Page 181 of Lovers' Dance

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.

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