Lovers' Dance

Chapter 4

FOUR

“YOU’RE OUT OF sync, Madi,” Dante yelled from the back of the room. I stuck my tongue out at him in the mirrored wall and he shook a hand at my reflection. Dante was my best friend and co-owner of our small dance company. I’d secretly been harbouring a crush on him since I was ten years old. He was two years older than me and we’d grown up together back home in New York. Two days after my sixth birthday, my parents had been killed in a horrific car crash that I had miraculously survived.

“Focus, Madi. For crying out loud, I swear your technique’s been slipping ever since we moved to England.”

I tried to focus but my mind was elsewhere, and I knew he was bullshitting me. My technique wasn’t slipping. I was distracted. The reason for my distraction had been the long distance call I received from my aunt last night. Auntie Cleo is my dad’s sister. I’d never met her before my parents’ funeral. I still remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday. She’d turned up at King’s Cross Hospital where I was being cared for. Speaking with her fast accent, she informed me she was my aunt and I would be living with her from now on. I was scared, unable to process that Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t ever be coming back for me. And she talked different. When she told me we would be leaving England, the place I’d been born, well, tantrum wasn’t the word to describe the fit I had given. Aunt Cleo didn’t mess around. She told me to stop being a baby and ‘act right’. Then the doctors discharged me into her care and we went to the funeral. The next day I was on a plane to New York with this energetic, outrageous woman next to me listing everything she expected from me. I still remember her words.

“Now, Madison, New York is very different from London. Your daddy, God rest his soul, may have spoilt you but there’s none of that in my house. You do as you’re told without sass and you better respect me, little lady. Your momma was a feisty one. Because of her, me and your daddy fell out. I tell you, that mother of yours was a troublemaker, and if you don’t act right you’ll be sorry. You’ll be starting school with your cousin next week and I expect you to get good grades. Education is the key. Your daddy sheltered you, but I don’t have the time for that. You’ll have chores to do, and I am not going to be running around after you. My house, my rules, little lady. Aww, now don’t cry, sweetie. It won’t be that bad. New York is much better than London, you’ll see. Come here, let Auntie Cleo give you a cuddle. You still like dancing? Your daddy, God rest his soul, told me three Christmases ago you started ballet. That was the last time I spoke to him, you know. My little brother, gone, just like that. Only God knows. Now stop crying, Madison. You’re disturbing that nice man next to you. If you behave and show me you can be a good little girl, I’ll find ballet classes for you. Would you like that? Wipe your nose and go to sleep, it’s a long way to New York. Lord have mercy, you look like your mother with that wild hair. At least it’s nice and curly. Maybe we’ll get it permed when you get older. Oh, don’t start with that noise again…”

Ah, the memories. One of the worst days of my life that was. Being on a plane for the first time with a stranger who said she was my aunt. But it all turned out okay.

“All right, take a break everyone,” Dante called in frustration. “Madi’s butchering my choreography. For someone who looks so graceful, she moves like an elephant with cement feet.”

Some of the other dancers laughed. I laughed, too. Dante and I were close, everyone knew that. In fact, we were all a close-knit unit, like family. His insults were given with affection. I deliberately sashayed over to where he stood holding out a bottle of water for me. Dante was the perfect specimen of a black Adonis. Smooth dark skin covering an athletic dancer’s body, with a face that gave me a thrill of butterflies whenever I looked at him. Yeah, I was crushing on him bad. You’d have thought after so many years of him not noticing me, I would have gotten over it, but no, I still secretly believed one day we would get together.

“You want to explain what that was on my dance floor?” he asked. Dark brown eyes showed a hint of temper.

“Our dance floor, and I was doing exactly what you showed me, Dante.”

“Uh huh.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“Auntie Cleo called me last night,” I divulged. Dante sighed and shook the bottle of water at me. I took it and drank some.

“What did she want? Wait, let me guess,” he mocked. “She wants to know why you’re wasting your money on a pipe dream and why, you can’t accept if you couldn’t make it on the New York circuit, things will be different here. She probably mentioned the only reason why you sunk all your money in this place was because no dance company over here thought you were good enough to employ, and you still can’t get it through that thick skull of yours that no one wants a black principal ballerina. Of course, she would’ve mentioned that your lack of talent has spoilt my chances of becoming a big name dancer back home because you convinced me to come over here with you, and my mother won’t stop blaming her for that. You know, Madi, I think your aunt has got a thing for me.”

“Shut up,” I muttered and shoved his arm. “That was not the reason she called me.”

Dante scoffed, and I amended my statement. “Well, it wasn’t the only reason she called.”

He rested his hands on my shoulders and began to expertly knead the knots away. We had been dancing the past six hours straight. “Why did she call?”

“She needs money—”

“No,” Dante immediately ground out.

“She’s my aunt.”

“Like I give a fuck. Madi, you don’t owe her anything anymore.”

“Uncle David had some issues with the construction company, again, and she’s sick, Dante. You know what her blood pressure is like.”

“And her own damn kids?” Dante was getting pissed. “What exactly are your cousins doing to help their own mother?”

I shrugged, not wanting to get into that discussion. “It’s not as much as the last time. I shouldn’t have told you.”

Dante squeezed my shoulder blades. “You told me because you know I would’ve found out anyway. Why are you letting her guilt you? She’s a grown-ass woman with two grown-ass kids. She is not your responsibility.”

“If I can help—”

“Have you seen the last light bill for this place, Madi? We’re haemorrhaging cash. I told you last month we’re going to have to increase the fees for the weekend dance classes—”

“We can’t do that, Dante. Some of the kids who take those classes can barely afford it.”

“Madi,” he cajoled.

“No.”

“We don’t have a choice unless you can miraculously reduce our overhead, find us rich folks to back our latest production, and pay off the remaining mortgage on this place. We’re bleeding money, sweet cheeks. I’m starting to get worried.” He looked it, a furrow between his eyebrows forming. At his mention of rich folks, I thought of Matt. It had been two months since that night I was attacked. Alexi was no longer my friend, she had ditched me that night and deserved some of the blame. Two months since I had stupidly offered myself to him. Two long months since I’d experienced the most exquisite pleasure; my own manual manipulations weren’t the same. Sometimes I thought about him, like when I was in the shower, or snuggled in my small bed clutching my oversized stuffed animals. Most of the times he was a distant memory, the one nice thing of a horrible night which I had almost blocked out.

“We’ll manage,” I murmured, staring at the far corner of the main dance room. The flooring was a bit uneven there. I prayed we wouldn’t have to redo the whole floor.

Right before my eighteenth birthday, my aunt had gotten a call from a lawyer based in London, notifying her of a trust fund that had been set up in my name on behalf of my long- deceased parents. The man was Geoffrey Kincaid. He’d been a friend of my dad. Upon my birth, my parents overwhelmed and scared about my future wellbeing, like any new parents, had taken out two substantial life policies in case anything happened to them before I was old enough to look after myself. It was a security blanket. They probably never thought it would be necessary. I mean, who expects to be ploughed into by a drunk truck driver with your six- year-old kid in the backseat? Anyway, they had died and, Mr Kincaid, who was named on the policy to act in my interests, had taken half of those funds and placed them in a trust fund for me. The other half he’d shrewdly invested on my behalf, increasing the overall amount that I had inherited. I think he did it because he missed my dad. Maybe it was his way of honouring their friendship. I don’t know. I did know that my aunt hit the roof on learning she’d been taking care of me out of her own pocket, when there was a nice little nest egg she could have used over those years to maintain me. Hence, the guilt I felt whenever she asked for money.

Mr Kincaid had flown to New York four months after I’d turned eighteen and made me sign legal documents. Then he gave me a slick business card and said, if I ever visited England, to come see him. I had tucked away his card, numb from the papers I had signed that put me in a seven digit net worth bracket. I had trained at SAB, School of American Ballet, the best freaking ballet institution in my eyes. Dante had too, and we’d both been accepted to a prestigious ballet company, along with a few other SAB graduates. At first, it was a dream come true. I was an accomplished ballerina, an honest-to-God ballerina. It didn’t take long for Dante and me to move out of the corp and start having bigger parts in productions. But I began to realize that Dante was moving at a much faster pace than I was, that girls who weren’t as talented as me were getting the parts I should have gotten. I worked harder for a couple more years. Then, one opening night before another major production, our ballerina principal took me aside. She had a soft spot for me, and she saw how upset I was over not getting a bigger part. She pulled me backstage and said, “Madi, honey, I’m saying this because you’re a sweet kid and you’ve got talent. But look around you; there have only ever been eleven prima ballerina assoluta, and none of them were black. How many black prima ballerinas have you seen? Ballet is still very much a white person’s world, honey. It’s wrong, but it is the way it is. Don’t set yourself up for heartbreak, honey. Besides, the black body type isn’t best suited for ballet.”

My heart had been broken; at first, I didn’t want to believe her. But after another failure to land a starring role, I began to see the truth. Few ballet companies wanted a black prima ballerina. The patrons might not like it. Even though I worked twice as hard, even though I gave everything and more wanting to prove her wrong, in the end, I realized she was right. That had been a low point for me and giving up seemed like the only option.

Dante, my sweet Dante, wouldn’t let me. We’d been friends forever, used to talk about how we would take the world by storm, how we would be classed as two of the top ballet dancers and people would line up to see us perform. Dante could’ve done it; he was exceptional, literally embodies beauty when he performed. He was becoming extremely well known beyond the New York circuits, held so much promise, but he gave it all up for me. I remember that night we were going to the movies, and he suddenly hugged me tightly and said, if they wouldn’t take me, then they couldn’t have him, that we would go somewhere else where I could achieve my dream. And the decision had been made to move here because of my ties to England. Turned out things here were exactly the same as the States. That was a little over three years ago.

We decided to start our own ballet company. Fuck the haters. We wanted people, any colour but especially black, to have the opportunity to learn ballet, to not be excluded because you weren’t white or you’re expected to stick with sports because that’s what black people are good at. We integrated all different types of dance into our choreography, to show our dancers it doesn’t have to be just one, but that all dance is beautiful. And everyone with the ability, no matter your race, can live their dream of dancing. At least that’s what we’re working towards. Geoffrey Kincaid had helped us buy this place, had sorted out the legalities to help us realize our goals. He never charged us a penny, saying my dad would’ve done the same if their roles had been reversed.

I broke out of my trip down memory lane and focused on now. If we had to raise the fees, many of the poorer kids who took dance lessons would have to give up. I didn’t want that to happen.

“I’ll tell her no this time. You’re right. I can’t afford to send her more money,” I finally said.

Dante didn’t respond. He gave me a resigned look and rubbed my shoulders. It was more than apparent he had no faith in me turning down my aunt Cleo. Most of the money I inherited had been sunk into this place. I owned my small terrace, but the unhealthy status of my bank account had me toying with the idea of selling the place. I could convert one of our storage rooms into a living space. Nothing wrong with sleeping standing up. I didn’t really need a kitchen, did I?

“I’m working on something new,” Dante said. I welcomed his change of topic. Thinking of Aunt Cleo was depressing.

“Are you? Do you want my help?”

Dante pulled me into a quick friendly hug and my heart went pitter-patter. When would he fall in love with me? I was getting tired of waiting.

“You know I’m always better when we dance together.” He grinned at me and tugged on my ponytail. “I hate when your hair is straight. You rock your curls so well.”

I screwed my face up at him. “It’s called a Brazilian blow dry and it’s not permanent. I’ll be back to rocking a ’fro in a couple of months. It’s summer. My head gets hot.”

Dante laughed and smacked my ass. “You don’t got no real ’fro. Those curls of yours got slave master genes in them. ’Fro, my ass.” Then he got serious as he said, “Go get everyone back in here. We need to practice hard. Hopefully, we can generate enough buzz over this one to have people banging down our doors.”

I stepped away from Dante, my ass tingling. “Where are we dancing this time?”

“Hyde Park. I’m getting it set up. Don’t worry, Madi. We’ll be stars before you know it.”

I rolled my eyes and went to get the others. If only…

>>>

Matt was bringing his yacht into harbour. There was someone he paid to sail it, but he enjoyed handling the beast. He and his usual group of friends were having a short break in Saint-Tropez. He had needed a vacation, and the summer days always seemed brighter on the Riviera than in England.

“Matt. Oh, there you are, I’ve spent the last twenty minutes searching for you, darling.”

The bikini clad woman sauntering over was a beauty. A typical golden-tanned blonde, blue-eyed bombshell beauty. Everyone had great expectations for the both of them. Louisa Gilliford was wealthy, pampered and completely aware of the effect she had on men. Their families had been friends going back three generations, and Matt knew his parents were hoping he would finally pop the question to the only woman they felt suitable enough to carry the Bradley name. They had given up hope on his older brother, Adam, and were now focusing their attention on him. His sister, Hannah, the eldest, had done them proud by marrying the son of their father’s closest friend and extending the Bradley lineage with two terrors. Matt loved his teenaged twin nieces, but they were hard work. He felt Hannah’s marriage to Stuart seemed a bit incestuous. For Christ’s sake, they had grown up together. Then, again, Louisa had always been around, too, and he was currently enjoying everything she had to offer.

“Mwuah.” She kissed his cheek and dimpled up at him. He couldn’t see her eyes behind those ridiculously large shades.

“Louisa, did you change swimsuits?” His gaze wandered over her sun-kissed body. The black bikini looked good on her.

“Of course, darling.” She pulled her shades down halfway down her nose and winked coquettishly at him. “You were rough with the last one.”

Matt shook his head and chuckled. Louisa usually amused him. They’d been on and off over the last seven years, coming close to getting engaged once. Matt hadn’t been ready then; he doubted he was ready now. Yes, Louisa was fun, yet he was finding himself becoming bored of her company.

“What are you two lovebirds doing up here?” Nathan, Matt’s best friend, was coming in with his long-standing girlfriend, Bella, another sun-kissed beauty with her brunette hair high up in a bun and ridiculously large shades perched on her nose. Without the two of them here, Matt doubted he would have bothered arranging this mini-break.

“Please don’t crash this one, Matt,” Bella teased and he growled at her. Nathan clapped him on the back. “It’s true, mate. The paparazzi would love to get another picture of you destroying millions of pounds worth of nautical engineering.”

“Sod off.” Matt elbowed him back, then motioned for a member of staff to get the captain. He’d promised his mother to avoid any possible embarrassing media attention. Once the captain had taken over, they joined the others on the lower deck for drinks. The champagne had been flowing nonstop and the hired staff catered to every one of Matt’s guests’ needs.

“It’s getting worse,” Paul drawled as the engine of Matt’s latest purchase wound down. They were moored, but he was reluctant to go ashore right now. He enjoyed being on the water.

“What’s getting worse?” Louisa asked, topping up her suntan lotion. Matt went over to help. He was a gentleman, of course. Copping a feel was fringe benefits.

Paul gestured to the crowd of people up and down the port. “A lot more undesirables around than last time.”

Matt glanced over to the crowds. He didn’t notice anything wrong and pointed this out to his friend.

Louisa chuckled in delight. “Oh, darling, you don’t have to be PC. You’re amongst friends, and we’re all thinking the same thing. Really, darling, there’s nothing wrong with admitting the numbers of people who don’t need a tan are increasing. Marseille in my opinion is ruined. I hope St Tropez doesn’t end up the same.”

Matt was silent for a moment, then said tartly as he dropped the bottle of lotion and stood up, “I find your comments quite offensive.” He glanced at Paul. “Both of you should be ashamed of yourselves. You don’t personally know any of those people in port, yet you’ve arrived at the conclusion that they’re undesirable simply because they’re not white? That’s ignorant and clearly racist. If you’ll excuse me, I must speak to the captain concerning our departure tomorrow.”

Louisa grabbed his forearm. “Heavens, darling. What’s gotten into you?”

He stared at her hand on his arm until she removed it. Matt affected a bored, yet haughty, demeanour. “Nothing’s gotten into me, Louisa. I’m simply enlightened enough to know judging someone on their skin tone is not only wrong, but also illegal.”

With that, he turned on his heels and left his friends gaping at his retreating back. Fucking hell. He was fuming. Not at them, but at himself. Before two months ago, he probably wouldn’t have seen anything wrong with Paul and Louisa making those comments. In fact, he most likely would’ve verbally agreed and added to the conversation. Two months ago he’d met her, and he still couldn’t get her out of his mind. Bloody Madison DuMont. She’d done something to him, changed him in some way that he couldn’t change back. And it was fucking with his perfect life. He ached for her, which he found laughable considering the entirety of their time together was less than twenty-four hours. He didn’t know anything about this woman, yet it was her face he imagined when making love to other women, her body he wished he could touch as long as he wanted, her dark skin lying next to his pale skin in bed. She was black magic, literally. She had somehow managed to get under his skin. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t try to find her. What was the point? It would never—

“Matt, wait up.” Nathan’s footsteps behind him stopped his train of thoughts.

“What, Nathan?” he asked coldly.

Nathan eyed him speculatively, an unsure grin on his face. “What happened back there? If I didn’t know better, I’d asked if you’re the newest member of a disenfranchised minority support group.”

“That’s not in the least bit amusing.” Matt turned, resuming his quick pace.

“You’re out of sorts, mate. Why?” Nathan kept up Matt’s furious stride. They were the same height and usually worked out together.

“Is that how I sound? As ignorant and foolish as them? Am I equally as racist as everyone on this floating can?”

“Whoa.” Nathan grabbed his friend’s arm. “Don’t tar me with the same brush, Matt. Bella and I are the most liberal out of the lot of you.”

Matt scowled at his friend. “Liberal, my arse. You’re just as bad.”

“No,” Nathan said emphatically. “We’re not, but that’s irrelevant. What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been out of sorts for months. The simplest thing is winding you up these days. You fired one of your executives for making a joke.”

“It was sexist,” Matt shot back defensively. “And he was taking the piss.”

“Bollocks,” Nathan said dryly. “You’re angry over something and taking it out on anyone who makes a mistake. And I know what’s causing this.”

Matt jerked to a stop, turning slowly to face his friend. “Don’t even start.”

“It’s that woman you told me about. The one you helped that night. What did you say her name was again?”

“I’m not talking about this,” Matt gritted out and strode away, leaving a puzzled Nathan behind. He had mentioned it in passing to Nathan a week after the incident. If Matt was honest with himself, he would admit it had been deliberate. He wanted to tell someone about her. Nathan was his best friend since their Eton days. Rocky at the start, but building into a solid friendship that he had come to depend on through university life at Cambridge, and now. Nathan knew something about what had transpired that night, but not how close Matt had come to sleeping with Madi and, certainly, not her race.

“I absolutely refuse to look for her,” he muttered under his breath. As he spotted his captain sorting out the rigging, Matt plastered a relaxed smile on his face as he approached. He’d had enough of France. It was time to go home.

>>>

Nathan pondered his friend’s hasty escape. He knew Matt, and he knew this mystery woman was the underlying reason for Matt’s malcontent these past weeks. Women. Matt always had women eating out of his hands. He never cared for any of them. Nathan was secretly worried about the not so subtle pressure being applied on Matt by his parents over his relationship with Louisa. Nathan stared out at the water glistening under the bright sunshine. Louisa was fine, in small doses. If Matt married her, Nathan was under no illusions of the strain that would put on their friendship. His sweet Bella, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, privately detested Louisa Gilliford. Found her to be nauseatingly insincere and elitist. Bella wasn’t like them; she had money, of course, but not handed down from previous generations. Her parents had both made their fortunes in the London financial markets. Bella had seen her parents work hard for everything they had. It gave her a different perspective, one Nathan himself didn’t have. His background was the same as the others on the yacht: old money. Sometimes he felt ashamed of his arrogant assumption of his place in their society. Bella had shown him a different world. He was thankful for the day he met her.

Madison DuMont. The name popped into his head. Nathan smiled to himself. He would find this mystery lady. Then Matt could get over this secret obsession of her once he realized she was another woman undeserving of the pedestal he’d placed her on.

“Nate,” his sweetheart’s voice called behind him. Nathan spun around with the widest grin on his face. “Is Matt okay?”

“Of course. Did I mention how much I love you today?”

Bella pulled off her shades, light brown eyes twinkling. “Several times. Now what do you want? You’re only this sweet when you’re up to no good.”

Nathan pulled her into a tight embrace. “Just you, sweetheart. I only want you.”

>>>

A week after their return to England, a soaked Nathan stood outside his front door with a thick file in one hand and an unopened bottle of Scotch in the other.

“We need to talk,” his friend said, and pushed past him without waiting for Matt to step back. It was Sunday afternoon, the rain had been falling all day. Lovely British weather at its best. Matt closed the door, faintly amused at Nathan’s abrupt behaviour.

“Hello, Matthew,” he mocked, following his soggy friend. “How are you? This weather is horrendous, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you—”

“Shut up, Matt,” Nathan interrupted brusquely. “I am not in the mood and you have some serious explaining to do.”

“Pardon me?” Matt was surprised at the sharpness of Nathan’s tone. His attitude since barging through his front door spelt trouble. Matt had no idea what had riled him.

“Madison DuMont,” Nathan ground out, trying to shake his coat over his shoulders. He grunted impatiently, then shoved the file and bottle at Matt, who awkwardly managed to grab it before everything fell on the floor.

“Nathan, leave it alone—”

“I will not,” he practically shouted as he removed his coat and flung it to the floor.

“Are you going to pick that up? George isn’t here at the moment and I’m not going to.”

Nathan glared at him before storming off towards the kitchen. Matt rolled his eyes and followed. When Nathan got like this, it was better to let him rant. For a thirty-seven-year-old man, he could act childishly. Matt tucked the file under his arm and sedately made his way to the kitchen. Nathan had two glasses out and was scowling at the countertop surface.

“Read the file,” he ordered, without preamble.

Matt walked over and laid the file on top the island. He silently opened the bottle of Scotch and poured two equal measures out before saying, “You’re perilously close to being tossed out of here on your ear, Nathan.”

“Just read the damn file.”

Matt drank his whiskey, sighed loudly and opened the file. His eyes widened, then he threw a laser stare at Nathan. “What in the world is this?”

“I looked her up, Matt. I found her for you.”

“Did I bloody ask you to, you insufferable twat.”

“Don’t you call me a twat. Are you out of your mind? She’s black. I understand now why you got your knickers in a twist that day on the yacht, why you were worried about whether you had racist tendencies. For the love of God, Matt, are you insane?”

Matt had tuned out Nathan’s tirade. He was busy reading what could only be called a dossier about Madison. His grey eyes flickered to the picture stapled on the first page. How could he have forgotten how beautiful she was? Those brown doe eyes of hers that lit up when she smiled. Her mouth, that perfectly kissable mouth of hers, he longed to feel against his skin.

“Are you listening to me?” Nathan slammed a hand down on the counter. Matt ignored him, scanning the pages, learning as much as he could about her.

“Oh, poppet,” he murmured softly when he read about her parents’ untimely death. “Jesus, Nathan, she was only six when her parents died.”

“I read the file. I know all about her, and did you fucking call her poppet?”

Matt ignored him, as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He picked up the file, reading it and walked out of the kitchen. A clink of glasses came from behind him. Then an irate, “Twenty-six-years-old? You’ll be thirty-seven next month. That’s a whole decade, Matt. When you were kissing girls at twelve; she was probably still in nappies. You’re mad, mad.”

“Shut up,” Matt murmured, completely engrossed in the file as he made his way to the study. There were newspaper clippings about the accident which had claimed her parents’ lives. They were on their way out of London, a family trip to the Lake District up north, when a drunk truck driver had swerved into their lane, colliding head-on with their car. It was a miracle she had survived.

“I won’t allow this, Matt. How do you expect your family to react—”

“If you don’t shut up this instant and let me read this, I will escort you off my property,” Matt said tersely, while sitting behind his desk. There were two pages detailing her schools attended, childhood activities, part-time jobs, three on her extended family in New York. Matt raised an eyebrow. Aunt Cleo? What sort of name was that? There were photographic copies of her British passport, her American passport, her social security number.

“I can’t believe she’s British. She didn’t tell me that.”

“Well, from what you said, you didn’t do much talking,” Nathan chastised as he pulled out a chair across the desk and sank into it, the bottle of Scotch and two glasses in front of him.

“She attended the School of American Ballet. They’re quite well known,” Matt mused to himself.

“Matthew, it doesn’t matter if she attended…Look, get to the bit when she turns eighteen. Look at her net worth then. It’s page eight.”

“What does that matter?” Matt groused, flicking over a few pages. He wanted to go over in fine detail every bit of info about her, not fast forward. “She inherited almost two million pounds? Well, that’s good.”

“Look at her net worth now, page ten.”

Matt tore his gaze from the sheets of paper on his desk to level Nathan with a venomous scowl. “I don’t care what she’s worth on paper.”

Nathan’s mouth fell open, he filled his glass, tossed it back, then began to berate Matt. “Are you hearing yourself? She’s in debt, owns a dance studio in Greenwich which she put most of her money into and has a mortgage on those premises. At least she owns her house outright, a pokey little terrace—”

“You arrogant arsehole. She’s twenty-six-years-old and has her own house and business. She may be in debt, but she’s sounding pretty damned smart to me.”

Nathan poured himself another drink, tossed this one back too, then took a deep calming breath, before saying evenly, “Go to page twelve. Have a gander at that for me.”

Matt didn’t appreciate Nathan’s overreaction. He flicked a couple more pages, saying to Nathan as he did, “Mate, I never asked you to do this. You’re the one that took it upon yourself to find her and run a background check.” He paused, then queried sharply, “Who did you hire to get this info? By God, if you had some shady outfit looking into her, I swear I’ll wring your bloody neck.”

Nathan snorted in disgust over Matt’s misplaced lack of trust in him. “I used the company we always use. Everything is confidential and destroyed upon request. Read page twelve for me. Once you’ve done that, we’ll talk. I mean, I don’t have a problem that she’s black.”

Matt looked at his friend coldly. “Yes, you do, and the fuck I care if you do. Now shut up.” He turned his attention to page twelve. When he finished reading it, he rested his hands over the file, fingers laced together tightly. That was the only tell-tale sign of his sudden nervousness.

“I’m assuming you have more information on this Kincaid character. Page twelve gave me nothing more than innuendo and light suspicion. Bloody hell, Nathan, how many times have my family’s sub-companies been levied with untrue charges? I can’t even count.”

Nathan poured his third glass. This time, he poured one for Matt and slid it over to him. “I’m still looking into this Kincaid, but, Matt, please stay away from her—this girl-

“Woman.” Matt corrected tersely.

Nathan waved a hand in the air. “Fine, girl, woman, whatever. She’s got trouble written all over her. Trust me.”

Matt leaned back in his chair, his interlaced fingers now resting on his chest as he appraised his closest friend dispassionately. “Trust you? You went behind my back and ran a background check on a woman I had decided not to contact. I could’ve found her myself if I wanted to. You barge into my house with your Scotch and this file, order me to read it, and now you’re warning me to stay away from her? I love you like my own brother but, fuck you, Nathan. Did I not support you when your family were dead set against you seeing Bella?”

“That’s different.”

“How so?” Matt asked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Because she’s white like us?”

“I don’t know, it just is. Look, I’m not the bad guy here. I want you to remember who you are and, bloody hell, Matt. Everyone expects you to marry Louisa. You need to forget Madison DuMont.”

Matt was tense and furious at Nathan, but he knew deep down his friend was trying to protect him. He unclasped his fingers and ran his hand wildly through his hair before groaning in frustration. “I can’t stop thinking about her. How preposterous is that? A woman I’ve known for less than twenty-four hours and she’s all I think about. Every single day. Don’t you think I’ve tried to forget about her? She’s not like us, and I don’t mean her race. We’re from different backgrounds, different social groups.” He sighed loudly. “But I can’t get her out of my head.”

Nathan topped up his glass, fidgeting with the edge of Matt’s desk. He wouldn’t meet his friend’s gaze as he asked in a solemn voice, “You like like her?”

“I told you I can’t stop thinking about her. What do you think?” Matt asked through gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t have done this, Nathan.”

“I know, but I couldn’t help myself.” Nathan took a civilized sip from his glass. “Are you sure you like her, or do you simply want to shag her and move on? Because shagging her is fine. Get it out of your system. She’s a looker, I’ll give you that. I mean you should see her dance on that website of theirs. I’d shag her brains out if Bella wasn’t—”

“What? A website? There’s no mention of it in the file. Why didn’t you say something before?” Matt was turning on his laptop. His increasing anger at Nathan’s offensive words pushed aside at the thought of seeing her again, even if it was on a website. He did mention tartly though, “Don’t ever speak about her in such a manner in my presence again. Shag her brains out? Do you want me to hurt you?”

Nathan snorted something under his breath. Matt ignored it.

“Give me the name of her website,” Matt ordered.

“I can’t remember,” Nathan replied innocently.

Matt directed a hard look at his friend, who shrugged nonchalantly.

“Fine. I’ll Google her dance studio.” He put the name in the search engine, then showed Nathan two expressive fingers. “You twat.”

It was at the top of the search results. He double-clicked and his gut clenched sharply. The home page gave the basic info about their dance company. Matt clicked the galleries icon, a soft smile gracing his lips as he scrolled through the pictures. There weren’t as many as he’d like of her. Most were of students, costumes, ballet shoes, their premises. Nathan got up to stand behind him. “Hit that icon right there. The website needs work. They probably couldn’t afford to have it professionally done. Some of the links are—”

“Will you shut up,” Matt hissed as he clicked on the icon Nathan had pointed out. It brought up a list of past productions. He clicked on the most recent, then sat in awe as he watched his dark beauty dance to a classical piece from the Nutcracker. His eyes followed her movements over the screen, barely paying attention to the other dancers.

“My God, she’s amazing,” he whispered. “Nathan, look at her. That’s incredible.”

“I’ve seen it already, Matt.”

“Yes, but still—”

“You should see the video of them dancing to modern music,” Nathan interrupted, closely observing his friend’s demeanour. “The dross these young people listen to, no appreciation for real music. Come out of that link and go to the street dancing one. You’ll see why I said I wouldn’t mind shagging her, too.”

Matt’s head snapped around. Nathan put a little space between them in case Matt took a swing at him. He looked angry enough to do it. Nathan chuckled. He’d never seen his friend act possessive over anyone. Nathan’s humour disappeared almost instantaneously. If Matt was reacting strongly now…maybe he shouldn’t have located her. Maybe his interference was a mistake.

Matt clicked the link, the beat of a song he’d never heard pumping out of the laptop. His eyes widened as he watched the movements of the dancers on the screen. He watched her, and his body instinctively reacted to her dancing. She was limber, hips shaking in a manner that made him want to… He cleared his throat, there was something lodged in it. Who knew a person could choke on lust? Matt shifted in his seat, hunching over slightly to hide the growing bulge in his khaki pants. He cleared his throat again before clicking on the website’s blog page. Better not to watch her dancing like that; later, when he was alone. Yes, later.

“It says here there’s an upcoming snap dance? What’s snap dance?” Matt queried, feeling old. “Is this a new craze or something?”

“I thought so, too, but, if you scroll down to past blogs and click the link—wait, click that one—no, the one before it. Snap dance in Euston.”

Matt clicked the link. A video of the busy station popped up. He looked over his shoulder at Nathan. “It’s a video of inside Euston station.”

“Wait for it. Watch the crowds, see how the camera’s focusing on the entrance to the Underground.”

Matt turned his attention back to the screen. He didn’t have to wait long. A masked group of ladies in ballet costumes came running out, startling the surrounding crowds who started gaping at them in curiosity. They began to dance in the middle of the station, much to the enjoyment of the crowd. It went on for about ten minutes before security began to appear. The surrounding people were clapping loudly as the tutu-wearing women dispersed, darting through the crowds as they made their escape. A policeman gave chase to one, but she leaped over someone’s suitcase and nimbly evaded capture. The picture faded out with the words: ‘Bringing dance to the people.’

“How delightfully interesting.” Matt decided he was intrigued by this woman he’d saved. “It says here there’s an upcoming snap dance this Friday. What an unusual name to call it—”

“I thought so myself,” Nathan agreed as he moved back to his seat. “I know what you’re thinking, Matt.”

“What am I thinking?” Matt asked lightly, scrolling through the website. He made a mental note of their opening hours. It would come in useful in the future.

“You’re planning on seeing her again.”

“So what if I am? I don’t see how that concerns you, especially since you’re the one responsible for this mountain of information I’m looking at.”

Nathan’s face twisted into a scowl. “I wouldn’t have looked for her if I had known she was—”

“Was what, Nathan?” Matt asked in that same relaxed tone.

Nathan wasn’t fooled for a second. He noticed the flash of temper in Matt’s eyes and amended his answer. “So young.”

“She’s twenty-six, not sixteen,” Matt shot back. And his sweet virgin, he added mentally. He flicked through the file again, finding that picture of her. He was going to make her his. Madison DuMont was his, she just didn’t know it yet.

“Matt,” Nathan warned. “I know that look on your face.”

Matt smiled. “Don’t worry, Nathan. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“Huh.” Nathan snorted, shaking his head. “Just to be clear, you’re going to shag her, buy her something nice and ridiculously expensive, then get on with your life. Right? You’re not going to deviate from the usual modus operandi.”

Matt laughed, nodding to his friend. “Yes, Nathan, I’m going to shag her and buy her something nice before continuing on with my unbearably boring life.”

“Make sure she signs a non-disclosure clause, too,” he added. “Heaven forbid this gets out. Matthew Bradley suffering from a dose of jungle fever.”

Matt lowered his brows in distaste. “Did you actually just say that?”

Nathan nodded. “That’s nothing in comparison to what the press will write if they find out. Remember the headlines nine years ago when the media found out about you and that Norwegian model? That was the reason your solicitors convinced you to draw up the clause.”

“They won’t find out,” Matt said, gaze drawn to the picture of her. “Stop worrying.”

Nathan shook his head and stood up. “I’m leaving. Bella’s parents invited us over for supper. Her father has been dropping hints about a possible engagement, future grandkids.” Nathan sighed out loud, fixing a tired blue-eyed stare on his closest friend. “We’re getting old, mate.”

Matt laughed. “Yes, we are. Thankfully, I don’t look it. You should marry Bella, she’s good for you.”

Nathan smiled. Never had truer words been spoken. His smile wavered at the talk of marriage. “What about you? Your parents are eager to see you wedded to Louisa. Portia called me last week, said it was my responsibility as your friend to make sure you did the right thing, the expected thing.” Nathan shuddered. “Your mother scares the living daylights out of me. Always has.”

Matt squashed the immediate spurt of resentment as he thought about his parents. They were getting overbearingly insistent, to the point where he’d deliberately missed the last two family functions. He knew what was expected of him. Both his father and grandfather had ambushed him at the twins’ birthday party a few months ago, droning on about their family heritage and the responsibility each male Bradley had to ensuring their family prospered. Then they had started talking about the next generation of Bradleys and Matt had stopped paying attention. He was thirty-six, not ninety-six; he had time before settling down.

“Screen her calls,” he replied dryly. Nathan gave him a dirty look and Matt shrugged. “Change your mobile number then.”

“Why don’t you talk to them? Tell them you’re not sure Louisa is the one for you.”

It was Matt’s turn to shoot Nathan a dirty stare. “And risk being ostracized? They’ve only started speaking to Adam this past year. Look, Louisa and I are going to happen, though I’m loathe to have Jack Gilliford as my father-in-law. She’s the most suitable woman to carry the Bradley name and give my parents the next grandchild they’re so eager for. Plus, I’m certain merging our fortunes will make her so happy she’ll be more than willing to overlook any of my future indiscretions.”

Nathan rubbed his chin, a reflective look on his face. “It sounds like you’ve already made peace with it.”

Matt nodded slowly, eyes falling once again to Madi’s picture. “I have but, until I propose, I’m planning to enjoy myself immensely.” He flashed Nathan a lecherous grin. “You know how much I relish new challenges.”

“You’re sick,” Nathan joked. “I feel sorry for that poor girl. Make sure you get her something nice when you’re finished with her and, for God’s sake, don’t let anyone find out about it.”

“Woman, not girl, and stop worrying. No one’s going to know.” Matt stood up and walked his friend out.

He hurried back to his study, wanting to go over the file in a more detailed fashion. He understood why Nathan was deeply concerned about him pursuing Madison, but once Matt saw something he wanted. He always got what he wanted. That wasn’t about to change any time soon. He held her picture in his hand, staring at it intently. He would shag her, a lot. Then, he would be able to get over this unusual fixation he had about her. Sex. That was all it was. She was deliciously hot and he wanted her.

Why then did he feel a fraud for letting Nathan assume sexual conquest was the main factor pushing him? Yes, he wanted her desperately, but he remembered how she’d felt in his arms, making those weird snoring noises as she slept. He remembered the way his heart had twisted when she had cried in his arms. He’d never felt that way before, never experienced the urge to protect someone so completely. Her petite frame didn’t help. It only served to make him feel manlier, like he should use his brawn to keep her safe. What in the bloody hell was wrong with him?

He put the photo down and picked up the file, starting from the beginning. He couldn’t help but approach this as he would any business deal. He needed to be fully informed. The file wouldn’t give a complete picture of the woman he was unable to push out of his mind, but it was a start. He hadn’t planned on looking for her but now, because of Nathan’s interference, Matt decided it was fate’s way of telling him to go for it. Fate was never something he put much stock into before but, in this instance, he was willing to believe. The promise he had made to himself not to find her was negligible now. He felt another unexpected spurt of sympathy as he read in detail about her parents, imagining a terrified little girl coming to term with the loss of the world as she knew it. To have survived and then grown up into a determined young woman capable of accomplishing her goals…his intrigue mounted. The file, in his opinion, lacked the layers of her character that he wanted to peel back to reveal the very centre of what made her who she was. But there was only one way to learn those details. Madison DuMont intrigued him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt an interest in anything outside of work. He wouldn’t stop until his desire to know everything about her was sated. Matt grinned. With his good looks and vast wealth, she didn’t stand a chance. No woman could resist his charms. He pushed aside the niggling voice in his head reminding him of all the conceptions he had over black women. Did it matter the colour of her skin? Women were all the same; white, black and all the varying shades in between. He simply needed to ensure this strange preoccupation he had with her remained secret.