Lovers' Dance Read online

  “Matt?” Still no answer. I pushed the door open further and stuck my head in. Stark was the only word for it, maybe sterile. This room was larger than the one I’d been in and the walls were white, the furniture a mixture of black and white. The bed was huge with a balled up towel left haphazardly on the edge of the black satin sheets. The towel was the only untidy thing in the room. Jeez, even the pristine white carpets were fluff free. How could carpets this white stay white? I glanced across the room at the ensuite. The door had been left wide open, but I couldn’t see or hear anyone in there.

  Then I spotted the walk-in closet with the doors also left wide open. I looked down at the pink robe I sported and guiltily headed for the closet. Maybe I could find a shirt or something to wear instead of this pink monstrosity that another chick used…

  <><><>

  Matt finally found plasters after searching the cabinet in the downstairs loo. He hurried to the guest room and felt surprised alarm when he found the door wide open with no one inside it. What the hell? Where was she? Backing out the room he noticed his bedroom door gaping open down the hall. She’d probably gone looking for him after cleaning up. Matt strode towards his room, plasters in hand with what he hoped was a friendly, nonthreatening smile on his face. She was jumpy; one couldn’t blame her after the night she’d had. A rush of anger ran through him as he remembered those arses attacking her. What was wrong with the world?

  He entered his room, mouth parting to call her name when he froze. She was in his closet, slipping off the robe he’d left her with a towel wrapped around her head. She hadn’t heard him enter, too busy taking down one of his shirts. Matt’s eyes were fixated on her nakedness. Although he felt like a pervert for staring at her, he couldn’t look away, the bright lights overhead giving him a clear uninterrupted side view of her dark-skinned slender body. Bloody hell. She was perfect. His body reacted with an intensity of arousal that left him light-headed. What was wrong with him? Mentally berating himself, he couldn’t move from where he stood, gaze locked on the woman shrugging on one of his shirts and buttoning it up. He watched as she opened drawers, lips pursed as she found the one with belts. She picked one up and grimaced when she realized it was too big before dropping it back untidily in the drawer. Then she pulled down a silk tie and knotted it around her waist. Matt was trying his best to ignore the almost painful hardness in his pants and forced himself to quietly back out the room, shaken from his unexpected reaction to the stranger in his room. And thoroughly aroused over the contrast of the white shirt against her dark skin.

  In a sort of daze he made his way downstairs, confused over the sudden desire to run his hands over that spectacular arse of hers. He ended up in his kitchen, pouring a shot of whiskey that he gulped down without an appreciation for its fineness. An image of her popped before his eyes, an image of her on his bed with his hands roaming all over her. He swore softly and poured another shot. Matt downed this one too with a shake of his head. This was what happened when he was too busy to engage in his usual bedroom activities with his usual conquests. He was fantasizing about a black woman who obviously had no sense of judgement. Walking around that area, on her own, at that time of night…who does that in London?

  Matthew Bradley was wealthy, spoilt and arrogant. Used to getting his own way in work and in his personal life. His family’s businesses were well-known throughout the world and he lived in an elite social class that few were allowed entry to. You were born into it. Matthew Bradley was privileged. And privileged men like him didn’t lust after women like the one in his bedroom upstairs. Only she wasn’t upstairs anymore. He could hear her calling his name tentatively and the throbbing below his waist threatened to overwhelm him.

  He hid his lower anatomy behind the counter and said loudly, “I’m in the kitchen.”

  Matt remembered with embarrassing guilt, the way he had stared at her sleeping form when parked up in front his house. Even then he had been fascinated by her stunning features, forcing himself to keep his sight on her face and nowhere else. Now, having seen her naked, he wanted to know what it felt like to have her legs wrapped around his waist while he… What was wrong with him? How could he be thinking like this about an injured woman he’d saved a mere few hours ago? Pulling his mind out of the gutter he arranged his features into a polite mask and awaited her arrival.

  <><><>

  I had a moment’s worry at Matt’s reaction to me wearing one of his shirts with his tie in lieu of a belt, and running shorts that I’d knotted at one side of the hip. His clothes swamped me, but I couldn’t go around in that pink bathrobe and my clothes were icky.

  “Hi,” I said, walking into the kitchen with my clothes bunched up in one hand. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing your clothes.”

  He shook his head, mouth pressed into a thin line as his eyes followed me. Was he annoyed? I started to babble while resting my dirty clothes on the counter. “I didn’t want to wear your girlfriend’s robe—”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he interrupted smoothly.

  I tried not to look shocked. “So, uh, the pink robe is yours?”

  Matt’s lips tugged at the corners. “No, it’s for my friend. I can find you clothes that fit if you want.”

  “Aaah,” I drawled with a knowing look. “And does your friend have a hairdryer here?” I gestured to the towel on my head.

  He nodded. “Would you like me to get it for you?”

  Feeling at ease with my strange rescuer I nodded back. “So clothes and a hairdryer. She’s your girlfriend.”

  “No, she’s not,” he shot back a bit sharply, then grinned at me to take the sting out of his words. I couldn’t help but grin back. He had a nice smile.

  “Yes, she is,” I said emphatically. “Or she wants to be. Seriously, Matt, when someone starts leaving clothes and stuff at your place, they’re planning on moving in. Soon.”

  “And what do you know about that?” he asked, fiddling with something in his hands. “You barely look eighteen.” His face abruptly lost its previous joviality and he was back to looking sternly at me. “Wait, exactly how old are you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  His disbelief was obvious, as was the wariness creeping into his silver grey eyes. “Try again.”

  “I’m twenty-six,” I repeated indignantly. “Do you want to see my license?”

  “Please.” He had stopped fiddling with whatever he was holding and was folding his arms across that broad sweater-clad chest of his.

  “Seriously?” I couldn’t believe this, but the expectant air around him didn’t dissipate so I went to recover my purse which I’d left on the pretty little table in the foyer. When I returned Matt was pacing in front the sleek island in the centre of his kitchen. Barefoot and without makeup, I knew I probably looked younger than my age, but not jail bait young. “Here it is. I must say I’m insulted that you think I’m lying about my age.”

  I held it out to him, trying my best to wipe the scowl off my face as he snatched it from my hand and scanned it intently. A look of relief covered his face for a second then his gaze travelled up and down my form.

  “God. You’re tiny.” he murmured.

  I scowled at my rescuer. First he implies I lied about my age, and now he was cracking on my height. “I’m a ballet dancer. We’re tend to be short. It’s not my fault you’re freakishly tall.”

  He placed my license on the counter, picked up a plaster and stuck it to the cut on my head. “All better.”

  I blinked a few times, unnerved by his nearness. He smelt nice, really nice. He was devastatingly handsome, too. I wasn’t into white guys, never saw them in that way. But, standing close to Matt with his fingers gently touching the bump at my temple, I was getting uncharacteristically hot.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?” he pressed. “Or call the police?”

  I shook my head, uncomfortable by my body’s strange reaction to him. Matt moved away. “I think you’re making a mistake, but
it’s your decision. Would you like something to drink before I take you home?”

  I glanced at the bottle of whiskey. Heck, after the night I’d had, it was deserved. Without asking I took his glass, filled the tumbler to the rim and chugged it down under his astonished observance.

  “Ack.” I gasped, feeling the burn all the way down to my stomach. “That’s good whiskey.” My eyes streamed and my tongue felt numb, but damn, it was some top-notch booze.

  “I meant tea or coffee.” Matt huffed and eyed the level in his whiskey bottle. I reached for the bottle, but he snatched it away before my fingers could close around it. “Let’s put this away for now.”

  I drained the last few drops in the glass, then hopped onto one of the stools on my side of the counter while he put his depleted whiskey away. I flopped over, resting my head on the cool granite worktop and sighed loudly. “Those guys would’ve hurt me badly.”

  <><><>

  “What was that, poppet?” Matt asked absent-mindedly, then froze in the act of closing the cupboard door. Did he call her poppet? What the fuck was wrong with him tonight? He turned around, hoping she hadn’t heard his slip of tongue, to see her slumped over the counter resting her towel-wrapped head on her arms. She’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and, again, he marvelled at her petite frame. An unexpected feeling of protectiveness swamped him and he glided over to where she sat. She raised her head, brown eyes glassy with unshed tears as she watched him.

  <><><>

  “I said those guys would’ve hurt me,” I whispered tightly. “If you hadn’t come along when you did, they would’ve really hurt me.” My head dropped back to my arms, and I couldn’t repress the shudder that wracked my shoulders. The barest of touches smoothed over my left shoulder.

  “But I did come along,” Matt said firmly, “and they didn’t hurt you. Much.”

  I nodded in my arms and he squeezed my shoulder lightly as he continued. “Plus, you gave that sod a great punch. My eye still hurts from the couple you landed.”

  I jerked upright, mortified. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He waved away my apologies and looked at the digital clock on the coffee machine. “It’s getting late and I have an early morning.”

  I felt bad. Here I was moping in this stranger’s kitchen, keeping him awake while he probably couldn’t wait to get rid of me. He was probably nervous about having a black person in his fancy home. Probably wondering if I was going to steal something. A lot of white people believed all those ridiculous stereotypes.

  “I can get a taxi,” I offered quickly, sliding off the stool.

  “Don’t be silly,” he admonished, looking stern. “Where do you live?”

  “Greenwich.”

  Matt tried to hide a wince but I caught it. “It’s fine, Matt. If you don’t mind calling me a cab, I can be out of your hair before you know it.”

  “I’m not letting you take a taxi at this time in the morning, especially when you’re wearing a shirt without a bra under it.”

  My face got hot and I thanked the Lord my skin tone didn’t give away my blush. Matt’s gaze dropped for a split second and my face got hotter. His eyes jerked back to my face immediately. He looked embarrassed, I felt embarrassed. Why had I worn that stupid dress tonight? It couldn’t be worn with a bra. Plus, I wasn’t overly big in that department anyway. Damn it. If I had told Alexi “no” to clubbing tonight, none of this would’ve happened.

  There was an awkward pause and Matt moved away, putting a good bit of distance between us. He probably thought I was a slut: “slag” is the term they use here. He probably thought I was one of those girls who went out partying mid-week, getting drunk and screwing around with randoms. He probably thought what most white guys think about black girls: that we are promiscuous and loud and ghetto. All those stupid stereotypes that made it hard for a woman of colour to get anywhere in this world.

  “I’m a virgin,” I blurted, then smacked a hand over my horrified mouth. What the hell was wrong with me?

  Matt blinked a few times, then avoided my gaze like his life depended on it.

  “Umm, sure, Madi. I’ll—let me get you proper clothes that fit.” He turned on his heels, practically running from the room. I chased after him, angry over the flash of disbelief I’d seen on his face.

  “Hey,” I yelled to his fleeing back down the hallway. “I am a fucking virgin.”

  That brought him to a standstill, and he turned with a sceptical eyebrow raised in my direction.

  “Listen, we’ve both had an eventful night. You don’t need—”

  “You don’t believe me,” I said in outrage. Why on earth was I talking my personal business with this stranger? I must’ve really gotten my head damaged in that alley. Or maybe it was the whiskey I’d thrown back like an alcoholic.

  Matt folded his arms and frowned at me. “It doesn’t matter what I believe, Madi. I barely know you and this is not the type of discussion I want to be having right now.”

  The stupid man didn’t believe me. I don’t know why I cared anyway. Except I didn’t want him thinking what had happened tonight had been my fault somehow.

  <><><>

  Matt saw her crestfallen expression, saw the confusion on her face and that unexpected urge to protect her fluttered through him. It irritated him that this unknown woman was making him feel so…so goddamned uncomfortable in his own house. He felt himself slip back into his usual aloofness, that superior coldness he showed to almost everyone who knew him.

  “Twenty-six-year-old virgin,” he mocked. “And the queen’s my grandmother.”

  He hadn’t expected her to burst into tears. Storm out maybe, tell him to fuck off maybe, but not those tears rolling down her cheeks that she valiantly tried to wipe away. What the fuck was he doing? The poor woman had been attacked tonight and here he was cruelly heaping scorn upon her. He was a bastard.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, ignoring the voice at the back of his mind saying Matthew Bradley doesn’t apologize and striding over to her side. “Forget what I said. It doesn’t matter if you are, Madi. I’m sorry. Stop crying, poppet.”

  <><><>

  My nose was running, my face hurt and I was crying. All because he didn’t believe me. Jesus. I was a mess. Matt was awkwardly patting my shoulder as I sniffled like a wimp.

  “I am,” I mumbled defensively. “And if you hadn’t saved me, my first time could’ve been in that disgusting alley with those two psychos.” Then came more waterworks. Matt put his arms around me and I buried my face in his sweater, crying. For God’s sake. I was crying. Again. Matt kept murmuring words of comfort as he ran his hands up and down my back, until I gained control of myself and my sobs had died down into little whimpers that were changing into something else. He smelt nice and I felt strangely safe with the man who’d rescued me from a certain horrible fate. He had saved me. And he was holding me close. And there seemed to be invisible sparkles wherever he touched me.

  “You have it,” I said quietly, raising my head up to peer at him. “You can have it.”

  “Pardon?” His grey eyes were opened wide and his eyebrows had shot up as high as physically possible.

  “I want you to take my virginity,” I said. Matt’s arms dropped from around me and he stepped back, shaking his head vehemently. His hair was damp from his shower. It looked silky, and I wondered if it would feel the way it looked when dry.

  “You can have it. I mean, better you than those guys.” I licked my lips nervously. “And you saved me so it’s like a reward. I’m a twenty-six-year-old virgin. I mean, this is the twenty-first century. How lame am I? You can have it, Matt. I want you to have it.”

  Matt looked appalled. In my emotional state, I thought he looked disgusted and I had a pretty good idea why.

  “It’s because I’m black, isn’t it? You don’t like black girls. You wouldn’t have sex with a nigger.”

  “Shut up,” he exploded, and I jumped at the harshness of his voice. “D
on’t ever say that word. You don’t know anything about me. And I am not going to take advantage of a woman who is obviously suffering from shock. Black or white. Or any other colour under the fucking sun. Are you insane?”

  His skin had gone from pale to a furious sort of red, and he was towering above me like some sort of belligerent demon that had been wronged. I think he was right. It must be shock. Why else would I offer myself to someone I didn’t know? Christ almighty. Had I done that? But why not? Better to give it away willingly than have it taken, right? And it could’ve been taken away tonight. So easily. What was I waiting for? For Dante to realize I was the one for him, not his current main squeeze? For an imagined Prince Charming to come and sweep me off my feet? For my black knight to ride in and profess his undying love? Well, I was twenty-six and it hadn’t happened yet. And, in his own way, Matt was kind of a knight…he had saved me.

  “It won’t be taking advantage,” I said softly, taking a step towards him and tilting my head up to stare into his handsome face. I fisted my hands in his sweater and tugged. Matt grabbed my hands, gently trying to dislodge them.

  “Listen, poppet,” he said. “You’re not thinking clearly. It’s obvious you’re upset over what happened to you. I’m going to take you to the hospital, just in case that bump on your head is more serious than it looks. Okay?”

  I nodded and he smiled in relief at me. Then I went on tiptoe and kissed him.

  <><><>

  Matt froze, unsure how to handle the distraught young woman pressing her unbelievably soft lips against his. She didn’t kiss like a virgin. This was a sexual coercion case waiting to rain down on him. God, her mouth was soft, practically begging to be kissed as she tried her best to get him to respond. His body was already responding. He could feel that tingling pressure building in his groin as she gripped his sweater.

  She had been right in a way. He’d never consider having sex with a black woman, not that he didn’t find them attractive. Matt enjoyed the beauty of all women, but openly sleeping with someone not from his own social standing and race; it wasn’t something someone like him did. God. Her lips were luscious. He was unable to move. He, the outrageous seducer was being seduced by this mere slip of a woman and he didn’t know what the hell to do.