A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (39 page)

I gasp. Tears prick at my eyes. He’s dislodging the stopper on my well of emotions, and it makes me squirm. I want to shut down this conversation, but he’s now standing in front of me.

“Look at me.” His voice is commanding and deep.

I breathe deeply, hoping to contain myself before I look up. “Claire,” he says again. I meet his eyes, which are serious, and his jaw, set. He grabs the bottom of his T-shirt and whips it over his head.

Perfection.

Once again, his staggering beauty overwhelms me. He searches my eyes before he begins to unbuckle his belt, slowly, deliberately. My eyes are drawn to his perfect fingers unbuttoning the lone button on his jeans and unzipping them at an equally slow pace. My body revs when he drops them to the floor. My eyes scale his wall of abs, crest the hard peaks of his chest, and finally dive into the green waters of his eyes. He’s more intense than I’ve ever seen him. “No one’s perfect.”

Your accent sure is
—are the words on the tip of my tongue, but I’m distracted by him reaching for the hem of my sweater and whooshing it over my head and off of me, throwing it to the side. Kneeling down, he takes hold of my feet and slides off my shoes. With nimble fingers, he quickly unbuttons and unzips my pants, sliding them off me. He stands, his eyes focused on me sitting here in my bra and panties. He’s breathing harder—his abs are a testament to that.

“Lie back.”

As I follow his command, his eyes remain fixed on mine. He licks his lips and reaches down to slip my panties off me. “Scoot up the bed.” I do.

He slides his boxers off, nice and smooth. He is utterly perfect, and I suddenly feel so unworthy of all that he offers me. I turn away.

“Look at me.” There’s frustration in his voice, and I look up at him. His gaze seems to be both a challenge and an invitation—
don’t move, stay here with me.
He slowly spreads my bent knees apart and kneels between them on the bed. I stretch my legs up and out. Leaning forward with one arm by my head, he reaches down and takes aim, but stops just before he fully connects our bodies and says, “You’re not perfect; I’m not perfect.” My back arches slightly as he gradually slips inside, and damn, his fullness feels so close to what I imagine perfect to be. “But we’re pretty perfect together.”

One quick thrust. Two. Then he stops, the veins in his neck throbbing and larger than before. His eyes meet mine again, but this time there’s a twinkle in his. “For fifteen minutes anyway.” He smiles, and I laugh, and that’s when the fear and sadness and whatever else dissipate, and the joy and fun of loving him and being loved by him take over.

***

As always, my long holiday weekend with Dan flies by. We’re waiting inside my bedroom on top of the made bed for the car to pick him up. I’m snuggled into him—leg over his, head in his nook, his arm under my neck, cradling me. “You sure you don’t want to come on promo with me? It could be fun,” he says.

“You won’t have time for me. You said yourself the schedule is tight.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I know. I’m happy you’re coming to the premiere, though.”

“Me, too. And we leave for London right after?”

“Pretty much. There’ll be a party after the premiere, and then we’ll leave the next morning for London.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to London.”

“Liar! You said you always wanted to go to Italy to see the statue of David and the Sistine Chapel.”

“True, and I do, but London’s got . . . um . . . you.”

He laughs, squeezing me hard and tickling my sides. “Right, same thing.”

Giggling, I do my best to wiggle away until he stops the torture and we resume our snuggling. “Are you nervous to introduce me to your family?”

“No, although my sisters will absolutely try to embarrass me. Are you worried about meeting them?”

“Of course!”

“Eh, don’t be. They’re really laid back. So what are you wearing to the premiere?”

I shoot up, panicked. “Shit. I have no idea. What should I wear? I mean, what do people wear to these things?”

He tugs me back down. “I’m sure Bridget’ll help. I like what she puts on you.”

“So, slutwear. Sure. Who’s that? Oh, that’s Dan Chase’s slutty girlfriend.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

I roll my eyes. “Men.”

He laughs and snatches me close, burrowing his scruffy face into my neck. I squeak and squirm, and soon enough I can barely breathe. He’s shifting from spot to spot, blocking all of my efforts to push him away.

“Stop!” I finally push him off me and rub my neck.

He hovers over me, still laughing. “I’m sure whatever you wear, you’ll look amazing.”

“You’re lucky if I even show up now.”

“Will you watch me on TV interviews and pine for me?”

“Yes, pine . . . real wood would be nice for a change.”

He successfully attacks my neck again even though I give it my best defense. “Pine for me, dammit!” he says, laughing against my vulnerable neck.

“I’ll pine! I’ll pine! Now get off me!” My face hurts from laughing.

His phone dings, and he stretches across the bed to the nightstand to check it. “Car’s here.”

“Oh.”

He stands and grabs my hand, pulling me to standing, too. “I’m going to miss you. At least you can see me on TV—I can’t see you at all.”

“We do have phones, Dan. We can FaceTime.”

“What?” he shouts. “But you’re afraid of technology!”

I swat at him. “I was going to send you dirty photos, but now? Forget it.”

“It’s called sexting, Claire,” he says smugly and snickering.

“At this rate, you may never see me again.”

He laughs. “I’ll call you when I get in.” He kisses me good and long then pulls back, leaving me breathless and unsteady on my feet. “I hate our good-byes, but knowing you’re coming to London with me in a few weeks, well, it takes the sting out.”

“Aww!” I fling my arms around his neck and squeeze tight. “I’m excited, too.”

“Before I go, I need to know . . .” He examines my face before he continues. “I’m going to be asked about us. What do you want me to say?”

“What do
you
want to say?”

“Your call.”

“What do you think would be best?”

“I’m prepared to say whatever you’re most comfortable with, honestly. If I say we’re dating, then most likely attention on us will amp up, you know? If I say we’re just friends, well, it may or may not amp up the attention.”

“Ugh. I guess go the ‘friends’ route and hope that it keeps things more on the quiet side.”

“Okay,” he says as his phone dings again. “I have to go.” We kiss once more and then—poof! He’s gone.

***

I’ve always loved the buzz in the air between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and this year is no different. Except, well, it is. My head’s wrapped around three things: the need to finish this composition that’s driving me nuts, the future of spending Christmas in London with Dan’s family, and spotting Dan’s face on all sorts of magazines at newsstands I pass every day. But right now, thanks to Bridget, the TV in my apartment is blaring, “Up next: Dan Chase!”

“Claire!” she calls to me from the living room couch.

“Be right there! You guys want any chips?” I ask as I begin dumping some into a bowl.

“Just get in here—he’s almost on!” Bridget yells.

“I’m not sure I should watch him,” I say, carrying my drink and chips to the couch and setting them on the coffee table.

“Why not?” asks Camille. She grabs a handful of chips.

“I don’t know. It’s kind of weird. I haven’t seen him on TV since we started dating, so . . . it’s just weird.”

Camille gives me a sideways glance. “
You’re
weird. He wants you to watch.”

“Sit down and shush,” Bridget says as the opening to Ryan Rockford’s Late Night Show begins. The host does his monologue, and when he mentions Dan’s name, I can hear how predominately female the audience is—and how loudly they can scream, too.

It takes forever for Dan to finally be introduced, but when he is, he comes out from the side of the stage and sets the world on fire. Or maybe that’s just me because I cannot peel my eyes from the TV. There’s that smile I love, and he’s dressed in a deep green button down shirt, a relaxed sports jacket, and he’s waving to the audience. He exudes confidence and sexiness—out of all of his fine pores.
My God.
I’ve been under his spell many times, but seeing him through the distance of the TV, and I’m almost more mesmerized than ever.
Shouldn’t I be less affected at some point?

Camille elbows me. “He looks good, huh?” She laughs and laughs because I’m only able to whimper. “And you didn’t want to watch. Ha!”

The audience has yet to calm down. Ryan laughs while Dan smiles and blushes. “All right, everyone, just calm down,” Ryan says. He strokes Dan’s arm. “He’s very soft, too, ladies.” The screams erupt again, and Ryan playfully scolds the audience to quiet down.

“So, Dan, welcome. Great to have you here.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to be here, and thank you for that welcome,” he says with a nod to the audience.

“Yes, quite the welcome. So, life’s pretty good, eh?” Ryan looks expectant, hopeful, ready to dish with Dan.

Dan smiles playfully—he knows where this is going. So do I actually, because they always wind up an audience and go for the hot gossip first. More cheers from the crowd. Another shy smile from Dan. A shriek of “I love you, Dan!” is heard clearly.

“Yes, life’s very good.”

“You’ve been working nonstop the last few months, but our lovely audience wants to know what kinds of things you do in your free time,” Ryan says with a smile that makes me nervous—not sure why. Dan seems unfazed.

“I don’t have much free time, but when I do, I pretty much lie there and stare at the ceiling. Sometimes I go really crazy and order Chinese or pizza.”

The audience laughs. I do, too. His charm is so easy, natural.

“Which is your favorite—Chinese or pizza?”

“Depends on the day. Sometimes I’ll just pour a bowl of Lucky Charms,” he says, looking right into the camera. My heart leaps—that comment’s for me—and I smile like an idiot.

Camille and Bridget crack up.

“Wow—I didn’t figure you to be a Lucky Charms fan,” Ryan says.

Dan shrugs. “Well, I wasn’t until a friend of mine introduced me to it, but now, it’s . . . my life.”

Ryan and the audience laugh again.

“It’s good to have friends who broaden your horizons, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Speaking of friends, it seems like you made some new ones this year.”

“It’s nice to make new friends, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes. Any special friends you’d like to tell us about? Maybe this one?” A picture of us in Mexico flashes up on the large screen behind them. It’s a bit grainy, but we’re mid-walk, wearing swimsuits, and are as happy as can be. I gasp.

Dan twists around to see the photo and turns back, glancing down and shaking his head slightly, perhaps trying to hide that full-wattage smile he’s wearing. He finally looks up, and his face is flushed. He shifts in his seat.

“Who’s this friend, Dan?” There are grumblings in the audience and a few boos.

Dan turns to the audience. “She’s a good friend of mine.” He smiles.

“Just a friend? There’ve been rumors that you’re off the market,” Ryan says playfully.

Dan smiles at Ryan. “We’re good friends.”

“I’d like a good friend like that, too. Have any you can spare?” Ryan says, laughing. “All right, well, we’ve got to go to commercial, but we’ll be back with more Daniel Chase!”

Afterwards, I text Dan:
Cherry. Oak. Pine. I’m pining and can’t wait for more of your wood.

***

The next morning, I’m startled awake by my cell phone ringing. I glance at the clock—seven a.m.—and see it’s my mom calling. It always makes me nervous when she—or anyone—calls at a strange time.

“Hello?”

“Hi, honey, did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but that’s okay. Everything all right?” I sit up and rub my eyes.

“I don’t know—you tell me. I saw Dan on TV last night, and I’m wondering if you two broke up.”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“Because Dan said you two were just friends, so I want to know if you’ve broken up?” She sounds almost eager and excited.

“No, we didn’t, Mom.”

She huffs a little. “Oh.”

“Is that why you’re calling me? I thought something was wrong.”

“Yes, there is something wrong, because what kind of boy denies someone he supposedly cares about? And on national television, at that. You’d think he’d be proud to say he’s dating you, but no. He seemed perfectly happy to tell the world he’s single.”

“Did we watch the same show, Mom? I mean, yes, he said we’re friends, which we are, and he said it like that because I told him to.”

“Why would you do that? Are you ashamed of him?”

“He and I decided that we should try to keep our relationship quiet.”

“Or
he
decided, didn’t he? He talked you into it so he could have you while dating other women, too.”