Lovers' Dance (38 page)

THIRTEEN

I LOVED LONDON on Saturdays. People thought I was crazy, but I loved the frenzy. It reminded me of home—of New York City— on a smaller scale. I loved it even more when I wasn’t fighting through traffic in my car, and the fact there were no congestion charges on weekends was a major plus. But, today, I was head-over-heels in love, and being ferried around London at the hands of Matt’s driver, who got a stern telling off by Matt when he caught him checking out my ass on the sly, was fun.

Matt was grinning at me. I was trying my best not to smile back, instead, going for a haughty demeanour. The reason: he was dead serious about this dating crap. After breakfast this morning, he had politely refused my amorous advances. Oh, we made out, we made out a lot. But, when the steamy make-out session was on the cusp of turning into a sex-fuelled volcanic eruption of cataclysmic proportions, Matt had firmly lifted me off his lap—we had ended up on the couch—and said in an unyielding voice, “Poppet, your knickers are staying on.”

I thought he was messing about, so I told him it was a thong and it didn’t have to come off. He could pull it to one side if needs be.

He laughed at me, kissed my forehead, then dumped me on the couch before saying he was going to get changed and call his driver.

I was shocked, so shocked I did nothing but stare open-mouthed as he sauntered up the stairs, whistling softly.

He was serious and completely crazy if he thought I was going to allow this shit. A girl has needs. I raced after him, tackled him in the bedroom and had another intense moment of tonguing. Then he said with the widest smile on his face that, “No means no, poppet.”

What could I say to that? Not a damn thing. He was right: no did mean no. I huffed as he got changed, then huffed some more as I changed into something else. I was hoping when he saw me naked, he would drag me into bed. It didn’t happen. Matt averted his eyes and exited the room with haste.

Now he had refused my advances in the backseat of a Bentley. How many cars did he own? I had no idea. My main concern at the moment was the consuming heat raging inside me.

Matt glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s almost two, poppet. Shall we stop somewhere to eat?”

“Not hungry,” I muttered bad-temperedly. Matt chuckled under his breath. His hand landed on my leg and he squeezed lightly.

“Don’t pout, poppet. I promise you’ll thank me in the end for being a gentleman.”

This time I didn’t even use words, instead grunted my displeasure. Matt chuckled.

“Is there any more shopping you’d like to get done?” he asked in an attempt to pull me out of my perfectly justified sulk, although I knew he dreaded the answer. Matt, like most men, suffered from a physical and a mental aversion to shopping with their girlfriends. In Milan though, he hadn’t rolled his eyes as much as today.

I shook my head. Today had been hard on my bank account, and I had bought one thing. The charity ball Matt had ordered me to attend at his side was a black and white formal affair. I had quite a few black dresses, but nothing suitable for an event like this. I found it cute that our first ‘official’ date was a black and white ball. Matt shook his head at me when I pointed it out, and reminded me in a teasing voice not to let my subconscious racist tendencies show. I threatened to pop him in the eye again and the twin eyebrows of doom were raised. I kissed him instead, first on the eye I’d punched earlier, then on his mouth.

“Matt.” My hands were being restrained by him. He was a mind reader, he knew what I intended to do with my hands.

“Mhmm,” he replied, kissing the corner of my mouth.

“Is it going to be weird tomorrow? I mean, will people act funny with you? I don’t want anyone making you feel bad because…well, you know what I’m trying to say.”

Matt leaned back, those intense grey eyes of his roving my face. He let go of my hands and stroked my cheek softly. “Poppet, it’s unbelievably sweet you feel that way, but I am a Bradley.”

I twisted my face to press a kiss against his palm, then asked, “That means what exactly?”

It was hard to explain the way his expression shifted. There wasn’t any particular movement or thing I could pinpoint. His face changed and I leaned back a bit.

“It means I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks and, if someone is foolish enough to say anything that may cause offence, they will regret it.”

Note to self: never get on Matt’s wrong side.
I was apprehensive, not for myself, but for anyone stupid enough to anger Matt. I mean, he didn’t earn his reputation for being a cutthroat business tycoon by selling lemonade.

“You’re going to love my dress,” I said in an attempt to change the topic.

“I’m sure I will, poppet. Are you certain you don’t want to continue shopping?”

“I can honestly say today is the first and last time I’ll be shopping at Harrods. I’m sure I saw that Chelsea footballer there. What’s his name?”

Matt gave me a blank stare, then waved it way. “If you had allowed me to pay for—”

“Not discussing it, Matt. Don’t want to talk about it. Ignoring you. Looking out the window,” I said loudly to avoid further reprimands from him.

We had gone to Oxford Street first. Nothing caught my fancy in the shops. Then onto Bond Street. I refrained from getting anything. I tried to hide my discomfort as we went into the luxury stores. A lot of the clothing didn’t have price tags, which meant they were obviously out of a normal person’s price range, way out. Matt wasn’t normal. He spent an obscene amount of cash on a few shirts, shirts he didn’t really need. I know, I’d seen his walk-in closet. Matt, reaching the limit of his patience, had told his driver to take us to Knightsbridge. My alarm had gone up several levels at his request on the way there. When we walked into Harrods, I was sweating blood.
Was he mad?
I had whispered to him I doubted I would find anything there, and he had folded his arms and said I was not walking out the store empty handed. I felt totally out of place, and a bored Matt hovering over my shoulders as I tentatively touched exorbitantly priced dresses didn’t help. Then I saw it—the dress to end all dresses. The dress that would transform me into a smoking, hot chocolate angel. Matt was busy on his cell—or ‘mobile’ as he kept reminding me. “You’re in England now, poppet. Speak properly,” he would tease.

He was busy chatting to Nathan, I think. I beckoned to the woman working there, who I swore gave me a dirty look when Matt had given me a quick kiss before. It’s not my fault she didn’t have a hot man. I asked her if the dress came in my size and, when she said yes, I knew it had to be tried on. Matt was engrossed in his conversation and barely paid attention when I told him I was going to the changing rooms. The dress was amazing. It fit perfectly, and the contrasting white against my skin tone was striking. It was beautifully simple. A sleek one-shoulder design, which hugged the lines of my body in a magical way that made my boobs look bigger. The boob thing was why I had to have it. I told the woman to ring it up while I got changed.

When I arrived at the counter, Matt was still yakking to Nathan. The woman told me the price and Matt told Nathan to hold on, then levelled me with an incredulous stare. He immediately started pulling out his wallet. I told him to piss off, and the woman asked if I was paying with cash or card. I had glared at her.
Cash?
Was she on something? Who walks around with that kind of cash? Drug dealers, that’s who. Then I remembered the store I was in and my glare immediately turned into a weak, sickly smile.

But the dress…it called to me. It had entrapped me. I ignored the voice of reason in my head saying I was bat-shit crazy and pulled out one of my bank cards. Damn. I cannot begin to explain how much it hurt when she asked me to type in my pin number on the palm-held machine. Matt had been ready to step in again, but another scowl from me had him biting his tongue and resuming his conversation.

I would have to live on dry cereal for a few months after today. Forget the milk, no more luxury for me.

“Madi.” Matt’s voice broke into my financial musings. “I have to go into the office today. My driver will take you home.”

“What?” I straightened up against the leather upholstery. “It’s Saturday. Why do you have to go in?”

“I would love nothing more than to spend all day with you,” he said, reaching for my hand, “especially after the week I’ve had.”

I grinned at his not-so-subtle reminder of our tiff.

“But I need to deal with unexpected developments today.”

I didn’t want to complain, that was nagging. Oh crap. I had a boyfriend. Was I supposed to nag to show how much I cared? I needed to talk to someone about the rules of relationships. If Aunt Cleo didn’t think Matt was a white pervert using her niece for unholy sex, I would’ve called her.

“Okay, Matt. I get how busy you are.”

Matt smiled, leaned forward and ordered his driver to take me back to Greenwich once he’d been dropped off in Central London.

I snuggled up to him and he swung an arm around my shoulders.

“The function starts at seven. I’ll come pick you up for six tomorrow,” he advised. I nodded and chewed my bottom lip. Matt cleared his throat awkwardly and I turned to look at him.

“The press will be there, poppet—”

“I’m not going,” I interrupted at once. “Sorry, but I just remembered I have this thing at the studio. It’s important and I can’t believe I forgot about it.”

“No, you don’t.” Matt had on his ‘older and wiser’ expression. “And never lie to me, Madison. Not even as a joke. I won’t tolerate it.”

I was taken aback by the undercurrent of steel in his voice.
Was he for real?
He’d done a frigging background check on me and failed to mention it. That was a lie by omission.

“Fine. I’ll stop joking, but I don’t want to go. I’m not going, Matt.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve bought a dress—”

He did have a point there. It was a very expensive dress...

“—and I can’t show up without a date. People would talk.”

That was not helping his case. I was his generic plus one?
Should I punch him again?

“I have to attend, and I’m not going without you. So, yes, Madi, you’re going.”

I had one card I could play. It was a good card. “The last time you made me do something, it didn’t turn out well for you, did it?”

An array of emotions flowed across Matt’s handsome face. It finally settled on begrudging embarrassment.

“Please?” he asked, and my stupid heart went pitter-patter at the look in his eyes. I ignored the mushiness and tried to master that superior look he usually wore. I owned that shit.

Ha! I had the upper hand. The great Matthew Bradley supplicant to badass Madison DuMont. I tried to remind myself gloating was not a ladylike trait, but it bubbled inside me.

This was an opportunity that should not be wasted. I leaned over to whisper in his ear, “I’ll go on one condition.” I nipped his earlobe lightly and he let out a soft groan. “After the ball, we go back to mine, or yours. I don’t really care where.” My tongue traced his outer ear and another husky groan fell from his lips. “And get buck wild between the sheets.”

Matt jerked away and frowned at me. His face was flushed and his breathing a bit raspy. Yeah, he knew how this was going down. Check to the fucking mate,
mate
.

Matt cleared his throat again, running a hand across his chin as he scrutinized my triumphant face. “Ah, I see.”

“Yep, I bet you do.” I grinned smugly. This was good. I felt good. Tomorrow, after the ball, I’d feel even better. Soul-shattering orgasm, here I come.

“Have you considered what the gossip sheets would print when I turn up with someone else on my arm?” he drawled.

“Wha—I’m sorry, what?”

“Of course,” he continued in a smooth voice, “they’ll wonder why a mere week after being photographed with you in Venice, another woman is at my side.”

“Wait a second,” I spluttered.

“They’re like blood hounds, the media. They’ll camp out in front of your studio barraging you and anyone else around about our relationship.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I said with false bravado. How had he turned the tables on me?

Matt arched an eyebrow. “They’ll smell a story, a sordid story that will be spun in the worst light, and your Aunt Cleo will—”

“Okay,” I cried. It was the mention of Aunt Cleo that did it. “I’ll go, you manipulative beast.”

Matt chuckled and hugged me as close as the seatbelt would allow. “I adore you, poppet, but you should know better than trying to blackmail me. Have you not learnt anything from Google about me?”

“Humph.” I snorted, then smiled, albeit, unwillingly. Matt always made me smile. “I’ve not Googled you since that day at the pub. But, Matt, come on, you can’t be serious about this.”

Matt leaned into my ear, his warm breath dancing over my skin deliciously. “I want to do this right, Madi, and, when we do make love,”—he nipped my ear and I broke out in goose bumps—“I promise it will be worth the wait. Patience, poppet.”

“You’ve turned me into a monster,” I mumbled, squirming in my seat.