by Carr, K
“I don’t want to stop seeing you, poppet,” he confessed softly. He had wanted the moment to be perfect when he made his admission, but he was tired of waiting for the opportunity to present itself. There was always something cropping up. He wasn’t going to wait any longer. “I’m in love with you, and I expect you to reciprocate those feelings. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to do something drastic—”
“What? You’re in love with me?” The astonishment on her face was priceless. Matt nodded, experiencing a sudden and rare spurt of indecisiveness. He had never said those words to a woman and truly meant it. He did now. Bugger. Why wasn’t she saying anything? She regarded him in shock. Then her face underwent a transformation so fast he wasn’t prepared for it. Or her reaction.
<><><>
“What the hell are you playing at?” I hissed, yanking my hands away from his hold. “You love me? Piss off. That’s bullshit. You love me?”
Matt nodded, eyeing me cautiously as I began to get mad. What sort of game was he playing? Did he expect me to believe this shit? Matthew Bradley, gazillionaire playboy, in love with me…yeah, right. And Oprah was my fairy godmother.
“Get out, Matt. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m not doing it with you. Of all the insane things to say—”
“I love you, poppet,” he said with a quiet intensity that made my heart stop. For all of a nanosecond, then I laid it out for him, straight and to the point.
“I’m black, you’re white. You’re filthy rich, I’m not. You’re older than me and probably slept with hundreds of women. I’m not your type, not really, Matt. I’m someone different and you’re bored with your life so you wanted to try something new.” I was upset now. Hearing him say those words and knowing he didn’t mean them hurt something fierce. “You don’t love me, and I’m not going to stand here listening to this crap. Seriously? You probably want to do me up the butt. Guys say shit like that to convince a girl to do freaky stuff. Well, it’s not happening. I don’t care how genuine you sound, or the fact you’ve made me fall in love with you despite my best efforts not to. I can’t believe you’d pull this crap. I thought we were friends, okay maybe not friends—well, we’re sleeping together and I—you—why are you smiling at me? This isn’t funny, Matt. I want my ke-mmph.”
Normally a kiss from Matt resulted in a few seconds of dazed stupor. This kiss was, to date, the big daddy of them all. One moment I was asking for the return of my house keys, the next moment my mouth was being ravished mercilessly by Matt. It felt as if he wanted to devour me, lips first.
It was a fucking spectacular kiss.
“You love me,” he said huskily, while I took ragged breaths to replace the ones he’d stolen away.
“Wha—I—let me go this instant.”
Matt didn’t let me go. In fact, his arms tightened around me as he bent his head. I jerked mine back. Another kiss like that might kill me.
“You said you love me, poppet.”
“Did not,” I denied, trying to recover from his mouth’s passionate onslaught.
“You did and you can’t recant it. Bloody hell, poppet. You don’t know how relieved I’m feeling right at this moment.” Matt lifted me up and spun me around while I thumped his shoulders.
“Put me down you beastly giant. I said nothing of the sort. Your hearing’s failing you in your old age.”
His jaw clenched for a second, then he kissed me again, tongue swirling in matched tempo with mine as he lowered us to the floor. Words eluded me as, in a speed that defied logic, Matt stripped us both naked. Then he was moving deep inside me with smooth decisive strokes, bringing me to an orgasm almost immediately. I sank my teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, dug my nails into the skin of his back, wrapped my legs tightly around him, revelling in the sensation of his hardness stretching me to maximum capacity. It hurt, it always did. He was well-endowed, but I had gotten used to the edge of pain that came with his lovemaking. In fact, I craved it. Ached for it. His body branding mine, claiming me as his own. For the first time I felt as if I belonged.
“Matt,” I whispered, shaking in his arms. “Do you mean it?”
He raised his head from where it had been nestled in the crook of my neck. Silky hair fell over his forehead as he smiled tenderly. “Yes, I mean it.”
He turned us over so I was on top, his hands gripping my hips tightly as I moved my body over his.
“Bloody hell.” He groaned. “I’m not going to last long if you keep that up.”
I rolled my hips, and the sound he made this time was filled with a raw desperation which increased my desire exponentially. It was amazing knowing I could do this to him. That I could make him lose all semblance of cultured reserve. I delighted in my ability to drive him to the stage where he cried out for me, to the point where his beautiful eyes filled with intense longing and his touch on my skin became frantic. I pressed my hands over his chest, marvelling at the contrast of our skin tones as Matt jerked uncontrollably beneath me in climax. I grinned, smug and knowing he would feel embarrassed over his lack of restraint.
“Ahem,” I murmured over his rough breathing as he blinked up at me. “What was that?”
“Shut up.” He exhaled with a sheepish grin. “It’s not my fault. What do you expect when you’re moving like that on top of me?”
Daring to push my luck while the going was good and he was recovering from his release, I teased, “Smacks of premature ejac—hey!”
Matt twisted us around in a flash, so I was the one underneath. He growled at me, eyes narrowing in feigned anger. “You’re going to regret those words, poppet. If I recall, you mentioned something about your bum? Hmm, what’s wrong? No witty come back? Nothing to say?”
I gulped, beginning to wriggle away, or trying to. Matt was holding me prisoner on the carpet, grinning wickedly at me.
“Don’t even think about it. That is never going to happen. Get off.”
“Oh, I plan to,” he warned in his deep, sexy voice as he lowered his head to kiss my nose, then my chin, before finally coaxing my tightly compressed mouth open with his tongue. “I definitely plan to get off numerous times tonight.”
I loved him. He said he loved me, too. But my ass was off-limits. Nuh uh. Not happening. Crazy white man had lost his freaking mind…
<><><>
When I crawled out of bed the next morning, I couldn’t stop smiling at the sight of Matt sprawled over the sheets, his face partially covered by his dark hair and the pillow hiding the rest. He was scrumptious. My eyes travelled slowly over the lines of his back, lingering on the rise of his incredible ass cheeks before running over his toned thighs and legs. Matt’s body was a well-oiled machine. He obviously took good care of himself, physically resembling a strapping young jock instead of a well-heeled business man. I chewed my bottom lip, undecided whether to crawl back into bed or go to the studio. Matt stirred in his sleep, turning over to give me a more detailed uninterrupted view of his impressive physique. I backed away from the bed, resisting temptation—only just. I needed to dance. A week was a long time for me to not be in the studio. If I didn’t put in floor time today, I would be having withdrawal symptoms by this afternoon. We had work to do on our upcoming production. With a quiet sigh, I crept around my bedroom, gathering clothes and heading for the shower.
It would be better to let him sleep. Matt worked so hard I was surprised he hadn’t run himself into the ground. The man was a sea of boundless energy. It didn’t take long for me to get ready, and I left Matt a brief note explaining where I’d gone and what time I’d be back. My cell was charging. It had been off from the moment we’d gotten on his jet and the battery was predictably flat.
Matt said he loved me.
I stopped in the process of walking out the front door, suddenly uncertain about everything. Did he mean it? Last night he said he did, but we hadn’t been together that long. Not really. Could people fall in love that fast? I loved him—at least I thought I did—but did my feelings stem from him bein
g the first man I had slept with? Was this simply infatuation? Were our obvious differences the only reason we were attracted to each other? Opposites attracting in its most extremist form? Or was he playing me? Matt was much more worldly than me. And scarily intuitive. Maybe he was feeding me lines, telling me what he knew I secretly wanted to hear to keep our affair going. Sometimes, I thought he knew what I was thinking before I said anything.
I locked up, pushing those confusing thoughts out of my head and heading for my car. I needed to dance. Dancing cleared my mind, made me feel at peace. Dancing made everything right. If I had known what was waiting for me, I would’ve stayed home and hid under the bed.
<><><>
Matt stretched languorously, inhaling deeply. Her intoxicating scent tickled his nose and he smiled, reaching out for her warm body.
“Poppet?” He jerked into an upright position, vigorously rubbing his face as he peered around the empty bedroom. Wrapping the sheet around him, he went in search of her.
“Madi?” he called from the landing. The house was quiet. Too quiet. With a small frown on his face he made his way downstairs, puzzled over her disappearance. Where was she?
When he found the post-it note stuck to fridge, slight irritation filled him. She’d gone to the studio, promising to be back in a couple of hours. Matt let out a disbelieving snort. The woman would happily spend every waking hour at that place. Feeling spurned, he went back upstairs to have a shower and get changed. By the time he came back down his mood had improved at the memory of her fiery admittance to loving him. He needed to have a talk with her over going public with their relationship, but the worry he felt was gone. She loved him. There was no need to keep their feelings secret. Matt made himself tea, then wandered around aimlessly. He finally decided to get some work done while Madi was out. After getting his stuff from the car, he relaxed on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. His mobile was charging while he opened up his emails. Matt glanced at her mobile next to his. He didn’t like the fact he couldn’t call her. He shook his head, then turned his attention to his emails. There was nothing pressing, or so he thought until he came across one from Nathan—a rude email instructing him to check in with him at once. The email rubbed Matt the wrong way, so he picked up the house phone and called his friend.
“Nathan Walthamstow,” came the curt greeting.
“It’s Matt.”
“You bloody idiot.” Nathan’s voice blared down the line. “Do you have any idea of the shit storm you’ve created? Everyone is hounding me for answers. Your family haven’t stopped calling me, the press are all over this—”
“Nathan,” Matt interrupted sharply. “What on earth are you going on about? Has something happened to our stocks?”
“Stocks? Stocks? No, you imbecilic arse.”
Matt lost his temper. “Listen here, Nathan, I have no idea what you’re on about and frankly your behaviour—”
“How was Venice, Matt?” Nathan asked, his voice cold and hard.
Matt’s jaw clenched in shock. He hadn’t told anyone where he was the past week. As far as anyone knew, he was working from his home in Surrey. That was the line his secretary had been ordered to give. A week free of distractions so he could go over their strategy for the upcoming takeover. The staff he hired for his jet would never break their non-disclosure contracts. Nor would his staff in Venice. How in the blazes did Nathan know?
“Matt? Matthew are you there?” Nathan huffed impatiently down the phone.
“Yes,” he replied in a tone void of all emotions as his mind raced. “How did you know I was in Venice?”
Nathan let out a harsh laugh. “By reading the goddamned papers and the Internet. We can’t forget the informative net. You bloody twat. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing her? Did you not assure me you would keep this under wraps? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were seeing her. How long has this been going on, Matt? Our press offices haven’t made a statement, but we’re going to have to do something fast. The past two days we’ve had the paps circling our headquarters like sharks. Your father is livid, demanding answers that I don’t have.”
Matt took a deep calming breath, then asked, “What exactly does the media know?”
“That you’re shagging Madison DuMont. Yes, Matt, they know who she is. A rag broke the story Wednesday afternoon with pictures of you and her in Venice—suggestive photos—and they made a game of it, inviting the public to name Matthew Bradley’s latest conquest. Jesus Christ! You wouldn’t believe what they’re speculating about your relationship.”
His blood ran cold. Madi. She had no idea how to handle the British press. Bloody hell. They would eat her alive.
“Matt? Are you there, man?”
“Yes.” Matt knew he had to find her, and fast. Falling into crisis mode, he began issuing orders to his best friend. “Listen, we are not making any statements to the media about this—”
“Matt,” Nathan interrupted.
“No, this is my personal life. They have no right to it,” he said tersely.
“Mate, we have to give them something. You know what they’re like.”
Matt rubbed a hand over his face, thinking quickly. “Fine. Instruct our press office to give a brief statement that my personal life is not for the public domain. This has nothing to do with our companies, and I am not having Madi subjected to media scrutiny.”
“She already is. They’ve found out about her parents’ death, where she works—”
“What about Kincaid? Is there anything about her relationship with him?” Matt felt sick to the stomach. He needed to go find her.
“No, and I haven’t found out much more about him since we last spoke,” Nathan groused. “I was under the mistaken impression there would be no need to. And the age difference, I told you that would be—”
“Look, Nathan, I don’t have time for your recriminations. I need to get Madi.”
“She isn’t with you?”
“No, she’s at her studio, and I hope to God the press isn’t there. Her bloody phone is here so I can’t call her with a heads up. I’m going over there as soon as I get off the phone.”
“Wait a minute. What if the press is there?”
“I’ll deal with them,” he said coldly.
“The hell you will,” Nathan said. “I’ll prepare a brief statement myself and meet you there. Wait, meet me at the station, it’s faster if I catch the tube. I’ll deal with the media if they’re lying in wait like the jackals they are. It’s in my blood.”
“Good. I’m leaving now. Bye.”
“Meet me at the bloody station,” Nathan managed to yell before Matt hung up.
Matt stared at nothing for a second, then uttered a foul curse to vent his frustrations. How had they found out? It didn’t matter how. When Matt found out who the person was behind this intrusion into his private life, he would destroy them. He grabbed his mobile and keys, dashing out Madi’s house. The only thing on his mind was getting to her. Everything else: his family, his friends, the bloody paps, none of that mattered. He needed to get to her so he could reassure her that this would blow over. Matt would make sure of it. As he got into his car, he felt uneasy guilt. He had wanted their relationship to be made public, but not like this. He wasn’t in control of how it had been presented by the media, and it was too late to put the genie back into the bottle. Matt put his foot down and the car responded immediately. If he had green lights all the way, he could be at the station in twenty minutes. He would wait for exactly fifteen minutes and, if Nathan hadn’t arrived by then, Matt would leave without him.
<><><>
When I drove into my parking spot at my building I was a bit flustered. There were a few vans parked outside the open gates and people hanging about. As soon as I drove past, there was a flurry of activity that I saw in the rear view mirror. Was that a camera? I laughed at the ridiculous thought, thinking about ways Dante and I could improve our choreography. With a smile on my lips, I reached into
the back and grabbed my stuff. A bright light flashed and I spun around, then screamed in fright at the faces jostling outside my car.
What the fuck? I sat frozen, gripping my bag to my chest as the strangers started shouting questions at me. The flashes of light became brighter.
“Ms DuMont.”
“How long have you been in a relationship with Matthew Bradley?”
“What’s the nature of your relationship with Matthew Bradley?”
“Did you enjoy your time in Venice?”
“How did you meet?”
“What’s the nature of your relationship?”
“Ms DuMont, how did you deal with your parents’ deaths?”
“Do you prefer the UK over the States?”
“Have you encountered any issues being in an interracial relationship, Ms DuMont?”
“What about the age difference? Ms DuMont? Ms DuMont?”
They were shouting so loudly I could hear every single question even though the windows were up. Oh God. What the hell was going on? I started to hyperventilate, could feel the sweat starting to trickle down my back. This was not good. My throat closed up as I sat, terrified and trapped in my Beetle.
Panic attack. Shit. This was going to be bad. It had been years since I had last experienced an attack, but I knew the signs. Shaking hands, dry mouth, unable to freaking breathe. I slammed my hand over the horn as the dizziness started. I kept my hand on the horn, eyes squeezed shut. Oh God, please let Dante be there. From my lips to God’s ear. I heard Dante’s strident voice, yelling he was going to call the cops if they didn’t get off his property. My palm was stuck on the horn, the noise blaring continuously. The door was abruptly yanked open.
“Come on, Madi.” Dante grabbed my arm, helping me out of the car. I stumbled, eyes closed and gripping my bag tightly as he muscled us past the crush of people. I couldn’t breathe, the only sound coming from my lips was a raspy wheeze as I huddled against Dante. He practically carried me into our building.