Page 178 of Lovers' Dance

“Matt?” she murmured, sitting up and running a hand over her face.

“We’re here, poppet,” he replied, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning around to regard her with a tight smile on his lips. “Let’s get you inside.”

The rain hadn’t stopped falling. Matt grabbed her bag and helped her out of the car into his house. It was slightly past nine in the morning, although Matt felt as if he’d lived an entire week in the past few hours.

“I need a shower,” she said softly when he pushed open his bedroom door and she glanced at the pristine white sheets, then at her clothes.

“Of course,” Matt murmured.

Madi eased her trainers off outside the door and tiptoed over the large space towards the ensuite. Matt tossed her bag aside and followed her.

She stood still for a moment, as if dazed and unsure of what to do. The expression on her face was the saddest one he’d ever witnessed. Matt went over and started undressing her.

“It’s my fault you know,” she said sharply. “They’re dead because of me.”

Matt paused in his attempt to get the dirty, wet jeans down her legs. He looked up at her. Dante had said she blamed herself. But why?

“Are they?” Matt queried softly. “Why is that, poppet?”

“Promise not to tell anyone?” she asked him, finally letting her gaze fall to his kneeling form. Matt kept his face neutral and nodded slowly. The emptiness in her eyes, God. Was he witnessing her mental breakdown? She seemed so detached, so—

“My teddy Bobo fell, he fell and I wanted him, but I was in my car seat and couldn’t get him. I was small as a child, you know. Daddy wouldn’t give me a booster seat yet, said it wasn’t safe, and I needed to be a certain height,” she explained with a faraway look in her eyes. “I wanted Bobo, screamed for him. I remember kicking the back of Daddy’s seat. M-mommy told me to calm down, to behave.” She started rubbing her pinkie finger. “It’s funny. That memory is so clear in my head. I wished it wasn’t. I wished I had behaved. Maybe then it wouldn’t have happened. I was screaming at them, then we were spinning, over and over. It felt like it would never stop. But it did. And there was so much blood, so much…Mommy said my name, I can still hear her in my head. She was calling me, and I couldn’t get out of the car seat. The seat belt, I couldn’t—”

Matt stood up slowly and cupped her face. “It wasn’t your fault, Madison. That truck driver swerved into the lane you were in and hit your car head-on. It wasn’t your fault.”

He held her empty gaze and, little by little, emotion started seeping back in. Her eyes filled with tears as she shook her head.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Matt repeated, as she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest, sobbing. Matt had seen women cry. He’d caused quite a few of them to shed tears by his indifference, but Madi’s outpouring of grief broke his heart. It was as if she was sobbing out the pieces of her soul.

He held her tight in his arms while he uttered over and over that it wasn’t her fault. She was cold and Matt, fully dressed, took her over to the shower enclosure and turned the water on. He finished undressing her, then himself, and washed the dirt off her skin. He wished he could wash away her pain that easily. He shampooed her hair, scrubbed every inch of her and, through it all, not once did his blood stir at the sight of her nudity. He wanted her hurt gone.

When they were clean, Matt got her out the shower and efficiently dried them both. He wrapped her in a robe and towel-dried her hair. He even went as far as applying generous amounts of her leave-in conditioner to ensure her curls didn’t tangle.

With a towel around her head and the white bathrobe swamping her, Matt took her to his bed and watched her fall into a deep sleep. Slumber eluded him though as doubts plagued his mind. For the first time, he wondered whether his desire for her, the love he had for her, was enough. For the first time since being in a relationship with her, he wondered if she truly was the one.

I woke up to darkness and a warm body draped possessively over mine. Skin on skin. Nice. Carefully I slid out from Matt’s embrace, pausing every so often when he stirred. After my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I minced to the walk-in closet, pulled clothes on, then quietly exited the bedroom and crept down the dimly lit hallway. I was starving. Ravenous and feeling like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had survived another meltdown, and I had confessed my secret shame. Why after all these years did I speak of it? I had no idea. But I felt better. Someone else knew. The fear I had after the accident, that I would be blamed, didn’t seem scary anymore. I had survived, and I was freaking starving.

When I got downstairs, I placed my hand over the wall, guiding myself towards the kitchen. I flicked the lights on and blinked owlishly before heading for the fridge. It was fully stocked and my mouth watered as I tried to decide what to make. I grabbed a bottle of chilled water and snapped it open before gulping it down.

“Can I help you, Ms DuMont?”

The low gasp from my mouth accompanied the bottle falling from my hand, followed by a mad scramble to catch it. I did, luckily. Why did people always sneak up on me? Or was it that I wasn’t observant?

“George. Did I wake you?” My eyes travelled the dressing robe he wore over his stripped pyjamas.

“Yes,” he confirmed tartly. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, thanks. I was going to make something to eat. Sorry for waking you.”

“It’s two am, Ms DuMont, far past the time to be eating,” he informed me as he came further into the kitchen.

I grinned at him. “It’s got to be breakfast time somewhere in the world, right?”

George fought his grin and nodded in agreement.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, turning my attention back to the contents of the fridge. “I can make us sandwiches, or there’s gnocchi in here I can make a sauce to go with. Maybe with pancetta?”

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