Page 69 of Lovers' Dance

“This one’s bleeding, too. Why on earth didn’t you stop earlier?”

“Don’t worry, Matt. This happens a lot,” she explained.

Matt’s frown deepened. “I don’t like the thought of you hurt.”

“Hazards of being a dancer. Stop fussing.” She covered her face with her arms again and Matt ran a hand up her calf. Madi let out a groan of relief and he continued to massage her leg until Dante came back with the first aid kit. He moved aside as Dante briskly took bandages out before cleaning the blood away.

“It’s not that bad, sweet cheeks. Stop being a baby,” he joked.

“Ow!” She yelped when he dabbed antiseptic over the injury. “Says the man who cried when I did this for him not more than three weeks ago.”

“Shut up,” Dante mumbled, shooting Matt an embarrassed look. With obvious experience, Dante cleaned and bandaged both toes.

Matt helped her up and she was smiling once more, bouncing on her toes while he glowered in disapproval.

“Thanks, Dante. I’m going to change then head home. What time do you want me in tomorrow?”

Matt looked at her, then Dante. “You can’t dance with both feet injured.”

They scoffed at him before starting back down the corridor. Matt stood there for a second, feeling put out over their behaviour. Did they not know who they were speaking to?

“Madi.” He closed the distance fast with his long strides.

“Matt, wait for me in the office,” she said, then disappeared behind a door with Dante. Matt scowled at the closed door, then went to wait in the office, as ordered. He wasn’t sure how to take her new attitude. Ten minutes later, she walked through the door dressed in the clothes he’d first seen her in.

“I just need to check a few things.” She headed straight for the desk, tossing her bag on the ground. “Then we’ll go back to mine and you can get your driver to pick you up from there, because I’m not driving all the way to Kensington.”

Matt quirked his lips. She was mistaken if she believed they wouldn’t be spending tonight, and the rest of the weekend, together.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, coming around the desk to peer over her shoulders.

“My emails. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” He touched her hair, wrapping a curl around his finger and enjoying the feel of its texture. The different types of curls that black women possessed were a mystery to him. A lot of them wore it straight, but he’d seen quite a few with their natural curls on proud display, ranging from, in his inexpert opinion, the tight afro curls, which he had no idea on how a black woman could manage, to the wavy tresses of those with mixed race. Madi’s hair was somewhere in between. He loved tangling his fingers through the springy softness.

He rubbed the back of her neck, slow, circular motions that elicited a soft sigh from her.

“Mmm,” she murmured, then jerked away. “I’m angry with you.”

“I know, poppet,” he murmured back. “I apologize for the background check and the bloody media.”

He resumed massaging her neck, venturing over her tense shoulders. This time she didn’t pull away.

“Those things they’re saying about my mom…I don’t want to believe it. She’s being portrayed like a mixed up—”

“Poppet.” Matt cut her off gruffly. “The media go out of their way to put a negative spin on everything in order to increase circulation. Don’t dwell on it.”

“But, Matt, it’s not just what they’re saying about her. They’re making it sound like I’m a gold-digging slut. And those comments.”

Matt spun her chair around so he could look into her unhappy eyes. “You’re not, and I don’t care about other people’s opinions on our relationship. Ignore those ignorant arseholes.”

“I guess I should,” she mumbled, doe eyes downcast.

Matt gripped her chin and tilted her head upwards. “We’ve been over this, Madi. Nothing has changed. Now smile,” he commanded.

She made a feeble attempt and he arched an unimpressed eyebrow at her. Shaking his head in disapproval, he plastered an exaggerated smile on his own face and she burst into laughter.

“Much better, poppet.”

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