A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (36 page)

“Thank you,” my mom says, her eyes on her plate and her jaw tense. I can almost hear her inner fire-breathing dragon seething.

“Yes, it is quite delicious, honey,” my father says, which shifts both subject and mood, finally ending the standoff. For now. The rest of the evening passes without incident, and before I know it, we celebrate with cake, drink coffee, and open presents. Now I can leave and once again breathe freely in the car. We say our good-byes to my siblings and sisters-in-law and their kids.

I hug my dad who squeezes me tightly. “Drive safely, honey.”

“Bye, Mom,” I say tentatively, offering and receiving a hug.

“Happy birthday. I’m happy you were able to come home, Claire. I hope we can talk later this week.” She hands me a plate of leftovers. I have no doubt she’ll call to give me her detailed judgment report on Dan.

“Good-bye, Mr. Parelli.” Dan shakes his hand then turns to my mom. “Thank you both for having me today. It was a pleasure meeting you. I had a lovely time.” He holds out his hand to shake hers, but my mom pulls him into a distant hug. She whispers something to him.

We get in the car, and I turn to him. “Well, you made it. How are you?”

“I guess I did all right.” He shrugs, seemingly unaffected by the awkwardness of dinner.

“You guess?”

“Yes. I think I did well responding to your mom’s questions—”

“Yeah! Really well. What did my mom whisper to you right before we left?”

“She said she’s not sold on me.”

“Oh my God, how rude can she be? You were gracious and kind and looked great and were perfect as always and—”

“‘Perfect as always,’ eh?” I look over, and he’s all smiley and waggling his eyebrows at me and begins to stroke my leg.

I don’t want to smile, but I can’t help it. He’s too cute. “Yes. You always are, which is why I can’t understand her need to find something not to like.”

“Your sisters-in-law were lovely.”

“Yeah, they liked you. Surprised by you being you.”

“I didn’t notice. I was sort of preoccupied by your brothers.”

My face falls. “Why do you say that? What did they tell you? I swear—”

“No, nothing really. I’ll just be insuring my legs come Monday morning,” he says half-laughing, but plenty serious too.

“What? Why? I’m going to kill them.”

“They threatened to break my legs if I hurt you.”

“This shit has to stop. They’ve always been protective of me, but I’m an adult—and so are they—for God’s sake!” I grip the steering wheel harder.

“They don’t have ties to the mafia or anything, do they?”

I roll my eyes and huff. “No.”

He exhales in relief. “Okay, just making sure.”

I rant a little more, letting off steam. Dan just listens with a grin. “Clearly, this amuses you,” I finally say.

“You’re feisty. It’s hot,” he says with a playful growl.

I shake my head and can’t help but soften . . . until we’re parked and walking back to my apartment where a photographer is snapping pictures from across the street. I turn around, about to cross the street to smack the guy, when Dan snags my arm.

“No, no. This way.” He pulls me toward my building. We enter the apartment, and I need a drink
now
, which I announce to everyone. The five of us get ready and head to a small, neighborhood pub.

Shots are bought and tossed back, and soon I’m feeling their magically soothing effects.

“Better now?” Dan asks.

“Yes, much.”

Dan and Colin start talking together while Camille, Bridget, and I get caught up.

“So how was it?” Camille asks.

“Well, on the one hand, she didn’t give me the cold-shoulder like I expected; but on the other hand, she played twenty-questions with Dan during dinner while everyone listened.”

“Heavens to Mordor. Sounds uncomfortable,” Bridget says.

“‘Heavens to Mordor’?” Both Camille and I burst into laughter before I say, “You make me laugh, Bridget! Dinner was uncomfortable to say the least. She jabbed at his career and questioned if he screwed around on set with beautiful actresses, but his response was—I’m still blushing and wondering if I heard him right—but he said he likes me—exactly me—and that he’s in this until I no longer want to be.”

We share a collective, “Aww.”

“I bet that shut her down,” Bridget says.

“Yes, but I wonder if she’ll find ways to be even worse,” Camille says.

“Worse? How could she achieve that fine nirvana?” Bridget asks.

“She’s quite a creative person,” Camille responds.

“How’d your mom react to the flowers?” Bridget asks.

“They were for Avery, not my mom.”

“Wait. He gave your little five-year-old niece that huge bouquet?” Bridget asks.

“Uh-huh. It was so unexpected.”

“Go Dan!”

“But my brothers threatened him with violence, as usual.” I roll my eyes before reaching for my drink.

“You’d think they’d stop that nonsense,” Camille says.

“I know! Dan found my annoyance with them funny.”

“It sounds like it went well overall, you know, despite the verbal assaults and physical threats,” Bridget says, giggling.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Did he give you a present? Or is that tonight?” Bridget asks with a wink.

“Oh! I haven’t had a chance to tell you guys. Yes, he gave me his present already. He’s paid my university fees for the piano for a year! Can you believe that?” I glance at Mr. Beautiful, who’s in deep conversation with Colin, and feel overwhelmed at his kindness all over again.

“Practical,” Bridget says, sipping her drink.

“Practical
and
thoughtful,” Camille says. “Better than the stupid shit Mark used to give you, like tickets to a sporting event because it was something
he
wanted to go to.”

“Very true.” Bridget says, nodding.

“I wonder what’s got them all huddled up,” I say as we glance over at Dan and Colin. “How’s it going with you and Colin?” I ask, turning to Camille.

“It’s really good. I mean, we’re both on the same page in terms of not seeing anyone else and neither of us wants anything too serious right now, so it’s all good.”

“I love you both, but it sucks being the fifth wheel,” Bridget says, taking a long drink.

I give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Dare I say it sounds like you actually want—gasp!—a relationship?”

Bridget shakes her head and smiles. “Well, you two make it look, I don’t know . . . fun?”

Camille and I crack up. “Someday, princess. Someday your prince will come,” Camille sings to her.

Colin pokes his head into our group. “Ready for another shot?” Colin hands a fresh round to us.

“Yes!” Bridget knocks hers back.

Before long, I’m leaning into Dan while everyone’s talking.
Damn that soap-and-shaving-cream scent.
I angle my head toward him to sniff him better. “Mmm . . . you smell so good.” I pucker my lips, making a few kissing noises at him, and he laughs at me. “Hey, what happened to us being friends?”
Did I just slur my words?

He snorts. “What?”

I turn to fully face him. “You know. We”—I point between us—“were supposed to act like friends in public, but we kinda forgot about it pretty quickly. Like months ago.”

He smirks and leans into my ear. “Because I want to fuck you senseless most of the time, and it’s really fucking difficult enough to keep it respectful in public. So if you don’t like this”—he grabs my ass—”then too bad.” He kisses me hard in the middle of the bar, and I quickly forget anyone else is around. I press myself against him and rub myself on him all while our mouths are saying, “Screw friendship.”

“Um, hello!” Bridget yells at us, smacking my shoulder. We step apart, remembering that, yes, we are indeed in public. “Go home, you two. Jeez.”

Dan palms Colin some money. “See you back at the flat.” He grabs my hand, and we head to my apartment via a cab. There are paparazzi on the sidewalk outside my apartment lobby, taking pictures, but his hand remains on my ass. The fleeting thought that my mother will probably see those photos flies in and out of my drunken head. I’m laughing as I punch in the code and open the door.

I’m too busy pulling him by his belt into my bedroom to turn on the lights in the living room, or in my bedroom for that matter—there’s enough outdoor light seeping in through the windows to get by. At least I gave the bedroom door a good shove closed, but frankly, the moment it clicks shut, we’re stripping down fast. I’m kicking off my shoes and flinging off my shirt, while he’s unbuttoning his shirt and unfastening his pants. I like this sort of race. Three heartbeats and all my clothes later, my hands, addicted to his sculpted body, are on him quick—he’s so warm and soft, yet hard. With hooded eyes, he watches as I graze my nails over his round shoulders, down his chiseled chest to his washboard abs, and stroke his defined “V” that’s like a giant arrow, pointing to his long, hard path to pleasure. I reach around his waist and down the muscles of his back, dipping into the valley just above the swell of his ass. I give it a hard squeeze. “Your ass—it’s just so fine . . .” I yank down his underwear, the one remaining article of clothing between us.

“Yours, too.” With a grin and a husky growl, he slaps my ass.

I let out a yelp and a giggle that’s quickly overpowered by his mouth and his hands, slowly skimming down my shoulders to my waist, stopping for many blissful moments to roll his thumbs over my nipples, inviting them to rise higher. “Mmm,” he murmurs against my mouth. I respond with a moan.
My God.
He’s hardly touched me, really, but the sensations he’s building inside of me would beg to differ.

Legs shaking with a wild desperation to get him closer, I push him against the closest wall, rattling a couple of picture frames. He grunts in response. I swing a leg around his hip, ready to mount him vertically, but he swiftly trades places with me, lifting me by my ass, and pressing my back against the cool wall. I wrap my legs around his waist, quickly locking his hips into mine. I take what he gives, and damn, is he a giver.
Thrust . . . pound . . . slam . . .
it’s a furious swirl of uninhibited passion and need.

“Is this what you want, friend?” He pants, his rhythm steady.

“Yes!”

And harder he goes. His skin grows slick. Mine does, too, and soon it’s a challenge to hold on. “Fuck me everywhere in this room,” I blurt out, needing more! More! More!

With my ass in his hands, he carries me a step or two, and throws me on the bed. He tugs on my ankles, dragging my ass to the very edge of the bed, leans my legs against his chest, with my feet on either side of his neck. He’s quick to angle himself just right and thrusts anew—a harder, faster rhythm now. Watching his abs tighten and his hips thrust forward, working in unison to fuck me, is a singular pleasure. The veins of his neck bulge and his eyes are shut tight, as if solely focused on not coming too soon. Hell, I’m struggling with the same. My body buzzes with an electric intensity.

His eyes spring open. “I want to fuck you against the windows.”
Holy shit.
He’s got a wild, almost desperate look about him. “But I can’t. They’re out there.” He bends forward, kissing me hard while kneading my breasts roughly.

Moments later, I push him away. He’s confused until I get up and step over to the full-length mirror that’s next to the chair. Facing it, I grip the top and spread my legs. Through the mirror, I see his eyes widen and he’s staring at my ass. I glance over my shoulder at him striking high noon. “Will this do?”

“Fuck me,” he says, striding over. “Look at that.” He swats my ass hard and lines up. “Now you can watch me fuck you,” he says, dark and deep as one hand reaches around to fondle my breast as his other hand lines himself up behind me. I bend forward a bit more, but keeping an eye on him—he’s too sexy to look away. His heated face is taut, his breathing rapid, and the veins on his neck are pulsing as he enters me. With a firm grasp on my hips, he drives forward, his shoulders flexing each time. Fast in, slow out, slow and gentle . . . the pace ratchets up with every delicious thrust. I love how his eyes haven’t left my breasts that bounce with every one of his movements.

I grip the mirror tighter. “Look at me,” I say. I can tell it’s a struggle for him to break his booby-trance, but he meets my eyes through the glass. “Fuck me harder.”

Between his sharp intake of breath and his primal groan, I can tell all bets are off. Our skin smacks together as he pounds away so perfectly hard the mirror is shaking. I’d be worried about it falling over if I wasn’t entirely mesmerized by how hard he’s working me, how my hips are under his control, and how his muscles strain to control his pleasure. I can tell he’s just about there and his deep moaning confirms it.

As much as I’d love stay right here, teetering on the edge of ecstasy all night, I’m in desperate need of release, too. The whole of my body aches for it. I let go and allow the intensity to build fast, and in warp speed, I’m there, moaning through the pulsating bliss; and he is, too—grunting something indecipherable. Afterward, we stay frozen to the spot, catching our breath after that mighty fine sprint.

Finally, he grabs my shoulders, straightening me to standing, and kisses my shoulder. Through the mirror he says, “Happy birthday” with a wide, satisfied grin. Seems he likes this present as much as I do.

“A very happy birthday indeed,” I say, blissed-out and woozy, but I quickly remember. “Oh! I have something for you. Sit on the chair.” I head to my dresser to dig through my top drawer of socks. I glance over my shoulder at him—Mr. Beautiful is just sitting there, gorgeous and naked.

Although I’m still tipsy, I quickly shift, hiding the object behind my back. As I make my way over he says, “God, I love watching you walk to me. The way the outside light hits your body . . .” He shakes his head, smirking. “I can’t get enough.”

I kneel down at his feet, resting my free hand on his knee. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday.” I offer him a small, wrapped box.

He sits up straight, beaming. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Open it. Less tape on mine.”

With a smirk, he lifts the tape from one side then the other. Once the paper’s gone he glances at me before opening the top of the box. “A lucky clover keychain.” He lifts it from the box. “It’s heavy.”

Do I tell him? . . . Yes.
“I got that for you because . . .” I exhale to better clear my head. “I feel like what we have between us is, well, extraordinary—like finding a real four-leaf clover—and . . . I’m so lucky to have you in my life.” He’s staring at me, fingering the heavy, silver keychain, and then he stretches out a hand to stroke my cheek.

“That’s a genuine four-leaf clover pressed in the center glass, in case you weren’t sure . . . I don’t know—it’s just a little something.” I shrug, suddenly self-conscious.
Silly gift idea.

Dan seems on the verge of words, but kisses me sweetly, gently. He pulls away and stands, taking my hand to guide me onto my feet and to the bed. He lifts the sheets, signaling for me to climb in. We situate and snuggle, and he strokes my hair. “It’s everything,” he says.

“What?”

“Before—you said the gift was just a little something, but it’s not. It’s everything.”

I squeeze him, and find myself teary for some reason, but before I can succumb to them, I fall asleep.