Page 96 of Lovers' Dance

“Why are you calling me, Matthew?” I asked coldly.

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “You know why, poppet. To apologize for the millionth time. To ask for forgiveness—”

“Forgiveness?” I interrupted scathingly. “You expect me to forgive you after last Saturday? Have you lost your mind?”

“I’m in the process of losing it, yes,” he shot back. “Because I can’t stand this distance between us. I don’t want to have this discussion over the phone. Can I stop by later?”

Hedidn’t want to have the discussion? The arrogant asshole. Typical. Everything must be done on his terms. Well, not this time.

“No.”

“Poppet,” he said in frustration. “We have to talk about this. Face to face. I know you’re angry with me and rightly so—”

“Angry?” I cut him off as I juggled the papers on my lap. “I’m not angry, Matt. I’m done with you, with whatever this is…was. I may be inexperienced, but I’ve watched a lot of movies and read loads of books. Everyone knows if there’s ongoing drama between your man and his ex, things get out of hand, someone gets stabbed and the girlfriend ends up in jail. I’m too short to go to jail.”

Matt chuckled down the line. Damn it. I missed his smug laughter. Stupid, idiotic, sexy man.

“In this scenario of yours,” he drawled, “who gets stabbed? Not the boyfriend, I hope.”

“No one knows until it happens,” I said, smiling unconsciously, then stopping myself. I needed to hang up the phone before he did some sort of mind control trick to make me forgive him.

“Madi.” He breathed huskily into the phone, and my nipples tightened from the way he said my name. The man was lethal. He wasn’t physically there, yet my body responded without shame.

I glared down at my boobs, mentally ordering them to behave before I spoke coldly. “Matt, I’m extremely busy and you need to stop calling me, stop buying me things and, for God’s sake, have someone move that SUV from in front of my house.”

There was pause on his end. I could hear the clackety-clack of a keyboard. He must be in his office, taking time from his busy day to call me. Stop it. Stop it right now, Madison DuMont, I scolded myself.

“Natty wants your number,” Matt said unexpectedly. “I’m loathe to give it to her, but she seems fond of you, poppet. Both girls are. They’ve been texting me all week asking when next they’ll see you. It’s becoming tiresome.”

The sudden change in topic distracted me. “I like them, too. Give her my number and tell her to call me. I’ve got to go, Matt.”

“How’s work?” he asked quickly. It was an obvious attempt to keep me on the phone.

“It’s fine. We’re busy like I said—”

“How’s the choreography going? From what I saw last Friday, it looks amazing,” he said supportively.

Against my will I replied, “Really? We think so, too. Dante and I are swamped with auditioning extra dancers for the production. We’re running out of time if we want everything—” I stopped. How did he do this?

The silence stretched between us and I fiddled with the pile of resumes on my lap.

“Poppet,” he murmured after half a minute. “Talk to me.”

“I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Madi, I’m sorry about what happened at dinner. You have no idea how sorry.” He took a deep breath. “I love you, I miss you and I need to see you. I need you, poppet. Can I stop by later?”

The ‘yes’ was on the tip of my tongue. It was only through sheer, desperate resolve I managed to avoid blurting it out. I swallowed the lump in my throat and said instead, “Matt, I need time to think and I have to go.”

“How long?” he asked in an empty voice.

“I don’t know.”

“Are the press leaving you alone?” Another suspicious change of topic. This time, I wasn’t falling for it.

“A few reporters were hanging around earlier this week, but nothing today. I have to go. Goodbye.”

I hung up the call and tried to control the surge of emotion running through me. It was good hearing his voice. I fucking missed him. The way he kissed me, the way he touched me, even the way he’d get irritated with me and frown those delicious lips of his.

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