who probably never enjoyed their lives. Matt was enjoying his; with her, he felt alive.

“Poppet,” he called, regretting the fleeting kiss he had given her on his arrival, and wanting to rectify it immediately.

“Just getting your tea,” she replied through the open kitchen door. Matt smiled, turning back to his laptop when he spotted the pair of blue heels by the couch. She was constantly leaving her things about, but her heels were a different story. She always put them away. Matt frowned. Had she been wearing something blue? He had been so distracted with thoughts of his day when he walked in he’d barely noticed. He got up slowly, sure her dress had been blue. Matching dress and heels.
Bollocks.

Matt made his way to the kitchen, leaning against the doorpost and mentally kicking himself as he saw her tidying away the table, with a cake in the middle of it. Fuck.

He watched her in silence, finally noting the lines of the amazing backless dress that hugged her petite frame. Blue suited her. In his humble opinion, anything she wore looked perfect. She turned, eyes going wide in surprise as she saw him standing there, before sending him a sweet smile that made his chest tighten.

“Hey, hon, tea’s ready. I was about to bring it to you.”

Matt closed the distance between them. “I’m a complete arsehole. I can’t believe I forgot we were going to celebrate my birthday tonight.”

“It’s okay.” She waved a dainty hand through the air, then touched his arm lightly as she moved past him towards the counter. He caught her by the wrist and pulled her into his arms.

“No, it’s not, poppet,” he murmured, rubbing his face in her hair. Flowers. She smelt like wild flowers. “It’s inexcusable.”

“I know how busy your life is, Matt. I knew it when we got into this thing. It’s no big deal.”

Matt let her move away, because she wanted to. She really wasn’t upset. Her achingly beautiful face showed no malcontent. Not one bit. That annoyed the hell out of him. She should be upset. She should be shouting at him for being a jerk and forgetting tonight after all the effort she had put into it.

“I’m famished. Let’s eat.” He went to the cupboards and got two plates down.

“Matt.” She smiled, clutching cutlery in her hands. “What are you doing? It’s gone eleven and you ate at the office earlier. Don’t be silly and make a big deal out of this.”

He shot her a stern look. “I’m hungry. Are you going to feed me, poppet? Or are you going to let me waste away into nothing? That’s negligence. Do you want that on your conscience?”

“The casserole’s cold now,” she said dryly, but she was putting back the cutlery on the table.

“Pop it in the microwave. I’m starving and, if you don’t give me food, woman, I will eat you instead.” He knew how she would respond to his loaded comment and he hid a smug smile as she narrowed her eyes, hands on hips, trying her best to look offended at his cheek. The glimmer of growing desire in her eyes she couldn’t hide though. That was his reward. Seeing her lovely brown eyes burn with heat for him was something he never wanted to lose. Her lack of emotion over his forgetfulness was worrying. God. He wanted it to matter. He wanted to matter to her.

“Okay, gigantor,” she teased, gliding over towards him. “I’ll feed you, seeing as you asked nicely.”

He had the grace to look shame-faced. He knew how unbearably domineering he came across sometimes, most of the times really, but he was trying to curb that part of his personality around her.

She went on tiptoes and kissed him softly. Matt wrapped his arms around her, enjoying complete access to the satiny skin of her back.

“I am sorry, poppet,” he murmured after a while. She smiled and went to dish out their plates of food. Matt watched her move around the small space. He loved watching her move, especially when she was unaware of his observation. Witnessing her dance in front his eyes had been an experience he could never forget. She didn’t know he had snuck away from work almost six weeks ago to attend one of her snap dances at Covent Garden. Exquisite was the only word that came to mind.

The microwave dinged and he walked over to help her with the hot plates. The conversation between them flowed easily, as always. Matt was content and he didn’t want to lose this oasis of happiness he had stumbled upon by either sheer luck or divine intervention.

“What do you think of the cake?” she asked, playing with her food. Matt glanced at it. He had been trying to ignore those bloody candles since walking into the kitchen. He didn’t answer at first, instead reaching for a drink of water. He was fully aware of her seasoning getting spicier recently. She thought he hadn’t noticed. He would politely ask her to stop before his poor taste buds suffered a chilli-induced death. 

“The cake looks lovely,” he said dryly, left eyebrow rising in feigned anger as she grinned mischievously at him and pushed the food around her plate. “The candles though…well, we’ll discuss that issue later in bed, poppet. I warned you what would happen if you persisted in pointing out our age difference.”