A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (17 page)

“I’d like that a lot.”

“I’ll call Len to find out my schedule before you leave tomorrow. That way I can—” he stops and clears his throat.

“Count the days?” I smile.

“Yeah,” he says, grinning.

A cool breeze rushes down my shirt. I shiver.

“Are you cold?”

“A little, but between the champagne and you, it’s not so bad.”

He knocks back the rest of his champagne and places both our glasses against his bag. He scoots back and leans against the towering rock behind us before opening his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, which leaves only his T-shirt as a final barrier. Patting the space between his bent knees, he says, “Come here.”

I scoot over and plant myself in his leg nest.

“Wait,” he says before I get comfortable. He reaches into the magic bag. “How’s this?” he asks, pulling out another soft blanket and draping it over our laps. I lean back and he wraps his arms around me, his forearms resting just below my collarbones. I’m captured in the soap and shaving cream goodness.

“Warmer?”

“Mmm, much better.”

I revel in the rushing ocean sounds, the glittery stars, and the heat of our bodies nestled together.
In twenty-four hours, I’ll be thousands of miles from this chest, this scent, these arms. God, it hurts already.

“I can’t thank you enough, not only for this incredible surprise tonight, but also for the last few days here. You’ve been so generous and . . . it’s been so much more than I could have hoped for.”

Dan’s hold tightens as he nuzzles his nose into my hair. He brushes it over one shoulder and scatters warm kisses along my cool neck, whispering, “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Me, too.”

I melt into him, relishing the chills each kiss sends down my arms. I turn toward his lips, needing his mouth on mine. Kiss after kiss grows deeper and deeper.

Under the stars and wrapped between soft blanket and amazing man, my heart swells with happiness. Well, except for the faint, practical voice that nags of the impending distance and the emotional dangers posed by his work.
Will my heart be safe? Will he feel the same once I leave? Will the distance become too much?

My thoughts race from here to there, growing louder and more ominous, but I ignore them by focusing on his perfect fingers that skim down my body, sparking me to life inch by inch by inch.

I spend my last evening with Dan on a cliff, memorizing the feel of his lips, the sensuous touch of his fingers, and the passion our bodies express.

* * *

The next morning comes too fast.

I’m in Dan’s room packing my things when he comes in and plunks down on the bed next to my suitcase.

“I just left a message for Len to phone me back.”

I nod because for every shirt I fold and place in my bag, the heavier my heart grows. It frustrates me that I’m tearing up. I keep my head down, using my hair to shield my face as best as I can.

“Are you all right?” Dan asks, trying to peek at me.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I shake my hair further in my face.

He touches my arm. “Claire?”

Damn it. “Yeah?” I say, folding and folding.

He stands up, takes the shirt from my hand, and finds my eyes. He frowns and cups my face in his hands. “Don’t cry. We’ll see one another again soon.”

I nod because that’s all I can do without bursting into tears.

“I promise. Trust me,” he adds.

“Okay.”

As he shakes his head at me, something on the bed captures his attention. I follow his gaze.

He reaches down inside my luggage, and from under the pajamas I never wore, pulls out his blue and green plaid shirt.

“What’s this doing in there?” he asks, holding it up and smiling.

A volcanic heat explodes across my face. “I . . . I . . .”

“You what? Are you stealing from me?”

I’m pink. “Stealing? Oh my God, no, no, no, no. I—”

“You what, you thief?”

“Oh God. I am so embarrassed.” Now I’m magenta. I cover my face with my hands.

“Go on.” He laughs, prying my fingers from my eyes.

“I, um . . . oh God . . . I really like the way you smell and—”

“The way I smell?” He cocks an eyebrow.

I turn from crimson to purple. “Yes. You smell really good, and—I don’t know—I just wanted to bring it home. Put you under my pillow or something. I should have asked. I’m sorry.” I close my eyes and hang my head, wanting to die. Well, not really die, but disappear long enough for him to forget. When he doesn’t say anything for a very long time, I peel open one eye.

He’s beaming.

“So . . . you like the way I smell and want my shirt to put under your pillow.”

“Um . . . yes?”

“Fuck, yeah. Take it. I love that you want to do that. Did you think I’d say no?”

“I don’t know. I was more embarrassed to ask than anything else. I hoped you wouldn’t miss it.”

He snatches me into his arms and kisses me hard. “I’m going to miss you, not the shirt. I will be highly envious of the shirt, though.”

“Don’t hate on the shirt. No one else, remember?” I smile wide.

He smirks. “No one else.”

Chapter Eighteen

It’s nearly nine p.m. when we lumber into the apartment, drop our bags at the door, and collapse in the living room.

“How am I supposed to get up tomorrow? I’m exhausted,” I say, my head lolling on the back of the sofa.

“What do you mean? You’re always dying to get back to work,” Camille snorts with her eyes closed and her head against the armrest of the chair.

“But that was before she had a boyfriend who kept her occupied over and Over and OVER AGAIN!” Bridget laughs, mocking an orgasm.

“Oh my God!” Laughing, I poke her leg with my foot. We fall silent, sprawled across the furniture on the verge of sleep. Then my cell rings from inside my bag all the way across the room. I drag my sorry ass up to hunt it down. “Who the hell is calling me?”

“It’s probably Boyfriend Orgasmo.” Bridget snorts.

“Oh, shut it.” I finally find my phone on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Claire,” says the silky English voice.

I’m suddenly wide awake. “Hi, how are you?” I make my way to my dark bedroom.

“I’m fine. How was your flight?” He sounds so close except he’s over two thousand miles away. How depressing.

“It was good. We actually just got in.” I turn on the bedside lamp. “What did you do after I left? Did you cry all afternoon?” I giggle as I sit and lie back on my bed.

Dan snorts. “Yeah. Colin stroked my hair and made me cups of tea.”

I laugh. “What did you really do today?”

“Not much. I read my script, almost beat Colin at Guitar Hero, thought of you—you know, the usual.”

“You thought of me?” I’m wide-awake now.

“Of course, and I was pissed off I didn’t swipe something of yours to put under my pillow until I realized my sheets smell like you. Looks like I won’t be washing them until you come back.”

“Eww. That might be two months from now.”

He laughs. “Well, I guess when I come through New York in a couple of weeks, I’ll have to steal something of yours.”

“A couple of weeks?
Really
?” I bounce a little on the bed.

“Yeah, I spoke to Len today. I have to go to France at the end of this week for about two weeks, but then I’ve got myself a layover in New York for two nights on my way back to L.A.”

I bite my lip. “So exactly how many days before you come here?”

“Nineteen.”

I giggle. “Just so you know, you won’t be able to stay here when you come to New York, though.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve got this boyfriend now who might not like it.”

He chuckles. “Boyfriend, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess that means you like him a lot if you only want
him
sleeping in your bed.”

“Yes, I do. I heard you got yourself a girlfriend recently, too.”

“I did. Just spent four days with her. She only left this morning, and I miss her already.”

“I bet she misses you, too.”

“You think so?”

“Without a doubt, and I bet she’s wondering how she’s going to go back to the real world tomorrow after spending four days in paradise.”

“Fuck. I miss you, Claire.”

“I miss you, too, Dan.”

We’re quiet for a moment. My tears surface, but I hold them back. A little more than two weeks is nothing—work will make it fly by. Always does.
Breathe.
“Well, at least you can snuggle your sheets in the meantime.”

“True, but I’m still not washing them soon. I’m going to wait until it only smells like me, which I think you’d enjoy, come to think of it.”

This makes me laugh. “You bet I would.”

“All right, I know it’s late there and you have to go to work tomorrow, so I’ll let you go off to sleep now. I’ll phone you tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good luck at work.”

“Thanks.”

“Good night, Claire.”

“Good night, Dan.”

* * *

The next day, I arrive at school extra early. Even though I prepared my lessons before I left for L.A., I like to arrive early to get back into the mindset, make any last-minute photocopies, and organize papers.

I’m in the midst of some filing when a quick knock comes at my classroom door. As it opens, I glance up to see Donna, my classroom neighbor, colleague and friend, march in with a wide smile.

“Hi, Donna! You and Alyssa have a good week off?” Her daughter Alyssa is one of the students in our school.

“Yeah, we had a nice week. Did some shopping, cleaned closets, Googled hot celebrities on the Internet. What did
you
do this break?” she asks, smirking.

I raise an eyebrow at her.

Donna shuts the classroom door and plants herself on a desk, leaning toward me. “You went to California for break, didn’t you?” She’s biting her smiling lip.

“What? Why?” My heart is beating much harder than it should at a quarter of eight in the morning.

In a quiet, secretive voice, she says, “Well, Alyssa had a sleepover, and the girls were giggling like crazy and shouting, so I went in to see what they were screaming about . . . and they showed me some pictures on the Internet.”

“Pictures?” Although I’m frozen, there’s an inferno blazing straight through me.

She nods. “Yes. Pictures of that actor guy they like and this girl who looks exactly like you. I mean—it is you, right? If it isn’t, then you have a twin who’s dating a famous and highly attractive guy.” Donna laughs and is clearly waiting for me to fill her in.

With my heart packed up and gone, my face drains itself of any pink, leaving behind a green-white sheen. At least that’s how it feels. I bolt to the computer, nearly tripping on a desk, and fling myself onto the chair.

“Holy shit!
Pictures
?”

“Claire, calm down. It’s nothing horrible. It just looks like you had quite the vacation.”

“What? What do you mean?” I tap on the computer—stupid thing is taking forever and a day to boot up. When it finally does, I enter “Daniel Chase” into the search engine only to get over one hundred fifty million results.
Damn it!

I narrow it by date, and there we are. At dinner . . . on the street . . . at Colin’s gig. “Oh God. I didn’t even know . . .” I click on one, then another, and another, on and on and on.

“Didn’t know what? That you’re dating a Hollywood superstar?” She laughs.

I shake my head. It’s spinning like a cyclone. “I didn’t know photos were being taken. I never saw any cameras at these places.” I lean forward, head bent. “I’m not ready for this to be out in the world.” My lungs are wrapped in chains.

“Claire, look at me.”

I glance up.

Donna smiles reassuringly. “Before you completely freak yourself out, I want to show you something.” She rolls me, still seated, out of the way. While I try to take deep breaths that aren’t helping one bit, she clicks the mouse a few times and then says, “Look at these.” She rolls me in front of the computer again. “Take a sec to notice how he’s looking at you—especially in this one.” She points to one photo of us at dinner; I’m laughing while Dan’s beautiful smile is aimed at me.

“He’s completely focused on you—do you see?” She clicks through a few more. “In all of these he’s just, I don’t know . . . gaga over you! I haven’t been looked at like that since the night I gave it up to my husband for the first time. But I digress.” She laughs. “And look at you! Honestly, I’ve never seen you look as happy as you do in these photos. That says something, Claire. I’ll be honest—I’ve been worried about you for a while now. You’re too young to be here as much as you are. So this”—she taps on the screen in true teacher fashion—“means you’re having a wonderful time. You deserve it! This is not the worst thing in the world. Now . . .” She leans forward, smiling wide. “Tell me everything! Like how the hell you ended up with Daniel Chase!”

Overwhelmed, I take a moment to settle my head. I examine the photos more—each shows us laughing or smiling—and in every photo, our bodies are turned toward each other, hands and arms nearly touching. It’s obvious we really like one another. I know this, of course, but somehow seeing it in third-party form solidifies it for me. He’s my boyfriend—the boyfriend I’ll see in eighteen days. My body eases at the thought, and I can finally smile. “How do you know who Daniel Chase is?”

Donna raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Listen, I might be an old, married hag, but I’m far from dead.”

I laugh. “You are not old.”

She laughs, too. “Oh, I’m just a hag. Thank you. Well, even this younger, married hag needs to live vicariously through you, so spill!”

I get only a few sentences in when someone knocks on the door.

“Hi, ladies,” says John Fisher, the school principal. Short, with red cheeks like a jolly ol’ elf, he’s always been supportive and encouraging.

I sit up and put on my game face.

“Hi, John, how are you?” I ask calmly as I slide in front of the computer screen.

“I’m doing well. Have a good break?”

I nearly die. Instead, I simply nod while Donna responds, “Yes, we were just catching up about it. Always feel refreshed after one.”

John nods. “Very true, Donna. So, Claire, let’s meet on Thursday after school to discuss the fundraiser, all right? We can figure out where exactly we need to target the funds. Thanks for working on this during your vacation. I can always count on you.”

I continue smiling. “You’re welcome. Thursday it is.”

“Have a nice day, ladies,” he says before exiting the room and closing the door.

I exhale a burst of air. “Do you think he saw the pictures?” Then it dawns on me. I gasp. “Oh God. Do you think the students know? No. They don’t. They can’t, right?”

“There’s nothing wrong with those pictures.”

“No, but—” I swallow hard. “What do I say? How do I react? I don’t want them knowing anything about it!”

“Well, it’s probably too late for the ‘not knowing’ part, but if it was me, and God knows I wish it was, I’d give as little information as possible if they ask.”

“If? You know they’re going to ask.”

“Okay, so when they ask, just don’t say much.”

I nod and stand. “Right. Avoid the topic. I can do that.”

We pause, hearing the familiar rumble of teen feet stomping up the stairwell.

Donna hugs me. “I’m so happy that you’re happy. Now relax.” She pulls back. “And I want details at lunch, got it? Every single detail!” She smiles, and we head into the hallway to supervise the morning rush.

The moment the stream of teens bursts through the door, I know this day can only spiral downward. Stares, whispers, and giggles abound as they pass, and by the start of first period, I’m already fielding questions.

I finally raise my voice and give the ol’ “this is an inappropriate conversation.” They stop asking, sure, but they aren’t done with the whispers, which aren’t all that quiet. At the end of the day, I bolt out of work, which is unlike me but very necessary. It’s the first time work doesn’t feel much like a salvation.

I head to the gym for a head-clearing workout—the hardest workout since, well, since my last night with Dan. I can’t help but smile while I jog on the treadmill, which reminds me of our silly treadmill race, which reminds me that I want time to fly by. I’m desperate for another dose of him, but without photos this time.
How do photos surface so quickly, anyway?

After a razzing from Camille and Bridget, who pretend I’m not sitting right there while they randomly ask each other, “Who’s that girl?” which is the caption on most of the online photos, I head to my bedroom to start on some grading. My phone rings three papers in.

“Hi, Claire. How are you? How was the first day back?” Dan’s voice is just the remedy I need after today.

“Hi. It was odd, very odd.”

“You all right?”

“I’m better now, but I was a bit of a wreck this morning when I saw photos of us on the Internet. I just got home yesterday, and it’s online already? How does that happen?”

“Yeah. Saw them. It’s always off-putting how fast they are.”

I pause. “You saw them? Were you Googling yourself?”

“What? No. Len told me there were some photos of us, so I looked them up.”

“You did? And what’d you think?”

“That you look downright smitten with me.” He laughs.

I can’t help but smile. “
I
look smitten with
you
? Ha! Do you always Google yourself? Is this a hobby of yours?”

He laughs. “Yes, I am completely in love with myself. In fact, I printed out the photos, cut you out of them, and pasted myself around my bedroom walls—you know, for nighttime inspiration.”

I’m laughing so hard I can’t speak.

“Claire?”

“I’m sorry.” I gasp and wipe the tears from my eyes. “You’re so funny.”

He chuckles. “Actually, I searched us because I have no photos of you. I can’t believe I didn’t take one photo of us. Anyway, I figured since the paps make enough money off of me, I can at least use it to my advantage once in a while.”

“Very true.” I’m smiling from ear to ear and relatively speechless.
He wants a photo of us!

“So, aside from the photos, did you have a good day?”

“Well, other than the fact that my students pummeled me with questions first thing, and now they think I’m some sort of groupie, it was good. How was your day?”

“A groupie?” He laughs.

“Yes, but it wasn’t funny this morning. It was humiliating, and I’m not looking forward to work tomorrow. I feel like a sideshow freak with all the stares aimed my way.”

“If it makes you feel any better, this will be old news by the end of the week. It always happens fast and fades out just as quickly.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes, I do.”

“What if it doesn’t die out by the end of the week?”

He pauses. “Then when I see you, I’ll make sure to comfort you over and over and over. Actually, I’ll do that anyway. You are my girlfriend after all.”

Girlfriend.
That one teeny word shifts all my focus to just how much I miss him. “Sounds like a plan.”

We’re silent for a moment.

“All right, off to sleep with you. Tomorrow will be better than today. Trust me.”

“Okay, Mr. Hollywood, I’m relying on your professional opinion.”

He laughs. “I miss you, Claire.”

“I miss you, too . . . and thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making me feel better about today.”

“That’s what boyfriends do, don’t they?” He chuckles. “Sleep well. I’ll phone you tomorrow.”

“Okay, good night.”

“Night.”