Lovers' Dance (3 page)

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“I said those guys would’ve hurt me,” I whispered tightly. “If you hadn’t come along when you did, they would’ve really hurt me.” My head dropped back to my arms, and I couldn’t repress the shudder that wracked my shoulders. The barest of touches smoothed over my left shoulder.

“But I did come along,” Matt said firmly, “and they didn’t hurt you. Much.”

I nodded in my arms and he squeezed my shoulder lightly as he continued. “Plus, you gave that sod a great punch. My eye still hurts from the couple you landed.”

I jerked upright, mortified. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He waved away my apologies and looked at the digital clock on the coffee machine. “It’s getting late and I have an early morning.”

I felt bad. Here I was moping in this stranger’s kitchen, keeping him awake while he probably couldn’t wait to get rid of me. He was probably nervous about having a black person in his fancy home. Probably wondering if I was going to steal something. A lot of white people believed all those ridiculous stereotypes.

“I can get a taxi,” I offered quickly, sliding off the stool.

“Don’t be silly,” he admonished, looking stern. “Where do you live?”

“Greenwich.”

Matt tried to hide a wince but I caught it. “It’s fine, Matt. If you don’t mind calling me a cab, I can be out of your hair before you know it.”

“I’m not letting you take a taxi at this time in the morning, especially when you’re wearing a shirt without a bra under it.”

My face got hot and I thanked the Lord my skin tone didn’t give away my blush. Matt’s gaze dropped for a split second and my face got hotter. His eyes jerked back to my face immediately. He looked embarrassed, I felt embarrassed. Why had I worn that stupid dress tonight? It couldn’t be worn with a bra. Plus, I wasn’t overly big in that department anyway. Damn it. If I had told Alexi “no” to clubbing tonight, none of this would’ve happened.

There was an awkward pause and Matt moved away, putting a good bit of distance between us. He probably thought I was a slut: “slag” is the term they use here. He probably thought I was one of those girls who went out partying mid-week, getting drunk and screwing around with randoms. He probably thought what most white guys think about black girls: that we are promiscuous and loud and ghetto. All those stupid stereotypes that made it hard for a woman of colour to get anywhere in this world.

“I’m a virgin,” I blurted, then smacked a hand over my horrified mouth.
What the hell was wrong with me?

Matt blinked a few times, then avoided my gaze like his life depended on it.

“Umm, sure, Madi. I’ll—let me get you proper clothes that fit.” He turned on his heels, practically running from the room. I chased after him, angry over the flash of disbelief I’d seen on his face.

“Hey,” I yelled to his fleeing back down the hallway. “I am a fucking virgin.”

That brought him to a standstill, and he turned with a sceptical eyebrow raised in my direction.

“Listen, we’ve both had an eventful night. You don’t need—”

“You don’t believe me,” I said in outrage. Why on earth was I talking my personal business with this stranger? I must’ve really gotten my head damaged in that alley. Or maybe it was the whiskey I’d thrown back like an alcoholic.

Matt folded his arms and frowned at me. “It doesn’t matter what I believe, Madi. I barely know you and this is not the type of discussion I want to be having right now.”

The stupid man didn’t believe me. I don’t know why I cared anyway. Except I didn’t want him thinking what had happened tonight had been my fault somehow.

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Matt saw her crestfallen expression, saw the confusion on her face and that unexpected urge to protect her fluttered through him. It irritated him that this unknown woman was making him feel so…so goddamned uncomfortable in his own house. He felt himself slip back into his usual aloofness, that superior coldness he showed to almost everyone who knew him.

“Twenty-six-year-old virgin,” he mocked. “And the queen’s my grandmother.”

He hadn’t expected her to burst into tears. Storm out maybe, tell him to fuck off maybe, but not those tears rolling down her cheeks that she valiantly tried to wipe away. What the fuck was he doing? The poor woman had been attacked tonight and here he was cruelly heaping scorn upon her. He was a bastard.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, ignoring the voice at the back of his mind saying Matthew Bradley doesn’t apologize and striding over to her side. “Forget what I said. It doesn’t matter if you are, Madi. I’m sorry. Stop crying, poppet.”

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My nose was running, my face hurt and I was crying. All because he didn’t believe me. Jesus.
I was a mess.
Matt was awkwardly patting my shoulder as I sniffled like a wimp.

“I am,” I mumbled defensively. “And if you hadn’t saved me, my first time could’ve been in that disgusting alley with those two psychos.” Then came more waterworks. Matt put his arms around me and I buried my face in his sweater, crying. For God’s sake. I was crying. Again. Matt kept murmuring words of comfort as he ran his hands up and down my back, until I gained control of myself and my sobs had died down into little whimpers that were changing into something else. He smelt nice and I felt strangely safe with the man who’d rescued me from a certain horrible fate. He had saved me. And he was holding me close. And there seemed to be invisible sparkles wherever he touched me.

“You have it,” I said quietly, raising my head up to peer at him. “You can have it.”

“Pardon?” His grey eyes were opened wide and his eyebrows had shot up as high as physically possible.

“I want you to take my virginity,” I said. Matt’s arms dropped from around me and he stepped back, shaking his head vehemently. His hair was damp from his shower. It looked silky, and I wondered if it would feel the way it looked when dry.

“You can have it. I mean, better you than those guys.” I licked my lips nervously. “And you saved me so it’s like a reward. I’m a twenty-six-year-old virgin. I mean, this is the twenty-first century. How lame am I? You can have it, Matt. I want you to have it.”

Matt looked appalled. In my emotional state, I thought he looked disgusted and I had a pretty good idea why.

“It’s because I’m black, isn’t it? You don’t like black girls. You wouldn’t have sex with a nigger.”

“Shut up,” he exploded, and I jumped at the harshness of his voice. “Don’t ever say that word. You don’t know anything about me. And I am not going to take advantage of a woman who is obviously suffering from shock. Black or white. Or any other colour under the fucking sun. Are you insane?”

His skin had gone from pale to a furious sort of red, and he was towering above me like some sort of belligerent demon that had been wronged. I think he was right. It must be shock. Why else would I offer myself to someone I didn’t know? Christ almighty.
Had I done that?
But why not? Better to give it away willingly than have it taken, right? And it could’ve been taken away tonight. So easily. What was I waiting for? For Dante to realize I was the one for him, not his current main squeeze? For an imagined Prince Charming to come and sweep me off my feet? For my black knight to ride in and profess his undying love? Well, I was twenty-six and it hadn’t happened yet. And, in his own way, Matt was kind of a knight…he had saved me.

“It won’t be taking advantage,” I said softly, taking a step towards him and tilting my head up to stare into his handsome face. I fisted my hands in his sweater and tugged. Matt grabbed my hands, gently trying to dislodge them.

“Listen, poppet,” he said. “You’re not thinking clearly. It’s obvious you’re upset over what happened to you. I’m going to take you to the hospital, just in case that bump on your head is more serious than it looks. Okay?”

I nodded and he smiled in relief at me. Then I went on tiptoe and kissed him.

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Matt froze, unsure how to handle the distraught young woman pressing her unbelievably soft lips against his. She didn’t kiss like a virgin. This was a sexual coercion case waiting to rain down on him. God, her mouth was soft, practically begging to be kissed as she tried her best to get him to respond. His body was already responding. He could feel that tingling pressure building in his groin as she gripped his sweater.

She had been right in a way. He’d never consider having sex with a black woman, not that he didn’t find them attractive. Matt enjoyed the beauty of all women, but openly sleeping with someone not from his own social standing and race; it wasn’t something someone like him did. God. Her lips were luscious. He was unable to move. He, the outrageous seducer was being seduced by this mere slip of a woman and he didn’t know what the hell to do.

She ran her tongue over his compressed lips and a soft moan began in the back of his throat. Then he was kissing her back with unrestrained passion as his hands encircled her tiny waist, sliding over her arse. And he wanted more. Now it was him taking over the kiss, his tongue pushing insistently against hers as her hands uncurled from their tight grip on his sweater to splay over his chest. Matt groaned at the feel of her hands on him. But he wanted more than that little touch. He could feel her sudden hesitation at the intensity of his kiss and that helped pull him back from the urge to take her right there in the hallway. He pushed her away.

“Bollocks,” he rasped, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I did not mean to do that. It—you—” For the first time in his adult life, Matt was incapable of constructing a coherent sentence.

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My mouth was tingling from Matt’s kiss. Oh my freaking word. He could kiss. I’d never been kissed like that. Ever. My heart was going like a jackhammer in my chest. My blood pounded through my veins. I could feel my nipples tightening from looking at his lips. He had sexy lips. Matt’s gaze was flickering between my lips and my obviously hard nipples. His eyes darkened as his tongue swept over his lower lip. Sensuous.

What the hell was I doing?
I didn’t care. I wanted him to kiss me like that again. A crazy ache was building inside me. Crazy enough to make me move towards him while he stood as still as a statue and watched me from stormy eyes.

“Madi,” he said, desperate and hoarse. “This is wrong and we’re not doing it. I understand you’re feeling a misguided sort of gratitude towards me for—”

“It’s not misguided,” I interrupted. I was close enough to touch him. So I did. I ran my hand over his chest, and his eyelids slipped closed for a second before they popped open and he grabbed my hand.

“It is. Listen to me.” He sounded angry, but his grip on my hand had relaxed into a sort of slow caress. Stroking lightly over my wrist. “You’re not thinking straight and I know you’re still in shock over what happened. You don’t know what you’re doing—”

“Don’t you want me?” I asked. The realization that I was throwing myself at a white man, who most likely had a girlfriend and didn’t mix with people a darker shade than Caucasian tan, made my stomach drop to the floor. I yanked my hand away mortified at my behaviour.

Matt exhaled loudly, which sounded like exasperation to my ears, and his gaze fell on me. “Of course, I want you, poppet. I want you so much right now my balls are ready to burst. But you don’t know me and your reaction is only in response to what those sods did to you. You had a major fright tonight and you wanting to sleep with me is simply an illogical aftereffect of the emotional roller coaster you’ve been on. Fuck’s sake. I’m a decade older than you.”

“You swear in the poshest British voice I’ve ever heard,” I replied. He had nice ears. Nice ears were a plus. And nice hands, strong hands that felt good on my hips. That ache was coming back, spreading from the core of me until I felt my whole body aching, and not from the battering I had taken earlier.

“Madison DuMont,” Matt said sternly, apparently remembering my name from my driving license. “I’m taking you to the hospital right this minute. Put your shoes on and get your bag.”

He moved to brush past me and I grabbed his arm. Nice and firm, just the right amount of muscle. Everything about him was nice. He’d been my knight tonight. I knew this wasn’t me, that he was absolutely correct in the fact my behaviour was stemming from what had happened, but damn if I cared. I braced myself on that strong arm of his and rose onto my tippy toes to press a kiss on his cheek. Matt twisted his head, catching my mouth with his and taking my breath away with the most passionate kiss I’d ever been the recipient of. He pulled me into his arms, moulding me into the lines of his body when he hoisted me up easily. He broke away for a second, face flushed and breathing raggedly. “I’m going to burn in hell for this.” Then he was kissing me and the towel was falling from around my hair and he was tangling his hands in my damp curls.

“Soft,” he murmured against my lips. “Everything about you is soft.”

How we ended up in his bedroom I had no idea. All I knew was he was the owner of the hottest lips known to man. Lips that were trailing over my neck as he deftly undid his tie around my waist. Lips that started kissing over my collar bone as his fingers made quick work of the buttons on his shirt. Matt rose to tug his sweater over his head and tossed it away. His chest was impressive, a light dusting of hair that drew the eye. And once you noticed his chest, you couldn’t not notice his abs. He obviously worked out. Another dark line of hair that stopped at the top of his pants.
God. I was really doing this.
He was on his side, like me, and his hand curled around the open edge of his shirt that I wore.