Lovers' Dance (73 page)

Matt chuckled as he whispered back, “She’s a year younger than you, poppet, but you do have a child-like disposition. Chatting incessantly, always wanting your own way, petulant…shall I continue?”

“Ha, ha, ha.” I made sure the sarcasm was thick in my voice. “Laugh it up, Mr Bradley.”

He kissed me. And everything else disappeared. Matt snogged me like there was no tomorrow. If his plane went down, there wouldn’t be a tomorrow for us. At least I would crash and burn with the man I loved. Or was that crash and drown? Maybe crash and get eaten by sharks?

“See?” he murmured quietly as he rubbed his nose against mine. “I told you everything would be all right.”

His eyes were so close to mine, I could see the tiny, almost golden flecks in his irises. The plane wasn’t bucking about anymore, but our momentary possible crash was the last thing on my mind.

“Matt, I’m scared.”

“Don’t be. It was turbulence—” he started, pausing when I eased away from the closeness of our faces.

“Not that.” I chewed my inner cheeks before clasping my hands together. “I’m scared to go home.” A sigh whispered past my lips. “With you.”

Matt rubbed his clean-shaven jaw slowly, a contemplative air surrounding him as he observed me for a moment.

“Right,” he muttered, then unbuckled his seat belt and stood up. “I’ll be two minutes. Keep your belt on.”

He strode towards the back of the plane, while I twisted my body and strained upwards against the belt to keep my gaze on him. What was he up to?

I caught Belinda staring over at me and sent her a polite smile. Had Matt sexed her in these seats? In the cockpit? Where had the pilot been when they bumped uglies? Was he an onlooker? Did he join in, making it a mile-high threesome? Matt was such a slut.

Aforementioned slut was coming back with a briefcase and a grim look on his face.
Shit.
Had he picked up on my thoughts with his uncanny mind reading abilities? He motioned soundlessly to Belinda with a jerk of his head, and she immediately unbuckled herself and headed to the back. Guess he wanted us to have privacy. Matt took his seat and cracked the briefcase open. I shook my head at the contents. His laptop and tablet, a lot of paperwork, pads and pens. This was supposed to be a vacation. Matt took out a couple of notepads and pens, which he placed on the table. He picked up his tablet and turned it on. I gave it ten seconds, eyeing the screen closely. When I saw the bold font of Bradley Industries, I cleared my throat in a threatening manner, twice.

Matt shot me a guilty look. “I simply wanted to check—”

“No work, Matt,” I said firmly. “You promised.”

He closed the briefcase and rested it and the tablet on the table, then handed me a notepad and pen.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

“You said you were scared to go home with me,” he began, taking the other pad and pen for himself. “So we’re going to make a list.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “A list? What kind of list?”

“Pros and cons,” he explained. “If we analyse all the positive and negative aspects of our relationship, it may put your mind at ease.” Matt sent an understanding smile my way. “I know you’re worried about your family’s view on our relationship, so let’s do a version of a risk assessment to prepare ourselves for any issues your family might raise.”

Crazy-ass gazillionaire. Risk assessment? Pros and cons?

“You have fifteen minutes,” Matt advised, drawing a line down the middle of his page.

“What?” I groused. “Is this a test, Matt? I feel like it’s a test. I don’t like tests—”

“Shush, poppet, and start your list please,” he murmured, pen scribbling over the page at a quick pace.

I sighed and started my list. After five minutes, I was getting into it. The cons side of my page unfortunately had more things than the pro side. Maybe this list thing wasn’t a good idea. Then, I hit a pro deluge and things were evening out.

“Finished?” Matt drawled.

My head snapped up. He was waiting patiently for me. I tried to peek at his list. “Yep. I’m finished.”

He grinned at me, and I gestured to my seatbelt. Matt hadn’t re-buckled his and the plane was flying smoothly.

“Can I undo this now?” I asked.

He looked past my shoulder out the window, a little worried quirk to his mouth.   

“You’re not buckled in anymore,” I pointed out. Matt was still gazing past me, and the slight worry on his face hadn’t disappeared. I took matters into my own hands and unbuckled myself before turning my body to face his and curling my legs under me. Man. I quite enjoyed being on Matt’s luxurious plane. It was comfortable, really comfortable.

“Ok, you first,” I said.

“Pros or cons?” he asked, turning in his seat and stretching his long legs out.

“Cons.” It was probably for the best to get the negative things out the way.

“You’re stubborn,” Matt advised.

I narrowed my eyes at him, then tapped my page with the tip of my pen. “Oh, will you look at this? I’ve got that down, too. In capitals.”

Matt winked at me. “I’m glad you’re willing to admit your stubbornness, poppet—” He broke off when I flipped him off.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’ll go first,” I decided. “Cons: You’re stubborn, bossy, arrogant, jealous, spoilt.”

Matt’s lips were compressed in a thin line. If it wasn’t for the amusement shining from his eyes, you would think he was insulted. He cleared his throat and said, “You say stubborn, I say determined. Bossy, no; more like wisely authoritative. Arrogant—well, yes, but not always. And jealous? I look at it as being protective of the woman I love. That sounds nicer, doesn’t it? Spoilt? Honestly, I’m not spoilt. I’m used to a certain level of comfort that I can afford to maintain. That doesn’t make me spoilt, poppet, it means I’m wealthy.”

I was fighting a grin as I replied, “Obscenely wealthy, and I have that down on my cons side.”

“Pardon?” Now Matt did look insulted. “Why does my wealth have to be a con? That’s unfair.”

“I grouped it with the differences between our socio-economic classes. You’re way up here”—I held my hand high up in a visual demonstration—“and I’m here.” My hand dropped to my lap. Matt scowled at me. It seemed my demonstration had touched a sore point.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But it’s staying on my pro list. What else?”

“Staying over at yours is messing with my night-time hair regime. In fact, sleeping with you has messed it up,” I stated.

Matt’s jaw hung open, and I shrugged. It was true.

“Explain that to me, because you’re making absolutely no sense.”

“I should wrap my hair up when I sleep, but I don’t want to freak you out or anything.” I tried to ignore the flush creeping up his cheeks. Was it embarrassment or was he getting annoyed? “It’s not all that bad. A lot of the times the sheets are satin, but it’s the Egyptian cotton. Those pillowcases are—” I stopped when he held a hand up.

“Take that off your con list. It’s not my fault you’re not taking the best care of your curls. You should know better, poppet. Moisture is absolutely key when it comes to the black hair type, and you wear it loose often, which dries it out. You should use more protective hairstyles, like that lovely French braid you did today. Not too tight, thus avoiding undue tension on the hair shaft—” Matt stopped. My mouth was hanging open now. He looked away for a second, then gave me a sheepish smile.

I blinked slowly, then asked, “How do you know that, Matt?”

“You’re my girlfriend, so I researched it,” he said. “Let’s move on. What’s your next con, poppet?”

I glanced at my list. “You work too hard.”

“As do you,” Matt countered. “But we both love our careers, we’re both driven people, so I think our hardworking ethos should be a pro. By applying that very tenet to our relationship, I know we can overcome any differences.”

It was no wonder Matt got whatever he desired. My man had a smooth tongue and an impressive way with words.

“Tenet, eh?” I drawled. “Can’t say I’ve heard many people use that definition of an established principle.”

Matt beamed at me. “I hope you’ve noted on your pro list that I’m intelligent.”

I nodded, showing him the proof, then also underlined the word ‘arrogant’ before scribbling ‘smug’ next to it.

He chuckled lightly and said, “That I am. Wait, why do you have this as a con?” He stabbed his pen at the words ‘different races’. It was the top of my cons.

I gave him an incredulous stare. “Don’t you have it on your list as a con too?”

“No,” Matt said, grey eyes glinting with growing anger. “I don’t.”

“Wait.” I held a hand up. “Don’t tell me you’ve put it down as a pro? Come on, Matt. The fact I’m black and you’re white is a major—”

“Major nothing,” he interrupted coldly. “I have not listed it at all, Madison. You’re black, I’m white. As you like to say: It is what it is. Our phenotypes aren’t going to change, so I don’t consider it to be a factor.”

I balanced the pen on the pad and rubbed my temples slowly. “Matt, hon, be serious. Of course it’s an issue—”

“Why?” he asked tersely. “Why does it have to be an issue? We’re all human. We both breathe, eat, sleep, shit, live and die the same. I want you to scratch that off right now.”

I exhaled loudly. “Firstly, you are never, ever, ever to allude to my bowel movements. That’s wrong. Secondly—” I held a hand out for his. He hesitated before taking it, but he did slip his fingers over mine. “Secondly, I know you don’t like dwelling on it. I know it makes you uncomfortable, but you can’t ignore the fact that our racial differences can and will play a big role in our relationship.”

Matt tried to tug his hand away, but I held on. He sighed in frustration and said, “I’m not ignoring it, poppet. I’ve done research and I’m fully aware of—”

“Research?” I interrupted. Curiosity grew inside me. Exactly what research had he done? “What sort of research?”

“Mainly about interracial relationships, but also about the historical and current underlying racial tension in the States, which I need to mention does not occur over here in England.”

I dropped my hold on his hand. “You meant to say it does not occur to the same degree, right? It’s not as out in the open over here, but it does happen. You can admit to that, right?”

Matt stared at me. We were in a stare-off battle, and I was not going to lose this freaking time around. He couldn’t be serious. He had to acknowledge that racism was alive and kicking. In his beloved England.

I felt my gaze start to waver under his unflinching look, but I strengthened my resolve and maintained the stare.
Dude better back the hell down.

“All right, poppet,” he agreed slowly, averting his eyes for a second before they found mine again. “You’re absolutely right. I know it exists, but it’s nowhere near as virulent as in the States. It’s different over here—”

“Look, Matt, I don’t want to get into it with you. I need you to be prepared for my family.” I inhaled deeply, glad I had won the stare-off, but apprehensive over Matt’s reaction to what I was about to tell him. “My aunt is a firm believer of the continued prosperity of the black family, and I agree with her on some level. You have to understand the dynamics of the black identity and, yes, I’m referring to African-Americans in this instant. As a people, we are vilified, especially our men. I mean, look at what’s been happening in the States recently! It’s so messed up. And, then, you have the crazy black men who turn on black women, which is bullshit. I mean, how can you hate on black women when you came from a black woman? The thing that really pisses me off, is the persistent stereotypes being fed to people about our race on a whole. No one wants to praise all those black families who love each other, work hard to make a life for themselves. Oh, no. You only hear about the single family unit, where the woman’s on welfare popping out babies, and the man’s out committing crime. It’s bullshit, Matt. You have those kinds of people in all races, yet the black race is the one people point at and say: ‘What else do you expect from them?’” I rubbed my forehead vigorously before continuing. Jesus Christ. I was ranting like some of my aunt’s and uncle’s friends. I needed to reel things back and phrase my thoughts in such a manner he could understand without taking offense. “Take us for example—”

Matt leaned back and folded his arms: typical, defensive body stance.

“When some people look at us, they’ll see a white man taking what shouldn’t be his—”

“Bollocks,” Matt said. “That’s the biggest load of bollocks I have ever heard you say, Madi.”

I sighed and tried again. “Look at it from this angle. You guys didn’t have the whole slavery issue on English soil. In the States, it’s different. During slavery times, the majority of black people were treated as nothing more than cattle. Imagine what it must have felt like for a black woman. Having to submit to a white stranger who said you were his possession, your body his to do with as he pleased, your children taken from your arms and sold to the highest bidder, your men forced to work until they died or were sold, your once strong voice now unheard, ignored, irrelevant. And imagine how a black man felt. Losing his freedom, watching their women, their daughters, be used at the whims of their owners, knowing they could do nothing to protect them. Not a goddamn thing, Matt. How soul destroying is it, having to go through that as a man? Knowing you couldn’t protect your loved ones? How would you feel if some man could lay his hands on me? Beat me, have sex with me whenever he wanted in front of you—”