Page 87 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

“No,” I corrected him. “You said we would-”

“Poppet,” he cut me off. Again. “I remember quite clearly what we discussed and I never agreed to wast- take the day off.”

I blinked a few times. Did he just stop himself from sayingwaste? And he was wrong, he had agreed to it.

“Oh, okay,” Slowly, I pulled my hand away from under his. “My mistake. I must have misunderstood.” I turned my head, facing the window as I added, “Although I don’t see how, considering you said ‘oh, poppet, we’re not leaving our bed except for bathroom breaks’.” I could see his reflection in the window at my attempt of imitating his voice. Matt didn’t look amused. I thought I had done a good job of it. “But, you’re probably right, Matt. Perhaps I dreamt that conversation, or maybe it was your doppelganger,” My voice was nearing its top level of sarcasm, just a few more - “Wait, what am I saying? Of course, I’m wrong. I misheard you, silly me.”

An awkward silence ensued. Poor Dan. His head remained front but the car accelerated some more. He probably wanted to get us to our destination as fast as possible. No one likes being around bickering married couples. Well, Matt wasn’t bickering, I was.

He just sighed softly as he dismissed my outburst with a pleasant. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, poppet. You’ve been working such long hours, it’s understandable.”

Ok, my jaw was in my lap. He did not just-

“Excuseme?” I huffed, jerking my head around to scowl at him. “I was being sarcastic. You…you…”

“Insufferable man?” Matt suggested, still in that pleasant voice, as if we were discussing the weather. “And your imitation of how I speak leaves a lot to be desired. I don’t sound like that.”

“I don’t sound like that.” I repeated. Juvenile, yes, but damn if Matt didn’t know how to press my buttons.

“You’re being childish.” Matt chastised.

“You’re being childish.” I mimicked. Oh Lordy! Was I really doing this? Really? But I couldn’t seem to stop myself. It was like we’d been fighting without actually fighting since the tub drama. Maybe that’s what we needed. A big, glorious fight.

“Madison. Stop. Please.” Each word was a tight verbal jab of his annoyance.

Yes. I repeated those three words also. My British accent was getting a much needed workout. No need for elocution lessons, all I had to do was repeat everything my husband said and boom. Shakespeare theatre here I come.

Dan made a sound. Almost inaudible, but conveying his discomfort clearly. Poor Dan. The noise sounded quite terrified.

Matt shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder about you.”

“Sometimes I wo-mmph-” My words got swallowed up by his mouth crashing into mine. Then my brain got short-circuited and my lips had one objective: kiss my knight’s face off.

“Behave.” he warned minutes later when he raised his head.

My mouth ached the sweetest of all aches.

“Make me.” It was supposed to be a cocky challenge, derisive and haughty; instead my words were breathless, almost pleading.

Matt’s gaze travelled over my face then he said, “Dan, put some music on. Something loud.”

The air caught in my throat as seconds later the car filled with thesounds of some classical music. I spared a second to wonder if Dan had it pre-programmed for Matt’s enjoyment and whether his own musical tastes ran along those lines. Dan looked as if he could rap.

Matt undid his seatbelt, still staring at me. The simmering heat pouring from his eyes had me squirming on the upholstery. He reached over and undid my belt, pulling me closer seconds later. His deep voice caressed my senses as he bent his lips to my ear and said, “Make you, poppet? Oh, I’ll do that.”

Now it always confused me, the way people like Matt acted around their employees. The manner in which they acted as if they weren’t actually there. It was something I thought beyond my abilities. I was raised to acknowledge anyone in my presence, to be courteous, affable. To not be a douche…well, it seemed I was more than capable of it.

When Matt claimed my lips with his, I forgot about everything else except the feel of his mouth moving against mine. The undeniable fact we were in the backseat of his tinted Bentley with his driver only a purse throw away went out the window. The moment he pulled me roughly into his arms I could only focus on one thing, and that was bumping pelvises. A whole lot of bumping.

“Will you behave?” he growled in my ear.

I shook my head, eyelids fluttering closed as his hand began bunching up the skirt of my dress. Under the voluminous material they crept until his fingers danced over the lace-edged top of my stockings.

“Are you sure about that, poppet?” The thick, husky longing in his voice went straight through me.

If I had to catalogue the best parts of him, it would be…hands first, no wait; face, hands, voice. No…hands, mind, face-

“Ahh,” I groaned desperately when his fingers traced the outside of my panties. Feather light strokes that made my panties quite wet, my body responded instantaneously.

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