A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (53 page)

Soldiering on, determined to reach our bedroom destination, we nearly trip and almost fall over each other when we attempt the one step up. Giggling, we finally make it. His breath is so warm as he kisses my neck it sends chills down my arms. “Are you cold?” he whispers as his lips skim across my skin.

“No, not really.”

His hands are searching me, or my dress anyway. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to figure out how to smoothly take it off without it ripping or him falling or me tripping, so I step back, slightly out of his reach and slowly unzip the side. I hold it against me until it’s fully undone. I breathe, taking in this moment. I let it go, and it pools at my feet. I love how his smile is impossibly bigger, sexier, hungrier.

Bare, except for my panties and heels, I stop him as he steps closer. “Your turn.”

Happily obliging, he loosens his tie, whips it through his collar, and tosses it to the floor. His fingers fumble with the tiny buttons on his shirt, trying to undo each one quickly. He yanks on the sleeve, trying to rip off his wrists, when a button flies off and bounces across the wooden floor. We both giggle a bit before he’s back to stripping for me, wiggling his hips in time to some tune playing only in his head. He flings his shirt to the floor next then kicks off his shoes. Finally, he’s got his belt in his hands, unlatching it in record time, my fifteen-minute king, and I’m giggling madly. He is, too.

“It’s been so long I’m apologizing up front. Fifteen minutes might be tough tonight,” he says with a grin as his pants hit the floor. Somehow the sight of him in his tight boxer briefs, which strain to contain him, is an image I’d love tattooed on my brain.

I sit on the bed, scooting back a bit and beckon him with my finger. “Tick tock. The clock is ticking, Mr. Chase.”

He crawls on top of me. “Hopefully, it’s not ticking too fast, Mrs. Chase. I’d like to remember this night forever.” He’s kissing me hard again—there’s nothing stopping us now. No stipulations, no time restrictions, no one’s waiting, and best of all, nearly no one knows that Dan and I are in this incredible hotel on the Arno River in Florence, Italy, making love as husband and wife for the first time.

As his hands navigate my body, and mine explore his rippling peaks and valleys, there is a new and unexpected spark, a lightning bolt of love striking me in the heart, the mind, and right between my legs. I have an indescribable, almost desperate need to fulfill him and be fulfilled.

His body is, well, Michelangelo himself couldn’t sculpt muscles as fine. And his scent intoxicates me, compelling me to be closer, closer, but there is no more space to gain. Twisting and tumbling on the bed, I scramble on top of him and we connect—finally! Our bodies strike perfect note after perfect note—a fresh melody and harmony—as we compose our new song here, now. Our breathing is the rhythm; our hearts are the beat. Synchronicity.

A need is building—a need to commit fully and totally physically, or perhaps that’s our souls melding. I’m lost in the moment until I open my eyes—he’s under me, his eyes are closed, and his face is tensed with sheer bliss. My ring, glinting even in the dark, is gasoline, igniting my passion into a five-alarm blaze. I don’t want the moment to end—no, no, no—but I’m so close. I need to claim the ultimate moment of pleasure, of satisfaction. Everything in me tightens and tingles. His eyes open, and it’s almost too much—all the love and desire aimed my way—and he shakes his head just like I’m doing because this release is coming quickly, and I cannot prolong it another second.

My sharp intake of breath matches his, and we cry out at the same time, our bodies pulsing through our crescendo, simultaneously gratified like never before, and yet wanting to rewind this tape and replay.

I chuckle despite my panting.

“What?” he asks through heavy breaths.

After a moment of breathing in and out in steadying breaths, I say, “The idea of a music tape popped to mind just now and . . . I remember playing my college tape for you. I was so nervous, worried you’d think I was an idiot, and now here we are a year later, and I’ve just finished riding my new husband, who obviously liked the tape.”

He bursts into laughter. “How are you even thinking of that now? Fuck. I’m just trying to breathe here.”

“I know. I have issues.”

“A workaholic mind.” He grabs my arms and pulls me down to kiss me. “No more thinking on our honeymoon, okay? I’ve got the whole thing covered.” He kisses me again.

I straighten up. “Okay. I’ll do my best.” I shift to his side, snuggling up against his chest with a leg swung on top of his. He throws the covers over us. After a few moments I say, “I think that was a solid twenty minutes. Go you.” I pat his chest in congratulations.

He squeezes me. “The doctor said we couldn’t overwork your heart, Miss Daisy.” I laugh and yawn at the same time. “Rest. You’re exhausted.”

I nod. “I’m not sure why—I slept on the plane, but yeah, I am. I’m sure you are, too.”

“Yeah, I am.”

And like a flick of a switch, we’re out. Neither of us moves until the morning light is streaming in and hitting us square in the face. We stretch and take stock of one another the next morning.

“Hi,” I say, situating myself on my side, facing him.

“Hi, my love.” He strokes my cheek. “Sleep well?”

“I don’t think we moved. I’m actually a little stiff.”

“Me, too.” He grins and grabs himself over the blankets.

I laugh and grab him under the blankets. “I see the problem—your needy sex.” I whip the covers over my head and slink down the bed, taking him firmly, yet gently into my mouth. I’m spurred on by his loud gasp. It takes almost no effort to solve his problem, and when I come back up his face is slack and he looks, well, limp. “You okay there?”

He looks over at me, blank-faced, and moans.

“I’m taking that as a yes. You tired still?”

He nods.

I smile, loving that I can have this effect on him. “Maybe we should eat. My stomach is rumbling.” No sooner do the words leave my lips than there is a knock on the door. “Want me to get that?”

“No, no,” he grumbles, sitting up, finding some pants, and sliding them on. He’s like a flame—I can’t stop watching his every move as he walks across the bedroom. All those fine-tuned muscles working in unison.
Damn.

He speaks with someone for a few moments, and then I hear the suite door shut followed by a lot of clanking. I’m waiting for him to return, but it takes him several minutes, which sparks my curiosity—
what’s he doing?
When he finally appears, he’s got a bowl in his hands. He sits on the edge of the bed next to me. “Here, have some. This will tide us over until we’re ready to leave for a real breakfast.”

I sit up and peek in the bowl. “Lucky Charms! They have Lucky Charms in Italy?”

He grins. “No. I packed it. I scheduled for room service to bring me the bowl and milk. Here.” He feeds me a spoonful before he takes a bite.

“This is very reminiscent of the morning after our first time together.”

“Yes, it is.”

“You really thought of everything.”

“Yes. I did a hell of a lot of planning for all of this, which is why you aren’t allowed to think, got it? Just trust me, go with the flow—”

“YOLO?”

He laughs. “Yes—YOLO.”

After we eat and while Dan’s showering, I open my suitcase with trepidation. God only knows what he packed me. At first glance, it appears to have some of the usual things I wear, but further digging leads me to an entire layer of lacy panties, not enough bras, and definitely some items that I’m not sure belong to me. Leather pants? Tube top? I shove those deep inside the suitcase and dig out some relatively normal clothes—jeans, T-shirt, sweater.

Eventually, we were both ready to explore Florence. As we leave, Dan shoves on his baseball cap. “Going undercover, Master of Disguise?”

“Yes.” He grabs my hand and leads me out of the hotel. It’s a gorgeous day—sunny, cool, but warm in the sun. We walk along the streets, my arm interlocked with his. We stop for a coffee and pastry.
Incredible.

Eventually we make our way inside the gallery where Michelangelo’s David is, and my God! It’s far larger than I expected and breathtaking beyond belief.

We spend the day walking around, stopping for nibbles, and just enjoying one another. I know how precious time with Dan is, especially after our stipulation-forced drought.

The next few days and nights are paradise. Sleeping, walking around Florence, dining on incredible pasta in tiny restaurants in the city, and rounds and rounds of sex. After one particularly lustful session, I turn to him. “I think you’re trying to wear me out.”

“No. It’s you. You’re wearing
me
out.”

“I may not be able to move later. We may have to stay here all day.”

“Can’t. We’re leaving later.”

“Where are we going?”

“Our next stop.”

We pack up and leave under the cover of night once again. As it turns out, our next stop is Rome, where we have a private tour of the Colosseum, which is utterly spectacular lit up against the night sky. Then we head to the Sistine Chapel, where we once again get a private tour.

“How are you managing to get us private tours inside these ancient landmarks?”

“Donations. Heavy, heavy donations. I like to donate to causes that support us on our honeymoon.”

“So you’re paying people off to let us in after hours?”

“Yes.” He smiles proudly.

I shake my head, still amazed and always thankful that I’m the object of his affection.

Later that night, in our hotel room, which has another phenomenal view, this time of Rome, Dan hands me his phone, and with a sigh, says, “They know.”

I take it and watch a clip from
Tinsel Town Tonight
. “Looks like Daniel Chase is officially off the market!” They go on to give details, mostly made up, and show some grainy photos of us on a yacht taken from a distance.

“Secret’s out I guess,” I say, deflated. “I’ve loved this being secret . . . but we’re not on a yacht.”

“No, we’re not.” He’s got that mischievous smile again. “Did I tell you how I hired a couple who, from a distance, could pass for us and put them on a yacht for a vacation?”

“Wait, what? You hired decoys?”

“I did. Ingenious, huh? One of my best ideas yet.”

I roar with laughter. “That is priceless!”

“So, it’s still just you and me with hats and sunglasses, but yeah, the world knows we’re married. Guess it’s time we get wedding bands. I figured we’d get them here to always remember this trip.”

At every turn I’m overwhelmed.

The following days, we hit the Amalfi Coast, Venice, Umbria, and the Cinque Terre, and each location is somehow more beautiful and exquisite than the last. On our last night, Dan brings us to a secluded little area for us to sit on the beach in Cinque Terre, with a bottle of champagne and two flutes, watching the sunset. “To the last night of our honeymoon,” he says.

“And to the rest of our lives.”

“That, too.” We clink glasses and sip.

“This has been the most amazing adventure, Dan. Thank you.”

He leans in as if telling a secret. “It was for
me
, too.”

I squeeze his hand and hold is gaze. “You deserve everything wonderful in this life, Dan. I simultaneously want people to know just how incredible you are, and yet I want to hide you away just for me. Is that wrong?” I giggle at how awful that sounds.

“Yes, it is wrong. I’m not your arm candy, Claire! I will not be kept down,” he says, turning away dramatically.

“I’m sorry I want to hold you hostage and not share you with the world. Forgive me. But, question . . . how do you feel about closets?”

He snorts. “My name isn’t Harry Potter, Claire.”

I laugh and grab his hand again. I put down my drink, balancing it in the sand next to me. I stroke his hand, staring at the ring on his finger that we bought earlier in the day. “I’m so happy I put a ring on it.”

He’s smiling, no, beaming. “And if we’re being honest, I don’t want to share you either. I may lock you in the closet with me.”

“What will we do for food?”

“Lucky Charms will probably last us for a few years. There are definitely enough preservatives in them.”

“This is true. Plus, we can always call for Chinese.”

“I love the way you think.”

***

The next day we’re back on a private plane, our real location is still unknown to the general public.

Dan turns to me. “I have one more surprise for you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I also have something for you to wear once we get off the plane.”

“Intriguing. Where are we flying back to—L.A.?”

“Not telling. Just keep the trust going, okay?”

“Not going to stop now!”

“Good. Now, sleep so you’re rested, okay?”

“Okay,” I say suspiciously. “You’re making me nervous. Are you going to make me walk a red carpet or something?”

“Not today.” He winks at me.

“Did you pick out the outfit or did Bridget?”

“I did.”

“Really? Huh. Okay.”

“You look nervous,” he says.

“Nope, just trusting.”

“That’s a nervous face, not a trusting face.”

I shake my head, smiling. “I’ll just assume that whatever it is, you like it, and want me to wear it, so YOLO.”

“That’s right. YOLO.”

Of course now I’m panicking a little.
Where are we going? What am I going to be wearing?
I know he likes skimpy clothes. Not shocking. But I close my eyes to sleep because I truly am tired, in every good way.

Too soon, he wakes me. I sit up quickly and feel dizzy. “Whoa.”

“We’re landing soon. You need to get dressed.”

“Are you changing, too?”

“Yes.” He stands and hands me a garment bag from the overhead compartment. “Here you go.”

Beyond curious, I head to the bathroom, which is only slightly larger but far more luxurious than in a normal airplane. There’s a toothbrush in there—and toothpaste and a hairbrush. My makeup bag is out, waiting for me, too.
Huh.
I freshen up then unzip the garment bag. My eyes widen as I take in the short, fitted, and intricately beaded ivory dress. Once I take it off the hanger, I realize it’s backless.
Oh boy.
The boat shaped neckline is perfect though, as are the cap sleeves. It’s tasteful, yet really sexy, and fits me like a glove.
How did he know?

I finish dressing and head back out to the main cabin where Dan has changed into a sharp, perfectly tailored black suit, white shirt, and silky blue tie.
My God, my husband is beautiful.