Lovers' Dance

Chapter 1

ONE

“GET OFF,” I yelled, hands flailing wildly as I fought my attackers off. I could smell them. Their sweat, the stink of their cheap body spray, the pungent odour of burgers and beer on their breath. I kicked out, glad my heel connected with flesh, glad I had hurt some part of the man trying to grab me around the waist. The blow across the back of my head from the other one dazed me for a moment. Long enough for him to capture one of my wrists. This was not happening. I would not let this happen. With a desperation borne of pure terror and rage, I screamed at the top of my voice. Someone had to hear me. Oh God, please.

“Shut up,” the bigger one said gruffly, punching me hard in the stomach. The force of it pushed the air out of me in one loud ‘oomph’. I began to fight back. Kicking, punching, biting like an animal backed into a corner. Their grunts of pain almost as loud as mine. The bigger one slapped me across the face, making my cheek burn and eyes water. And again, and again. Forefront in my mind was the thought I would rather die than be assaulted in a dark alleyway. With renewed efforts I tried to escape, but they were bigger and stronger. It wasn’t fair. Why was this happening to me?

>>>

Matt was tired from his workout. It had been a long day at the office and he’d wanted nothing more than to go home and relax with a glass of whiskey and go over reports. But he was a creature of routine and Wednesdays were spent in the gym that he and his closest friend paid a pricey monthly fee to attend. He had a gym at his place, used it often, but Wednesdays were a different sort of workout. He’d parked a few blocks away from the gym. It had been the only parking space he could find in the area. Matt adjusted his gym bag over his shoulder and quickened his pace. It was late and the surrounding area was not the best. He wasn’t afraid, his towering six feet plus frame would put anyone off, but he was cautious. Bullets didn’t care how big you were.

“Help!”

The scream came from nowhere, startling Matt to a stop as he glanced around. He could hear loud scuffling, another scream cut off sharply. Matt headed in the direction of where he thought the sounds were coming from. It was a woman he’d heard. Matt broke into a run, the alleyway looming ahead and the noises getting louder the closer he came. His bag slipped from his shoulder to the ground when he rounded the corner, as the sight of two men trying their best to subdue a small form registered.

“Hey,” he yelled, racing towards them. “What the hell are you sods doing?”

They turned in surprise, attention diverted from the struggling woman to Matt, whose long, athletic strides had him almost upon them.

“Fuck off,” one snarled at him menacingly.

Charming, Matt thought, right before he smashed his fist into the man’s face. The man fell back clutching his jaw and spewing curses. Matt swiped his legs out from under him and watched him go down before turning to the other assailant, ready to launch an attack on him. His mouth fell open as he watched the woman land a mean right hook on her attacker’s face before kneeing him in the groin. Matt grabbed him around the scruff and flung him away from her. She was yelling, frantically punching and kicking the air. Matt spun around, deflecting a blow from the first man and sucker-punched him in the stomach. They both descended on him. Matt had a moment of worry, wondering if they were armed, but his training took over and before long they were both fleeing down the alleyway.

“Are you hurt?” Matt asked tersely as he turned towards the woman, and got a small fist in his left eye. “Ow!” He grimaced and caught her wrists before she could land another lucky blow. She was shaking, violently, her dark skin almost ashen in the dim lights from the building behind the alley. His gaze wandered over her upturned tear-stained face. Her cheeks seemed swollen and there was a minor cut bleeding on her forehead. Her mouth trembled uncontrollably as she gulped air like a drowning person. Then she yanked her hands away from his gentle hold and backed up until she leaned against the wall. She was terrified and he held his hands up slowly, a gesture that he meant no harm. God, she was tiny, barely passing his shoulder in those heels. Her black dress, although showing the effects of being roughed up, complimented her figure. Her hair was a mass of wild, springy curls framing an almost oval face. Matt felt his gaze drawn again to her trembling lips. Poor thing was terrified.

>>>

I pressed myself against the wall, out of breath and shaking like a leaf, as I stared at my rescuer. The light from overhead was too dim to make out his features clearly, but I knew he was white and tall with dark hair. And kicked those guys’ asses.

“Thank you,” I managed to force out past my dry throat. “I mean it—thank you so much.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said. His words were proper, almost clipped at the end. My rescuer glanced around, spotted my purse and retrieved it, while I stayed pressed against the dirty wall thanking the Divine that I’d been saved.

“Would you like me to call an ambulance?” he asked in that proper English voice of his. “Or the police?”

I shook my head, my heart was racing in my chest. Had that just happened?

“Is this real?” I asked in a shaky voice, arms wrapping tightly around my waist. “Am I dreaming?”

He peered at me, then closed the distance between us. I stiffened and he froze, once again holding his hands up. I giggled, my clutch looked weird in his large hand. He narrowed his eyes at me in concern as my giggles grew into hysterical laughs. I pointed at his hand and his gaze followed mine before returning to my face with increasing worry on his.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” he said, before reaching out to take my arm gently and leading me back out that horrible alley. My legs were shaking, so much so he had to physically help me walk. I clung to him tightly, chuckling away like a madwoman at the sight of my purse in his hand.

“Delayed shock,” he muttered as we got to the top of the alley and he bent down to grab a gym bag. The movement made my head tilt, then the buildings were spinning and I was puking all over myself, and my rescuer.

“Sorry,” I gasped once the heaving stopped. The man looked down at his clothes in disgust and swore softly.

“It’s okay,” he replied as he unzipped his bag and pulled out a sleek phone. He didn’t look okay. He looked pissed.

“Please don’t call an ambulance,” I said after seeing him press nine twice on the touch screen. “I’ll be fine. Really. I need to go home. The station’s not far from here.”

The man looked at me as if I was unhinged. I peered at his face. His features were set in a stern mask, a handsome mask with either pale blue or grey eyes staring down at me.

“You were attacked back there,” he said softly, though his face looked stern. “I think it’s best to call an ambulance and get you to a hospital.”

I shook my head, then stopped as my vision swam again. “Honestly. I’m fine. Thank you for saving me. Sorry about, umm, the whole puking thing. Can I have my purse back please?”

The man stared at me for a moment. Clinical eyes travelled over my dishevelled state and he shook his head slowly. “If you won’t let me call an ambulance, then I’ll take you to the hospital myself. Come, my car’s not parked far from here.”

It must’ve been delayed shock like he said, because I let him lead me down a few blocks to his car. I didn’t know this stranger, but he’d saved me from those psychos. He wouldn’t then turn around and kill me, would he?

“You’re not some crazy person are you?” I asked as he held the door open for me.

He arched an eyebrow at me. “Which part of the States are you from? Your accent is quite prominent.”

I blinked, leaning against the car. “New York. Why? You got something against Americans?”

He gestured to the open car door. “Not at all. What are you doing in London? Besides getting attacked in alleyways, that is.”

I peered at him, the beginnings of a frown curling my bruised mouth downward. “Stuff.” My face ached, my whole body ached. I wanted to go home to have a shower before calling my best friend.

“Stuff?” he queried, gently pushing me into the car. He closed the door and hurried around to the driver’s side as I took in the sleek interior of the car.

“I’m Matt, by the way,” he said, once he’d gotten in and buckled up. His gym bag and my purse had been tossed on the backseat and he waited to start the engine. I caught him staring pointedly at the seatbelt. I buckled up. The engine purred into life.

“I’m Madison, but everyone calls me Madi.” I shifted uncomfortably in the seat. My back ached something fierce and I was shaking. “Look, Matt, I don’t want to go to the hospital. Can you take me to London Bridge station and I can make my way home from there?”

I could see he wasn’t happy with that suggestion. His side profile tightened as we pulled away from the curb. I felt sick to the stomach as the reality of what had almost happened to me started to sink in. Oh, God. My head fell forward, chin resting on my chest and a warm line of moisture snaked down my cheek.

“Okay, Madi,” Matt said softly, gaze jumping between me and the road. “If you’re certain that’s what you want. Although I think you should—”

“It is.” I cut him off quickly. “Thank you.”

He fell silent. I closed my eyes and tried not to dwell on how close I’d come to a serious assault, or worse, tonight. I was seriously starting to hate this country. I wriggled about until it felt comfortable and felt myself slipping into sleep. I would rest my eyes until we got into Central London, then I would get the next tube home and forget this night had happened.

>>>

A tired groan left my lips, reluctant alertness seeping in while I opened my eyes to encounter an intense stare. A frightened yelp left my mouth as I flung myself back against the car door.

“Madi,” he said soothingly. “I’m Matt. Remember?”

I inhaled and exhaled loudly a few times and nodded while glancing outside the car. This was not Central London.

“Where are we?” I asked in alarm, unbuckling myself and reaching back for my purse. Oh, God. He was a psycho. Have to stay calm…get out his car…and run like hell.

Matt eyed me for a second, seeing the way I clutched my purse to my chest and my free hand searching frantically for the damned door handle.

“Outside my home—” he managed to get out before I opened the door. Matt grabbed my right wrist, and I swung back to punch him in the eye, purse and all. He winced and swore under his breath.

“That’s the second time you’ve done that tonight,” he ground out, then tried to calm me down as I pulled against his hold. “You fell asleep. I couldn’t wake you. I couldn’t dump you out of the car, and I have no idea where you live. You refused to go to the hospital, and I’m covered in dried vomit. What was I to do?”

“Not bring me back to your home,” I almost yelled at him, then burst into tears. It was the darned shock. I didn’t cry. I was tough, not a snivelling girl crying over being roughed up in that stupid alley. Nothing really bad had happened besides me getting beaten up. They hadn’t even tried to steal my purse. And Matt had appeared like some knight, he’d chased them off. Yet, here I was acting crazy when all he’d done was save my bacon. Shit. Way to go representing my people. Blubbering like an inane idiot in front of the white man.

“Sorry,” I said, in between my sobs. “It’s been a long night.”

Matt let go off my wrist, but only to lift my chin up so he could observe my face solemnly. “I promise I won’t hurt you, Madi. I’ll take you home, but I need to get changed. You can wait in the car if you want.”

I swallowed nervously and shook my head. “No. I trust you. You saved me from those jerks. I trust you, Matt.”

He smiled at me, and I swear he looked like an angel. A dark angel in a vomit and perspiration-stained sweatshirt, with either blue or grey eyes, and tender hands.

“Good, let’s go inside.” He reached for his door. We both got out and I looked up at his place. Oh, crap. It looked fancy.

“Where are we?” I asked, while he grabbed his gym bag from the back.

“Kensington,” he replied, motioning me forward. I gripped my purse and walked over to him. He helped me up the steps and opened the door before herding me in. I stood in a wide foyer as he turned on the lights, turned off the alarm and dropped his bag on the floor.

“This is nice,” I mumbled, a bit taken aback at the expensive décor, and we were only in the foyer.

“Mmm,” he muttered, distracted as he kicked off his sneakers and plucked at his shirt with that semi-disgusted look on his face.

“Umm…” I glanced around, not sure what to do now. “You live on the ground floor. That sucks. I hope the people upstairs aren’t too noisy.”

Matt shot me a perplexed look, then shook his head. “No one but me lives here. Well, there is a member of staff residing here also, but that’s by the by.”

“Oh,” I said. Shit. I’d been rescued by a rich white guy. This was Kensington, a moneyed area from what I’d seen outside. Matt was oblivious to my fidgeting, walking further into his home. I stood by the door, clutching my purse to my chest like a defence barrier.

“Are you coming?” Matt paused, then disappeared down the hallway. I hurried after him, then came to a standstill at the first open door.

“Wow,” I murmured, peeking in. The living room—if you could call it that—was bigger than my home’s whole downstairs, tastefully done in muted greys and black with a splash of colour coming from the numerous paintings on the walls.

“Madi.”

I jumped, feeling guilty at snooping. Matt glanced at my dress, then asked, “Would you like to clean up?”

I nodded. Cleaning up sounded like a great idea.

“After which I’ll take you home, and you can call the police to make a report—”

“No way. I want to forget what happened.”

Matt frowned at me. Grey. He had grey eyes, almost silver grey. His frown deepened at my scrutiny, and I blurted out the first thing that came to my lips.

“You’re big. Like giant big.”

I got an arched eyebrow. Matt took a couple of steps back in my direction. “And you’re short. Even in those ridiculous heels, you barely reach past my shoulders.”

I glanced down at my heels. They weren’t ridiculous. I grimaced and lifted one lower leg up behind my back to undo the clasp. Matt’s eyes widened as I balanced effortlessly on one heel while undoing the other.

“I’m a dancer,” I explained. One heel off, now the other.

Matt raised both eyebrows at me. “What sort of dancer?” he asked blandly.

My head snapped around at the tone in his voice. “I’m a ballet dancer, not that sort of dancer,” I said, making no effort to hide the offense in my tone. “Are you a racist? I mean, do you think all black girls shake their butts up and down a pole? Because white girls do that, too. Why would you think that? Do I look like an exotic dancer? A stripper? Is that what you think?”

“Calm down,” he ordered sharply, then his expression gentled. “You don’t look like a stripper, and I apologize if my words seemed insulting.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. Yeah, right. What was I doing here? Maybe the blows I had suffered to my head had knocked something loose in my brain.

“In fact, I think you’re exceptionally beautiful, even with puffy eyes and bruised cheeks.” He turned on his heels and headed for the stairs, but not before I noticed his eyes widening for a second. Huh, why did he do that? I followed at a slower pace, not knowing where we were going and losing track of where the front door was.

“You can clean up in here.” Matt abruptly flung a door open to reveal a large bedroom that was at odds with the muted colours downstairs. There were warm browns and yellows, with a hint of green courtesy of large plant-filled vases situated around the room. “Bathroom’s through that door.”

Then he was gone. I closed the door and stood there for a moment. Was this a guest bedroom or his? Upon entering the ensuite, I forgot about whose bedroom it was and stripped off. The shower was hot and welcomed. I used the shampoo and conditioner that was on a glass ledge, then scrubbed myself clean, feeling much better when I turned off the shower. Dripping wet, I balked at the idea of putting back on my vomit dress. Shit. I hadn’t asked for a towel.

I sloshed over the tiles and opened the door cautiously. There on the bed was a thick pink bathrobe that hadn’t been there before. And a towel. I grabbed the towel, drying off quickly before wrapping it around my hair and pulling on the robe. Pink? Did he have a girlfriend? Guys don’t have pink robes…unless they swung that way. No, even if he was gay, I couldn’t picture him in a pink robe. Matt oozed masculinity like it was going out of style. It had to be a woman’s. I was wearing some random chick’s robe. That was an unsettling thought as I made my way out of the room.

“Matt?” I called. No answer. I ventured down the carpeted hallway to the room at the end. The light was on and the door slightly ajar. I knocked softly.

“Matt?” Still no answer. I pushed the door open further and stuck my head in. Stark was the only word for it, maybe sterile. This room was larger than the one I’d been in and the walls were white, the furniture a mixture of black and white. The bed was huge with a balled up towel left haphazardly on the edge of the black satin sheets. The towel was the only untidy thing in the room. Jeez, even the pristine white carpets were fluff free. How could carpets this white stay white? I glanced across the room at the ensuite. The door had been left wide open, but I couldn’t see or hear anyone in there.

Then I spotted the walk-in closet with the doors also left wide open. I looked down at the pink robe I sported and guiltily headed for the closet. Maybe I could find a shirt or something to wear instead of this pink monstrosity that another chick used…

>>>

Matt finally found plasters after searching the cabinet in the downstairs loo. He hurried to the guest room and felt surprised alarm when he found the door wide open with no one inside it. What the hell? Where was she? Backing out the room he noticed his bedroom door gaping open down the hall. She’d probably gone looking for him after cleaning up. Matt strode towards his room, plasters in hand with what he hoped was a friendly, nonthreatening smile on his face. She was jumpy; one couldn’t blame her after the night she’d had. A rush of anger ran through him as he remembered those arses attacking her. What was wrong with the world?

He entered his room, mouth parting to call her name when he froze. She was in his closet, slipping off the robe he’d left her with a towel wrapped around her head. She hadn’t heard him enter, too busy taking down one of his shirts. Matt’s eyes were fixated on her nakedness. Although he felt like a pervert for staring at her, he couldn’t look away, the bright lights overhead giving him a clear uninterrupted side view of her dark-skinned slender body. Bloody hell. She was perfect. His body reacted with an intensity of arousal that left him light-headed. What was wrong with him? Mentally berating himself, he couldn’t move from where he stood, gaze locked on the woman shrugging on one of his shirts and buttoning it up. He watched as she opened drawers, lips pursed as she found the one with belts. She picked one up and grimaced when she realized it was too big before dropping it back untidily in the drawer. Then she pulled down a silk tie and knotted it around her waist. Matt was trying his best to ignore the almost painful hardness in his pants and forced himself to quietly back out the room, shaken from his unexpected reaction to the stranger in his room. And thoroughly aroused over the contrast of the white shirt against her dark skin.

In a sort of daze he made his way downstairs, confused over the sudden desire to run his hands over that spectacular arse of hers. He ended up in his kitchen, pouring a shot of whiskey that he gulped down without an appreciation for its fineness. An image of her popped before his eyes, an image of her on his bed with his hands roaming all over her. He swore softly and poured another shot. Matt downed this one too with a shake of his head. This was what happened when he was too busy to engage in his usual bedroom activities with his usual conquests. He was fantasizing about a black woman who obviously had no sense of judgement. Walking around that area, on her own, at that time of night…who does that in London?

Matthew Bradley was wealthy, spoilt and arrogant. Used to getting his own way in work and in his personal life. His family’s businesses were well-known throughout the world and he lived in an elite social class that few were allowed entry to. You were born into it. Matthew Bradley was privileged. And privileged men like him didn’t lust after women like the one in his bedroom upstairs. Only she wasn’t upstairs anymore. He could hear her calling his name tentatively and the throbbing below his waist threatened to overwhelm him.

He hid his lower anatomy behind the counter and said loudly, “I’m in the kitchen.”

Matt remembered with embarrassing guilt, the way he had stared at her sleeping form when parked up in front his house. Even then he had been fascinated by her stunning features, forcing himself to keep his sight on her face and nowhere else. Now, having seen her naked, he wanted to know what it felt like to have her legs wrapped around his waist while he… What was wrong with him? How could he be thinking like this about an injured woman he’d saved a mere few hours ago? Pulling his mind out of the gutter he arranged his features into a polite mask and awaited her arrival.

>>>

I had a moment’s worry at Matt’s reaction to me wearing one of his shirts with his tie in lieu of a belt, and running shorts that I’d knotted at one side of the hip. His clothes swamped me, but I couldn’t go around in that pink bathrobe and my clothes were icky.

“Hi,” I said, walking into the kitchen with my clothes bunched up in one hand. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing your clothes.”

He shook his head, mouth pressed into a thin line as his eyes followed me. Was he annoyed? I started to babble while resting my dirty clothes on the counter. “I didn’t want to wear your girlfriend’s robe—”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he interrupted smoothly.

I tried not to look shocked. “So, uh, the pink robe is yours?”

Matt’s lips tugged at the corners. “No, it’s for my friend. I can find you clothes that fit if you want.”

“Aaah,” I drawled with a knowing look. “And does your friend have a hairdryer here?” I gestured to the towel on my head.

He nodded. “Would you like me to get it for you?”

Feeling at ease with my strange rescuer I nodded back. “So clothes and a hairdryer. She’s your girlfriend.”

“No, she’s not,” he shot back a bit sharply, then grinned at me to take the sting out of his words. I couldn’t help but grin back. He had a nice smile.

“Yes, she is,” I said emphatically. “Or she wants to be. Seriously, Matt, when someone starts leaving clothes and stuff at your place, they’re planning on moving in. Soon.”

“And what do you know about that?” he asked, fiddling with something in his hands. “You barely look eighteen.” His face abruptly lost its previous joviality and he was back to looking sternly at me. “Wait, exactly how old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

His disbelief was obvious, as was the wariness creeping into his silver grey eyes. “Try again.”

“I’m twenty-six,” I repeated indignantly. “Do you want to see my license?”

“Please.” He had stopped fiddling with whatever he was holding and was folding his arms across that broad sweater-clad chest of his.

“Seriously?” I couldn’t believe this, but the expectant air around him didn’t dissipate so I went to recover my purse which I’d left on the pretty little table in the foyer. When I returned Matt was pacing in front the sleek island in the centre of his kitchen. Barefoot and without makeup, I knew I probably looked younger than my age, but not jail bait young. “Here it is. I must say I’m insulted that you think I’m lying about my age.”

I held it out to him, trying my best to wipe the scowl off my face as he snatched it from my hand and scanned it intently. A look of relief covered his face for a second then his gaze travelled up and down my form.

“God. You’re tiny.” he murmured.

I scowled at my rescuer. First he implies I lied about my age, and now he was cracking on my height. “I’m a ballet dancer. We’re tend to be short. It’s not my fault you’re freakishly tall.”

He placed my license on the counter, picked up a plaster and stuck it to the cut on my head. “All better.”

I blinked a few times, unnerved by his nearness. He smelt nice, really nice. He was devastatingly handsome, too. I wasn’t into white guys, never saw them in that way. But, standing close to Matt with his fingers gently touching the bump at my temple, I was getting uncharacteristically hot.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?” he pressed. “Or call the police?”

I shook my head, uncomfortable by my body’s strange reaction to him. Matt moved away. “I think you’re making a mistake, but it’s your decision. Would you like something to drink before I take you home?”

I glanced at the bottle of whiskey. Heck, after the night I’d had, it was deserved. Without asking I took his glass, filled the tumbler to the rim and chugged it down under his astonished observance.

“Ack.” I gasped, feeling the burn all the way down to my stomach. “That’s good whiskey.” My eyes streamed and my tongue felt numb, but damn, it was some top-notch booze.

“I meant tea or coffee.” Matt huffed and eyed the level in his whiskey bottle. I reached for the bottle, but he snatched it away before my fingers could close around it. “Let’s put this away for now.”

I drained the last few drops in the glass, then hopped onto one of the stools on my side of the counter while he put his depleted whiskey away. I flopped over, resting my head on the cool granite worktop and sighed loudly. “Those guys would’ve hurt me badly.”

>>>

“What was that, poppet?” Matt asked absent-mindedly, then froze in the act of closing the cupboard door. Did he call her poppet? What the fuck was wrong with him tonight? He turned around, hoping she hadn’t heard his slip of tongue, to see her slumped over the counter resting her towel-wrapped head on her arms. She’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and, again, he marvelled at her petite frame. An unexpected feeling of protectiveness swamped him and he glided over to where she sat. She raised her head, brown eyes glassy with unshed tears as she watched him.