Lovers' Dance (5 page)

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms DuMont,” he said quietly. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at him. His face seemed sincere, so I accepted it for what it was and picked my shoes back up before heading to the table and writing Matt a brief letter thanking him for rescuing me last night, apologizing for putting him in an uncomfortable position by practically forcing myself on him, and mainly for taking care of me when he didn’t have to. I felt horrible for leaving without seeing him, but I couldn’t bear facing him. Not after everything that had happened. I folded the letter, put lipstick on and left a perfect imprint of my lips over the two edges. A kiss goodbye for my unexpected knight. I propped the letter up on the table, kissy-side up.

“Your taxi is here, Ms DuMont.” George was as quiet as a church mouse. I hadn’t heard him approaching. He swept past me to open the door and inclined his head in my direction.

“Goodbye, George. Sorry about the mess and the drama at the door.” I grinned at him as I walked out of Matt’s place, heels in hand and purse tucked tightly under my arm. “Just think, every time you walk towards this door, you’ll remember me.”

George’s lips compressed in a thin line. Was he trying not to laugh or annoyed at my lack of class in his eyes?

“Ms DuMont,” he said in a strict tone that matched the sternness on his face. “I sincerely doubt I’ll ever be able to forget you.”

I waved, then hurried down the stairs to my waiting taxi. I was going to chalk this up to life’s experience. When I got home I would freak out over how close I’d come to being killed in a back alley Croydon-side.

THREE

MATT PULLED UP outside his Kensington home and eagerly alighted from his car. It was gone one in the afternoon, and he hoped Madi was still curled up in his bed where he’d left her early this morning. His morning had been a busy, filled with board meetings and a complete chore, not to mention uncomfortable due to the raging hard on he’d been sporting throughout. The thought of her sexy, lithe body under his had been forefront in his mind; in fact, it had been the only thing on his mind. Some of the board members had commented on his obvious distraction at the last meeting and, when he’d ordered his secretary to cancel his afternoon meetings, she had looked at him in alarm before asking if he was unwell. Matt was a workaholic, it was a well-known fact, but he played hard, too. He was going to enjoy showing Madison DuMont how much fun he could be between the sheets. He jogged up the steps to his front door, a grin on his face as he swapped his briefcase over in order to open up.

“Good day, sir.” George greeted him with his usual unruffled calm, coming into the foyer to take his briefcase.

“Hello, George.” Matt started tugging on his tie. “Is she awake yet?” Matt had advised George on his return early this morning about their unexpected house guest. George, accustomed to Matt’s hectic love life, had asked whether to have Matt’s driver take the lady home or to call public transportation. When Matt had said neither, George had fallen silent for a few minutes before querying as to what did Matt expect of him. George had known Matt since he was a baby, had worked for his family for as long as he could remember. The usual routine when it came to Matt’s conquests was to ensure they were long gone before he returned home. The strange request to make sure she ate and to let her rest until Matt returned had George feeling uneasy. Who was this unknown woman capable of changing a longstanding ritual when it came to his employer? George had met her and, because he was very fond of the young man in front of him, it was a fatherly, but stern, voice in which he replied, “She was awake when she left this morning, sir.”

“What?” Matt turned to his live-in butler. He didn’t view George as a butler, more like family, but that was his official title. “What do you mean she left? What did you say to her?”

George was taken aback by Matt’s anger. Gone was his usual aloof reserve, replaced by a cold fury filling his face. George felt more unease at his employer’s strange behaviour.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Nothing. Then why the hell did she leave?” Matt exploded, not wanting to believe his dark beauty had left without saying goodbye. Not after spending the past few hours craving the taste of her on his lips. Not after everything that had occurred between them from the moment they’d first met.

George clasped his hands behind his back, posture military straight, and observed Matt’s demeanour as he began to stalk towards him.

“She mentioned something about work, sir,” George explained politely.

“Work? She shouldn’t be at work.”

“I did try to convince her to stay, but she refused.” George arched a bushy eyebrow at him. “After her threat to call 911, I felt it best to allow your guest to leave.” 

“What? 911?” Matt felt like his head was going to explode.

“Do not worry, sir.” George tried to take the briefcase clenched in Matt’s hand. “I corrected her so she’s now fully aware of what number to call if in need of police assistance.”

Matt took a deep breath and glared at George. “I swear your employment with me will be terminated right this second if you don’t explain yourself.”

George tried to not show any emotion, it was unprofessional, but the empty threat and Matt’s erratic behaviour since he’d walked through the front door, plus his earlier encounter with Ms DuMont, had him fighting a grin. Years of working as a butler meant his face remained bland as he finally got Matt to relinquish his death grip on the briefcase.

“I did as you instructed, sir, and took a light breakfast up to Ms DuMont—”

“You woke her?” Matt asked accusingly. “I told you to let her sleep.”

“It was ten thirty, and I merely knocked on the door to check if she was awake.”

“You woke her,” Matt repeated in a dark tone.

George ignored it and continued. “Ms DuMont was awake and after she’d stopped screaming—”

“What? Why was she screaming, George?” Matt needed a drink. A strong one.

“I assume she was startled at my unexpected appearance in the place of yours, sir,” George said tonelessly, before narrowing his eyes at Matt. “Shall I continue?”

Matt nodded wordless.

“I advised her clothes had been sent to the drycleaners, which have now been returned.” George pointed to a bag Matt had missed on the way in. “For whatever reason, she began acting strangely again and informed me of her virginal status.”

Matt bit his lips, remembering the way she’d blurted that piece of information out to him. “Yes, she tends to do that”—he frowned at the man he’d known for all his life—“when she feels embarrassed. Did you embarrass her, George?”

George kept his features bland. “Ms DuMont was unclothed in your bed, sir. I came to the expected conclusion.”

Matt’s expression darkened and George hurried on, once again alarmed over his employer’s erratic behaviour where it concerned the strange Ms DuMont. “I left her breakfast and was trying to procure clothes for her.” He paused to shuffle the briefcase to his other hand. “She is quite petite.”

Matt smiled. “Yes, she is.”

George’s alarm skyrocketed at the appearance of that almost dreamy smile on Matt’s face. “Before I had arranged suitable clothing to be sent over, she’d come in search of me. Then there was the incident with the tray—”

“Incident? What incident?”

“Well, if you’d allow me to finish without interruptions, sir, you’d be brought up to speed.”

Matt arched an eyebrow at the undertone of rebuke in George’s voice, then waved him on to continue. He let it slide. The man was like his surrogate father.

“Ms DuMont brought the tray down and I startled her, causing breakage of the dishes. She refused to stop tidying up even though I’d ordered her to.”

Matt’s face tightened in displeasure at that. George was unsure which part of his recounting had caused it. “Then we had a slight disagreement—”

“What did you say to her, George? I’m perfectly willing to sack you. Don’t think I won’t.”

George was always professional, so he did not roll his eyes, even though the urge was great. “She implied I was old and decrepit, sir. I informed her I was not.”

Matt was grinning. “Did she really? She’s feisty, isn’t she?”

“Yes, sir, she is,” he agreed before continuing. “She then requested a taxi, and I informed her of your expectation that she would be here when you returned. She stated she had to go to work and took offense for no reason at all, before rudely saying she was part owner of a dance studio—”

“Is she?” Matt asked, curiosity piqued. Madison DuMont was the most intriguing creature he’d ever met, and now she was gone.

“That is what she said. I have no reason to disbelieve her. I think she was under the assumption I was looking down my nose at her.”

“And were you?” Matt asked quietly, arms folded across his chest while he regarded George with a frigid air of hostility.

“I was not, sir,” George denied. “Although I will admit to being surprised when I first saw her, with her being…” George began to phrase it as delicately as he could, instinctively knowing his employer would take umbrage if he didn’t. “She is unlike any other woman you have brought here, sir.”

Matt was observing him with those cold, empty eyes. “Yes, she is. Continue.”

“She wished to leave and I was unable to change her mind, so I called a taxi and she left you a letter.” George’s morning had been turned upside down by this young black woman who seemed to have done something to Matt. He was acting unlike himself and it was worrying. Bradleys did not socialize beneath their social class, and this woman was with no doubt beneath them. George had not once commented on Matt’s womanizing ways. He knew his employer was careful, and the women he had his fun with would never go to the media with tell-all stories. But this one, this Ms DuMont, was different. She was having a strange effect on his unflappable employer, and George didn’t like it.

“A letter? Where is it?”

“On the table behind you, sir.”

Matt turned around and noticed the piece of folded paper with the imprint of a kiss. He snatched it up, then aware of George’s hovering presence, gave him leave. George hesitated and Matt tapped his foot impatiently.

“What is it, George?”

“She’s American?”

“Yes.”

“She looks very young.”

“She’s twenty-six, George. A grown woman.”

“Sir, I don’t know how to say this but…”

“I know, George, she’s black. Was there something else?”

“Sir, how long have you known Ms DuMont?”

“Less than twenty-four hours. Now I’m going to my study. Do not disturb me.” Matt walked off. He was fond of George. Hell, the man had changed his nappies, but his unspoken disapproval was irritating, and Matt’s previous good mood on arriving had disappeared the moment he’d found out she’d left. He slammed the door to the downstairs study and began to read her letter while pacing the room.

My dearest Knight
—he smiled at that,
Thanks for rescuing me from those assholes last night. You kicked their asses. I can never repay you for that. I want to apologize for my unbecoming behaviour last night. I was not myself and I put you in a rather uncomfortable position
—Matt had been uncomfortable, a certain part of his anatomy had been very uncomfortable and still was—
and I’m eternally grateful you didn’t take advantage of the situation
(
I’m not writing it down in case you try to sue me for harassment
)—she had drawn a smiley face there.
You took care of me when it was neither your responsibility nor required and that means a lot to me. So I want you to know that although I want to forget the majority of last night ever took place, I will never forget you.

Thank you, Matt.

Love your poppet.

P.S. Why were you calling me that? It’s kind of weird. Did you mean a real puppet? With strings? Or is it some British slang? Thanks for the ‘you know what’ and hope I didn’t freak you out. That’s never happened before. Well, when I do it—
she had put two lines through that last sentence, and Matt could about imagine her lovely brown eyes going wide in embarrassment.

P.P.S. Please don’t think all black women are crazy. We’re not.

P.P.P.S. Don’t blame George for my leaving. I threatened to call the cops and called him old. Tell him I said sorry and the eggs were the way I liked them.

Then there was a row of xoxoxox’s. And that was it. No telephone number with a request for him to call her. Nothing. Matt grimaced in annoyance at the letter in his hand and folded it. The imprint of her lipstick reminded him of the way her soft, luscious lips had felt under his. His grimace turned into a slow smile. She would be easy enough to find. He had her name and countless resources at his fingertips. He could find her within days, then seduce her back into his bed to finish what they’d started. Matt was used to getting everything he wanted and, right now, he wanted her. He’d never had a woman say “no” to him. His good looks and money made sure of that. Madison DuMont was his next target, she just didn’t know it yet. Matt’s conscience made an untimely appearance in his musings, reminding him of the strange protectiveness he’d felt over her. She was the complete opposite of his usual willing playmates. She was different, she was special.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he muttered, annoyed with himself for having these confusing feelings over a woman he didn’t know. Special? No one was special. In the end, they only wanted two things from him: money and social standing. It had always been that way, and he had no hopes that would change. Matt crumpled the letter in his fist, then walked over to his desk and tossed it in the bin. He’d cancelled an afternoon of important meetings, raced home like an infatuated school boy eager to deflower a black woman ten years his junior. He was out of his mind. Completely. Matt sat behind his desk and turned on his laptop, determined to get work done and forget about a woman he would never see again. After ten minutes of staring at the screen, he bent over and picked the bloody letter out of the bin before tossing it in the drawer, consoling himself that the reason he’d done so was because it was a sweetly written letter.