Lovers' Dance (72 page)

Matt winked at her. “Now you know why.”

She gave him a tender smile as she shook her head. “You make me smile.” Her eyes narrowed for a second. “Well, most of the times. Sometimes you get on my last damn nerve—ouch!”

Matt grinned. The tap he’d delivered to her arse was a light one. His hand lingered, as if magnetized to, in his opinion, the best arse he’d ever seen.

“Matt,” she hissed, trying to slide away. “People can see.”

“Mmm,” he drawled, smoothing his hand over her bum before resting his hand on her lower back. “Apologies, poppet. I will behave in public. In private though...” Matt let his gaze linger over the outlines of her breasts before lowering. He traced his inner lip with his tongue and her eyes widened in embarrassment. Matt made no attempt to keep his lustful thoughts off his face. To hell with anyone watching.

“Stop it,” she whispered tartly.

He grinned, urging her forward. It was half an hour before they had managed to say their goodbyes to Nathan and Bella, plus the other necessary people who had to be acknowledged by Matt before leaving. His parents were dismissive of Madi—polite, but dismissive. He would need to have a sit down with them. They needed to accept the fact Madi wasn’t going anywhere. The sooner they accepted it, the better.

“Buckle up,” Matt reminded her when they were seated in his car. She flashed him an absent-minded smile while she did as ordered, attention fixed on her mobile. His curiosity eventually won out after he’d tried to draw her into a conversation and got monosyllables in response.

“Who are you texting, poppet?”

She didn’t lift her head in his direction. “Dante.”

He rolled his eyes at her one word answer before prompting with a polite, “Why?”

Finally she raised her head and glanced over at him. “He needs me to stop by his place to pick some stuff up. I can’t believe he’s not coming home with me for Thanksgiving.”

Matt ignored her obvious desire to have her friend accompany her on the trip home. What was he? Chopped liver? He checked the time on the dashboard.

“You do know it’s gone ten, and I’ve told my pilot we’ll be flying out at five am. You haven’t finished packing, Madison.”

She shrugged, fiddling with her mobile. “I’ve probably got clothes at Aunt Cleo’s anyway. I don’t need to pack much.”

Matt snorted and focused on the road ahead. “So we’re heading to Greenwich, then.”

She looked at him. “No, hon, you don’t need to do that. We’ll head back to yours, then I’ll drive to Dante’s.”

Matt arched an eyebrow at her. He didn’t like that plan. It was late and she drove like a boy racer sometimes. “I don’t mind.”

“You’re not going to let me go on my own, are you?”

Matt smiled, reaching over to pat her leg lightly. “No, poppet, I’m not.”

She sighed loudly, rolling her eyes at him, before turning her attention back to her mobile. Matt watched her out the corner of his eyes. This trip would be full of surprises. He simply needed to charm her family, and he had every intention of being successful in that endeavour. By the time this brief holiday drew to a close, things with his poppet would be different…

TWENTY

MATT’S PRIVATE JET was as impressive as I remembered and the pilot had given me the same curious look like last time. You would swear I was another life form or something, the way he looked at me. Belinda, the woman who had accompanied us on the trip to Venice, was also there. Her hair was a rich burgundy now instead of the strawberry blonde from those months ago. She was rocking her new hair-do and surreptitiously watching my knight with longing etched on her face. Those secret looks she sent Matt’s way had me wondering if the two of them used to get it on. The manner in which she observed him was that intense. Matt seemed utterly oblivious to it. Bar his pleasant greeting and brief rundown of how he expected our flight to go, he hadn’t paid her much attention. I hadn’t missed the disappointment on her face when Matt didn’t glance at her creamy cleavage peeking from under her suit. Big boobies. Damn. What had I been doing when God was handing out the big boobs’ gene? Obviously not getting in line. I’d also missed out on the big, curvy ass gene that my hot black sisters had. I consoled myself with the fact I had the required figure for a ballerina. Frustratingly flat, everywhere. I twisted my head back, checking out my jeans-covered ass. I wasn’t white girl flat, but I wasn’t the expected black girl bountiful, either.

“Two hours late, poppet,” Matt groused, shaking his head at me as we took our seats. I ignored the slight irritation in his voice and peered out the window. It was best to pay no heed to Matt when he got like this. By the time we took off, his mood had improved considerably.

“You’re a bad influence, Matt,” I joked, and he blinked his beautiful eyes at me. I continued. “How can I happily travel with normal airlines when I’m used to a private jet? I mean, I don’t have to worry about overweight luggage or liquids in my carry on. Or being squashed next to a smelly person who wants to tell you their life story, never mind the fact you won’t see that person again. Or the horrible food they serve…” My voice trailed off as he leaned across to kiss me, slowly exploring the contours of my mouth with his skilful tongue. When he pulled away, we were both a bit breathless.

“As you can see,” he murmured. “There are many benefits to being with a man such like myself.”

I snorted at his smugness and stroked his smooth jaw line. The stubble from last Monday night had been gone when I returned to his house Tuesday evening.

“Lack of sleep?” I suggested.

Matt kissed the corner of my mouth.

“Being bossed around all the time?” I added.

He trailed soft kisses over my cheek.

“Forced to attend boring—eww!”

Matt stuck his tongue in my ear, uncharacteristically playful, then chuckled huskily. “Are you hungry, poppet? We didn’t have breakfast earlier.”

I nodded in acceptance and, with a kiss over my temple, Matt rose from his seat. I couldn’t stop my gaze of admiration. Even though his clothes were casual, they were a catwalk sort of casual. The dark-grey sweater he wore over his shirt served to accentuate the muscular lines of his upper body, his matching pants loose enough to be comfortable but unable to hide his current arousal. Hmm, my kisses were damned good, too. But the thing that I loved the most about his look today was the tousled waves of his silky, black hair. Whenever the locks weren’t brushed back into sleekness, I knew he was relaxed. Carefree. Not Matthew Bradley, gazillionaire business tycoon, who was the perfect example of what an intelligent, sophisticated man should be, but my Matt—sweet, goofy and lovable.

I sighed and fingered my French braid. Would Aunt Cleo accept him? I knew she would be outwardly polite. She would die before acting in the manner I knew she expected him to view her in. We hadn’t spoken. My message had been followed by a return message from her. One asking if I’d lost my mind. I had left another message stating Matt was definitely coming with me and, if she didn’t want him staying there, I would book us a hotel room. She had in turn left a message saying I was coming home, and home was where I would be staying.

It was almost funny the way we would time our calls in order to ensure the chances of the other person picking up the call were next to none. A couple of times when I called and someone answered, I had hung up sweating like a marathon runner and scared like a chicken facing a beheading and, ultimately, ending up in the fryer.

I stared at the clouds, remembering the engagement party yesterday evening. Matt’s parents were cold, well, his mother was frigid and his father perhaps thawing. William Bradley, Jr had smiled at me once…I think. Maybe he had gas and it was a grimace, not a smile. Whatever it was, it had been fleeting and possibly a figment of my imagination. They hadn’t spoken much to me, nothing more than a polite “Hello, how do you do?” and a “Goodbye.”

Matt was crazy if he believed they would eventually come around. Portia Bradley did not like me, and I doubted she ever would. Then there was Medusa; oh, yes, she had been at the engagement party, too, looking like every man’s wet dream and constantly finding herself next to Matt whenever I wasn’t near. He hadn’t given me any cause to be jealous though, maintaining a cool demeanour with his beautiful ex. Another sigh fell from my lips as I chewed my bottom lip. She was a part of his crowd, a long-standing friend. As much as I hated the fact Matt use to sex her up, I couldn’t expect him to give her and her family the cold shoulder. That would be unbecoming.

“Here you go, Ms DuMont.” Belinda’s voice startled me out of my musings. She took plates and cutlery off the trolley that was laden with fruits, yogurt, French toast, a selection of jams and meat, and runny eggs. I gagged in the back of my throat at the eggs as she efficiently laid out the food.

“Thank you, Belinda.” I managed a smile which she didn’t return. “Where’s Matt?”

“Mr Bradley is making a call at the moment. He’ll be with you shortly,” she replied, eyes going towards the back of the plane with the tiniest of smiles.

My own eyes narrowed. Matt would never—I shoved that thought down. He was a gentleman. Having an illicit encounter with his hot staff while I ate breakfast a few feet away was not only in bad taste, but ridiculous.

Belinda had a wistful gleam in her eyes though, as she flashed me an empty smile, then started wheeling the trolley to the rear of Matt’s private plane. I half crawled over the seat Matt had vacated and craned my neck around it. Who the hell could maintain a sexy sway like that when they walked down the aisle on an airplane? I couldn’t, and I was a ballerina. She must be a realistic robot. I turned back to the tray of food left on the table and picked up the yogurt. The eggs Matt could have when he came back. I was counting down in my head. Anything longer than five more minutes, and I would be heading for the back of the plane. I wasn’t jealous, but I wasn’t stupid, either. The way Belinda looked at Matt was too intense for the normal employer/employee relationship. Should I ask him? Maybe not. Saying, “Hon, have you boinked Belinda?” would result in a carefree Matt turning into an offended Matt, who would give me a stern talking to. Before my spoon scraped the bottom of the yogurt tub, Matt was reclaiming his seat next to me. Lucky, lucky man; the five minutes were almost up.

“Is that all you’re having?” Matt frowned at me as he picked up a plate and started dishing up for himself. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

I finished my yogurt and reached for another. Matt slid two of those runny eggs on his plate. Eww. No kisses for him.

“Have some French toast,” he ordered, putting down his plate and grabbing up one for me that he proceeded to heap with toast and salami and—

“Don’t put that half-cooked egg on my plate,” I warned.

Matt slid it back and put cheese on instead before placing the plate in front of me. “Eat up, poppet.”

I opened my second yogurt and ate that up before starting on the plate he’d prepared for me. Only when it was devoid of food did he finally flash me a satisfied smile.

Belinda came to take our plates and the remaining food away. Matt was the recipient of a sidelong, lusty stare which he ignored. To hell with keeping my suspicions to myself. Knowledge was power, and I needed to be knowledgeable about any boinking that may or may not have taken place. I waited about two minutes, then peeked over the back of my seat to make sure she was out of earshot.

“Uh, Matthew,” I started.

Matt’s eyebrows shot up. He knew the use of his full Christian name was a precursor to a little drama.

“Yes, Madison,” he responded in kind.

I licked my lips and decided it was best to come straight out with it. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. “Did you, uh, I mean, have you and, um, what I’m trying to say is, well, don’t get offended, but—” So much for being direct and to the point.

“You’re babbling,” Matt drawled.

I squinted my eyes at him and asked, “Did you and Belinda do the nasty?”

He folded his arms across his broad chest. The twin eyebrows of doom were at a low level, indicating he’d accepted the drama invite and was ready to get right into it.

“It’s just that she keeps looking at you,” I mumbled, glancing over the seat again.

Matt unfolded his arms and ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Do you want me to answer that honestly?”

I gulped. Oh, shit. “Yes.”

“Yes,” he said calmly.

I blinked. “Yes, what? Yes, you tapped that ass or, yes, you’ll answer me honestly.”

Matt sighed, loudly. “Yes to both those questions, and stop glaring at me. It was before we knew each other, and I’ve never professed to being a saint.”

“Skank,” I muttered under my breath.

“There’s no need to call her names—”

“I was referring to you,” I clarified tartly. “Why should that definition only be applicable to women? Did you shag the pilot too, Mr I’m-a-sex-fiend-and-need-to-sink-my-junk-in—”

Matt burst out laughing, trying to grab my hand that I was not willing to let get captured. “Bloody hell, poppet. The things you say.”

I couldn’t help the smile tickling the edges of my mouth. I had the knowledge now, and it was his past. Matt was an experienced lover, he had to have gotten that expertise from somewhere. I hoped I didn’t have to deal with a long line of his previous lovers eager to take my place.

I glanced over the seat. “That’s most unprofessional, Matt. Sleeping with your employees. What would your parents say?”

Matt choked on his laughter, observing me from amused eyes. “She’s signed a non-disclosure contract, and you’re cute when you’re jealous,” he teased, finally managing to nab my hand with his strong one. “But you have no need to be.”

“Humph.” I huffed, enjoying the way my fingers interlaced with his. Matt continued chuckling to himself while I stared out the window. I wasn’t going to stress out over it. Then the plane pitched and my grip on Matt’s fingers tightened. It pitched again and I squeaked, turning my head to face Matt with wide eyes.

“It’s fine, poppet,” he assured me. “Probably turbul—”

The violent jerking of the plane cut him off mid-sentence. Matt eased his hand from mine and, keeping his expression calm, he silently fastened my seatbelt, then double-checked it was secure.

“Matt,” I said nervously as he got up.

“I’ll be right back,” he replied. “Don’t worry.” He walked towards the cockpit, needing to steady himself as the plane continued to pitch. I looked around to see Belinda making her way unsteadily down the aisle to strap herself into the cream leather three-seater couch in the back. Oh, fuck.
I was going to die.
No one had shown me the exit points. Did this stupid plane have air masks? How high up were we? We were over the ocean, how far was it to land? Could I swim that far? Sharks. Oh God. What about the sharks? How would we survive? Visions of the movie Cast Away danced before my eyes. What the hell was I thinking? There was no freaking deserted island between where we were and the States.

Matt was coming back, wearing that calm expression on his face. He carefully made his way to his seat and buckled up.

“Just turbulence, poppet. We should be fine in a few moments,” he said with confidence as he took my hand in his and squeezed tightly.

The plane was pitching about and I forced a smile to my trembling lips. Matt squeezed my hand again as we stared at each other.

“Are there enough parachutes?” I asked.

Matt gave me a look. A ‘don’t be silly, poppet’ look.
Screw that shit.
If this plane went down, I didn’t want to be inside it when it crashed into the ocean.

“Have you used a parachute before?” Matt teased.

I stole a glimpse out the window, then returned my gaze to him. “No, but I’m a fast learner. And, just so you know, if we survive the crash and somehow end up on an unknown deserted island, I’m going cannibal on your ass. I have responsibilities so I can’t die.”

Matt let out a deep laugh, leaning over to kiss the tip of my nose. “How about I eat you right now, poppet?” He wagged his eyebrows with a lecherous smirk. “I daresay it’ll take your mind of any impending crash.”

I scowled at him. The man had no sense of propriety, not one ounce. I looked over my seat to where Belinda sat…reading a magazine. The hell?

“You’d better save me before her,” I muttered in warning. “Children should always be saved first, and I have a child-like outlook on life. Heck, I’m the youngest person in this flying death trap.”