Lovers' Dance

Chapter 6

SIX

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>>>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>>>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She licked her lips slowly, eyes filling with a heat that made him want to bend her over the table and have his way with her right now.

“But you are a decade—”

Matt cleared his throat loudly and she burst into laughter. He smiled. The phone rang and he glanced at his wristwatch. It was late.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, laughing as she rose up from the table. Bloody hell, that dress was amazing on her. Matt listened to her answer the call and he felt an unmistakable spurt of jealously. Dante. Why the fuck was he calling his woman at this time of night? He heard Madi giggle and he put his utensils down. Taking another gulp of water he stood up, then made his way to the living room.

She stood by the fireplace, back to him, and twirling her hair. That spurt of jealousy was now a full-blown storm. She did that every time. Every fucking time she was on the phone with him, she would play with her hair. Matt knew she had a crush on Dante. He’d been in enough relationships to spot the signs. In this case, he truly was older and wiser. He knew she liked Dante and it killed him inside. It was the manner in which she talked about him, about their work together, their childhood growing up, their shared aspirations for the dance company. Matt was getting to the stage where he wished Dante would get on a plane and fuck off back to the States. He stood filling the doorway and scowled. This was becoming intolerable. It had started a few days before his birthday last month. He had wanted nothing more than to spend the day curled up in bed with her, but his mother had planned that farce of a party which he felt obligated to attend. On his way there, Matt realized how much he wanted Madi at his side. He grew weary of this secret relationship. It was she who suggested it initially. Matt, in his eagerness to explore a sexual relationship with her, had agreed. He would’ve agreed to any terms to keep her in his bed, and it also dealt with the issue of the media and his family finding out. But he was tired of hiding. His scowl deepened as her conversation turned to work, a discussion about the upcoming production she had told him about. Matt had thought her dancing exquisite that day he saw her in Convent Gardens.

What he hadn’t enjoyed was Dante’s bloody hands all over her. She danced differently with him, it was clearly noticeable. At first, Matt thought it was due to them spending most of their training at their old dance school together but, lately, he was beginning to believe it was more. And they looked good together. Matt never thought the day would come when he was jealous of a young black man, but that bloody day was here. Madi was his. She was his and he wouldn’t let her go. He loved—

Matt took a deep breath, a shaky breath, as he finally admitted to himself something that he recently suspected but didn’t want to believe, telling himself it was foolish to think in such a way. Matthew Bradley didn’t believe in love. There was duty and loyalty, the obligations expected of him and his siblings. Marry well and maintain the Bradley name. But she belonged to him, damn it.

He loved…her.

“Pyjamas,” she said jokingly. “Now go focus on the last bit of the choreography and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Matt thought he was angry before, now he was livid. What sort of question got an answer like that? He knew because it was a question he’d asked her more than once when he was unable to come see her.

What are you wearing?

She turned around, the smile on her lips faltering at the look on his face. Matt schooled his features into a neutral mask. Trying to find the right time to bring up the topic of their secret relationship was hard. They were both busy people and, when together, spent most of their time lost in the pleasure of each other’s bodies. Now was as good a time as any to tell her he wanted to stop hiding, before someone else stole her away from him. He’d be damned if he let that happen. Matt wanted to stamp his claim to her, to make it known no one else could have her. He wanted to beat Dante to a pulp, but he was a civilized man and that would not do.

“We need to talk, poppet,” he said quietly, knowing how ominous those words sounded when he saw uncertainty ripple over her face.

>>>

I watched Matt nervously. Why was he angry? The dispassionate expression he wore didn’t fool me anymore. I was getting better at reading him. Was it the too spicy casserole? Or the mocking candles? Or me?

“About what?” I asked, fearing his answer. He was going to break it off. I knew he’d been distracted about something the past few occasions he stayed over, but I had foolishly put it down to work. Fuck. I was about to be dumped.

The phone gripped tightly in my hand rang, startling me so much I jumped. Matt’s jaw clenched and his eyes flashed in anger as he glanced at the phone, then raised those chilly grey eyes to my face.

Fuck. I was so dumped. I glimpsed the number flashing up. International. There was only one person who would call me at this time of night.

“Give me two minutes, Matt. It’s my aunt calling.” I spun around towards the fireplace, needing to hide my features in case they gave me away. Oh God. I didn’t want him to dump me. My heart felt like a lump of coal at the thought of Matt saying goodbye to us, a blackened, lifeless piece of coal. “Hey, Aunt Cleo, how are you?”

Matt moved further into the living room as I listened to my aunt complain about her kids and husband. Then came the expected: money.

“Aunt Cleo.” I tried for firm. “I can’t right now.”

I could feel Matt pacing my living room. The urge to turn around and watch him was great, but I didn’t want to see the distance in his eyes. Our relationship had seemingly run its course. It was hard, had been so hard to fight my growing feelings for him. Spotting pictures of him in magazines, tabloids, most of the times with a beautiful woman on his arm…it had been so fucking hard to not say, “Matt, it hurts.” I had swallowed my pain because I knew what I was getting myself into from the get-go.

“Please, don’t. Aunt Cleo, I can’t—of course, I love you. Fine. Jesus Christ.” She shouted at me so loud for taking the Lord’s name in vain I had to take the phone away from my ear for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear as I unconsciously fiddled with my hands. Not wanting Matt to overhear any more, I walked into the kitchen.

>>>

Matt watched her as he paced the floor. She was upset. He always knew when she got stressed. She would scratch her little finger without being aware she was doing it. He watched her disappear into the kitchen, then followed her.

>>>

“I don’t have that much spare, Aunt Cleo.” My voice was a low hiss. Why did she do this to me? Ask me for money, then remind me of all the years she had cared for me like her own. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to help her, it was financially impossible to get her the amount she wanted when she wanted.

“How can you owe so much in back tax? Doesn’t Reggie do your taxes anymore?”

I watched Matt uneasily as he came into the kitchen and pulled a chair. This was embarrassing. The issue of money hardly ever came up between us. We both tried to avoid it like the plague.

“Look, I’ll sort it. I need a few days. I’ve got to go. Bye.” I hung up before she could find another one of my weak points and exploit it.

“Sorry about that.” I attempted to smile at him as he sat on the chair and stretched his legs out. With a deep breath I said, “You wanted to talk?”

Here it comes. The: ‘Listen, poppet, we’ve had fun, a few laughs. Let’s call it quits now.’

Matt stared at me for a long moment, then held his arms out. “Come here, poppet.”

Shoulders drooping, I made my way over to where he pulled me into his lap and eased the phone out of my hand. Was this the last cuddle from him? When he ended it, I would put on a brave face and agree with him. Why did he have to touch me? The soothing stroke of his hand over my back was heaven; any time he touched me it felt like heaven. Maybe he wanted to have sex one more time before he kicked me to the curb. Well, no. I would say…yes. Who was I trying to kid? Matt was an experienced lover, and being with him the past couple of months had been bliss. He did things, things that turned my body into one big puddle of pleasure. All my virginal nervousness had long gone. All that remained was my eagerness to please him between the sheets, to see his eyes darken with delight when I followed his lead and gave myself over to his expert tutelage. I’d surprised him a few times by my behaviour. He was addictive, so damned addictive, and he wasn’t mine. Not really. We were only fooling around with each other.

“Did you hear me, poppet?” he murmured, lips nibbling my sensitive neck. I’d been so engrossed in my depressed musings his words had gone unnoticed.

“Ah, no.” Hands curled into fists to stop myself from grabbing him. “What did you say?”

Matt chuckled against my skin, his warm breath tickling my ear. “I’m going to presume your lack of focus is due to me touching you and not my boring you.”

I squirmed in his lap as he nibbled my ear and chuckled. A low, seductive sound. I enjoyed it when he laughed like that, knowing he was thinking dirty thoughts and wanting those thoughts to be put into actions.

“What did you say, Matt?”

“I said, let’s go on a short holiday. Anywhere you want, as long as it’s somewhere hot.”

I leaned back, eyes wide with surprise. A vacation? He wanted to go on a vacation with me? Not break up like I’d assumed?

“Are you serious?”

Matt nodded, then manoeuvred me around so I straddled him on the chair. “I’m a very serious man, poppet. Have you been to Italy before?”

I shook my head while his hands began to edge my dress up my thighs. His head was bent as he pushed my dress up completely, revealing the blue silk panties I wore. Matt let out a satisfied sigh, fingers stroking lightly over my upper thighs, creeping higher. Another sigh left his lips when he felt the slight dampness of the material.

“I own a few properties around Italy.” His fingers became more demanding as he rubbed me through the material. “All nicely private. With a little luck, I should be able to clear up my schedule for a few days.” He slipped the panties to one side, baring me for his perusal, and the sound he made this time was quite gratifying. “What do you think, poppet? Mmm?”

I was distracted, to say the least. Matt’s erotic stroking over my flesh had my brain stuttering.

“I’ve got a lot going on at the studio,” I managed to get out. Matt lifted his gaze to mine the exact moment he slid a finger inside me. I gasped in pleasure at the intrusion and a smug smile tugged his lips.

“Take some time off,” he ordered, two fingers moving in and out my body. I was wet, soaking wet, and Matt was obviously enjoying his ability to make my body respond quickly to his touch. “Let’s go to bed,” he said huskily. I shuddered as he pulled his fingers away, then blushed furiously when he stuck his fingers into his mouth and licked them clean, eyes trained on me the whole time he did so.

“Blushing, poppet?”

I shoved him in the chest as I jumped off him. “Black girls don’t blush,” I answered, my embarrassment making my tone terse. Matt laughed, then stood up adjusting his pants as he did. The thick bulge in there had my mouth watering with anticipation.

“Whatever you say, Madi. Now, I want to talk to you about those candles. Remember what I warned you I would do if you—”

I was shrieking and running out the kitchen, planning to lock myself into the bedroom. Matt gave chase, his legs were longer but I was smaller and, in this instance, faster. He caught me though, right inside the bedroom door.

“Don’t you dare,” I said, giggling as he wagged his eyebrows at me in a lecherous manner.

“Promise you’ll stop harping on about it,” he said with a touch of exasperation. “Your constant reminders only serve to cement the fact I am an advantageous old coot corrupting your innocence.”

“I’ll stop,” I promised, tugging his shirt out of his trousers. “Do you want your present now?”

Matt licked his lips, erroneously assuming it had something to do with my body. He nodded, undoing his belt and unzipping his pants. I grinned at him, then headed for the dresser where the gift-wrapped rectangular box lay.

“Poppet,” he said, as I walked back with it in my hands. “I didn’t expect a gift.”

“Open it.” I held it out to him. With an embarrassed frown on his face, he shrugged off his pants before taking the box. Matt in his shirt and silk boxers was an incredible sight.

“It’s light,” he said, shaking it. I grinned and he started to grin as a speculative gleam lit his eyes. “Mmm, I’m hoping it’s something lacy that fits you perfectly.”

I shook my head, my grin one of nervousness now. I hoped he liked it. The gift was supposed to be tongue-in-cheek.

Matt tore off the wrapping and opened the box. He shot me a quizzical look as he took out a bunch of clothes hangers.

“The past few weeks you’ve been leaving your clothes behind,” I began to explain. “I thought maybe you could hang them up in the closet instead of on the chair. I mean, I keep reminding you to take them when you go, even washing and folding them for you…and you know I don’t normally fold clothes.”

A myriad of emotions flew across Matt’s face, finally settling to one of tenderness as he tossed the hangers over to the dresser, along with the empty box and wrapping paper.

“About bloody time you figured it out,” he said as dry as dust, before grabbing me and tossing me onto the bed. “So stop removing my aftershave from the bathroom cabinet and bagging it up. Your dress is amazing, by the way. Take it off.”

My mouth curled down at his domineering tone, but the dress did come off. He crawled into bed with me, laughing at my frown and knowing exactly why there was one on my face.

“Seriously, Matt, you can’t order me around like one of your employees,” I groused, while he tugged my panties off, then spread my legs. He looked up at me, a devious smile on his face.

“The only sounds I want from you are moans of pleasure, so be quiet until then, poppet.”

My mouth fell open, outraged and shamefully turned on. “Why you arrogant—ah. Oh, Matt.”

“Shush.” His voice was muffled from between my trembling legs, but carrying an edge of sternness. Damn, even going down on me he was bossy.

“I’ll shush you,” I gasped out, winding my hands into his silky black hair. Matt focused on flicking his tongue over me, tormenting me until I was indeed only capable of moaning with pleasure.

>>>

It was half-five and he was exhausted. He’d only had about an hour’s sleep and those reports that he should’ve gone over last night were untouched downstairs. Matt finished buttoning up his shirt, watching her roll over and reach out for him in her sleep. A pleased smile graced his face. He needed a proper night’s sleep, but he couldn’t stop himself around her. Matt tucked his shirt into his creased trousers. The mounting urge to tell her how he felt last night had been suppressed after the call from her aunt. She had been scratching her pinkie finger during the call, an unconscious gesture of stress he had noticed over their time together. He knew she was worried, and not wanting to add to her worry by admitting his desire to make their relationship public, he had bit his tongue. The opportunity would present itself soon enough.

Matt made a mental note to get Rachel, his secretary, to clear a full week for him. He would take Madison to Italy, then convince her to agree to his demands. Being in the public eye was daunting if one wasn’t used to it. And Matt knew that once news broke of him being in a relationship with a black woman ten years his junior…he pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He would get his PR team to launch a charm offensive. Maybe take her out to a few charity functions first.

He’d also been toying with the idea of investing funds in her dance company. From what she’d told him, finding sufficient backing to launch a major production like the one they were planning was difficult. Matt made another mental note to speak to the division in his company that dealt with charitable donations. In fact, he was going to make it the first course of action. It would deal with any questions over his public interaction with her. Hell, he’d been forced over the years to attend numerous charity balls for the worthy causes his family donated money to. Yes, this could work. After a few publicity events, which would help improve the company’s image and bring the art of dance altruistically to the underprivileged, they could start being seen as a couple in public.

Matt rubbed his chin, deep in thought. There were things he would need to keep out of the media, of course. Certain things about her parents could be misconstrued, and that bloody man, Kincaid. Matt felt frustration over her links to a man who was secretly being investigated by Serious Organised Crime Agency. After reading the file Nathan had procured, Matt had done his own investigation. He wasn’t happy with what he’d found. All these things he kept to himself. Admitting his knowledge of it would lead to her finding out about the background check, and he knew she would be furious. A smile curled his lips.

Feisty. His feisty, dark beauty who he loved. Matt’s breath caught in his throat. God. Was he truly in love with her or obsessed with the pleasure she brought him? His heart said ‘yes’, while his logical mind scoffed. Matt decided that, for once, he would listen to his heart…

>>>

“Matt?” I murmured, reaching out and finding only pillows.

“I’m here, poppet,” he said from above. I rubbed my eyes and sat up in bed, clutching the sheets to my chest as Matt buckled his belt.

“What time is it?”

“Five thirty. I have to go.”

I nodded and yawned widely. Matt grinned, coming over to sit next to me on the bed.

“I’ll try to call you later,” he said, leaning down to kiss my bare shoulder. “I should know by this afternoon when we can go.”

“Go where?” I was half asleep. I wrapped my arms around his neck, the covers slipped down, pooling around my waist. Matt’s hands dug gently into my back.

“Italy, poppet.” he replied, before kissing me deeply. “Go back to sleep. I’ll lock the door after me.”

“Okay.” I stayed awake long enough for him to walk out of the bedroom, then slumber took hold once more. When my alarm blared out at seven, I rolled over and snuggled my face in his pillow. His scent was intoxicating. Everything about Matthew Bradley was intoxicating. And overwhelming. Consuming was a better word. He consumed me. It was scary as hell, and damn exciting. Yawning, I climbed out of bed and headed for the shower.

By the time I parked outside the studio, I was jonesing to see him again.

“Hey, Madi.” Gloria, our receptionist and part-time toddler group dance instructor, held up a cup of coffee.

“Gloria, you’re the best,” I said in appreciation as I walked by and took the offered cup. “Is Dante in? I didn’t see his car out front.”

She nodded, flicking through her magazine. “His girlfriend dropped him off about thirty minutes ago. He’s in the office.”

I forced myself to smile and traipsed into the office. I disliked Christine with a passion. Heck, I’ll say it: I hated the bitch. She was so up her own asshole, laughing at me when she thought I didn’t notice. Dante’s little friend, Dante’s annoying sister, Dante’s stray; all those comments she made in jest around the others. Forget the fact she was hot as hell and knew it. She was a conniving, little witch who made it clear the first time we met that Dante was hers. I’m all about sisters sticking together, but she was one of those fair-skinned black people who thought they were better than anyone darker than them. Where the hell did she get off? Dante was as dark as me and currently her boyfriend, so her superiority complex was faulty. I sighed and eyed the office door for a full minute before entering. Sour grapes. I was honest enough to admit I disliked her because she’d stolen Dante from me. Not that he was mine to begin with—

“Hey sweet cheeks.” Dante got up from the cross-legged position he was in on the floor. “You look tired. Not sleep much last night?”

Another thanks sent upward my cheeks couldn’t physically turn red. “Umm, yeah, something like that.” I tossed my bag onto one of the worn chairs in the office. The space was cramped, suitable for our needs, but definitely cramped.

“I’m thinking.” Dante held a hand out to me.

“Never a good thing,” I teased, taking his hand.

“Ha, funny. Anyway, I’m thinking we should put some fouettes en tournant in the final bit of the choreography.”

I paused, thinking about it, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, I like that. Maybe instead of having the dancers in a straight line, we could do a sort of semi-circle, open it up. We’ve got the series of grand jetes right before. The fouettes could work.”

Dante nodded in agreement, ideas flying across his face. “Let’s hit the floor, Madi, and try it out and see how it flows.”

“Are the others here yet?” I asked, as he tugged me along.

“Bri and Eddie are, Lisa should be in soon and the others will probably get here around ten. Have you eaten?”

I shook my head. “I’ll get something later. I’m thinking about selling the house, Dante.”

He stopped abruptly. My eyes were on his back, so crashing into him was averted. “You’re what? Why?”

I shrugged, pulling my hand away. “Our cash flow for this place is getting tight, plus Aunt Cleo—”

“Stop right there.” Dante held a hand up. “You are not selling your home, Madison DuMont. We’ll get the cash somehow, and I’m not letting you get played by your aunt again. Where would you live? Did you think of the costs of renting?”

He was fuming. I chewed my lower lip and shrugged again.

“It’s not happening, Madi. I’m your best friend, and I’m putting my foot down.”

I grinned at his indignation. He was cute when he got mad.

“That Kincaid dude called for you this morning,” he added as we resumed our trek to the changing rooms.

“Really?” I smiled in delight. “Geoffrey’s lovely, isn’t he?”

Dante let out a dry laugh. “He has an unusual fixation with you. Freaks me out. Not to mention he’s what? Fifty, maybe sixty?”

I punched his shoulder lightly. “My dad was his friend. Geoffrey’s looking out for me. You weren’t complaining when he donated that cash last year for our Down the Rabbit-Hole production. Oh, no, Dante Emmanuel Palmer, you were, ‘Gee, thanks, Mr Kincaid. We’re so grateful.’ Honestly, I thought you would plant a big wet one on his lips.”

“Shut up, training bra. Yeah, I said it. Don’t screw your mouth up at me or I will put you over my knee—ow! Madi. Stop punching me. Sorry, sorry.”

I stopped hitting him. Training bra. It had been years since he called me that, almost twelve years. Douche.

Laughing together we got changed, backs turned to each other, then hit the dance floor. It was almost five in the afternoon when we took a proper break. I went to the office to get my cell. Matt had called. Why did I pump my fist into the air like a jock on steroids? He left a brisk message, telling me he managed to clear his schedule and we would be leaving early Saturday morning. Pack a week’s worth of clothes and a bikini. Then he said, “Miss you, poppet.”

If it wasn’t the twenty-first century, my actions could’ve been mistaken for a swoon. Then I got slightly annoyed at his commands. I had my own life. I couldn’t take a week off at the drop of a hat to jet off to Italy with him. That posh, bossy, sexy man. So why was I now standing next to Dante in the hall telling him I needed next week off? Why was my tummy doing somersaults at the prospect of spending time with Matt? Not the rushed hours we spent at my place where he was always arriving late and leaving early. A week with Matt sounded like heaven. Yes, it did, but it didn’t stop me from checking out Dante’s butt on the sly.

The afternoon classes had started, and I took time to pop into the intermediate level class. A pleased smile was on my face as I watched the ten students go through their paces. They were getting much better and Sarah, their instructor, had been over the moon with their progress the past few months. She was hoping we could put them in the latest production, knowing it would boost their confidence immensely being on stage in front of a crowd. I would discuss it with Dante. He was a bit anal when it came to any major production we did. Everything had to be perfect or there was hell to pay. Maybe we could have the class perform a small part in the opening acts. They would like that.

My eyes followed the girls’ movements. I felt slightly sad there were no boys in this class. Most people believed ballet was solely a girl’s thing; it wasn’t, but it was a hard perception to overcome. I mean, which teenage boy was going to risk his rep with his friends? When we were younger, I had witnessed first-hand how cruel boys could be. Needless to say, Dante had ended up in a lot of fights. That stopped when our instructor had warned him that one broken bone could potentially ruin his prospective career, and he needed to decide what was more important: maintaining street cred or doing what he loved.

“Okay, girls,” Sarah’s jovial voice called. “Let’s show Madi your barre work. Show her the strength in those ankles and toes, otherwise she’ll think you’re slacking with your pointe technique.”

I grimaced at Sarah as the girls glided over to the barre. Most of the older students were shy around me, maybe intimidated. I was sure their instructors were feeding them a myth that I was a black, draconian soul eater who could crush you with a glance. I smiled brightly at the girls and waited for them to start. They were good, better than good, and my gaze became astute as I watched them. Alicia was the best, with Jade and Laura close behind. I was pleased and my face showed it.

“You girls are doing well.” My tone was full of confidence and their teenaged faces beamed with pride. “Keep up the good work.” With a quick wave to Sarah, I slipped out the room. I would speak to Dante about maybe putting them into the production.

“Hi, Madi.”

It was Melanie, a cute little brunette who was ten and whose class ended at five. I glanced at the clock in the hallway. Six fifteen.

“Hi, Mel, is your mom late again?”

She nodded, trying not to frown. I frowned for her. We weren’t a babysitting service, and it was a school night. Where the hell was her mom? We had one hour classes for the younger kids twice a week. Tuesdays and Thursdays from four to five. Why was her mom always late? The schedule hadn’t changed since we first started. How hard was it to ensure you picked your kid up at the appointed time?

“You want to come dance with me?” I asked.

She clapped her hands and grinned. “Yes, please.”

I took the hand she offered and we skipped down the hall to the main dance room. Dante and some of the others were getting ready for another run through of our amended final act.

“Your mom’s late again, Mellie?” Liam asked the girl. He shook his head in disgust as he stretched. Melanie’s mouth wobbled a bit and I bent down to retie her ribbons around her legs.

“Show me what you’ve learnt today, pumpkin. Then I’ll go call your mom.”

She eagerly ran to stand in front the mirrors and began to do an endearingly clumsy pas de basque.

“Start from fifth position, Melanie, not fourth,” Dante corrected automatically. His tone was sharp and I narrowed my eyes at him. Sometimes he forgot these kids were young and his expectations of them were usually too high. I agreed with pushing the students to explore and attain their full potential but, jeez, his reprimand had my back stiffening. Poor Melanie looked like she was about to cry. I walked over to her with an encouraging smile and stood in fifth position. She took a deep breath and mimicked me.

“Start in fifth, then plié. Slide that front leg out, pumpkin. That’s a tendu—”

“Can you teach me to spin, Madi?” She put her hands on her hips, staring at her legs in the mirrored wall.

“You mean a pirouette, Mel, and your legs need to be much stronger. You must be able to maintain en pointe first.” I patted her shoulder lightly, not wanting to sound discouraging.

“I can,” she said defiantly, mouth tight in concentration as she attempted to rise up. I applied pressure to her shoulder, ensuring she couldn’t.

“Listen, pumpkin. You’ve just turned ten. We don’t start teaching that until you’re around eleven. Remember what I told you? Your bones have to be strong enough, otherwise you can permanently damage your feet.”

“You let Janey do it, and she’s the same age as me.” She folded her arms and pouted. Bri chuckled to herself as she watched the ten-year-old stare me down. Mel continued to complain. “She said she started when she was nine. That’s not fair.”

I folded my arms, too, and tried to win the stare off. “Firstly, you’re not wearing the proper shoes for it even if I were going to let you do it, which I’m not. Secondly, Janey had a doctor’s note confirming the bones in her feet are hard enough, and she’s already achieved sufficient competency in fundamental ballet technique. You’ve only been attending classes for seven months—”

“I can do it.”

“No, you can’t.” Dante walked over. “Not yet, at least. But if you come to classes every week and practice all the time—”

Melanie’s thin shoulders slumped.

“You’ll be as good as Janey,” I finished. “Now put a smile on your face. Have you ever seen a pouty ballerina?” I gestured to the adults around us, all in various warm-up positions. They plastered exaggerated grins on their faces. I laughed. Melanie unwillingly started to giggle, too.

“Good girl, let’s go call your mom.” I ushered her in the direction of the door.

“We’re starting, Madi,” Dante warned. “Don’t be too long.”

I gave a backward wave of acknowledgement and hurried the little girl out of the room. At the front desk, I found her mom’s number on the database and called. It was on the third call she answered.

“Mrs Traynor.” I injected as much firmness into my voice as possible, thinking of Matt as I did. He could make someone tremble with just a word. “It is now six thirty and your daughter is waiting for you to pick her up. Her class finished at five pm.”

Melanie’s mom started spewing out excuses. I’d heard them all before.

“I understand you have other commitments and two younger kids, but we are not babysitters. If you’re unable to get here on time, I suggest you make arrangements for someone else to pick up Melanie—”

She made a comment about our increased prices and I had to swallow my anger. The increase had been smaller than Dante wanted, but it wasn’t as expensive as some of the other ballet schools.

“Yes, we did increase our prices and, if we had to look after our students after their classes ended, it would be triple the fees. It is not a service we provide. How long until you get here?” I hung up after she said she would arrive in fifteen minutes. Bitch.

Gloria, who was keeping Melanie distracted while I spoke to her mom, glanced over at me with a roll of eyes. Mrs Traynor was known for her inability to maintain good timekeeping. Melanie’s ears were red with shame. I felt bad for the kid, remembering what it was like being left waiting for someone to come pick you up. Aunt Cleo had done her best, but there were times I wondered if she’d forgotten I existed. The resentment I felt when she would bustle through the front doors of my ballet class, agitatedly telling me to come on as if I’d been the one keeping her waiting…

“Would you like a fruit bar, Mel?” I reached under the desk for Gloria’s secret stash and was rewarded with a menacingly glare from its owner. I shrugged at her unspoken threat and pulled one out. The kid must be starving. “Here you go, pumpkin. You wait here with Gloria until your mom arrives and I’ll see you next week?”

Melanie nodded as she tore off the wrapping and wolfed the bar down in three bites. I frowned, exchanging a look with Gloria. Was it me or did she seem more slender than before? I would watch her from now on. Maintaining a healthy weight was a must. I’d seen too many girls back home battling themselves to keep the perfectly petite frame expected of ballerinas. Lucky for me, I had an aunt Cleo. The one time she had caught me puking up food, she had slapped my ass hard as I bent over the toilet bowl and said, “Don’t you be following them scrawny white girls, you hear. Food was made to be eaten, and I will not have you puking my money down the toilet. If I ever catch you doing that again, I will whup your ass. I’m not afraid to. Don’t think you can hide it, either. I’m your aunt, I know everything.’

My aunt Cleo was something. I waved to Melanie and headed back for the main room.

If I held back on paying the lights and heating for the building until this month’s student fees came in, I could possibly send aunt Cleo the money she needed. Or I could raid my emergency savings, as much as I was loathed to. Fuck it, family came first. I would check the books before leaving tonight and see what cash was available. There was no need to tell Dante. I had invested the majority into our dance company, and I would replace the money before he noticed it.

“Come on, Madi,” Dante said as soon as I entered the room, impatiently motioning me over. “I need you now.”

My heart clenched in my chest. How I wished he meant that in another way. Thoughts of Matt whispered guiltily through my mind. I pushed them away. Matt and I weren’t a real couple, even though I had feelings for him. We slept together, but I secretly harboured fears that I was a perverse racial experiment. However, he was fantastic in bed and, the plus side was, when Dante finally realized he was in love with me—I had yet to figure out how on earth this was going to happen—I would be able to rock his world because of the things I’d learnt from Matt. Win-win.

Dante slipped his hands on my waist, effortlessly lifting me. “Ready, sweet cheeks?”

I extended my arms, body poised. “Ready.”