Page 169 of Lovers' Dance

I leaned back, fighting the frown on my face. “What are you sorry for? Calling me an immature brat? Jacking up Bret? Stealing my whiskey? Or pussy teasing me? Because this teasing shit deserves an apology.”

Matt’s face reflected shock at my choice of words, then his tongue swept over his sexy lips as he waggled his eyebrows at me in a lecherous manner. “Say that word again, poppet,” he said, and I blushed furiously. It had slipped out.

“No,” I muttered self-consciously, and Matt chuckled.

“Go on, say it again. I’ve never heard you use such a term before. I’m not sure I like it, so you have to say it once again in order for me to decide if it’s too vulgar. Maybe more than once.”

“Idiot.” I unhooked my legs from around his waist and wriggled over the counter. Matt’s hands gripped my hips, holding me still.

“Once more, poppet,” he pleaded, and my face heated up again. He grinned at me, a devious glint in his eyes. “Blushing?”

“Black girls—”

“Don’t blush.” He laughed. “So you say, yet you are.”

I braced the palms of my hands against his chest and pushed. Matt stepped back, giving me that impish look. Honestly. For a thirty-seven-year-old gazillionaire, he liked messing about way too much.

“In response to your previous point though—” He got serious. “I’m not staying away again. We’re in a relationship and, in case you didn’t know, people in a relationship support each other during the hard times. I’m staying over and will be plastered to your side for the next few days, poppet. Accept it and move on.”

Bossy. Bossy. Infuriatingly bossy.

“There’s no need,” I said, frustrated as I hopped off the counter. It was bad enough he’d seen me in the state I was today. “I’ll be in the studio all day tomorrow, then Wednesday—” I broke off sharply, not wanting to think about my upcoming trip to the cemetery.

Matt saw the look on my face and moved towards me. I turned away, giving him my back. I grabbed a roll of kitchen towels and proceeded to tidy up the spilt beer on the floor. By the time I dumped the soggy towels and can in the bin, my emotions were encased behind a wall of longstanding denial. I was in control. I would get through this.

“Dante’s going to be with me anyway, Matt,” I said in an attempt to reassure him. “Plus, there’s nowhere for you to sleep tonight—”

“I beg your pardon?” The chilly tone of his voice gave me pause. “Explain yourself, poppet, because you’re not making any sense.”

“Well,” I started slowly, silently cursing in my head. “Um, Bret and Sol are in the spare room.”

“And?” His voice had dropped to a low growl. And it wasn’t the sexy kind.

My throat closed up. The expression on his face had my mind yelling, “Danger, Madison DuMont. Danger.”

Matt folded his arms across his chest, straightening up to his full intimidating height. “I know you’re not about to say what you’re about to say, Madison. I know you’re not implying that there’s no room in your bed because someone else is in it with you. I fucking know you are not telling me that for the past few nights Dante has been sleeping in your bed instead of on the couch. The same Dante who I know shouldn’t have keys to your front door anymore.”

Danger, Madison DuMont. Danger, danger, danger.

“I thought we weren’t fighting anymore, Matt?” I rubbed my neck, frantically thinking up ways to avoid an explosion of epic proportion. Would he try and jack Dante up too? Bret would jump in, Dante was his boy. Then Nathan might come to Matt’s assistance. And Sol wasn’t going to let anyone harm her man. Her half-Latino side was not to be messed with. Would Bella get involved? She didn’t look the type to get rowdy. But what if the brownies and the bit of alcohol she’d drunk made her see red when Sol beat the crap out of her man…and Sol was definitely capable of doing that.

USA vs. UK, and I had attachments to both. Which side would I have to pledge allegiance to? If the shit hit the fan, who would get splattered?

As the imagined, but totally possible scene unfolded before my eyes, Matt waited silently, bristling like a porcupine that had been disturbed.

I started in a small voice. “He is my best fri—”

Matt was already striding towards the kitchen door.Danger, danger, danger.

“Matt.” I went after him. Unfortunately I must not have mopped up all the spilt beer, because my right sock-clad heel hit a wet patch and I let out a high-pitched shriek as I collided into Matt’s back. He grunted from the sudden impact, and we both toppled to the ground. At least my fall was cushioned, Matt wasn’t so lucky.

“Bloody hell, poppet.” He groaned, cheek pressed to the floor. “There’s no need to attack me from behind. No need at all.”

“It was an accident,” I gushed, laying on top of Matt’s back and taking a few seconds to catch my breath. Keeping him flat out on the tiles was an unexpected advantage. The danger might not have been averted yet. Matt wriggled beneath me, and I slid off him as he tried to sit up. The door swung open and five astonished pairs of eyes battled to see what was going on. They must have heard the commotion.

“I told you he was rough with her,” Dante exclaimed to Bret as he came into the kitchen and manhandled me up on my feet. Matt made a low sound in the back of his throat, like a warning, as he sat up fully.

Bret walked in. “He’s rough with you, MSG? Nah, man, I ain’t having this shit. This brother about to get mad up in here.”

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