Lovers' Dance (39 page)

“I know,” he replied without remorse. “When I decide the time is right, you can do anything you want to me.”

On that note we fell silent, sharing secret smiles on the journey to Central London. When the car went past the security gates at Matt’s headquarters, I stared in awe.

“What?” he asked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“You work here?” I asked. “Your family owns this building?”

“The building itself not wholly, the land it sits upon, yes. Don’t look astonished. I’ll call you later.”

I received a brief kiss before he exited the vehicle and he waved once before we pulled away.

“Oh my freaking word,” I said turning around in my seat to peer at the building.

“Beg your pardon, Ms DuMont?” the driver called.

“Nothing.” I said, turning frontward and feeling totally out of my comfort zone. This had to be a dream. I mean, how had I ended up going out with a handsome billionaire? It didn’t make sense. I was going to wake up one morning and realize this was all a crazy dream as a result of eating too much cheese late at night. What on earth did Matt see in me? Whatever it was, no one else had spotted it before. Could it be the virginity thing? Maybe he liked the fact he was the only man to have dipped in my sacred pool. Maybe he was going through a pre-midlife crisis. Maybe…maybe…

Maybe he loved me? He assured me he did. Why was I unsure about our relationship? Because rich white men like him didn’t love financially challenged black girls. That was Aunt Cleo’s voice reverberating in my head. It was a voice that put a downer on my mood. Why couldn’t she be happy for me? If she knew Matt, she would love him, too. They all would. He was kind and caring, arrogant and clever, fiercely protective and so sweet sometimes it made my heart ache. Matt was the perfect man, wrapped up in the perfect package. But I still felt fate’s mailman got the address wrong. And, tomorrow, we would be on show again. I sighed in frustration. Matt’s driver glanced at me in the rear view mirror before averting his gaze, leaving me to my thoughts. I guess after dinner at his parents’ place, nothing could be worse. Right? Matt would handle the media, he wouldn’t allow anyone to make me feel as if I didn’t belong. He would be my knight.

I would be the damsel in a kickass dress—who wasn’t really a damsel—but a tough de facto New Yorker who’d flown across the ocean to attain her dream. I deserved good things like everyone else. I wasn’t jinxed. Good things happened to good people. It was the unspoken rule…or was it bad things can happen to good people? Either way, I wasn’t going to throw away my happiness. It had been so long since I’d had any. So long.

And this was how it started. The emotional rollercoaster preluding the run up to my birthday that was a few weeks away, then the anniversary of my beloved parents’ deaths. Where everything, even the good things in my life, seemed wrong. Shit. I couldn’t let Matt see me when I got that way. What if it freaked him out and he dumped me? Around that time, it was impossible to hide how damaged I truly was. I hoped to God Matt would be abroad on business, because it was highly unlikely he’d miss my birthday. The man had bought me a freaking SUV and diamonds because I was mad at him. Or, I could play the busy card. Technically it wasn’t lying, we were insanely busy at the studio. A shudder went through me as I recalled Matt’s voice when he warned me about lying to him. No, I was definitely not going to end up on his bad side.

“Would you like me to turn off the air conditioning, Ms DuMont?” the driver asked.              He must have been watching me in the rear view mirror.

“No, thank you. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Dan, it’s Daniel Mills.”

“Hi, Dan. You can call me Madi.”

“I don’t think Mr Bradley would be happy with that, Ms DuMont.”

I flashed him a small smile and looked out the window as the buildings whizzed by. London on a Saturday, just like home.

<><><>

Sunday had arrived and I was having a bad face day. My cheeks looked puffy, my eyes squinty, and my nose—had it grown as I slept in my bed last night? It didn’t help this was my fourth attempt at applying makeup. I had stupidly decided to use foundation, something I had never used by myself before. The girl in the High Street pharmacy had assured me it was the perfect colour match at the counter. I had driven into the city centre this morning to get make up supplies. I didn’t normally wear makeup unless it was for a show, and Bri did our makeup. Okay, I’ll say it: I’m crap with makeup. A little face powder and lip gloss, what more did you need?

‘Oh, it’s perfect,’ she had said. She lied. When I took a proper look at my reflection in the mirror after painstakingly dabbing it all over my face, I screamed. It was not a perfect match. It was NOT a perfect match. It looked much darker in the bottle. On my face it was shades lighter than expected. I looked like a weird half-dead version of myself. I had run to the bathroom to wash the shit off my face. When I dried my face and looked in the bathroom mirror, there were traces of it along my hairline, evilly bonding with the roots.
God, why?
I had to use a wet towel and rub like crazy to remove it, which messed up the front of my hair and caused me no end of worry to re-do.

The second attempt, without foundation—I’d learnt that lesson—fared no better. The eye shadow was more sparkly than I wanted, and I was so stressed over the previous foundation drama that I poked my eye with the eyeliner, which caused me to tear up and I had to wash my face,
again
. Halfway through my third attempt, I noticed my skin looked dry. Sahara desert dry. Of course it did. I had stupidly forgotten to moisturize after each washing. I raced downstairs in my underwear, poured myself a shot of whiskey to steady my nerves, then raced back upstairs to get the job done right. Enough moisturizer. The perfect amount of face powder. Things were going well. The eyeliner I applied with a surgeon’s precision. Thank goodness for the calming properties of whiskey. I chose a different eye shadow, still silvery, but with a lot less shimmer factor going on. I held my breath as I applied mascara.

“Thank fuck for that,” I muttered when the ordeal was over, critically peering at my face in the mirror. I walked towards my bed where the dress lay. Reverently picking it up with a delighted sigh before stepping into it and pulling it up my body.

“Looking fine, girl,” I said to my reflection, then glanced at the nightstand clock. Five fifty-five.

Shit. Matt was a stickler for being on time. I grabbed up my clutch and stuck my powder in, then remembered I needed lipstick. I couldn’t decide on a colour, so ended up using my usual gloss, then got my heels out of their box. I had one on when I heard a car pull up out front.

Five fifty-eight. He was early.

Perfume. I needed perfume. I slipped the other shoe on and fastened it before hurrying over to my dresser. I heard my front door open and slam shut in quick succession.

“Poppet?” came from downstairs.

I spritzed the necessary places and took one final look at myself before calling out, “I’ll be one sec, Matt.”

My room looked like a bomb had gone off in it. Ah, well, it wasn’t like Matt would be sexing me anyway. He wouldn’t need to come up here.

“Poppet, will you hurry up,” Matt yelled. “The car’s waiting.”

I rolled my eyes and walked out of my bedroom. Matt was on the bottom step when I reached the top of the landing, probably planning to drag me along in an attempt to hurry things up.

He stopped—literally stopped—and stared at me. I smiled nervously and came down the stairs, with his grey eyes following my every move.

“Hi,” I said, offering up my glossy lips for a kiss. Matt hadn’t moved from the bottom step. In fact, he looked kind of dazed. I pulled back to look at him. “You look nice in your tux. What’s wrong with you? Why are you staring at me like that?”

He opened his mouth and blinked, then closed his mouth.

“Matt, mmph.” His hello kiss took my breath away.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered when he finally pulled away.

I smiled. “You like?”

“I like very much,” he murmured, before slanting his lips over mine again. I lost myself in the sensation of his tongue sensuously exploring the crevices of my mouth. Matt could French kiss the heck out of anyone.

“Wow,” I whispered, looking as dazed as Matt had moments earlier.

“Poppet, you’re beautiful.”

“You said that already,” I teased.

Matt nodded slowly. “I know, but it needed to be said again. You’ve taken my breath away.”

I blushed and pushed him a little. “Stop being silly, hon.”

The expression on his face made me blush harder and I reached up to fiddle with my side bun. As I brushed my ear, the realization dawned that I had no earrings on.

“Crap,” I muttered. “I’ll be two minutes, Matt. Forgot my earrings.”

“That’s okay,” he grinned, arm tightening around my waist as he led me protesting down the last step. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Nuh uh,” I said, spotting the velvet box on the coffee table that hadn’t been there before.

Matt’s grin widened as he went over and picked up the box before returning to my side.

“Think of it as a pre-emptive move on my part,” he said, opening it to reveal its glittering content.

“A what?” I was distracted. I didn’t think
blingified
was an actual word, but it should be. I’d been blingified.

“I’m sure at some point in the future, hopefully not too soon, I’ll do something which you won’t like.” He took out the necklace and balanced the box on the banister. It wasn’t the same set I had returned. “This is my way of saying sorry in advance.”

“Matt,” I started.

“Poppet.” He stood behind me and fastened the necklace around my neck, pausing to press a kiss to my bare shoulder. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Besides, a beautiful woman such as yourself deserves beautiful things.”

I touched the necklace, feeling extremely nervous. “How much did it cost?”

Matt pressed another kiss to my shoulder, moved around to face me, a secretive smile on his lips.

“Not nearly as much as you’re worth.”

Damn. He had a way with words.

“Only for tonight,” I warned, reaching for the matching earrings. “Where is the ball being held?”

It took a moment for Matt to answer, his eyes were glued to me. “Tower of London, poppet. I can’t believe how absolutely exquisite you look.”

I laughed, you would think my usual appearance was hobo chic. Earrings in place, I nervously touched the necklace again. “This jewellery is insured, right? I’d hate for anything to happen to it. What if I lose it, Matt? Oh God. Help me take it off.”

“You’re not going to lose it.” Matt waved away my worry. “Even if you did, I’d simply get you a new set. Such a shame there was no time to pick you up a matching bracelet.”

I stared at him agog. He was tripping. But, then again, he was filthy rich. An unsettling thought flittered through my mind. “Do you always buy expensive jewellery for your girlfriends?”

“Have you ever been to the Tower, Madi?” he asked, sidestepping my question with one of his own.

“Not inside it, no,” I replied, suddenly not wanting to know if Matt showered his previous bed partners with expensive trinkets. I was different from his exes, right? I was special. God. I hoped I was special and he wasn’t spinning me lines.

Stop it, I silently chastised myself.

“Do you have everything you need?” he asked, glancing at his watch.

“Almost.” I went over to grab my everyday purse from the mantle and pull out my Oyster card and cash.

“You won’t need money tonight, poppet,” Matt advised. I turned in the act of stuffing the cash and Oyster card in my clutch and caught him staring intently at my ass. I cleared my throat loudly and his gaze jerked up.

“I’m beginning to have second thoughts about—”

“About what?” I cut him off in alarm. “Tonight? Is it the press?”

Matt sauntered over, stopping when I put a hand against his chest. “I like to think I have immense self-control, but you in this dress is wreaking havoc with my plans to date you properly.”

I chewed my inner cheeks, fighting a grin. Like I said, the dress to end all others.

“Well, I thought it was a bad idea from the get-go,” I quipped and stepped back. An extra sway of hips had Matt groaning.

He shook his head and swiped a hand across his face before regaining control of his desire. “Right. Let’s go. Nathan and Bella are waiting in the car.”

“What? Who’s Bella?” I asked with dread. The last time I’d seen Nathan was when the media broke the story about my relationship with Matt. I’d been hiding under my office table. Good grief. Why did I always embarrass myself?

“I’m sure I’ve mentioned Bella before,” Matt said, slipping his hand over mine and herding me towards the front door. “She’s Nathan’s girlfriend.”

“Is she the same age as you and Nathan?” I asked thoughtlessly.

Matt growled something low under his breath before flashing me a tight smile. Uh oh. The age drama again.

“She’s two years younger, poppet. Where are your house keys?”