Page 40 of Lovers' Dance

“I’m here, poppet,” he said from above. I rubbed my eyes and sat up in bed, clutching the sheets to my chest as Matt buckled his belt.

“What time is it?”

“Five thirty. I have to go.”

I nodded and yawned widely. Matt grinned, coming over to sit next to me on the bed.

“I’ll try to call you later,” he said, leaning down to kiss my bare shoulder. “I should know by this afternoon when we can go.”

“Go where?” I was half asleep. I wrapped my arms around his neck, the covers slipped down, pooling around my waist. Matt’s hands dug gently into my back.

“Italy, poppet.” he replied, before kissing me deeply. “Go back to sleep. I’ll lock the door after me.”

“Okay.” I stayed awake long enough for him to walk out of the bedroom, then slumber took hold once more. When my alarm blared out at seven, I rolled over and snuggled my face in his pillow. His scent was intoxicating. Everything about Matthew Bradley was intoxicating. And overwhelming. Consuming was a better word. He consumed me. It was scary as hell, and damn exciting. Yawning, I climbed out of bed and headed for the shower.

By the time I parked outside the studio, I was jonesing to see him again.

“Hey, Madi.” Gloria, our receptionist and part-time toddler group dance instructor, held up a cup of coffee.

“Gloria, you’re the best,” I said in appreciation as I walked by and took the offered cup. “Is Dante in? I didn’t see his car out front.”

She nodded, flicking through her magazine. “His girlfriend dropped him off about thirty minutes ago. He’s in the office.”

I forced myself to smile and traipsed into the office. I disliked Christine with a passion. Heck, I’ll say it: I hated the bitch. She was so up her own asshole, laughing at me when she thought I didn’t notice.Dante’s little friend, Dante’s annoying sister, Dante’s stray; all those comments she made in jest around the others. Forget the fact she was hot as hell and knew it. She was a conniving, little witch who made it clear the first time we met that Dante was hers. I’m all about sisters sticking together, but she was one of those fair-skinned black people who thought they were better than anyone darker than them. Where the hell did she get off? Dante was as dark as me and currently her boyfriend, so her superiority complex was faulty. I sighed and eyed the office door for a full minute before entering. Sour grapes. I was honest enough to admit I disliked her because she’d stolen Dante from me. Not that he was mine to begin with—

“Hey sweet cheeks.” Dante got up from the cross-legged position he was in on the floor. “You look tired. Not sleep much last night?”

Another thanks sent upward my cheeks couldn’t physically turn red. “Umm, yeah, something like that.” I tossed my bag onto one of the worn chairs in the office. The space was cramped, suitable for our needs, but definitely cramped.

“I’m thinking.” Dante held a hand out to me.

“Never a good thing,” I teased, taking his hand.

“Ha, funny. Anyway, I’m thinking we should put somefouettes en tournantin the final bit of the choreography.”

I paused, thinking about it, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, I like that. Maybe instead of having the dancers in a straight line, we could do a sort of semi-circle, open it up. We’ve got the series ofgrand jetesright before. Thefouettescould work.”

Dante nodded in agreement, ideas flying across his face. “Let’s hit the floor, Madi, and try it out and see how it flows.”

“Are the others here yet?” I asked, as he tugged me along.

“Bri and Eddie are, Lisa should be in soon and the others will probably get here around ten. Have you eaten?”

I shook my head. “I’ll get something later. I’m thinking about selling the house, Dante.”

He stopped abruptly. My eyes were on his back, so crashing into him was averted. “You’re what? Why?”

I shrugged, pulling my hand away. “Our cash flow for this place is getting tight, plus Aunt Cleo—”

“Stop right there.” Dante held a hand up. “You are not selling your home, Madison DuMont. We’ll get the cash somehow, and I’m not letting you get played by your aunt again. Where would you live? Did you think of the costs of renting?”

He was fuming. I chewed my lower lip and shrugged again.

“It’s not happening, Madi. I’m your best friend, and I’m putting my foot down.”

I grinned at his indignation. He was cute when he got mad.

“That Kincaid dude called for you this morning,” he added as we resumed our trek to the changing rooms.

---