Page 53 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

I liked Rachel. She was only a year younger than me and from what Matt implied was very good at her job. I had always wonderedabout his executive secretary. I mean, come on. Powerful businessmen usually had dalliances with their office staff. Especially secretaries, be they executive or not. Hell, powerful businesswomen did the same thing. But I liked Rachel.

“Poppet,” Matt let go of my hand and gripped my chin, tilting my face towards his. “Are you sure you want to do this? Today?”

I nodded with less conviction than I had when we drove past this cute little church an hour ago. Oh shit. Had it only been an hour ago? So much had happened since I made that off-hand comment. ‘I swear if that cute church was open, Matt, I would marry you right now.’

I should have known what would happen from the moment Matt had slammed on the brakes and grinned at me. I would never forget that grin of his. It was a mix of determination and growing triumph. Determination because he was going to do damn near everything in his power to make it happen; triumph because he was going to hold me to that vow.

I had woken up early this morning as he was getting dressed for work. The bed was lonely without him so using my feminine wiles, i.e. kicking off the covers and sticking my ass in the air, I lured him back in bed and convinced him to play hooky for the day. After a quickie, Matt decided we should take advantage of the forecasted sunny day, even though it was a bitterly cold one. He wanted to drive to the countryside and asked if I’d ever been to Runnymede in Windsor. When I said no, the decision was made. He was going to play tour guide, already chastising me for never visiting the Magna Carta Memorial. He then proceeded to give me a history lesson about the Great Charter as he swapped his work shirt and tie for a casual shirt and pullover and some sexy ass jeans. And that was how I ended up here, sat in the cute church and awaiting the vicar who would be marrying us. I had only moved in to his place a few days ago. Today was only the 12th of January, a Monday. Was it weird to get married on a weekday?

“We can still stop this.” Matt advised quietly. He was staring at the movements of my hands. I stopped scratching my pinkie and peered at him.

“Cold feet, Mr Bradley?” I asked curiously. Maybe the enormity ofwhat we were about to do was finally sinking in.

“No,” Matt replied staunchly, putting that thought to bed. “But I do have one request.”

Rachel was speaking in a low, hard voice on her cell. She stalked off down the aisle, leaving us alone once more.

“I know you feel very strongly about keeping your maiden name,” Matt’s cheeks were tinged pink. I doubted it had anything to do with the cold air inside the church.

“Uh hmm?” I fought the urge to fold my arms and sat calmly as Matt edged closer to me on the seat.

“But I was hoping you would,” he stopped to take a deep breath. “I want you to take my name. I want you to be my wife in every sense of the word.”

My arms were folded now, I couldn’t help it.

“And you don’t have to change everything,” he said earnestly. It was sort of cute. “Just on the electoral roll, I don’t expect you to change it for tax purposes…unless you want to-”

“Matt,” I started, but he placed a finger against my lips.

“Just hear me out, poppet.” He wore that single-minded look that usually signified he was intent on getting his own way. “It would mean the world to me if you took my name.”

“Mwone conwition.” I mumbled.

“Pardon?” Matt removed his finger.

“One condition,” I said, licking my lips.

“Anything.” he agreed immediately.

“I get presidential veto on all future major decisions. I’m talking life-changing decisions. Deal?”

Matt narrowed his eyes at me, instinctively sensing the trap. Oh yeah, I wanted the power. “I want to put a clause in,” he negotiated.

“Let’s hear it then,” I drawled. “But remember you’re the one asking for something, not the other way around.”

“I’ll give you presidential veto, but I retain the right to challenge and overrule said presidential veto whenever you’re being unreasonable.”

“What?” I spluttered, not appreciating the ‘unreasonable’ title. I wasn’t unreasonable. Level-headed was my middle name. “Then what’s the point of me having presidential veto if you can overruleit? Who decides if I’m unreasonable?” Yes, I used air quotations.

“I do, of course,” Matt said matter-of-factly. “Deal?”

I gave him a dirty look and he smiled at me, blinking those long lashes of his and slinging an arm over my shoulder.

“I’m keeping my da- name.” I stopped the curse in time. No swearing in church.

“I’ll rub your feet every single night.” Matt propositioned me. “And your back.”

I rolled my eyes, although the rubbing of the feet offer was making me waver.

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