Page 44 of Lovers' Dance

“No thanks, Belinda, but you can call the driver to ensure he’s waiting for us at the airstrip and check the boat is ready.”

She nodded, with that Colgate smile. Her gaze lingered on Matt as she continued towards the front of the jet. I ignored it because Matt ignored it.

“This is going to be so much fun,” I said. He flashed me a smile before topping up my glass. The remainder of the flight we chatted about inconsequential things. I got the feeling something was on Matt’s mind. He had that distracted air hanging around him. When we landed, there was a limo waiting and a chauffeur opening the doors for us while our baggage was put in the trunk. Totally out of my league. Another bottle of champagne was opened and we were ferried to the docks. I was getting slightly tipsy, my face felt hot and I was beginning to babble as the driver unloaded our stuff onto a large boat. The man on the boat let out a stream of Italian, to which Matt responded with a rumble of laughter between his words. I assumed it was about me, given the way the man eyed me speculatively and winked. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion as Matt helped me onto the boat. It was lovely being on the water. Matt was charming company, as usual. The champagne we had started drinking in the limo was finished as he pointed out the sights of Venice.

“Here we are, poppet,” he said as we arrived at wrought iron gates partially submerged by the water, with an intricate ‘B’ in the middle. I giggled and gestured at it.

“A bit pretentious, don’t you think, hon?”

The remote controlled gates opened up and Matt shook his head at me. I giggled.

“ I think opening this bottle was a mistake. You’re drunk.”

“Tipsy,” I corrected. “We’re on vacation. In Venice. It’s allowed.”

Matt fingered my chin, then kissed me with major tongue action. “Did I mention how lovely you look?”

“Nope. When I got in the car back home, the first thing you said was ‘half an hour late, poppet.’” My head was swivelling around, checking to see if that man had seen us making out and whether he was leering at me. Did he think I was a floozy? Did Matt bring women here all the time?

“You were,” he admonished with a mock glare. The instant retort on my lips died as the boat bobbed to a stop. I eyed the walkway, remembering a book I’d probably read years ago that Venice had a problem with rats. I didn’t like rats.

“Um, Matt?”

“Yes?” he asked, gesturing to the man to get our bags. Matt moved away to help tie off the boat and I followed, glancing around.Those critters could be hiding, waiting to pounce as soon as we got off the boat.Rats could eat through steel. Visions of being covered by the beasties with their gnawing teeth flashed before my eyes, and I shuddered in revulsion.

“Are there rats here?”

Matt finished tying off the boat and shot me an amused look over his shoulder. “There are rats everywhere in the world, poppet.”

I scowled and he chewed his sexy lower lip, obviously trying to stop his laughter.

“As someone who has lived in New York,” he continued. “I’d think you’d be on familiar terms with rodents.”

My scowl deepened at his pointed crack at my adopted hometown, and Matt couldn’t hold back his deep laughter at my expression.Arrogant Brit.

“Don’t worry,” he cajoled, smirking at my discomfort. “I rarely see rodents whenever I visit. The alleged rat infestation that is linked to Venice is an exaggeration. Take my hand and I’ll help you off the boat. Don’t squeeze so hard, poppet.”

I gave him an extra squeeze for making fun of me and he tugged my hand up to his lips, pressing a light kiss to my skin. The man said something behind us and Matt replied in Italian, leaving me to assume he visited here often enough to know the language and wondering if they were talking about me.

“How many languages do you speak?” I asked, a tad breathlessly as he helped me off the boat. If I fell into the murky water, I would freak out for sure.

“A few. Can you grab this bag, Madi?”

I took the bag and fidgeted with excitement, while waiting for Matt to get the rest of our stuff. Oh my God. I was in Venice with my boyfr—whoa.Did I mentally call Matt my boyfriend?My face must have reflected my shock, because Matt paused, peering over at me, and asked, “Are you all right, poppet? You’re not going to be sick, are you?”

I shook my head, avoiding his gaze as he turned his attention back to the man. What in the hell was wrong with me? Matt wasn’t my boyfriend. We had sex, good sex…spectacular sex, but he wasn’t my boyfriend. Hell, he was thirty-seven years old, well past the flush of youth, although he didn’t look it. This wasn’t a real relationship, just two people from different worlds having fun.He. Was. Not. My. Boyfriend.

“Arrivederci,” the man called with a vigorous wave as he started the boat’s engine.

Matt slipped an arm around my waist and waved goodbye. We stood there until the boat sailed out of the iron gates. Matt turned and I got a face-full of yummy chest. I tilted my head back to look up at him. Damn. It never failed to take my breath away, his handsomeness.

“So,” he drawled, leaning down to run his tongue lightly over my parted lips. The bag slipped from my hand and I wrapped my arms around his waist.

“What shall we do first?” he asked with a decidedly devilish quirk to his mouth.

I grinned. He grinned. In a movement so quick it had happened before I could react, he tossed me over his shoulder.

“Matt,” I shrieked, upside down and clinging to him like a monkey. “Put me down, you oaf.”

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