Lovers' Dance Page 6

  We decided to start our own ballet company. Fuck the haters. We wanted people, any colour but especially black, to have the opportunity to learn ballet, to not be excluded because you weren’t white or you’re expected to stick with sports because that’s what black people are good at. We integrated all different types of dance into our choreography, to show our dancers it doesn’t have to be just one, but that all dance is beautiful. And everyone with the ability, no matter your race, can live their dream of dancing. At least that’s what we’re working towards. Geoffrey Kincaid had helped us buy this place, had sorted out the legalities to help us realize our goals. He never charged us a penny, saying my dad would’ve done the same if their roles had been reversed.

  I broke out of my trip down memory lane and focused on now. If we had to raise the fees, many of the poorer kids who took dance lessons would have to give up. I didn’t want that to happen.

  “I’ll tell her no this time. You’re right. I can’t afford to send her more money,” I finally said.

  Dante didn’t respond. He gave me a resigned look and rubbed my shoulders. It was more than apparent he had no faith in me turning down my aunt Cleo. Most of the money I inherited had been sunk into this place. I owned my small terrace, but the unhealthy status of my bank account had me toying with the idea of selling the place. I could convert one of our storage rooms into a living space. Nothing wrong with sleeping standing up. I didn’t really need a kitchen, did I?

  “I’m working on something new,” Dante said. I welcomed his change of topic. Thinking of Aunt Cleo was depressing.

  “Are you? Do you want my help?”

  Dante pulled me into a quick friendly hug and my heart went pitter-patter. When would he fall in love with me? I was getting tired of waiting.

  “You know I’m always better when we dance together.” He grinned at me and tugged on my ponytail. “I hate when your hair is straight. You rock your curls so well.”

  I screwed my face up at him. “It’s called a Brazilian blow dry and it’s not permanent. I’ll be back to rocking a ’fro in a couple of months. It’s summer. My head gets hot.”

  Dante laughed and smacked my ass. “You don’t got no real ’fro. Those curls of yours got slave master genes in them. ’Fro, my ass.” Then he got serious as he said, “Go get everyone back in here. We need to practice hard. Hopefully, we can generate enough buzz over this one to have people banging down our doors.”

  I stepped away from Dante, my ass tingling. “Where are we dancing this time?”

  “Hyde Park. I’m getting it set up. Don’t worry, Madi. We’ll be stars before you know it.”

  I rolled my eyes and went to get the others. If only…

  <><><>

  Matt was bringing his yacht into harbour. There was someone he paid to sail it, but he enjoyed handling the beast. He and his usual group of friends were having a short break in Saint-Tropez. He had needed a vacation, and the summer days always seemed brighter on the Riviera than in England.

  “Matt. Oh, there you are, I’ve spent the last twenty minutes searching for you, darling.”

  The bikini clad woman sauntering over was a beauty. A typical golden-tanned blonde, blue-eyed bombshell beauty. Everyone had great expectations for the both of them. Louisa Gilliford was wealthy, pampered and completely aware of the effect she had on men. Their families had been friends going back three generations, and Matt knew his parents were hoping he would finally pop the question to the only woman they felt suitable enough to carry the Bradley name. They had given up hope on his older brother, Adam, and were now focusing their attention on him. His sister, Hannah, the eldest, had done them proud by marrying the son of their father’s closest friend and extending the Bradley lineage with two terrors. Matt loved his teenaged twin nieces, but they were hard work. He felt Hannah’s marriage to Stuart seemed a bit incestuous. For Christ’s sake, they had grown up together. Then, again, Louisa had always been around, too, and he was currently enjoying everything she had to offer.

  “Mwuah.” She kissed his cheek and dimpled up at him. He couldn’t see her eyes behind those ridiculously large shades.

  “Louisa, did you change swimsuits?” His gaze wandered over her sun-kissed body. The black bikini looked good on her.

  “Of course, darling.” She pulled her shades down halfway down her nose and winked coquettishly at him. “You were rough with the last one.”

  Matt shook his head and chuckled. Louisa usually amused him. They’d been on and off over the last seven years, coming close to getting engaged once. Matt hadn’t been ready then; he doubted he was ready now. Yes, Louisa was fun, yet he was finding himself becoming bored of her company.

  “What are you two lovebirds doing up here?” Nathan, Matt’s best friend, was coming in with his long-standing girlfriend, Bella, another sun-kissed beauty with her brunette hair high up in a bun and ridiculously large shades perched on her nose. Without the two of them here, Matt doubted he would have bothered arranging this mini-break.

  “Please don’t crash this one, Matt,” Bella teased and he growled at her. Nathan clapped him on the back. “It’s true, mate. The paparazzi would love to get another picture of you destroying millions of pounds worth of nautical engineering.”

  “Sod off.” Matt elbowed him back, then motioned for a member of staff to get the captain. He’d promised his mother to avoid any possible embarrassing media attention. Once the captain had taken over, they joined the others on the lower deck for drinks. The champagne had been flowing nonstop and the hired staff catered to every one of Matt’s guests’ needs.

  “It’s getting worse,” Paul drawled as the engine of Matt’s latest purchase wound down. They were moored, but he was reluctant to go ashore right now. He enjoyed being on the water.

  “What’s getting worse?” Louisa asked, topping up her suntan lotion. Matt went over to help. He was a gentleman, of course. Copping a feel was fringe benefits.

  Paul gestured to the crowd of people up and down the port. “A lot more undesirables around than last time.”

  Matt glanced over to the crowds. He didn’t notice anything wrong and pointed this out to his friend.

  Louisa chuckled in delight. “Oh, darling, you don’t have to be PC. You’re amongst friends, and we’re all thinking the same thing. Really, darling, there’s nothing wrong with admitting the numbers of people who don’t need a tan are increasing. Marseille in my opinion is ruined. I hope St Tropez doesn’t end up the same.”

  Matt was silent for a moment, then said tartly as he dropped the bottle of lotion and stood up, “I find your comments quite offensive.” He glanced at Paul. “Both of you should be ashamed of yourselves. You don’t personally know any of those people in port, yet you’ve arrived at the conclusion that they’re undesirable simply because they’re not white? That’s ignorant and clearly racist. If you’ll excuse me, I must speak to the captain concerning our departure tomorrow.”

  Louisa grabbed his forearm. “Heavens, darling. What’s gotten into you?”

  He stared at her hand on his arm until she removed it. Matt affected a bored, yet haughty, demeanour. “Nothing’s gotten into me, Louisa. I’m simply enlightened enough to know judging someone on their skin tone is not only wrong, but also illegal.”

  With that, he turned on his heels and left his friends gaping at his retreating back. Fucking hell. He was fuming. Not at them, but at himself. Before two months ago, he probably wouldn’t have seen anything wrong with Paul and Louisa making those comments. In fact, he most likely would’ve verbally agreed and added to the conversation. Two months ago he’d met her, and he still couldn’t get her out of his mind. Bloody Madison DuMont. She’d done something to him, changed him in some way that he couldn’t change back. And it was fucking with his perfect life. He ached for her, which he found laughable considering the entirety of their time together was less than twenty-four hours. He didn’t know anything about this woman, yet it was her face he imagined when making love to other women, her bo
dy he wished he could touch as long as he wanted, her dark skin lying next to his pale skin in bed. She was black magic, literally. She had somehow managed to get under his skin. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t try to find her. What was the point? It would never—

  “Matt, wait up.” Nathan’s footsteps behind him stopped his train of thoughts.

  “What, Nathan?” he asked coldly.

  Nathan eyed him speculatively, an unsure grin on his face. “What happened back there? If I didn’t know better, I’d asked if you’re the newest member of a disenfranchised minority support group.”

  “That’s not in the least bit amusing.” Matt turned, resuming his quick pace.

  “You’re out of sorts, mate. Why?” Nathan kept up Matt’s furious stride. They were the same height and usually worked out together.

  “Is that how I sound? As ignorant and foolish as them? Am I equally as racist as everyone on this floating can?”

  “Whoa.” Nathan grabbed his friend’s arm. “Don’t tar me with the same brush, Matt. Bella and I are the most liberal out of the lot of you.”

  Matt scowled at his friend. “Liberal, my arse. You’re just as bad.”

  “No,” Nathan said emphatically. “We’re not, but that’s irrelevant. What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been out of sorts for months. The simplest thing is winding you up these days. You fired one of your executives for making a joke.”

  “It was sexist,” Matt shot back defensively. “And he was taking the piss.”

  “Bollocks,” Nathan said dryly. “You’re angry over something and taking it out on anyone who makes a mistake. And I know what’s causing this.”

  Matt jerked to a stop, turning slowly to face his friend. “Don’t even start.”

  “It’s that woman you told me about. The one you helped that night. What did you say her name was again?”

  “I’m not talking about this,” Matt gritted out and strode away, leaving a puzzled Nathan behind. He had mentioned it in passing to Nathan a week after the incident. If Matt was honest with himself, he would admit it had been deliberate. He wanted to tell someone about her. Nathan was his best friend since their Eton days. Rocky at the start, but building into a solid friendship that he had come to depend on through university life at Cambridge, and now. Nathan knew something about what had transpired that night, but not how close Matt had come to sleeping with Madi and, certainly, not her race.

  “I absolutely refuse to look for her,” he muttered under his breath. As he spotted his captain sorting out the rigging, Matt plastered a relaxed smile on his face as he approached. He’d had enough of France. It was time to go home.

  <><><>

  Nathan pondered his friend’s hasty escape. He knew Matt, and he knew this mystery woman was the underlying reason for Matt’s malcontent these past weeks. Women. Matt always had women eating out of his hands. He never cared for any of them. Nathan was secretly worried about the not so subtle pressure being applied on Matt by his parents over his relationship with Louisa. Nathan stared out at the water glistening under the bright sunshine. Louisa was fine, in small doses. If Matt married her, Nathan was under no illusions of the strain that would put on their friendship. His sweet Bella, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, privately detested Louisa Gilliford. Found her to be nauseatingly insincere and elitist. Bella wasn’t like them; she had money, of course, but not handed down from previous generations. Her parents had both made their fortunes in the London financial markets. Bella had seen her parents work hard for everything they had. It gave her a different perspective, one Nathan himself didn’t have. His background was the same as the others on the yacht: old money. Sometimes he felt ashamed of his arrogant assumption of his place in their society. Bella had shown him a different world. He was thankful for the day he met her.

  Madison DuMont. The name popped into his head. Nathan smiled to himself. He would find this mystery lady. Then Matt could get over this secret obsession of her once he realized she was another woman undeserving of the pedestal he’d placed her on.

  “Nate,” his sweetheart’s voice called behind him. Nathan spun around with the widest grin on his face. “Is Matt okay?”

  “Of course. Did I mention how much I love you today?”

  Bella pulled off her shades, light brown eyes twinkling. “Several times. Now what do you want? You’re only this sweet when you’re up to no good.”

  Nathan pulled her into a tight embrace. “Just you, sweetheart. I only want you.”

  <><><>

  A week after their return to England, a soaked Nathan stood outside his front door with a thick file in one hand and an unopened bottle of Scotch in the other.

  “We need to talk,” his friend said, and pushed past him without waiting for Matt to step back. It was Sunday afternoon, the rain had been falling all day. Lovely British weather at its best. Matt closed the door, faintly amused at Nathan’s abrupt behaviour.

  “Hello, Matthew,” he mocked, following his soggy friend. “How are you? This weather is horrendous, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you—”

  “Shut up, Matt,” Nathan interrupted brusquely. “I am not in the mood and you have some serious explaining to do.”

  “Pardon me?” Matt was surprised at the sharpness of Nathan’s tone. His attitude since barging through his front door spelt trouble. Matt had no idea what had riled him.

  “Madison DuMont,” Nathan ground out, trying to shake his coat over his shoulders. He grunted impatiently, then shoved the file and bottle at Matt, who awkwardly managed to grab it before everything fell on the floor.

  “Nathan, leave it alone—”

  “I will not,” he practically shouted as he removed his coat and flung it to the floor.

  “Are you going to pick that up? George isn’t here at the moment and I’m not going to.”

  Nathan glared at him before storming off towards the kitchen. Matt rolled his eyes and followed. When Nathan got like this, it was better to let him rant. For a thirty-seven-year-old man, he could act childishly. Matt tucked the file under his arm and sedately made his way to the kitchen. Nathan had two glasses out and was scowling at the countertop surface.

  “Read the file,” he ordered, without preamble.

  Matt walked over and laid the file on top the island. He silently opened the bottle of Scotch and poured two equal measures out before saying, “You’re perilously close to being tossed out of here on your ear, Nathan.”

  “Just read the damn file.”

  Matt drank his whiskey, sighed loudly and opened the file. His eyes widened, then he threw a laser stare at Nathan. “What in the world is this?”

  “I looked her up, Matt. I found her for you.”

  “Did I bloody ask you to, you insufferable twat.”

  “Don’t you call me a twat. Are you out of your mind? She’s black. I understand now why you got your knickers in a twist that day on the yacht, why you were worried about whether you had racist tendencies. For the love of God, Matt, are you insane?”

  Matt had tuned out Nathan’s tirade. He was busy reading what could only be called a dossier about Madison. His grey eyes flickered to the picture stapled on the first page. How could he have forgotten how beautiful she was? Those brown doe eyes of hers that lit up when she smiled. Her mouth, that perfectly kissable mouth of hers, he longed to feel against his skin.

  “Are you listening to me?” Nathan slammed a hand down on the counter. Matt ignored him, scanning the pages, learning as much as he could about her.

  “Oh, poppet,” he murmured softly when he read about her parents’ untimely death. “Jesus, Nathan, she was only six when her parents died.”

  “I read the file. I know all about her, and did you fucking call her poppet?”

  Matt ignored him, as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He picked up the file, reading it and walked out of the kitchen. A clink of glasses came from behind him. Then an irate, “Twenty-six-years-old? You’ll be thirty-seven next month. That’s a whole decade, Matt. When yo
u were kissing girls at twelve; she was probably still in nappies. You’re mad, mad.”

  “Shut up,” Matt murmured, completely engrossed in the file as he made his way to the study. There were newspaper clippings about the accident which had claimed her parents’ lives. They were on their way out of London, a family trip to the Lake District up north, when a drunk truck driver had swerved into their lane, colliding head-on with their car. It was a miracle she had survived.

  “I won’t allow this, Matt. How do you expect your family to react—”

  “If you don’t shut up this instant and let me read this, I will escort you off my property,” Matt said tersely, while sitting behind his desk. There were two pages detailing her schools attended, childhood activities, part-time jobs, three on her extended family in New York. Matt raised an eyebrow. Aunt Cleo? What sort of name was that? There were photographic copies of her British passport, her American passport, her social security number.

  “I can’t believe she’s British. She didn’t tell me that.”

  “Well, from what you said, you didn’t do much talking,” Nathan chastised as he pulled out a chair across the desk and sank into it, the bottle of Scotch and two glasses in front of him.

  “She attended the School of American Ballet. They’re quite well known,” Matt mused to himself.

  “Matthew, it doesn’t matter if she attended…Look, get to the bit when she turns eighteen. Look at her net worth then. It’s page eight.”