Page 172 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

“Is it satisfactory, Mr Bradley?” George called from behind, startling Matt from his thoughts.

“Yes, it’s fine.” he replied.

“Today’s mail is in your office,” George said.

Matt turned towards him, eyebrows arched in puzzlement. George always put the mail in the office. Why did he feel the need to point it out?

George inhaled deeply before saying, “There are a few letters for Mrs Bradley. Shall I have them forwarded on again?”

“I’ll sort it,” Matt said with a dismissive wave of hand. “Thank you.”

With a respectful tilt of head, George then left him alone. Matt tugged his tie loose, annoyed at himself for wishing he’d kept the space as she had left it. Angered he couldn’t suppress how much he missed her, how much heneededher. His wife was worse than a deadly narcotic. Purging her from his life didn’t seem to help, in fact, it felt as if the man he had become with her was fading away. It felt not just like an emotional death, but a physical one. Matt grunted as he turned on his heels, striding away from the redecorated room. He would shower and change then call Grumps…

“George,” Matt picked his bunch of keys up, the small stack of letters addressed to Madi was neatly tucked under one arm.

“Yes, Mr Bradley?” George popped out of the front salon, surprising Matt as he thought the man was in the kitchen.

“I’m heading out for a bit,” Matt advised, eager to leave.

“Your chef has prepared-”

“I’m sure Valerie can freeze it, whatever,” Matt cut him off. “I might stop at Nathan’s on my way back so please don’t wait up.”

“Of course, sir.” George said, even though they both knew he would do the opposite.

Matt flashed him a fleeting smile and walked out his house. This was risky. He could have simply tasked George with forwarding the letters on to her like the last time, but for some unknown masochist reason he wanted to see her face. It was highly probable she wouldn’t be home anyway, Matt reasoned to himself. And if she was, he could check if she was ok, she was still his bloody wife! His solicitor had confirmed she signed the non-disclosure contract that had been drawn up and Matt had secretly been worried how she would handle the news of Palmer’s girlfriend tattling to the media, so much so that he had ordered the solicitor to wait until the duration of her show had ended before notifying her.

Getting into the car he paused before starting the engine. This was risky, perhaps too risky. Would he be able to control his anger if she answered the front door? Worse, would he be able to subdue his lusty desires in her presence? Matt started the car and pulled away from the curb. He should have slept with Louisa instead of sending her home that day. If he had, maybe facing his unfaithful wife would be less of a problem.

I was going on the pull tonight. That’s what Lisa called it. Some British slang still made no sense to me. Why on the pull? Why not just say planning to hook up? I fiddled with the ties to my dress for the umpteenth time and stared with longing at the unopened bottle of red on my kitchen table. If I was going to get laid, I should definitelynotstart drinking before even leaving my home. No, I would meet the girls, have a pint, maybe a few cocktails, get a respectable level of merry, find a hottie, then let him blow my back out with freaky sex. My underwear matched and the stay up stockings were sexy as hell. The shoes I wore, damn, if I couldn’t get laid with these heels on, the world was a terrible place. My curls rocked and I had spent a full ten minutes in front the mirror practising the best way to untie my wrap dress with maximum wow effect.

It was almost half-seven, the girls said they were meeting aroundeight in Soho, an early start to the fun. I should really call Lisa to tell her I would in fact be joining them tonight instead of staying home as planned.

Dante was away. He, Gerrard, Eddie and Liam were off to Amsterdam for a boys’ weekend. At first I dreaded to think of what debauchery they would get up to. Legal highs and titty bars galore! But then it started making sense, debauchery that is.

I was 27 years old, 28 in a month’s time, and I had never experienced no strings attached sex. I had married the first man who sexed me.How pathetic was that?Grumbling under my breath, I checked my purse. Yes, money, id, cell, Oyster card, and condoms. Everything a girl needed for a wild night out. I was going to do this. Operation ‘on the pull’ would be a success, I would make it a success. It didn’t help I had seen a picture online of my estranged husband earlier today at some stupid function held last week with a leggy brunette at his side and his hand on her back. Not the salacious position right above the ass, his hand was respectfully placed mid-back; but still, his hand had been on her back. That picture was the reason I was ready to paint the town red tonight.

“Bastard.” I mumbled out loud. He couldn’twaitto replace me. Well, screw him. Why should I suffer the boinking itch when he was obviously scratching his?

“Asshole.” Another expletive fell from my lips, another minute passed as I searched for courage. Free weekends like these were rare at my workplace. Tomorrow’s classes were on for students as usual, but my troupe and I weren’t in. We all needed a break, and I was going to make the most of this weekend.

How hard could it be? To be honest, I felt a tad nauseous at the thought of some random guy sticking his junk inside me. There was also the worry ofwherewe would do it. No way was I bringing a stranger back to my home, but wouldn’t it be risky going to his place? I didn’t want to end up on the news as the victim of some horrible sex-capade gone wrong.

“I can do this,” I muttered out loud to the coffee machine. “It’s just a little pelvic action,” The fridge was being addressed now. “It’s not a big deal. It’s natural actually, a biological need,” I chewed my lips. “Don’t judge me.” The stove was disapproving, its ceramic hobs were eyes of righteous contempt. Crap. I needed to get out of here before I lost my mind.

A low ringing came from my purse. Pulling the cell out while again eyeing the unopened bottle of red wine, I smiled when I saw who was calling. “Are you in the Red Light District yet?” Was my greeting.

Dante chuckled down the line. “What sort of man do you take me for? We’re immersing ourselves in the culture right now at Oude Kerk.”

I let out a sharp bark of laughter myself. “Ha. Oude Kerk? Isn’t that in theheartof the Red Light District?” Hey, I was well-read and knew stuff about places I’d never visited. Books were great things.

Dante cleared his throat and I could hear Eddie in the background shouting about beer. I laughed again.

“Listen,” Dante cut my laughter off. “I just wanted to check you’re still picking us up Sunday afternoon.”

“Mhmm,” I confirmed. “London City airport, right? Or did you guys fly from Heathrow?” I made my tone stern. “I can’t believe you left this morning without waking me. It was strange at work today without you guys there-”

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