Page 115 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

“I can’t believe you did this, Matt.” I squinted out the glass. Whoa. High, really high. “How much did this cost?”

“Why do you always worry about the cost of things?” he queried, his hands left my hips and inched up my jacket. “I wanted to do something special for you before I leave on my trip,”

My lips curled down into an exaggerated unhappy pout. Matt started unzipping my coat as he lowered his head to kiss me. The large radiators situated on both sides along the walls were kicking out some heat.

“Very nice,” Matt commented when he revealed my cream top. The small frills running down the line of buttons were cute. I carefully slipped my bag to the floor and shrugged off my jacket as he eyed my form with open appreciation. My outfit was hot today.

“A distinct departure from your usual work garb,” Matt regarded me while I started on his coat. “Did you have a meeting today? You mentioned something about the Arts Council last week.”

“Can’t a girl look professional for work?” I hedged. Crap. He was always so observant. Always looking at every angle. “Oh, let’s take some pictures.”

He shrugged off his coat. I took a moment to stare. Maybe longer than a moment. The dark blue Saville Row suit was custom-made, and it struck me for the millionth time how easy it would be for Matt to change careers and become a male model. Not only did he have a spectacular body, but his features were perfect. Altogether a perfect mesh of each individual part. Take his cheekbones for instance. Men shouldn’t have such high cheekbones and be able to pull it off like that. The eyelashes too; thick, long, jet-black like his hair, and totally girly. Matt had eyelashes to make any woman green with envy, yet on him it just added a further dimension to the unbelievable masculine beauty of his face.

“Do I have something on my face?” Matt asked, both our coats over one arm and the strap of my bag in the other as he walked over to the set table.

I shook my head, drooling over the lines of his broad shoulders in the suit.

“Pictures, you say?” Matt continued, he placed our stuff on one of the chairs. His brushed back hair only served to accentuate the aloof air that usually surrounded him. It made him look unapproachable, cold even. Matt looked over in my direction and I amended my previous thought. His grey eyes were filled with warmth as he crooked a finger and beckoned me over.

Eagerly I closed the distance between us. “Loads of pictures, hon.”

Matt was a good sport about it, only refusing my final request of him lying prone on the glass floor. Huh, it would’ve made a great picture, my creativity was being stifled. I even got the man who brought in our food to take more pictures of Matt and me together. Then my husband called an end to it and sat me down for lunch. We ate and talked, and sipped champagne, and talked. I made googly eyes at him, he pulled my chair closer, making me squeal in the process. Best lunch date ever.

“Is that why you have to travel so much then?” I asked, taking a small sip of bubbly. “I still can’t believe the price of oil has hit another five-year low. Are you certain about that, Matt? I still think gas is expensive. I told you the Cayenne guzzles gas, right?”

“Well, poppet,” Matt explained. “It’s due to the ongoing fear of oversupply. Some analysts are predicting a fall as low as $33 per barrel this year.” He sighed, the tiniest of frowns forming between his eyebrows. “Due to the weak economic activity, demand is low. And then you have the unexpected issue of Libya and Iraq, two major oil producers,” Another frown, more pronounced this time. “Despite all the civil turmoil these states have experienced, their output hasn’t been affected. They’re producing almost 4m barrels a day combined, and OPEC has consistently reiterated it will not attempt to shore up the declining oil prices by reducing production.”

I took another hit of bubbly. Matt looked really stressed. It was unnerving. What did this mean for Bradley Industries? “Umm, but your family’s companies are ok, right?” I chewed my bottom lip.

Did oil companies go bankrupt? Would Matt and Adam not be able to deal with the current crisis concerning the price of oil? Grumps would freak if his dynasty went under. Matt quickly waved my worries away while flashing what he intended to be a soothing smile. His eyes though, they continued to hold shadows.

“Of course, poppet. We have a wide range of profitable companies outside the oil business. Don’t worry,” he said, reading me like a pro. “We’re nowhere close to being paupers.”

“That’s-” I huffed at his inference. “Those things don’t bother me, Matt.”

“So you don’t enjoy the private jets, trips, expensive jewellery,” he mocked.

Matt wasthisclose to a ‘screw you, rich boy’. My eyes were slits of brown haughtiness. “I can live without those things, you on the other hand,” I snorted out loud.

Matt shrugged and resumed eating. So did I. Was it the right time to mention the work developments on my side? If I didn’t do it now, I’d probably never do it. The camera crew would show up, Matt would have a coronary, and someone would end up getting sued.

“Ah,” I speared the scallop with my knife and fork before transferring it to Matt’s plate. Eww. “There’s something I need to run by you.” Another scallop made the journey to his plate.

“And what is it?” Matt raised a curious eyebrow in my direction.

Just say it, I should just say it quickly then wait for the expected explosion.

“Oh, look. The bridge is going up.” It wasn’t a delaying technique. The bridge was in actual fact going up. Luckily I’d been evading Matt’s piercing gaze and peering at the glass floor. It wasn’t cowardly of me to want to avoid a massive blow-out. It was simple self-preservation.

Matt watched me over the rim of his flute. “Do you know how beautiful you are, poppet? Especially when you’re excited. It makes me happy seeing you like this.”

I snuck a peek at him.Now. I should tell him now when he was in a good mood.

“You make me happy.” I replied. If I laid on the charm he might be more amenable to hearing me out. We watched the bridge go up completely and the amazing view of the fast-flowing Thames below us. Someone took the remnants of our lunch away and brought out desserts. I strengthened my resolve. What was the worst that could happen? Matt would never throw me off Tower Bridge…well, better put, he’d do serious time if he did.

“The Royal Ballet is having a documentary done by the BBC Arts,” I started.

“Lovely.” Matt murmured inattentively, his focus was on the heavenly smelling Lavazza coffee soaked savarin with coffee cream and parfait caramelised hazelnuts.

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