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

by Q. T. Ruby

  “Me, too.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asks, pulling back to look at me. He keeps an arm snug around my waist and says to the girls, “I thought we could have supper.”

  “That sounds great!” Bridget squeals, embarrassingly happy.

  Dan smiles at her. “Is an hour all right?”

  “That’s fine,” Bridget says, grabbing Camille’s hand and darting off into her room. Dan takes my shaky hand and leads me into his bedroom.

  He clicks the door closed and tugs me into his arms, pressing a long, gentle kiss to my lips. After turning my legs to Jell-O, he stops and gazes down at me with those hypnotic green eyes. “You’re even prettier than I remember.”

  I smile like an idiot. I’m at once flattered and excited and nervous.

  He turns serious. “I have to ask—are you okay with staying in here? I wasn’t sure if I was being too presumptuous, so if you’d rather, you can share a room with your friends, or I can sleep on the sofa.”

  Who is this guy? His simple acknowledgement of the sleeping logistics puts all those ridiculous worries out of mind. “Right here is just perfect, thanks.”

  He nods, pleased, and kisses me again. No sooner do we start kissing than our hands begin roaming. I’ve spent so much time worrying that he’d regret asking me here that I’ve all but forgotten how he lights me up like a stack of dry kindling. I thread my fingers through his thick hair, cradle his neck, and pull him deeper into my mouth.

  He walks us backward until the edge of the bed hits the backs of my knees. I fall onto the mattress, and he lies on top of me.

  A loud knock comes from the bedroom door. Ugh! We freeze and listen.

  “Claire, I have your outfit for tonight in my room . . . and the bathroom’s free . . . oh, and we only have about forty-five minutes left, so get out of there and get your ass moving,” Bridget orders.

  Dan cocks his head to the side. “Is she always this chatty through a closed door?”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t just barge in.”

  Bridget knocks again. “Come on, Claire!”

  He laughs. “Go get ready. I don’t want to rush this.” He kisses me once again before flopping onto his back, grinning from ear to ear.

  “All right, but knowing you, it probably wouldn’t take that long anyway.”

  “Wench!” He laughs and swats my ass as I get up.

  “Hey! That was for the ‘granny’ comment earlier,” I say, giggling.

  “What are you wearing tonight?” he asks, propped up on his side.

  “You’ll have to wait and see,” I say with a wink before shutting the door behind me.

  I sprint into Bridget’s room. “What am I wearing?” I say as if I came to California empty-handed.

  “Calm down, Claire. I have your outfit all set,” Bridget says, most pleased with herself. She holds up a garment bag and unzips it dramatically. “Voilà!”

  The three of us get ready in a fever pitch in Bridget’s room. During a lull in our laughing and primping, we hear a knock at the front door. Camille shushes us to listen as we press our ears to the bedroom door.

  “Ready to go?” We hear Colin ask.

  I elbow Camille and waggle my eyebrows. She smacks my arm.

  “Did you think they’d be waiting for us?” Dan snorts.

  We giggle quietly.

  “I must admit, that’s quite a group you have there,” Colin says.

  We hear beers clank.

  The three of us raise our eyebrows, holding in our laughter.

  Finally, we’re ready. We step out into the living room where Dan and Colin are relaxing with a beer. Hearing us, they stand, and when Dan’s eyes meet mine, his smile causes my heart to jump.

  “You look . . . awfully nice,” Dan says with a low exhale. His eyes start at my ultrahigh shoes and then move up to my fitted black suit and the cleavage peeking out from my low-cut top before stopping at my hair that’s pulled into a stylish ponytail.

  “As do you,” I say, annoyed that I’m perpetually red around him and yet completely turned on by his black pants, black blazer, and deep-green button-down shirt that brings out the green in his eyes.

  He takes my hand. “Let’s go.”

  We drive to a restaurant and enter through a back entrance. We’re seated in a private area, a place seemingly built for the quiet escapades of celebrities.

  The five of us talk, laugh, and drink, the girls and I getting to know Colin while discussing our trip, Dan’s movie, Colin’s music, and such. By the end of dinner, with God only knows how many drinks in me, I’m pleasantly at ease.

  “Are you up for pool?” Dan asks the group. Camille and Bridget aren’t really pool people, but they go with it anyway.

  We make our way to Big Ben’s, a small English pub that has darts and pool tables. Although Big Ben’s has a touch of glamorous L.A. sheen, it’s still a bit grungy. Obviously, this isn’t a hot spot for celebrities; I figure Dan is hoping to fly under the radar.

  With yet another drink in my hand, my lovely buzz continues. I giggle too much, as do Camille and Bridget. As the night wears on, I realize Dan hasn’t laid a hand on me all night—not on my waist, not even on my back, nothing. It’s strange, but I settle for standing so close that our arms brush against each other’s. At least it’s enough to stir up the soap and shaving cream scent that pulls me in like a magnet.

  “How long have you three known each other?” Colin asks.

  Camille says, “We basically grew up together—went to the same schools, nearby colleges, too.”

  “So you know a lot about Claire,” Dan says, smiling mischievously.

  “Yeah. What do you want to know?” Bridget asks like she’s ready to volunteer vault information. I raise a tipsy eyebrow at her in warning.

  Dan smirks at me, obviously enjoying my squirming. “Has she always been a ball breaker?”

  Bridget smiles. “Claire’s always been fun . . . except when she was with Mark. He sucked all the fun out of her,” she says before taking a long sip.

  I freeze at the sound of his name and hope it’s the end of that particular conversation . . .

  “Who’s Mark?” Colin asks.

  . . . but it’s not.

  “Mark is Claire’s ex-fiancé,” Camille states, batting her eyes at Colin.

  “You were engaged?” Colin chokes on his beer.

  “Yes,” I mumble before I take a swig of my beer—a very long swig.

  “Yeah, he was a total asshole. Left her at the altar,” Bridget says casually.

  “Bloody hell! He fucking left you at the altar?” Colin turns to me, wide-eyed, for confirmation.

  I nod and drink more, shooting a stern look at Bridget and Camille that neither of them notices. Dan is watching me from the corner of his eye.

  “But that was only the beginning,” Bridget offers.

  Oh no.

  “The beginning?” Dan asks, cocking his head to the side.

  Camille nods and picks up the story from there. “It was bad. After it all went down, like a month or so later, her parents forced her on a string of blind dates. It was a train wreck. Poor girl just wanted to be left alone. That’s why she came to live in the city with us.”

  I’m stunned speechless that my friends are offering up this information.

  “Her own parents tried to set her up with other blokes? Why?” Dan asks.

  Bridget’s mouth opens to respond. That’s it. I’m not about to have my crappy past discussed at length in the middle of a bar! “I think that’s enough—all of you.”

  They turn to me as if they’re surprised to see me.

  It’s an awkward moment until Colin breaks in with, “No worries, Claire. If it makes you feel any better, this one’s spent the last week clean
ing his house like he’s never done.” Colin taps Dan’s chest, chuckling. “Gave me loads of laughs, I tell you.”

  Dan shuts his eyes in embarrassment.

  Laughing ensues, and the conversation moves on; however, I still need a break. I excuse myself and head to the bathroom alone. Once in the stall, I try to rid myself of the memories from around the time of the wedding.

  Like the “it’s all your fault” look on my mother’s face when she returned from lunch with Mark’s mom after the debacle and accused me of not being “present enough” in the relationship, for not giving him all he needed—as if I was to blame for his carrying on with a supposed friend and running off with her. It was as devastating as getting dumped on my wedding day.

  In the weeks after things fell apart with Mark, I was so numb I didn’t argue with my mother when she meddled in my life. She always knew better, and I no longer trusted my own instincts.

  As if my mother was in a hurry to marry me off before my expiration date, she told her friends, colleagues, anyone and everyone about “poor, single Claire.” I went on blind date after blind date, not having the strength to argue with her. It was just easier to eat a meal away from the constant scrutiny.

  The entire mess flat-lined my confidence. But gradually, over the past three years, I’ve built it up enough to risk my fragile heart here—on a guy who I worry might leave me far more devastated than Mark did. And that guy is in the bar now, probably wondering where I’ve gone to.

  I wash my hands, examine my face, and touch up my makeup.

  Bridget comes in. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I tuck my lipstick back in my purse.

  “I’m really sorry, Claire. We got carried away out there. We shouldn’t have been going on like that.”

  I look at her. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it, and it’s probably time I let it go, you know?”

  Bridget grins at me and rubs my arm. “Still, we shouldn’t have said anything.”

  We hug tightly.

  “Come on, Prince Charming is getting an earful from Camille,” Bridget informs me.

  “What?” I say, stopping dead.

  “Oh you know her; she’s probably got him jacked up against the wall, threatening him.”

  “Oh geez.” I know Camille will kick anyone’s ass if I ask her to. My friends are incredibly loyal, even if they have big mouths.

  We head back into the bar where I spot Camille and Dan engaged in a whispery conversation. As if I don’t know who and what it’s about, I approach them.

  “What are you two talking about over here all huddled together?”

  They both clam up and take synchronized sips of their drinks.

  “You two would suck as spies,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “What? I was only telling him what a slut you are, that’s all,” Camille says, flashing her teeth in an obnoxious smile and walking away to paw at Colin.

  I glare at her and turn to Dan. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “What was she telling you?”

  “That you’re a massive slut,” he reiterates, straight-faced. “But I said I already knew that.” He flashes his charming Hollywood smile.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Oh good. Glad the truth is finally out there. Now I can hook up without a conscience.”

  Dan covertly places his beverage-free hand on my lower back, and his thumb draws soothing circles. It’s exactly what I need.

  He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Are you all right?”

  I grin at him. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He nods, continuing with the circles that are making it hard to think. He leans toward my ear. “You were gone too long.”

  I smile wider.

  “Please don’t leave me alone with them for that long again. Camille scares me.”

  I laugh as all those awful, churned-up memories sink back to their rightful place in the pit of my belly.

  “Looks like Colin made a new friend,” Dan says, nodding his head in the direction of the eye-batting, hair-flipping, head-back-laughing duo of Camille and Colin.

  “Colin’s a nice guy. He was telling me earlier that he guesses you slept with about 110 women,” I joke.

  “No, not 110 . . . probably more like 150.”

  “And I’m 151?”

  “Hmm.” He puts his finger on his cheek. “I’ll have to check the notches on my bedpost.”

  “And I’m the slut?”

  He laughs.

  We never get around to playing pool, but I’m pretty tanked when we head outside where cameras wait on the sidewalk. Camille, Bridget, and I walk ahead of Dan and Colin, but we overhear the photographers throwing questions at Dan as he leaves.

  “Did you have a good time tonight, Daniel?”

  “Who are you with?”

  “Three women, Daniel?”

  They’re desperate for a reaction, but Dan remains tight-lipped. The paparazzi continue their shouting and picture-snapping until Colin pulls us away from the curb.

  Once we’re back at Dan’s, Colin heads home and Bridget throws herself onto her bed, fully clothed and still made-up. Camille and I manage to wash up, sharing the bathroom.

  As we wash our faces, Camille says, “I’m sorry about earlier, Claire. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “It’s okay. We’re all pretty hammered,” I say, giving her a small smile. “What were you telling him anyway?”

  Camille smiles, too. “Just that if he hurt you, I’d make his life hell.”

  “You did not.”

  “Oh, yes, I did. And you know what he told me?”

  “Oh God . . . what?” I ask, bracing myself. I grip the countertop.

  “That he likes you more than you know and has no intention of hurting you.”

  I squint my eyes at her as if that’ll help divine the truth.

  “He really did say that, Claire.” She turns to leave. “And try not to keep us up all night with your sex sounds, okay, slut?”

  “Bitch!” I say, laughing, as she shuts the door.

  I finish brushing my teeth and head back into Dan’s room. Seems he’s been a busy bee, having found and lit a few mismatched candles. I enter quietly, watching him fumble with his iPod. He slips it into the dock and presses the button. Soft music fills the room. My God, how sweet.

  He turns around and seems surprised to see me there. We grin lazy, drunken smiles at each other.

  “So . . . you think that by lighting a few candles and putting on some music you’re gonna get a piece or something?”

  “One can only hope.”

  I giggle and cock my head to the side, beckoning him to me.

  Dan stalks toward me.

  I place my palms against the door as he leans a hand next to my head, curling his other hand around my waist. He leans in to kiss me when I interrupt him.

  “You know, I can’t believe I’m still wearing this jacket,” I say, glancing down. With a soft chuckle, he slowly threads the lone button through its hole, slides the jacket off my shoulders, and lets it drop to the floor.

  He draws a line down my arm, causing me to shiver. He bends to kiss me again, but I pull back. “Wait. This tank . . . it’s just so uncomfortable. Would you mind?”

  A wide smile breaks across his face as he begins to remove it over my head. After he tosses it to the floor, he leans to kiss me a third time, but I stop him again. He groans.

  “It’s just that . . .” I start to unbutton his shirt at a snail’s pace as his breathing grows heavier. “I’m the only one . . . standing here . . .” I kiss his neck as I continue to unbutton his shirt, murmuring against his skin, “Half . . . naked.”

  His breathing quickens. I lightly scratch my nails dow
n his hard chest, and the next thing I know, I’m hoisted up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. When he throws me on the bed, I laugh.

  He climbs on top of me. “You’re trying to drive me mad, aren’t you?”

  I shrug. He chuckles darkly and shakes his head then comes at me with a vengeance.

  Maybe it’s all the alcohol, but greedy mouths and needy hands replace the nerves and hesitation from last time. Our bodies move like cause and effect—one stroke from him, one stroke from me, one moan from him, one moan from me, faster from him, faster from me. Up and down we move, edging each other ever closer to the peak. I’m surprised at how pent up I am, and it seems he is, too. It isn’t long before we tumble over the edge and free-fall together.

  As we catch our breaths and hold each other, I savor our still-united bodies and that soap and shaving cream scent I can’t get enough of. After a few moments, I begin to move when he stops me. He brushes the hair from my face. “You’re . . . beautiful,” he says and kisses me softly.

  He gets up to blow out the candles, and I lie there, startled, realizing that I’ve never felt so cherished, so wanted, and yet so afraid. Nonetheless, once he climbs back into bed, I snuggle into his side and nestle my head on my new favorite pillow—his warm chest. My heartbeat settles into an easy rhythm as he plays with my hair awhile.

  “Are you going to the beach with Camille and Bridget tomorrow?” Dan asks softly in the dark.

  “We talked about it, but nothing’s been set yet. You’re working, right?” I ask, toying with his smattering of soft chest hair.

  “Yeah, unfortunately, I have to be on set.”

  “I thought you liked being on set.”

  “I do,” he says, sounding surprised at himself.

  I begin to drift to sleep when Dan asks, “I’m not sure you’d be interested, but would you like to come to work with me tomorrow?”

  I sit up on an elbow to look at him, his beautiful face lit only by moonlight. “Why wouldn’t I be interested? I’d love to come.”

  “You don’t mind missing the beach?” He brushes a finger across my lower lip.