Page 37 of Lovers' Dance

“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?”

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