A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (12 page)

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 down 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.

“No. I’ve been to plenty of beaches.” And I have, having grown up on the Connecticut shore.

“All right, then,” he says, grinning.

After one final kiss, I settle again on his chest, our legs intertwined. With his fingers tracing up and down my back, I fall asleep wondering what I’ve been so worried about.

Chapter Thirteen

“Good morning.” Tiny kisses are scattered across my shoulder.

Resting on my belly, I flop my head in the direction of the silky, English voice, but my eyes refuse to open. “Mmm.” I grin.

Dan snickers, brushing the hair off my face. “Are you still interested in coming to work with me today?” He skims the length of my bare back under the sheet.

Again, I try to open my eyes. One manages to pop open, and what a view it gets—Mr. Beautiful sitting on the edge of the bed, grinning at me. His damp hair and fresh soap and shaving cream scent make my mouth water and my heart weak.

“As long as you don’t think I’ll be in the way,” I say with my face half against the pillow.

“Absolutely not, but we have to leave soon—in about half an hour.”

I stretch. “Okay. I’ll get ready, then.”

“Would you like me to help?” he teases as his hand travels over the swell of my ass.

“Not unless you want to be late.” I laugh.

“All right; I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” He gives my ass a little squeeze before leaving the room.

As I stumble around, trying to gather my things, I realize I have zero tolerance for alcohol along with a headache that is thump, thump, thumping for meds. Thankfully, the shower helps a bit. I wash up, style my hair into a quick ponytail, and apply a little makeup. I dress in jeans, a green T-shirt, and sandals because what do you wear to a movie set? With Advil in hand, I head out to the kitchen, ready to leave.

Dan raises his eyebrows at me. “Well, that was fast.”

“That’s because Bridget and Camille are still asleep and not coming at me with beauty products.”

Dan laughs. “Are you hungry? I have Lucky Charms,” he says proudly, shaking the box.

“How shocking. I didn’t think famous people ate that stuff.”

He hands me a bowl. “Well, we like to keep in touch with the little people,” he jokes, pouring the cereal and milk.

“How sweet,” I say before swallowing the pills and washing them down with cereal.

“We try,” he says as I hold up a spoonful for him. He opens up, and I slide it in.

On our way to the set in his car, I notice that Dan’s jaw is tight and his hands are clenched around the steering wheel. He’s quiet, too. “Is something wrong?” I ask, feeling anxious.

He makes a quick swipe across the back of his neck and shrugs. “Nothing’s wrong . . . it’s just I think it’s best if we keep some distance between us when we’re in public.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks.

His eyes dart from the road and back to me a few times. “Don’t misunderstand. I don’t
want
to keep my distance from you, but there’s a lot of prying eyes and ears here in L.A., especially on set. I know how private you are, and if the paparazzi suspects something romantic, they’ll find out who you are and dig up old photos, hack into your e-mails—whatever—and I don’t want to see that happen to you. I probably should have said something yesterday.”

Is that why he was distant at the bar last night?
Whatever the case, he’s right; the last thing I want is attention. I prefer coming and going unnoticed in every area of my life. “Okay, so . . . no humping in public?” I smile.

He laughs, his body relaxing. “Fondling is okay, just not humping.”

“Got it.” I wink at him.

Once we arrive on the studio lot, I stand for a moment and marvel at the creativity that surrounds me. I’ve never seen anything like it: enormous, realistic reproductions of town streets, city streets, gardens, and buildings from different eras. Actors walk around in costumes—aliens, renaissance folk, cops. It’s like all of these pieces of the world brought into one place like some old
Twilight Zone
episode. It’s strange and breathtaking at the same time.

Dan shakes hands with a few people and gives me a quick tour. When he introduces me he simply refers to me as “Claire” with no identifying label.

We arrive at the interior set he films in, and Dan introduces me to his castmates.

“Claire, this is Ethan.” Ethan is about the same age as Dan, with chestnut eyes and hair and a tall, well-built body. Another strikingly handsome guy made for Hollywood.

“Hi, Claire. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard lots of good things about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” I say, hiding my shock that Dan’s talked about me. I’d think about it more, except I’m being introduced to Sophie and Mia, who are somehow more attractive in person.

“This is Mia and Sophie,” Dan says.

“Hi. Pleasure to meet you,” I say, my ego shriveling fast as they blatantly size me up from head to toe. Thankfully, Dan ushers me out before I come completely undone.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes,” Dan says to his three costars, guiding me away from the group with his hands in his pockets. “I’ll take you to my trailer. You can relax there while I get my makeup on, all right?”

“Sure,” I say, wondering why I agreed to come to his work.

Dan opens the door of the small trailer for me. It’s no bigger than his living room, yet much narrower. Once inside, it takes Dan no more than a minute and no movement to show me around the inside.

“I’ll be back soon. You all right?”

Truth be told, I’m overwhelmed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, feeling like the ugly duckling among swans.

“I’m really happy you’re here today,” Dan says, and then he leaves me with a quick kiss and his stunning trademark grin.

Alone in the trailer, I move in a slow circle, taking in the space. It’s very similar to a Winnebago my uncle lent my family for a trip when I was a kid.

How have I managed to get myself “on-set” with Daniel Chase?
It’s beyond strange. I can’t quite rectify “Daniel Chase,” hot movie star, with “Dan Chase,” hot, sweet guy I’m staying with. It makes my hungover brain hurt, so I make myself comfortable on the couch in the living room/dining room/kitchen combo and turn on the TV. I need to numb out for a while.

Dan comes back soon enough and asks me to accompany him to the set. I figure I might as well get the full experience. Who knows when I’ll be able to see something like this again?

I can’t help but stare at him as we walk side by side. He knows I’m gawking, too, and rolls his eyes.

“Would you stop that?” he asks, blushing.

“I can’t help it. I’m just trying to see how the makeup looks on you.”
How can he look more handsome? How is it even possible?

Amused, he shakes his head and ignores me.

“I mean, you look the same, but I bet if they added a little lipstick, you’d be a great looking girl,” I tease.

He bursts out laughing. “You work wonders on my ego, you know that?”

I giggle. “Actually, you look . . . really, really good.”

He stops in his tracks. “Oh yeah?”

I laugh and keep moving, getting to the set just in time for me not to answer.

There are so many people milling about in this indoor space, adjusting this and that, marking areas, taking readings. It’s amazing how much goes into one scene. So much preparation by so many people and yet the actors get most of the glory.

Dan begins to explain some of the behind-the-scenes aspects to me when a woman armed with a clipboard comes up and pulls him to the side.

I stand alone, captivated by the crew prepping for the scene: men on ladders adjusting lights, furniture being moved, people talking and pointing with tools in hand. I’m in the middle of a whirlwind; the excitement is palpable.

A slim figure suddenly appears out of the corner of my eye.

“Hi, Claire. How are you?” Sophie asks, greeting me with a perfectly straight and gleaming white smile.

“Hi, Sophie. I’m good. And you?” I say as her eyes start their examination at my toes and work up to my head. Up close, Sophie is flawless with her brown, sexpot eyes that perfectly complement her long, dark auburn locks, curled perfectly at the ends. Her skin is smooth and creamy. True, she’s had her hair and makeup done, but honestly, she doesn’t need a stitch of it. And Dan works with her every day.
Ugh.

“I’m great. Are you enjoying your visit?” Sophie asks.

My antenna is up and pinging madly. I get the sense she’s hurrying through a polite set of questions before getting to the point. “Yes, it’s amazing how much goes into making a movie,” I say, noting all the commotion.

Sophie nods. “So, how do you know Dan? Are you related?”

“No, we’re not related.”

Sophie carefully pushes a thick section of shiny hair over her shoulder. “So you’re not his aunt?”

I choke on nothing. “His aunt? No, I’m not his aunt.”
Dan! Where the hell is Dan?

As I cling to my vanishing confidence, the smirk on her perfect face says it all: She’s evil.

“I guess I’m just surprised Dan brought you to the set today.”

I shouldn’t take her bait, but I do. “Why?”

She shrugs a petite shoulder and flicks her long hair behind it. “Well, we’re doing a love scene today, and I’m not sure why he’d want you to be here for that.”

My heart lurches. I’m too thrown off to care that Sophie is clearly enjoying my jaw-dropping, eye-blinking reaction.
Why would Dan want me to see this?
“Oh?”

Sophie nods slowly, that obnoxious smirk cemented on. “Oh yeah. We had a seminude scene a few weeks ago where I lost my top and he felt me up, but today is the real deal—both of us, full-on nude, going at it. And knowing how Dan moves, it’ll be incredible. That boy oozes sex, don’t you think? And his face is to die for. That’s half the reason he’s famous, you know. I have to admit this time—on this movie with Dan—I really don’t mind being nude. Pretending to do it with someone as hot as he is makes the gawking of the crew totally worth it.” She mashes her lipsticked lips together and pops them while examining my frozen face. “Well, enjoy the day.” She turns and struts away.

Weak legs.

Can’t breathe.

The thought of Dan being all over another girl—let alone beautiful, bitchy Sophie Miller—is horrible, but it’ll be even worse to witness. I need to escape. Right now! Except that my legs are glued to the floor. I hear Dan being called to his mark. He catches my eye and mouths,
“I’m sorry.”

Move Claire!

I start for the door, but by the time I reach it, they won’t let me out. I can’t leave until the take is over; they can’t have unrehearsed noises interfering. So I do the next best thing I can think of—I wait out of the way. I keep my head down and clamp my eyes shut for extra protection. But then I hear his voice—his silky English voice—morphed into a hard American accent. It’s so strange I can’t help it—I look.

Dan and Sophie are standing in a fake, dimly lit, grungy bedroom. I hear their dialogue loud and clear until I’m rendered deaf the moment Dan snatches Sophie into his arms and crashes his face into hers. My mind flashes to last night when he kissed me hard like that.

Lips smack as hands rake up hard bodies and down soft, supple spots. Dan pushes her onto the bed.

Oh God, this is like last night!
I slap my hand over my open mouth.

Dan rips open Sophie’s thin, lacy top, exposing her hopefully fake breasts.

Stop watching! Now!
I finally yank my eyes away until forever passes and the director yells, “Cut!”

And then I hear Sophie, with a girlie giggle, say, “I love that big Danny came out to play!”

What!
With my ego in critical need of mouth-to-mouth, I crash through the doors before another moment can pass. I run to Dan’s trailer, where I pace inside, their scene replaying in a loop in my head.

What am I doing here? Why am I bothering? Why is he bothering? He’s obviously turned on by her! Sophie Miller! Fucking bitch!

Worry, fear, and insecurity grip me. It was bad enough when Mark cheated on me, but here’s this guy whose job it is to grope hot women. I can’t trust my fragile heart to that. I have to quit now while I have a sliver of reason left.

I bolt from the trailer and find a security guard who calls me a cab. By the time I get back to Dan’s house and fumble with the hidden key in the door, I can hardly breathe.

I have to go. I’m shoving my things into my bag when Camille and Bridget, red from their day in the sun, appear in the doorway, gaping at me like I’m nuts. Which I probably am.

“What are you doing?” Bridget asks.

“Packing.”

“What the hell happened?” Camille asks, touching my arm as I shove a shirt in my bag. I shake my head and open my mouth to answer when Colin pops in the doorway.

His eyes widen and flit nervously about when he sees what I’m doing. “Uh . . . just got a call from Dan. He, um, wanted to know if you were here. He said he tried calling your mobile, but you didn’t answer.”

“I shut off my phone.” I continue packing.

“What did he do?” Colin asks as if he isn’t sure he wants to know.

I stop packing for a moment to explain the whole thing—from Sophie’s aunt comments to the scene that won’t stop replaying in my head.

“How did he not know it was that kind of scene today?” Bridget asks in shock, rubbing my arm.

“Because he’s a fucking idiot,” Colin blurts out.

We all turn to look at him.

“Uh . . . I . . . should probably go.” Colin backs up.

“Don’t you leave. Explain what you mean, please,” Camille commands.

Colin stays put. “I know he’s been distracted lately and—”

“Distracted by Sophie, obviously,” I say as the hole in my belly yawns wide.

“I don’t know much, Claire, but if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that he likes you, not Sophie.”

“Then why did Sophie say that he got hard during their scene?”

“
What?
” Camille and Bridget shout in unison. Colin’s eyebrows shoot up and he shakes his head, backtracking from the room.

Although they’re just as shocked, the girls say I’ll regret leaving without talking to Dan first. I don’t know about that, but they somehow get me to stay.

* * *

We’re in Bridget’s room, getting ready for the dinner that’s already planned. My mindset is a mess, I’m twitchy and panicked and nauseated, but I sit on the bed while Bridget styles my hair. She and Camille are talking, but all I can think is:
What am I supposed to say to him?

A knock comes at the bedroom door. Bridget tightens her grip on my hair.
Ow.

Camille opens the door. It’s Dan, standing there looking all kinds of remorseful and, unfortunately, gorgeous.

“Hello,” Camille says, blocking the doorway.

Dan tries to peer around her. “Is Clai—”

“How was work today?” She tilts her head to the side as if daring him to speak. She steps out into the hallway and closes the door behind her.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, Camille!

“What is she doing?” I ask Bridget, and I begin to stand up.

Bridget keeps her vice grip on my hair. “Stay here. She’ll handle it.”

Bridget continues to do my hair, but all I can think is that I don’t want Camille to handle it . . . but I really don’t know what I would say to Dan either. In fact, I’m still not completely convinced I should even be here.