Page 34 of Lovers' Dance

“A bit. Hey, why do you call me poppet? Is it in reference to a toy puppet with strings, Matt?”

He was kissing behind my ears. “It’s a term of endearment.”

I wriggled a bit and he nibbled my earlobe, hands holding my hips as he arched his lower body against my ass. I turned over, causing water to slosh over the tub and splash on the tiled floor.

Matt obviously liked me straddling him in his tub. The look on his face said it all.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, cupping my breasts and lowering his head to lick the trickle of water off my nipples. “So bloody perfect.”

She was sleeping, sprawled on his bed and making that sound he now quite enjoyed hearing. Matt closed the door with his heel, balancing the tray of breakfast with both hands as he quietly walked over to a table by the windows. He had found the two chairs that went with it in the pantry downstairs. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. His dark beauty. His sweet, sensual dark beauty. Last night had been exquisite. His guilt over hurting her disappeared after their lovemaking in the tub. She was so eager, so trusting, so undeniably addictive that he had lost count of how many orgasms they’d both shared. Through it all they had talked, giggling like children under the fresh sheets, touching with a familiarity you would expect from old lovers, not a virgin and a man whore…that had startled Matt. The ease he felt with her, it was so damn easy to talk to her. Lying on her toned stomach looking up into those brown eyes of hers, Matt had felt at peace; everything before felt contrived, hollow, as if he’d been walking through life shrouded in fog. He had told her things about himself very few people knew, and it had felt right. That was the most perplexing part. Why was he so damn comfortable around this beautiful woman he’d spent less than two combined days with?

It was her, the way she looked at him as if everything he said mattered. He was used to people following his orders without question, used to women staring at him in awe as they made designs on how to insinuate themselves further into his life. Everyone wanted something from him. But she looked at him with honest curiosity shining from her eyes, not greed. They were nothing like her. His past lovers suddenly seemed insipid in comparison. Going about their luxury-filled lives concerned only with satisfying their needs. Madison DuMont was so glaringly different from the women he dated, it shamed him. How could he have been interested in such shallow women?

She was only twenty-six, yet had such conviction in her dreams it filled him with pride. She had talked about her desire for dance to be open to everyone, regardless of race or money. Matt frowned slightly, not wanting to dwell on the issue of race. It made him uncomfortable focusing on the obvious inequalities of society.

His eyes roamed at their leisure over her nudity. So smooth and soft. So bloody hot. He should wake her to eat, but he wanted to watch her sleep for a few minutes more. Another frown graced his face as he remembered his feelings of deception when she had spoken of her family, skirting over her parents’ deaths with a brave smile as she regaled him with stories from her childhood so different from his.

That file was locked away in his desk in the study. He felt the need to destroy it, to hide his dishonesty of acting as if he didn’t already know her background. Damn Nathan. He pushed aside his irritation. If Nathan hadn’t brought the file, Matt wouldn’t have been compelled to see her again. He had to make sure she never found out about it. Yes, he would destroy it as soon as he had the chance.

He made his way over to the bed, sitting next to her and running his fingers over her toned stomach. He couldn’t resist trailing his fingers lower. The memory of being inside her moist tightness sent a tremor through his limbs. Heaven. It was heaven losing himself in her body, feeling her spasm around him as he pushed them into ecstasy could only be described as a heavenly act. Matt stroked her gently, eyes slipping closed in secret delight while his tongue traced his lips slowly. The taste of her…God, he was enthralled with this woman and, for the life of him, he couldn’t understand how it had happened so fast.

“Stop fingering me, you old pervert,” she murmured in a sleep-laced voice. Matt snatched his hand away, guilt covering his face as she opened her eyes and squinted at him.

“Good morning, poppet.” He injected as much formality he could in his greeting, never mind the slight dampness on his fingertips that he desperately wanted to taste…

I smiled shyly at Matt, pulling the sheet over my body. “Is it?”

“Mmm hmm.” He was smiling back at me. It looked like a smug smile, a sort of cat-got-the-cream smile. I blushed furiously.

“It’s eleven thirty, and I’ve made you breakfast.”

“Really?” I scooted into a sitting position. “Is there bacon?”

Matt’s eyes crinkled around the edges. “Your hair is a mess.”

My hand flew up, trying to rearrange my curls into a less unattractive do. It was hopeless. That shower yesterday had soaked it, with no conditioner, not even a blow dryer, to smooth it back into sleekness. The effects of my Brazilian blow dry were gone. My wild curls were back with a vengeance.

“And have you forgotten what I said?” I teased. “You do not question a black woman about her hair.”

Matt leaned over to kiss me. If it was supposed to be a quick good morning kiss, he had failed. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him with unrestrained abandon.

“It’s a lovely mess,” he finally said after we’d stopped smooching. “Now get out of bed and have breakfast with me.”

“Matt, you really are bossy, and why can’t we eat in bed?”

He ignored my chastisement and started tugging me out of his bed. “Because it’s not the right thing to do. You eat at a table, that’s one of its main purposes, not lounging in bed getting food all over the sheets.”

Snob. I jerked my hand free and snuggled back under the sheets. “Well, I’m too tired and too sore to traipse all the way over there.”

Matt’s gaze swung from the bed to the table and chairs over by the large windows. “All the—it’s less than ten feet. Come on, out.”

I resisted, he insisted, and we ended up rolling around in the bed laughing at our childishness.

“Fine.” He finally relented after I’d wrapped my arms around the headboard and refused to budge. “On this occasion I’ll allow it.”

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