Lovers' Dance (64 page)

George shook his head. I noticed that his grey hair was brushed neatly back. Had he brushed his hair before coming down?

“Perhaps it is best if you wait for Mr Bradley to show you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “George.”

“As you wish, Ms DuMont, but you must give me your word that you won’t reveal to Mr Bradley how you found out. In fact, when he shows you the room, can you feign surprise?”

“Yes, yes,” I agreed as I turned off the stove and hurried him out of the kitchen. Like two cat burglars, we crept along the floor until we arrived at the back of the house. George looked around nervously, then flicked the lights on. I gasped in shock, then felt my eyes filling with water as we walked the remaining distance towards the new glass walls.

“Is it large enough?” George asked. “Mr Bradley was worried about whether the space would be sufficient—”

“It’s perfect,” I whispered, swiping away the moisture trickling down my cheeks as I peered into the room. I went for the glass door and George stopped me.

“Don’t.”

“Shh,” I grumbled and opened the door. It was amazing. Unbelievable. He’d built a studio for me in his house. I immediately started investigating, much to George’s consternation. Running my hands along the
barre
, rubbing my bare feet over the floor. Grinning inanely at the mirrors. Oh shit. What happened to my hair?

I ignored my lion’s mane and spun around laughing: once, twice, thrice.

“Please. Be quiet, Ms DuMont,” George hissed, gaze constantly scanning the hallway for his employer.

“Oh, look, George.” I pointed to the far corner of the room. “Why did he put a flat screen in here? What’s that blinking light in the corner of the ceiling?”

“Mr Bradley installed a camera so you could tape your sessions. It’s all linked into a separate system that you can control with that tablet over there. He mentioned you have a system something like that at your place of work.”

Uh, yes and no. We had a plain old camera and a tripod we used if we filmed any dancing, then we’d hook it up to the TV in the canteen or the one in my office and assess our movements.

This was on a whole different level. I turned and peered into what seemed like another room through the glass wall. “What’s in there?” I asked George.

“Mr Bradley’s office. Now can we please leave?”

“But can he see into here from there? I mean, it’s a glass wall.”

“That was his intention, Ms DuMont. We must go now.” George came over and grabbed my elbow firmly before marching me out. He shut the door behind us, and I took one last look at the space before George turned the lights off.

“I have to thank him.” I said. “Right now.”

George looked alarmed. “What about our meal? Let’s go eat. Remember you gave me your word.”

I grabbed George into a bone cracking hug. He gasped in shock at my impropriety.

“If he asks, I’ll try not to drop you in it, but I can’t lie to him. He’ll know, George,” I said with certainty.

George sighed and we started down the hallway. “Isn’t he asleep though, Ms DuMont? I doubt he’d appreciate being woken—”

I was hurrying forward. George sighed loud enough that I could hear him. I couldn’t believe what Matt had done. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me. I raced up the stairs and down the hallway to the master bedroom. In moments I flung the door open, flicked on the lights, then flew over to the bed and jumped right in.

“What the—” Matt jerked upright, peering around wildly until his gaze rested on my grinning face. “Poppet. What in the blazes is going on? Are you okay?”

I flung myself into his arms, toppling us both down, then proceeding to kiss his face off.

“Pop”—kiss—“Madi”—kiss—“woman”—kiss, Matt spluttered between my assaults on his mouth.

“I love it, Matt. It’s perfect.” I gushed, about to plant another big one on his lips, but he held me off. His grey sleep-tinged eyes becoming more alert with each passing second.

“Madison,” he said sternly. “Calm down.”

I stilled, grinning widely at him. My grin faltered at the look in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded at once. “I’m fine, Matt. I can’t believe you built me a—”

“Madison, hush,” Matt ordered as he sat us both up. Matt rubbed his hands vigorously over his face and hair before taking a few deep breaths. He turned his gaze on me. “How are you feeling, poppet?” he asked gently.

I waved my hand through the air. “I’m fine.”

When he arched a sceptical eyebrow at me, I tried to explain, but he pressed a finger against my lips. “Are you seriously going to sit here and tell me you’re fine after everything that’s transpired these past few days? I may be many things Madi, but I’m not a fool.”

“Oh. You’re talking about—” I twirled my finger in circular motions next to my head. “Is that what you’re talking about?”

Matt was trying his best to maintain that aloof expression on his face, but I could see a smile fighting to get through. He cleared his throat and rubbed his face vigorously.

“Yes, Madi, I’m talking about your recent behaviour.”

“I’m fine, honest,” I assured him. “I’ve slept loads and it’s the sixteenth today, so everything’s fine.” I really was fine now. “And I can’t believe you built me—”

“Poppet,” Matt interrupted solemnly.

I blinked at him, smiling widely, fidgeting with excitement. Matt scrutinized me for a long moment. The glimmer of a return smile tickled the edges of his mouth. That was all I needed. I attacked him with kisses.

“I love it. I love you. I can’t believe you did this, Matt. It’s amazing. You’re amazing. You built me a dance studio.”

The ferocity of my kisses were starting to have an effect on Matt. One minute I was the aggressor, the next I was the willing submissive to his passionate domination of my lips. And his hands that were currently roving my body without pause.

“Madi,” he murmured in the crook of my neck as he pulled me on top of him. “God. I need you, poppet. Right now.”

When I had woken up, it was to the sensation of skin on skin. Matt was naked as a jaybird under the sheets. Mmm.

“I thought we were doing the dating crap,” I murmured, nibbling on his ear.

“We’re not doing the dating crap anymore,” Matt said huskily, then twisted me over so I ended up flat on my back with him rising above me. Matt was pushing down the sheets that pooled around his waist and I grinned.

“Ah, hon,” I started with the sweetest smile on my face. “George is waiting downstairs for me.”

“Pardon?” Matt paused, lips hovering next to my peaked nipple poking against the t-shirt. He tilted his head to stare at me. “What time is it? Why is he awake? In fact, why are you awake?”

I ran my hand through his tousled hair, so silky. I’d forgotten how it felt against the skin of my inner thighs when he…

I squirmed and forced those naughty thoughts out of my head. “I woke up hungry and went downstairs to get something to eat. George must’ve heard me.” I scrunched my face up in puzzlement. “Which is strange. Doesn’t he have the whole loft conversion to himself? Anyway, I made us gnocchi and sauce with pancetta. Are you hungry? I’ve made loads. And then I found the studio. It’s fabulous, Matt. Oh, and it’s probably quarter to three now.”

Matt rested his head on my chest and sighed softly. “I’ve missed you these past few days, poppet. Missed the way you babble inanely—”

“Hey.” I smacked him lightly across the shoulder. “I don’t babble. Are you hungry, hon? Because I’m starving.”

“Quarter to three?” he asked.

I craned my neck back to look at the bedside alarm clock. “Two fifty-one am.”

Matt groaned before sliding off me. “Right. I’ll never get back to sleep now. Why don’t you go on downstairs, poppet? I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

I beamed at him and stole a kiss before jumping off the bed and waltzing out of the bedroom.

<><><>

Matt watched her walk towards his bedroom door. With her back to him, he could let the confusion he felt show. What in the bloody hell was going on? She seemed…she was acting…she was normal. Back to her usual bubbly self. He sat up in bed, knees raised with arms folded on top where he rested his head, and tried to analyse her current behaviour. He hadn’t believed Dante when he explained what would happen. What were his words? Yes, that she would reset herself. It had sounded bizarre then, and it was bizarre now. She had been distraught yesterday; he believed on the edge of a complete nervous breakdown. Yet here she was, showering him with kisses, smiling. Bloody hell. He had missed her smile. Not the strained, sadly fake smiles she’d been flashing the past couple of days, but her smile. The one he’d fallen completely in love with; the one that, when she bestowed it on him, made his chest swell with such emotion it choked him.

Matt raised his head, scowling at nothing in particular. Her behaviour was downright alarming.

“Right,” he muttered to himself, crawling off the bed and stalking over to the walk-in closet to find pants. He wasn’t going to let this slide. He was going to march downstairs and demand an explanation over this abrupt change in her demeanour. He would sit her down and have a serious talk about her way of addressing the tragedy of her parents’ death; more like her avoidance of dealing with it. He would demand she sought help, professional help, to learn how to manage her grief in a healthy manner.

He would lose the sight of her beautiful smile if he did that. Matt paused in tugging up pants. If he forced the issue, would it harm rather than help her? He wanted his happy poppet back. He finally understood why her friends were the way they were with her. They were scared to push her further; scared that one more forced attempt to make her face this scar on her psyche might irreparably break the person they loved. Matt ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He would speak to Stuart tomorrow. Stuart would be able to recommend someone capable of dealing with a situation like this. Then, with baby steps, he would bring her around. He would fix this, he would fix her. Palmer had said he’d tried to sort her out over the years. Well, where he’d failed, Matt would succeed. He was a Bradley, damn it, and he never failed.

<><><>

I smiled at a bare-chested Matt as he walked into the kitchen. George immediately became reserved, never mind he was berating me for not remembering how I’d gotten the purplish bruise on my upper arm.

Matt arched a delicate eyebrow at his butler. “George.”

“Mr Bradley,” George responded, putting down his fork.

I grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the sauce on his chin. George jerked back, startled by my action.

“Young lady, I am not a child,” he burst out, then remembered Matt was here with us and immediately smoothed the annoyance off his face.

I gave him a shrug. “You don’t have to tell me that, George. I know you’re nearing the century mark.”

Matt chuckled and came over to where we stood around the centre island. He eyed the mess I’d left in my wake and shook his head.

“The maid doesn’t come on a Thursday, poppet. So I’d suggest you and George work out who’s going to tidy this mess.”

George sighed and moved to start cleaning up. I touched his elbow and shook my head.

“You know I hate when you clean up after me, George. Finish your gnocchi before it goes cold.” I looked over at Matt. “Do you want me to dish a bowl up for you?”

He shook his head and stepped closer to me, slipping a hand under my top to rest over my lower back. “Eating at this time is bad for your digestion, poppet,” he chastised, making circles with his thumb across my rapidly heating skin. “But I’ll allow it, seeing as you’re obviously hungry.”

“Starving,” I clarified, then popped more food in my mouth.

“Is there anything you would like me to get for you, Mr Bradley?” George asked politely.

I frowned at him and picked his fork up, holding it out to him as I swallowed to say, “Matt’s fine. Eat, George.”

George looked at Matt over my head. Matt shrugged and said dryly, “It seems I’m fine for the moment, George. Thank you.”

The touch on my lower back became insistent, and I couldn’t help the tiny shiver that went through me. Matt noticed and the corners of his mouth turned up while the clear grey of his eyes darkened with desire. I stuck another forkful of gnocchi in my mouth before I could beg him to do me over the island.

“What would you like to do tomorrow?” Matt shook his head with a wry smirk. “I mean, today, poppet.”

I chewed, thinking about it. What did I want to do? I had slumbered like the dead earlier, so I felt energized, but I didn’t want to go out. I had missed Matt when my friends were here. In those moments of sobriety, I had missed him terribly.

I swallowed, saying with surety, “Can we stay home, I mean, here?” I corrected myself. Oh, man.
Had I called his place home?
It was the studio. It had to be the creation of the studio that caused that slipup. I hoped Matt hadn’t noticed my slip of tongue.

But, of course, he did. Matt stepped away with a strange look on his face and walked over to the far side of the kitchen. His back was to me and he opened one of the drawers. I could hear it being shut sharply. Damn. He would see it as being presumptuous. This was his space, his bachelor pad, his sanctuary…