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

by Q. T. Ruby

  I cannot pull him closer, but I try anyway. Teeth graze and tongues play hide-and-seek. His readiness is a heat-seeking missile and X marks my warm, wet, and ready spot.

  I’m grabbing at his belt, his button, his zipper—they’re all in my way! I tug at his shirt as he tugs on mine. We pause a moment to rip off the rest ourselves—there’s a desperate need of skin-to-skin contact. Our eyes meet amidst the flurry of clothes, and the devilish grin on his face must match mine because once were bare, it’s a wild frenzy of hands and mouths. Dan tosses me onto the bed, crawls on top, and gives me the finest birthday gift again and again and again. Happy birthday to meeeeeee….

  Afterward, we flop onto our backs, catching our breaths. I marvel at the peace in my heart and mind. Peace—a rare commodity in my restless brain. Stretching and shifting, we turn toward one another, and his smile lights me up. Every single time I feel so lucky to be on the receiving end of it. Me—lucky, lucky me. I stroke his cheek and run my fingers through his hair. “This was hands-down the best birthday. Thank you.”

  There’s a twinkle in his eyes. “Your birthday isn’t over yet, you know.”

  “Oh?”

  “Nope. I didn’t give you your present yet.” He sits up.

  “But you just gave me the finest fifteen minutes, ever.”

  He stops and turns to me, smirking. “Listen, it’s important we don’t overexert your heart at your advanced age. I mean, thirty—the year of the pacemaker.” He shimmies on his boxer-briefs and reaches into his bag for something, while I throw on a T-shirt. He takes out a very thin, rectangular gift, and I’m wondering what kind of gift certificate this must be. Manicure? Massage? I give him a quizzical look. He smiles playfully in return. “It’s not a cane.” He laughs, and for a second I’m hypnotized by his rippled abs flexing from laughter, not to mention his hair is a sexy, wild mess. Good God.

  I rip my eyes away and begin unwrapping the present. “Wow. I guess you really like using tape, huh?”

  “Love it. The more tape the better, I always say.”

  “Is that your personal motto?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I love . . . that you . . . wrapped . . . it . . . so well,” I say, struggling with the layers of tape. “Very . . . sweet.” I finally get it loose. I peek up at him—he’s biting his lip and raises an eyebrow at me. I shake my head at him, because, frankly, he’s just too pretty.

  “Go on,” he says, impatiently.

  Being careful not to rip whatever’s inside, I finally manage to unearth an envelope containing a single piece of paper folded in thirds. When I unfold it, I see New York University letterhead. I read the letter—skimming it really—to find he’s taken care of my university fees for a year. I’m overwhelmed, staring at it in disbelief.

  “Do you not like it?”

  I look up at him and fling my arms around him again—seems to be all I’m doing tonight. “Thank you,” I repeat in his ear.

  Finally, he pulls back to look at me. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course! I’m more than okay. You’re just so . . .” Beautiful. Amazing. Awesome. Hot. “Thoughtful.”

  He grins. “I was worried it was too practical.”

  “It’s perfect—and tonight, too—just everything—you coming here and planning the whole night . . .” My hearts sinks. “And now tomorrow I have to torture you by bringing you to my family’s house.”

  “Are you crazy? I’m really looking forward to it, and I’m happy you liked the gift and had a good time tonight, too. Makes me happy.” His thumb brushes across my cheek. “I guess this means I did a fair job . . . fifteen minutes and all.”

  I burst into laughter and pretty much jump him. Fifteen minutes pass, and I’m nestled against him, wrapped around him, beyond content. I glance up at him—his eyes are closed, but he’s grinning.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you more.”

  Chapter Nine

  I awake in the morning to a sleepy Mr. Beautiful, his muscled back exposed, and the sheet we share barely covering the rise of his firm ass. So, of course, I stare at his delectable form for several long minutes. I’ll never tire of the view. I’m tempted to wake him with lusty kisses across his warm skin and some hard ass squeezes, but he’s out cold and needs sleep—I’m not sure how he handles all that plane-hopping.

  I glance over at the torn-open envelope and letter resting on top, and although I’m moved beyond words at all he’s done to make my birthday special, there’s that familiar gnawing of anxiety. It’s tempting to fall into my old habits of worrying, because, surely, all this has to come crashing down. There’s no way I deserve him or this level of euphoria . . . but then again, I’m here, and he is, too, and I should bask in this moment before it slips away.

  In fact, I should cook him a fantastic breakfast. Not only to thank him, but also to nourish him before he battles the dark force. Shit, I sound like Bridget now with The Lord of the Rings analogies. Nonetheless, my stomach sinks at the idea of sweet Dan meeting my mother, who will, without a doubt, make him uncomfortable. Breathe, Claire. Cooking will help shake this off, so I begin to inch my way out of the bed without waking him. I successfully peel the sheet off and am just about to stand when a hand snatches my wrist and yanks me back onto the bed.

  “Ah!”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, his voice rough and groggy. Most of his face is still smushed against the pillow, leaving one eye and half a smile showing. “House rule number one, remember?”

  “I was going to make you some breakfast.” I happily snuggle my way back against him.

  “That’s awfully kind of you,” he says, burying his face into my shoulder, wrapping his arm tightly around my waist, and throwing a leg over mine for good measure.

  “Well, I figured since I was feeding you to the lions today . . .”

  He turns his head to the side so I can see his entire sheet-indented face. I stroke his cheek. “Why do you think it’ll be that bad? They’re your family Claire, not evil demons.”

  “My whole family isn’t the issue—it’s mostly my mother. She’s going to try to find something to use against you.”

  “You make it sound like I’m on trial.”

  “You are.”

  He laughs it off. “It’ll be fine. I told you, I’ve dealt with some really awful people before, and I can’t imagine your mother being anything like that. She’s probably just protective of you.”

  I sigh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Tell me. What’s she worried about—our age difference?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fair enough. What else?”

  “Your career, my career, your influence on me—need I go on?”

  “I can handle all of that. I have ways.” He winks.

  I give him a sideways look and grin. “I’m not sure my mother will be affected by your charming English self.”

  “Everyone likes a Brit.”

  “You don’t even seem fazed by this. Why?”

  “I’m more nervous about your father, but mostly your brothers. They’re huge. Like bears. And there are three of them.”

  “The three little—or rather, big—bears!”

  “And I’m Goldilocks!”

  We laugh and then I tap his chest. “Come on, let me make you breakfast, Goldie.”

  We find T-shirts and pajama pants, and head out into the living room where Bridget’s reading the paper on the sofa with the TV on quietly in the background.

  “Morning, Bridge,” I say.

  “Thank God. One threat of violence is over.”

  “What?”

  “You two and the other two. The sex sounds violate my ears. Now that you’re up, I only have to worry about the other two.” She sigh
s dramatically and goes back to reading the paper.

  “You’re funny, Bridget,” I say as I begin gathering ingredients and pans.

  “I’m surprised she still reads an actual newspaper. She’s probably their last customer,” Dan says quietly, while filling glasses of water for us.

  “Believe it or not, she’s old fashioned in some ways.”

  “Shocking,” he says then shouts to Bridget, “Want some water, Bridget?”

  “I’m going to make some breakfast, too.”

  “Okay.” She puts the paper down and bops over to the kitchen doorway.

  “Looking forward to later today, Dan? Can’t wait to hear all about it,” Bridget says with a giggle.

  “Don’t you and Camille go, too?”

  “Oh no. That pleasure is reserved only for Claire and her victim of choice.”

  “Have you brought a lot of guys home to meet your parents?” He takes a sip of water.

  “No. Mark and you,” I say casually, while I beat the eggs.

  “Did Claire give you the full story on Rita? She didn’t gloss things over, right? Because you don’t seem nervous.”

  “Why does everyone think I should be nervous? I’ve dealt with massive assholes publicly, and I don’t think this will be anywhere near that.” Dan leans against the counter, out of my way of cooking.

  “Because experiencing Rita first hand may make you question humanity, or at least make you want to run screaming from the house and curl into a ball in a corner until the terror passes. But okay,” Bridget says, snorting with laughter.

  Dan shakes his head as Bridget moves around the breakfast bar and sits, watching me cook through the opening. Soon enough, I’ve got eggs scrambling, pancakes flipping, and coffee brewing.

  “Smells great,” Dan says as Camille appears in the doorway.

  “Sure does!” Colin says, coming up behind Camille and reaching for food.

  “Last meal?” Camille says.

  Bridget laughs, I shake my head, and we sit down to eat something before the showdown begins.

  Chapter Ten

  Before we leave for my parents’ house in Dan’s rental car, a tumbleweed rolls by . . . actually, no, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one did. Seems rather fitting. Instead, Dan insists we stop at a flower stand a few blocks from my apartment. I can only hope my mother appreciates his thoughtfulness.

  An hour or so later, Dan and I pull up to my parents’ lovely home—a large, white colonial style house, on a quiet street in a quiet New England town. For many, this would be a dream home, and it was that for me as a child . . . until I realized I was attached by strings—long, intrusive strings that have been painful to cut.

  “Everyone’s already here,” I say, groaning on the inside at the sight of my brothers’ cars as we get out of the car.

  Dan grabs my hand and kisses it. “Deep breath.” He breathes with me. “It’s going to be fine.”

  I grimace. “Hope so.” We walk to the door. I’m holding the birthday gift for my niece, and Dan’s got the stunning bouquet of pink and purple flowers he bought. I’m just about to turn the knob when the door swings open.

  “Hi, Claire! Happy birthday!” Lindsay says, looking right past me at Dan. Lindsay, my tall, dark-haired, brown-eyed, sister-in-law holds her hand out to Dan. Her eyes widen measurably. “Oh my God, you’re Daniel Chase.” She pauses and blinks. “Um, I’m Lindsay, Claire’s sister-in-law. Your mom said ‘Dan’ was coming, but did not clarify that with ‘Daniel Chase.’ Oh Jesus.”

  I have to stifle a laugh at her reaction. She’s always so confident and relaxed.

  He smiles that beguiling smile and shakes her hand. “Hi, Lindsay. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Lindsay’s mouth hangs agape, and her knees buckle a bit.

  “Clean up on aisle one,” I mumble, winking at her as we enter the house.

  We’re in the foyer when my nieces and my nephews run up. “Aunty Claire!” Their little arms wrap around my legs. I bend down to snuggle each of them with a tight hug. As much as I hate family gatherings, I always love seeing my nieces and nephews. They’re so sweet and cute and lovely. Definitely the bright spot to family events.

  “You’re all getting so big!” I hug Avery, the also-birthday-girl, and hand her the present. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”

  “Thank you,” she says, her big brown eyes wide.

  “These are for you. Happy birthday,” Dan says, handing her the bouquet that’s half her size.

  She gasps. “Mommy!” she yells. Her mom, Shannon, appears with my other sister-in-law, Ashley, right behind her. “Mommy, look! I got all these flowers from Aunty Claire’s boyfriend! And my favorite colors!”

  I lean into Dan. “I thought you bought those for my mom.”

  He gives me a devilish grin. “At least the children will like me.”

  The kids giggle and run away, chasing each other again.

  “Hi, I’m Shannon.” Shannon, a tiny blonde dynamo, bypasses Dan’s outstretched hand and hugs him instead. I hear Dan grunt as the former gymnast that she is, squeezes him hard.

  “And I’m Ashley,” she says, tossing her long, sandy colored-hair behind her shoulders before diving in for a hug, too.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. I’m Dan.”

  Yes, which is why they’re beaming and drooling.

  “Those were gorgeous flowers. It was very sweet of you to think of her,” Shannon says.

  “Oh, and uh, happy birthday, Claire,” Lindsay says more or less as an after-thought.

  “I want hugs, too!” I step forward and interrupt their shameless gawking to hug them. Their faces flush, and they’re holding back laughter. I can’t help but smile wide and shake my head at them, because this is Daniel Chase after all, hot as hell movie star, standing in the middle of my parents’ house, greeting my family, and looking fantastic doing it. And even though he gets this reaction everyday, everywhere he goes, I’m still surprised he isn’t a total dick.

  “Everyone’s in the kitchen,” Lindsay says, leading the way.

  My mom’s in her usual cooking zone, chopping and stirring, while my dad, Joe, and my brothers Paul, John, and Chris are watching football on the TV in the roomy, attached family room.

  I take a deep breath and brace myself. “Hi, Mom.”

  My mom slowly turns from the stove. She smiles at me, which catches me off guard and makes me immediately suspicious.

  “Hello, honey. Happy birthday.” She stretches her arms to give me a quick hug, still holding a spatula.

  She’s acting unusually sweet. What is going on? “Thanks,” I say, trying to go with it. Maybe she’s had a change of heart about everything?

  “Mom, this is Dan.” I gesture to a calm, confident Dan.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Parelli. You have a lovely home.” He holds his hand out.

  My niece Avery runs in with the bouquet of flowers over her head. “Grandma, look at my flowers!”

  My mom bends down and sniffs them. “They’re beautiful, Avery. Where did you get those?”

  Avery tosses the bouquet into my mother’s hands and wraps her arms around Dan’s legs. “From him!” She looks up at him with her big eyes and smiles. He hugs her back.

  “Oh. That’s nice. Would you like me to put them in water for you?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Avery runs off and my mother turns to us again. “There are drinks in the fridge and appetizers are on the table over there. Help yourselves.” She turns back to put the flowers in a vase.

  We saunter over to the appetizers. “She’s fine, Claire. You’re worried for nothing,” he whispers.

  “Hmm, I’m not so sure.” I lead Dan to my dad and brothers and introduce him. “Hi, Dad,” I say, interrupti
ng their sports conversation.

  “Claire-bear! Happy birthday!” My dad stands and pulls me into one of his ultra-tight bear hugs that he releases just when I think I have no more air.

  I gasp for breath. “Dad, this is Dan.”

  “Hello, sir. It’s very nice to meet you.” Dan’s holding out his hand and smiling. I’m touched by the moment until I notice my brothers’ hard stare at Dan with their no-bullshit radar amped at full power. Oh jeez. “These are my brothers: Paul, John, and Chris,” I say, pointing to each brother. “And I’m sure they’ll be kind and polite today.” I raise my eyebrows at them in warning.

  They stand to greet him. “Nice to meet you,” they each say politely, shaking Dan’s hand in turn. Good. No fights, no arm-wrestling . . .

  “Happy birthday, Claire,” Paul says as my three brothers surround me. And I know what’s coming.

  “No!” I say just as they begin ping-ponging me between them while dishing out noogies and laughing.

  I swat at them. “Stop! Are you twelve?” I finally escape as they laugh. Dan seems amused, too.

  “Would you like a beer?” my dad asks Dan.

  “Sure, thank you.” My dad leaves to get it.

  “Dan, we hear you’re an actor?” Paul asks, with suspicious eyes and slightly curled lip. Oh no.

  “Don’t even start, Paul,” I say just as Lindsay yanks me away and into the empty living room where Shannon and Ashley are waiting.

  “So . . . how are you?” Shannon asks, while the other two giggle. “Because what the hell? Your mom said nothing—I mean, nothing—about him being Daniel Chase. How did I not know this?”

  “Um . . .”

  “It’s because we’re chasing kids all day and hardly come up for air!” Lindsay says, laughing. “I don’t even know what’s fashionable anymore, let alone any sort of Hollywood stuff.”

  “So true! But now that we know,” Ashley says, pulling me to a nearby sofa and sitting me down. “I want details! He’s fucking beautiful!”