Lovers' Dance

by Carr, K

  I reached into the back to grab my stuff. “I’ll see you sometime in the week, Matt.”

  His well-defined eyebrows shot up as he unbuckled his belt. “That’s quite vague, poppet. We’ll discuss it when I call you later. Remember, we’re dating now.”

  A little chuckle left my lips before we both got out the SUV. Matt came around to the driver’s side. I was conscious of the movement by the gates. Were they taking pictures?

  Matt obviously didn’t care because he kissed me in full view of anyone who cared to look, smacked me lightly on the ass and winked once.

  “Make sure and take your house keys back from Dante today, poppet. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him before saying goodbye and hurrying up to the doors of my building. I searched around in my bag and found the bunch of keys for the main doors, then opened up. Gloria didn’t come in until eight am. Policy was to keep the doors locked until our reception was staffed.

  “Dante,” I yelled, locking the doors behind me and catching a glimpse of the Porsche driving away. “I’m here, D. Where are you?”

  I quickened my steps through the reception area and met him coming down the hallway.

  “Morning.” He greeted me with a grin. “You look good. Kincaid is going to appreciate your effort.”

  “Shut up,” I grumbled. “I’ve told you a million times, he doesn’t see me like that. You’re a pervert. Geoffrey’s old enough to be my father.”

  Dante laughed and took my bag off me, swinging an arm around my shoulders as we walked to our office.

  “What time do the final set of dancers arrive?” I asked when Dante opened the office door.

  “Around nine, Madi, and, once we have the final line up, we can start getting them ready for the show.”

  I awkwardly shrugged off my jacket, the action causing me to reveal more flesh than I wanted, and Dante dropped my bag.

  “Dude! I’ve got my cell in there,” I shrieked.

  Dante wasn’t listening. He grabbed me by one shoulder, his other hand tugged my silk shirt partially to the side. “What the fuck? Is that a bite mark?”

  I froze, shocked into stillness by his fingers gently touching the area above my boob. I had left the first few buttons undone, going for a stern but naughty look. It worked with the jacket on.

  “Dante,” I said softly. My eyes were wide as saucers. I was used to Dante’s hands on me. For crying out loud, we were ballerinas, had danced together for as long as I remembered. He’d touched me in more than one intimate place. But that was different, that was the clinical touch of one dancer on another. This touch was different. It made me uncomfortable and excited at the same time.

  Dante’s head snapped up so he could see my face, a fierce frown twisting his sensuous lips. “Did he do this? What the hell, Madi? That’s a serious bruise. Is he rough with you? I’m gonna kick his ass.”

  “Dante,” I repeated, trying to pull away. His hand on my shoulder tightened as his gaze dropped lower once again.

  “Cracker son of a bitch. Are there any more? What else did he do to you?”

  Dante looked crazed, like he was going to strip my clothes off and check every inch of my body for bruises and bite marks. And there were a few. Matt and I had gotten buck wild. He was the owner of deep scratches and bite marks himself.

  I smacked Dante’s hand away and fixed my top. “Calm down, D. What on earth is wrong with you?”

  Dante folded his muscled arms across his chest and continued frowning at me. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?”

  I was frowning, too, angry at my best friend for making me feel the way I was feeling. It was understandable. I’d been crushing on Dante for years, and because of our line of work, my body’s reaction to him was understandable. Wrong, but understandable. His hands were usually on me most days. Before Matt and I got together, Dante’s hands holding or touching me was my secret bliss. Shit, it still felt good, but I had a boyfriend now. I needed to stop my childish daydreams and act right.

  I had a boyfriend, I reminded myself sternly. But for how much longer?

  “It’s nothing, Dante,” I murmured, bending down to pick up my bag before heading to the desk. “Things, uh, got a bit heated after you left, and stop scowling. I don’t mean in a violent way. Look, I’m not talking about this anymore. Have you heard back from that artistic director we spoke to last week?”

  Dante, frowning, dropped his arms to his side and nodded. “Yeah, we got an email from him. He wants to meet up as soon as possible. We could probably have him stop by this afternoon.”

  I nodded in agreement, shoving my unsettling feelings aside to focus on today’s work. “We need to sort out our final design for the tickets. I want it done today.”

  “I’ll call our usual printers and get them to draft a few mock-ups, sweet cheeks. Once we have our lineup, Gloria’s going to have to handle everything else. We won’t have time to deal with anything but our choreography.”

  “I know,” I answered with a sigh. “She deserves a raise, you know.”

  “I know, but we can’t afford it right now,” he replied in frustration, rubbing a hand over his face.

  I blinked slowly, marvelling at the smooth, dark contours of his features. Eye candy, Dante was definitely eye candy. Matt, though, he went beyond candy status. He was dynamite. I shook my head to clear it and sat down behind the desk.

  “Right, D, time to start work. Today is going to be a productive day,” I said with surety.

  Dante gave me a lack-lustre grin, eyes dropping to my chest area. A worried expression crossed his face, gone in seconds. He widened his smile and sauntered over, pulling out a chair and scooting next to me.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, sweet cheeks. It’s not even seven thirty yet.”

  “Today is going to be a good day, D. I’ve got three and a half weeks until my birthday. Every day until then is going to be a good day.”

  “You’ll get through it, and I’ll be right there with you,” he murmured, squeezing my hand with his before dropping it.

  Three and a half weeks. I needed a plan to keep Matt away. Hell, I needed divine intervention…

  FOURTEEN

  MATT DROVE AWAY from Madi’s building, resisting the urge to flip off the people taking snaps of him through the windscreen. At least the other windows were tinted. Wankers, every single one of them. Matt shoved thoughts of the media aside to ponder her behaviour this morning. He knew something was bothering her. She’d been unconsciously scratching her pinkie finger over breakfast. Matt disliked what that little action signified, but he was strangely grateful she did it. That involuntary mannerism of hers made him aware when she was feeling stressed.

  And something was stressing her. He didn’t know what, as yet…Matt planned to get to the bottom of her worry. A tiny smile battled with the frown on his lips. Last night had been amazing. He had tried to resist the urge to make love to her, but when he’d encountered Dante over at her house, the primal male part of him had demanded something be done about it. The only thing to satisfy his caveman tendencies was to thoroughly dominate every single inch of her sexy body. He claimed what was his and no one else’s.

  Dante Palmer. The little git had keys to his poppet’s house. Bollocks to that. If Madi didn’t have those spare keys the next time he saw her, he would get them off Dante himself.

  Matt checked the rear view mirror and, sure enough, the van was following him. A loud sigh fell from him. He was never fond of the media. Now with Madi in his life, he completely despised them. He turned his thoughts to the day ahead. He needed Rachel to call the contractors for the work he wanted done to his Kensington home, and he needed George to make sure the furniture from the back rooms was moved and stored properly, at least until he figured out what he was going to do with it. Madi was going to love her birthday present. Matt chewed his lower lip pensively, hating the new feeling of anxious insecurity that he only experienced with her. He was
intending to hold a private birthday party for her. It was partly for selfish reasons, also. He wanted to introduce her to his main group of friends, and a birthday party was the perfect guise to do so. Everyone would have to be pleasant to the guest of honour. Making her feel accepted in his world was the first step in his plan to eventually having her as his wife. A wide grin split his face as he hit a bit of traffic. Bloody hell. He wanted to marry her.

  “Completely mental,” he murmured to himself, but the thought of slipping a ring on her slender finger filled him with so much emotion it felt almost unbearable. Fantasizing about their future wedding brought another worry to the forefront of his mind. Her parents who wouldn’t be there. Jesus. The anniversary of their deaths was two days after her birthday. How did she deal with it? Matt tapped the steering wheel and eyed the slow moving cars in front of him. She had only spoken of her parents on two occasions since they started seeing each other; the night they became lovers and that night in his car when they’d returned from Venice. Both times she tried to brush past the topic. Matt sighed and analysed the situation. It was almost twenty-one years since their deaths. She would have come to terms with it by now. It was extremely tragic, but his poppet was strong. She would be fine. Matt chewed his lower lip. He would take the day off in case she needed him.

  By the time he pulled into the underground parking facilities at his family’s business, Matt was in a relatively good mood despite having to fight his way through Central London’s early morning traffic. The most pressing issue needing to be dealt with today was his ex. When he entered the building via the rear employee entrance, the security on staff waved in greeting. Matt, never one to interact with the lower level staff, found himself smiling in response. Rachel was at her desk when he strode down the hallway leading to his office.

  “Morning, Mr Bradley,” she chirped, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Matt arched an eyebrow at her. “Rachel, how is it you’re always here before I am? It doesn’t matter the time I come in, you’re at that desk.”

  She smiled briefly before turning her attention back to the screen in front of her. “I anticipate your needs, Mr Bradley. Executive secretaries like myself are always prepared. On that note, I’ve rescheduled your morning meetings after getting your email last night. The one where you said you’ll be in later today,”

  Matt fought a smile. He could hear the undertone of annoyance in her voice. Rachel was a gem. Without her, he doubted his working day would run as smoothly.

  “I can rearrange your morning to facilitate these meetings if you want, Mr Bradley.”

  Matt rubbed his chin slowly. A meeting filled morning? No, he had more pressing matters.

  “No, Rachel,” he replied. “Contact Louisa Gilliford immediately and put the call through to my phone. Then I want you to call the building contractors I normally use. There’s some work I need done on my Kensington property.”

  Rachel’s head jerked up. “Of course, Mr Bradley.” She started reaching for the phone on her desk.

  Matt nodded and walked into his office. He had time to sit at his desk and turn on the computer before his phone rang. Stifling his instant anger, he picked up the handset.

  “Mr Bradley, I’m putting her through now,” Rachel advised.

  “Good.”

  “I’ve also rescheduled your first meeting in the next hour.”

  “Rachel.” Matt groaned.

  “Putting the call through now, Mr Bradley.” She hurried over her words and, before Matt could say anything, he heard a click.

  “Matt?” Louisa’s husky voice sounded down the line.

  Matt grimaced and leaned back in his chair. “Hello, Louisa. Before we exchange insincere pleasantries, I would like you to explain yourself. Once you’ve done so, I might be willing to consider the apology that you will be making.”

  There was a pause on her end and Matt waited impatiently. There were different ways to go about this conversation, but he wanted to get straight to the point.

  “Darling, it was an—”

  “Accident?” Matt drawled. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

  She sighed loudly, then said in a plaintive tone. “All right, I’ll admit it may have been intentional but, darling, I lost my head seeing her with you. Matt, why are you doing this? I thought at your parents’ dinner party we were—”

  “Louisa,” Matt interrupted coldly. “What happened that night meant nothing. I’m only going to say this once: Madison DuMont and I are in a committed relationship. I will not tolerate any more of this behaviour. We were lovers, Louisa. Pay attention to what I said: we were lovers. Our past relationship is over and, if you want to maintain any semblance of a friendship between us, I suggest you stop acting like a scorned ex and show some bloody dignity and good breeding.”

  A sharp intake of breath was her first response, before she sniffed delicately. Matt rolled his eyes. He was used to Louisa’s manipulations. They had never worked on him in the past and they weren’t going to work now.

  “Do we have an understanding?” Matt asked brusquely.

  “Yes, darling,” she murmured remorsefully. “I’m sorry for my unseemly behaviour last night. I don’t want this to destroy our special friendship. You know how close our families are.”

  Matt snorted in derision at her obvious reminder of their longstanding links.

  Louisa continued in her remorseful voice. “Would you like me to personally apologize to Madison? I’m more than willing to pay for her ruined dress. It can’t have cost much anyway.”

  Matt had to stifle his anger. “Are you still half-asleep, Louisa? Do you think these little barbed comments of yours will encourage me to maintain a friendship with you? Listen to me very carefully. The next time you see Madison, and trust me there will be a next time, I’ll expect you to be unfailingly polite. If you do anything to hurt her,” Matt paused, then his voice dropped in a menacing threat. “I will do everything in my power to make you regret it. Do you understand me?”

  “Matthew,” she exclaimed, her shock apparent. “How can you say such things to me? We’ve known each other for so long—”

  “Do you understand me?” Matt asked. He wanted things to be clear between them, so on the off-chance Louisa allowed her scheming nature to get the better of her, she would have no one but herself to blame. If she did anything to his woman, Matt would make her pay.

  “Yes,” she agreed in a small, hurt voice. “I understand.”

  “Good,” Matt said. “Now when I end this conversation, you will call the most expensive florist you know and order the biggest bouquet of white roses known to man. Dictate a heartfelt apology for the card and have it sent to Madison’s place of work. Rachel will give you the address.”

  “Matt, can we talk about us for a moment?” she begged.

  “Make sure it’s done before the close of business today, Louisa. I’m putting you back through to Rachel. Goodbye.”

  “Matt—”

  He pressed the internal button and his secretary picked up immediately.

  “Rachel, please give Ms Gilliford the work address of Ms DuMont, and don’t forget to call the contractors.”

  “Yes, Mr Bradley.”

  Matt hung up the call and scowled at the folders on his desk, his previous good mood gone, chased away by conversing with Louisa. It would be tricky maintaining the status quo between their families. He couldn’t completely shun her, that would be impolite and crass. But she’d been warned. Matt was a man who only gave one warning, any further incidents would result in severe consequences.

  Thinking about consequences had Matt reaching for the handset. He needed to speak to the private investigator he’d hired months ago to monitor the shady situation surrounding Kincaid. It killed him inside, not being able to talk to Madi about the potentially dangerous situation she had unknowingly linked herself to. But telling her was inconceivable. Plus, if Kincaid was committing the crimes the Serious Organised Crime Agency suspected…Matt shook
his head slightly in annoyance. The National Crime Agency was now the responsible body, SOCA no longer existed. If Kincaid was indeed guilty and he’d involved an innocent Madi in his crimes, Matt was walking a fine line following up his personal investigation. Tipping off was a crime punishable by a fine or five years imprisonment. Or both. The Proceeds of Crime Act was clear on that. And there was also the additional worrying crime of failure to disclose, which too carried a fine or five year sentence. Matt grunted in frustration as he punched out the telephone number. He paid this particular investigator exorbitant amounts of money for work required. Confidentiality with the man was second to none, and Matt knew he was safe on that end. Speaking to Madi about Kincaid though was a different thing. He had to be careful in what he said to her. The thought of her meeting that man for lunch made his head hurt. He couldn’t discuss anything with her, for fear of putting her in a situation where she might unknowingly reveal to Kincaid what was happening. If that occurred, his poppet might herself be found guilty of tipping off Kincaid and face a fine or imprisonment. Or both, goddamn it. The duplicitous feelings he felt whenever pondering this situation swamped him. This morning over breakfast he’d chastised her for keeping secrets. Yet, here he was hiding something from her which had serious potential ramifications. A low growl of frustration slipped past his lips. Matt pushed his guilt aside. He kept this secret for her own good. Telling her would gain them nothing.

  When his investigator finally answered the call, Matt was his cool, collected self. There was no new update, and he assured Matt he would call him if that changed at any time. The phone on his desk rang loudly. A quick glance confirmed it was his secretary.

  “Yes, Rachel?”

  “Mr Walthamstow’s secretary called on his behalf to enquire what time you’ll be in, Mr Bradley. Shall I notify him that you’re on the premises?”

  Matt grinned, remembering Nathan’s face when he’d blurted out his intentions to wed Bella. His friend had never looked so flustered and unsure of himself.