A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (14 page)

“No way. Bridget’s right. Get up there! We’re doing this!” She grabs my other arm, and together they haul me forward. Just as we reach the stage, Camille whispers in my ear, “Just go for it—for once in your life.”

You know . . . she’s right. When in Rome . . .

I stumble up on stage. My partner, a gorgeous blond, greets me. I immediately stare at her boobs. “How do they not fall out when you’re upside down?”

She laughs and gives me advice. “Hang on and drive ‘em wild!”

Sure. This all makes sense. I’m in L.A., drunk as a skunk. My two best friends have dragged me on stage to . . . work a pole?

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” I ask my partner as I glance at my friends—each on their own pole on either side of me. It seems their stripper helpers are doling advice, too, while the ringmaster talks to the crowd.

My partner laughs. “Tease ‘em! You know how, you’re a woman.”

I nod and scan the audience that should petrify me, but after downing a vat of alcohol, they’re not so scary. It’s mostly men pressed against the stage at this point. I suppose when you dangle fresh meat in front of hungry lions, they come a-calling.

Even one in a baseball hat.
Is that Dan?
Slightly shrouded in shadow by the brim of his baseball hat, his familiar eyes ogle me. With a beer in his hand, Mr. Beautiful stands casually amidst the sea of men, and I want to die. But then the strobe lights flash against his full lips and sharp jaw line, sending my heart flying and my insides flipping.
How long has he been here? How did he get in here without notice?

My partner elbows me. “What’s the matter?”

“The guy I’m dating.” I swallow hard. “He just arrived,” I say with nervous laughter.
Shit. Is he pissed that I’m up on stage ready to dance on a pole?
I chance a smile. He grins back and shakes his head, seemingly amused.

“No way! Well, that’s perfect! When you’re dancing, just think of him and you together. You get me?”

I giggle, and I’m probably blushing, but this all feels surreal.

“Now hold on tight. Use your abs to help support yourself, okay?”

“What?”

My partner laughs. “Just go with it. You’ll figure it out.”

“Okay!” I start laughing. I can’t believe Dan’s going to witness this.
Is he really here?
I look into the crowd, and once again he smirks at me.
Oh God.

“Let’s hear it for our last group of ladies!” the announcer says as the music’s volume increases and a spotlight momentarily blinds me. I stand frozen until my partner swats my ass and says, “Go!”

Am I really doing this? Oh my God, I am!
With one hundred percent alcohol-fueled confidence, I begin to swivel my hips in slow, seductive circles, alternating with my chest and shoulders in time to the music. I grab hold of the pole and wrap a leg around it, swinging in a circle.

Take that, Sophie You-Wretched-Skank Miller!

I shake my hair and peek over at Dan. He licks his lips and sips his beer, all the while focused on me. It’s like a dream. He’s like a dream. He makes my belly tumble with nerves and fear, yet he’s breathed me more alive than I’ve ever been.

I smirk. He smirks back.
Gah!
It spurs me on.
“Think of Dan,”
she said . . . so I slink my body to the pulsing music, remembering how his hands traveled down the length of my body and up my thighs.

How his tongue circled my breasts, drawing them to their fullest peaks. The look of sheer pleasure mixed with wonder on his face—and the guttural groan that escaped his open mouth.

I glance his way again, and it hits me—that he—the beautiful man hidden in shadow under the baseball cap—will be touching every inch of me later. I need to feel his smooth skin against mine, warm and wanting, ready to please. And I just know that after we shoot to the moon and float back to Earth, I’ll lie, wrapped in him, even dream of him. Mr. Beautiful is invading every part of my life.

Loud clapping and wooting snap me out of it. My stripper circles me, suggestively touching my arm or leg as she passes. I smile at her as I hold onto the pole with one arm and stretch my body in the opposite direction, circling it fast and laughing hard.

She grinds against me. “You’re doing great! Keep going!”

“Yeah?” I grip the pole and accidentally tip backward, but thankfully I catch myself by stretching my leg out for balance. Then I squat low, straddle the pole, and shimmy up slowly. My grip slips again. Shockingly, I save myself by swinging around the pole once more.
Wahoo!

The music’s volume decreases as the ringmaster says, “Well, there you go! What a ladies’ night it’s been! Let’s hear it for all our ladies!”

Clapping, whistling, cheering erupts from the crowd as the stage lights shut off.

“That was awesome!” my stripper says, high-fiving me.

I’m laughing so hard as Camille and Bridget and I gather on the side of the stage.

“I cannot believe I did that!” I say, dizzy from the dancing and the drinks.

“Aren’t you glad you did? See? When in Rome, baby!” Bridget says with a quick hug.

I shake my head. “And I think Dan saw it all! I think that was him anyway.”

“He’s here?” Bridget asks, laughing.

“That must mean Colin’s here, too.” Camille scans the bar as we make our way down the stairs off the stage.

Bridget and Camille step into the sea of men still hovering by the stage. I take the last step and trip, bumping into Handsome Man who smiled at me earlier.

“Sorry,” I say, straightening up and using his arm for balance.

“No problem,” he says, grinning. “I was just coming to say hello anyway. You were fantastic up there. You do that a lot?”

What?
“Oh God, no.” I start to walk away, looking for Camille or Bridget or Dan. I catch Dan’s eyes halfway across the dance floor. He furrows his brow as we start toward one another through the thick crowd.

“Hey!” Handsome Man says, tapping my shoulder. I turn. “I’m sorry; I just meant that it was really hot—
really
hot. I wasn’t trying to offend you. I just, um . . . can I buy you a drink?”

“No thanks.” I turn to make my way toward Dan, but three girls have stopped Dan in his tracks. I stop, too, watching Dan smile and pose for pictures.

It’s his job . . . It’s his job . . . It’s his job . . .

The girls throw their heads back in laughter, clinging and pawing at the arms and chest I want to touch.

I hear Bridget’s words echoed from earlier:
He’s here with you. He’s here with you.

I’m holding back the green-eyed monster from rearing its ugly head as those girls stand on tiptoe and pull on his shoulder to whisper in his ear.

He’s here with you. He’s here with you. He’s here with you.

I’m trying my best to keep my wits about me, but I don’t need to witness any more. I start to move in the opposite direction from Dan—to wait things out in the safety of the bathroom. Someone catches my arm. I turn. With a smile that ends in dimples, Handsome Man asks, “Where are you going?” He follows my gaze to Dan, who is still being hugged, stroked, and rubbed up against. “Don’t waste your time on him. He’s got his hands full already.”

Yes, he does, doesn’t he? God, I’m such an idiot!
I danced on a stupid pole for everyone to see, and now, other women are all over the guy I’m supposed to be with.
I slip out of Handsome Man’s grasp. I’m nearing the bathroom when Handsome Man snatches me by the waist this time. He pulls me against him and whispers in my ear, “Come on. Don’t leave. You’re the hottest chick in this place.”

I wriggle away, escaping toward the bathroom once again, when someone catches my hand. “Where the fuck are you going?” I spin around to smack Handsome Man, but find an enraged and confused Dan instead.

“What?” I say, surprised to see him.

“Hey, let go of her! You’ve got your groupies back there, hotshot, and I saw her first,” Handsome Man says, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

“Get your fucking hands off her,” Dan says in such a way that Handsome Man removes his arm immediately.

Whoa
.

Eye to eye with Dan, Handsome Man says, “You got a lot of nerve. You’re up to your elbows in women over there, yet you come over here and ruin my thing? Fuck that, you greedy prick.”

“Fuck off! She’s with me,” Dan says, closing the nearly nonexistent gap from Handsome Man’s face.

Oh my God, are they going to fight?

It’s like slow motion. Handsome Man steps forward. “Like hell she is! What idiot lets their girlfriend dance like that up on stage?”

Dan narrows his eyes at the man, glances at me, and then back at the man. “She’s a grown woman and makes her own decisions. Now stay the fuck away from her! She’s with
me
,” he says through gritted teeth.

They’re fighting over me? Do I like this? Shit.
I really shouldn’t be drunk right now
. I try to blink it away, but it’s not working.

“This is bullshit! You actors think you own the fucking world. All right, if she makes her own decisions . . .” Handsome Man turns to me. “Are you with this guy or what, beautiful?”

Everything seems to grind to a halt with two sets of eyes trained on my face. I’m speechless.

“Claire!” Dan snaps.

I look between the two of them settling my eyes on Handsome Man. “Yeah, I’m with him,” I say, overwhelmed and realizing that I am so very drunk.

Handsome Man shakes his head at me and stomps away.

Dan turns to face me. “What the fuck, Claire! You were
leaving
with him?” he asks, his eyes furious and his jaw clenched.

“What?”
What the hell?

Dan seems taken aback but presses on. “You’re probably pissed off about me with those girls and—”

“And what? You think I’d hook up with some strange guy just to get back at you? What kind of person do you think I am, Dan?” My heart pounds in my chest as tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I refuse to lose it in the middle of the bar, so I turn to leave. I get about three steps when Dan pulls me back.

“Where are you going?”

I shake my head and turn to leave again.

He snatches me by the arm and holds on this time. “Stop running away from me!”

“Why? What do you want to talk about? Seems you have this whole thing figured out!”

Dan’s eyes narrow and grow dark. “You were leaving with him, weren’t you?”

“You know, between yesterday with Sophie and tonight with your obnoxious assumptions, maybe I shouldn’t tell you the truth, which is that I was handling the fan thing pretty well, and I was only trying to escape to the bathroom for a minute. Maybe instead I should tell you that I was leaving with that guy. That way you would know what it feels like to have the person you like pawed at and humped on.”

Dan’s jaw clenches harder.

“Maybe I should say that I
was
leading him into a dark corner—just like the one we’re in now. He’s pretty hot, after all, Dan. And maybe I should tell you that I was about to let him grind against me and stick his tongue in my mouth. I bet he’d taste really good.”

Dan breathes hard through his nose; his fists tighten.

“In fact, it’s so dark he could probably get away with slipping his hand down my pants and touching me—you know, right there—and we both know I wouldn’t be heard above the music.”

Even in the flash of the strobe lights, I can see Dan’s face burning.

“And then he’d—”

“Stop!” Dan lunges forward and crashes his lips to mine. He pushes me against the rough brick wall only a few feet away and locks me into place with his arms and hips. I can’t move—not one inch—and every time I squirm, he applies the slightest bit more pressure.

“What are you doing?” I say after I struggle to free my lips from his unrelenting mouth.

“Letting you know that no one’s going to touch you or kiss you except me. No one.” He attacks my mouth again. His teeth grate against mine, and his tongue delves so deep I can hardly breathe.

It’s the oddest thing. For as angry as I am at his assumptions, I’m also aroused by his possessiveness. After resisting for who knows how long, I relent, kissing him just as hard. We remain pressed against the wall, even after he relaxes enough to allow my body to curve into his.

His hands are on the move. They skim along my hip and up to my stomach, stopping—waiting even—under my breast.
More!
My body screams. I arch into him and grab the back of his hair. I pull him farther into my mouth as his hand brushes across my corset-covered breasts. I’m lost in a fog of alcohol and desire. Dan breaks away, grabs my hand, and pulls me down the hallway.

“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep up.

“Home,” he snaps.

Outside the bar, he drops my hand since the sidewalk is teeming with paparazzi. Dan ignores the flurry of questions hurled his way like, “Have a good time tonight, Dan?” and “Who are you with?” and “Is that your girlfriend?” He’s unusually serious and focused.

Once we’re in the car and pulling away, Dan hands me his phone. “Text Colin. Tell him he’s going to have to bring your friends home,” he commands, all business.

The ride to his house is silent. Every time we hit a red light, Dan stares at it while his thumbs tap impatiently on the steering wheel. When the light turns green, he speeds ‘til we hit another light and his thumbs tap even harder.
Is he waiting until we’re inside his house to yell at me? Tell me to pack up and leave? Why doesn’t he just say it now?

He screeches the car to a halt in his driveway. I’m barely out of the car when he snatches my hand and nearly drags me inside. Dan slams the door . . . and springs at me.

Chapter Fifteen

We’re barely inside when Dan seizes my face between his hands and kisses me hard. In all of two steps, he has me backed up against the closest surface—the dining room table. It’s all I can do just to hold on to his shirt because it’s quite obvious he’s a man on a mission.

His mouth doesn’t leave mine as he cups my ass and hoists me onto the tabletop. Positioning himself between my parted legs, he holds my head steady with one hand while the other, held firmly at my lower back, keeps his hardness against my center.

He flings his baseball hat somewhere and shakes his jacket down his arms. I hear it crumple to the floor. His hands quickly come back at me and roam greedily across my top.

“Where the bloody hell did you get this outfit?” he says against my mouth.

“You don’t like it?” I say against his.

He pulls back a fraction and gazes at me with dark, intense eyes. “Not like it? I couldn’t stop watching you move in it.” He huffs. “Obviously, I wasn’t the only one.”

Incensed all over again, he smashes his lips to mine. His hands slide across the span of my back—left, right, up, down. It takes me a moment to realize he’s searching for the ends of the corset’s laces—the laces that are there for effect only.

“Dan—”

“Shh,” he says sharply against my mouth as he finds the ends and frantically whips the laces through their holes.

“Dan,” I try again, but am met by an even harsher, “Shh,” so I let him finish his fruitless untying.

Done with the laces, he pulls at the top, but it doesn’t budge. Tugging, yanking, and huffing up a storm, he unlocks his lips from mine.

“How the fuck do you get this thing off?” he says so impatiently it’s funny, but I don’t dare laugh. He’s in no mood for jokes; that much is clear.

I reveal the column of hook-and-eye closures hidden down the front. He huffs again but stares at the flesh I slowly expose with each unhooked closure. His breathing turns shallow, and even though he’s still agitated, waves of lust roll off him.

I hold the sides of the corset together as I unhook, and when I’m done with the last one, I steal a glance at him.

His hooded eyes are on fire. He nearly slaps my hands away, rips the top down my arms, and tosses it to the floor. He stops to stare at my bare torso as I sit on the table, my hair falling just above my rosy peaks. His jaw flexes. “No one,” he growls, roughly thumbing my nipples. My head falls back, and I revel in the sensation that travels directly from my breasts to my groin.

I suddenly feel the heat of Dan’s mouth sucking one nipple while he fondles the other breast. I run my hand through his hair. My legs tremble. “Mmm . . .” I lean back on a locked elbow.

Dan straightens up, stares at me a moment, and unbuttons my pants. My desire may be through the roof, but his intensity is overwhelming.

With my button unbuttoned and my zipper unzipped, he rocks the sides of my pants down. Left . . . right . . . left . . . right. I lift my hips. He yanks them down to my ankles, where he casts off my shoes and whooshes off my pants by pulling on both legs at once.

Sitting on the table, topless and wearing only lacy panties, I try to grasp the hem of his shirt.

“No,” he barks, backing up a little. He shifts and lunges forward, his tongue finding mine in a heartbeat. His weight forces me to lie back on the table. He straightens up and whips off his shirt before tossing it to the floor, too. Like a prowling panther, he climbs up onto the table and smacks his head on the light fixture suspended from the ceiling.

“
Fuck!
” He pulls back and rubs his head. “Fuck!”

I sit up. “Are you okay?” I catch the swinging light and reach out to rub his head.

He stops wincing almost immediately and hops off the table, glaring at me. Then he pulls me to my feet, scoops me up, and carries me to the bedroom, muttering, “No fucking one.” Once we’re inside, he kicks the door shut and plants me on his desk. I’m not sure why—the bed is right there. I’m about to ask him when he shoves the rolling chair across the room hard enough that it smacks and rattles the dresser.

Oh boy. Say nothing.

I glance around the desk—there’s stuff all over it. As it is, I’m sitting on papers and,
ouch
, possibly a pen. I pull the pen from under my thigh. He takes it from me and drops it on the floor. As if reading my mind, he reaches around me and swipes the mountain of crap off the desk and onto the floor.

Holy. Shit.

Clang! Bang! Thud!
“Better?” he asks, raising a rhetorical eyebrow at me.

I nod like a good girl, and for the briefest of moments, I see the flash of a very satisfied smile on his face.

He holds me tight as he attacks me again with lips that are swollen from hard, unyielding kisses. His tongue, forceful yet needy, searches my mouth just like his eyes do when he pulls back.

“No one else, Claire.”

I nod, but he clarifies anyway.

“No one else is going to touch you like this, right?” He draws a slow line down the center of my chest to my panties, hooks a finger inside, and snaps the lacy material against my skin.

I shake my head.

“Or like this?” He cups one breast firmly and kneads it, thumbing my nipple and sending erotic shocks through me.

Breathing heavy, I shake my head again.

“Say it.”

“No,” I whisper and swallow hard.

His hands slide along my inner thighs while his hooded eyes capture mine. His thumbs circle on either side of my heated and desperate center.

His thumbs inch inward . . . I tremble with anticipation.

Finally, he lightly strokes the lace-covered spot that screams his name. And then he stops.

“How about here, Claire? Anyone else going to touch you here?”

“No . . . no, Dan. Please,” I say, breathing in shallow spurts.

He shifts the crotch of my panties to the side and slides his fingers along my core. “I might be a bit younger, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I know you can have anyone. You didn’t need to prove it tonight.”

What? He wants to discuss this now? With his hand . . . there?
“I wasn’t . . . trying . . . to prove anything . . .” I can hardly focus.

“Why were you leaving with him?”

“I wasn’t.” I pant.

“Whose fingers do you want here, Claire?” He slips a finger inside.

“Oh God,” I gasp, my head warring with my body for focus. “Yours . . .”

But then his fingers are gone, and they reappear a second later at my hips, grabbing hold of my panties. He tugs them off and drops them to the floor. Standing back, he examines my naked form.

Our eyes lock.

He shakes his head at me, narrowing his eyes. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but I need him close. I want him with me, in me, and no longer angry.

“Please.” I’m desperate for his body to make up with mine. Leaning back on one arm, I slip my hand across my belly and down my thigh. He watches me carefully, in control of his face, but not his jaw, which flexes.

“Please?”

His face slackens as his hands go for the button and zipper on his pants.

Oh, thank God!

A quick glance at me later, he shoves his pants and underwear down, freeing the ride I need to board. He’s absolutely spectacular from head to head to toe.

He kisses me hard, trying to remove his pants the rest of the way with his feet. With my eyes closed, I feel him shift—left, right, left, right—and then he yells, “
Oh fuck!
”

My eyes open in time to see him plunk down onto his ass, pants still lassoed around his ankles. I want to laugh, but oh no, it’s too precarious a moment for that.

On the wood floor he sits, head down, knees up, as the silence stretches on. I wait for his reaction to determine mine. He reaches under his foot and holds up a pen.

“Your pen?” he asks with a cocked eyebrow. His face is bare of emotion. I, on the other hand, find it highly amusing. Even though I don’t actually laugh, I have to bite my lip not to.

He offers me the pen for some reason. I hop off the desk and reach down to take it from him when he grabs my forearm and yanks me down on top of him.

“Ahhh!”

He wraps his arms around me, and I lift my face to his, afraid he’s still furious.

We gaze at one another for a long moment until he cracks a smile. “You want to laugh, don’t you?”

I’m relieved, but continue to bite my lip. “No.”

He shakes his head, his face lighter, softer, and wearing that beguiling smile I love. “Go on, laugh, even though I’m trying to be cool here.”

“I’m not laughing,” I say, biting down harder. “And . . . clumsiness is the new black.” I snicker.

He smiles wider. “Clumsy? I’ll show you clumsy.” He rolls on top of me and kicks his pants off the rest of the way. This time his lips are softer, his kisses sweeter and more affectionate. It’s only minutes before we’re full throttle again.

Eventually, we lie sated and exhausted, half on the hardwood floor, half on the area carpet. Dan’s head rests on my chest as I comb my fingers through his hair. After a few moments, he leans up, gives me a tender kiss, and gets to his feet before holding out a hand to help me up.

I scan the room as he leads me to the bed. Papers and pens are scattered all over the floor, scripts are tossed around, books lay open—face up and face down—his surprisingly unbroken lamp is knocked on its side, the desk chair is pushed against the dresser, sticks of gum are everywhere and clothes are strewn across the floor.

“Ooh, you made such a mess.”

“Well, I blame you.” He snickers, peeling back the sheet and holding it up for me to get in first.

“Me? How do you figure?” I giggle, sliding in as he scoots in beside me. He wraps himself around me and kisses my head.

“Yeah, you. You nearly made me shag you on the desk.”

“I made you? You carried me over there, Captain Caveman.”

He snorts. “That’s because you whispered, ‘Shag me on the desk, Dan.’ Must be an American thing.”

I laugh. “Desk sex is an American thing? Well, then you should be happy I’m broadening your horizons.”

“That you are.” He laughs. I burrow into his warm chest, so tired and so relaxed.

“Are you still pissed?” he asks softly, stroking my arm with his thumb.

“American pissed or English pissed?”

He laughs. “English pissed—drunk, Yank.”

“No, you pretty much killed my buzz in the bar. Were you drunk?”

“No, I wasn’t. I just—”

I lean up on an elbow to see his face, which looks a little lost. “You just what?”

“I just never had that happen before.”

“Never had fans dry humping you?”

“What is wrong with you?” He laughs. “No, I mean, yes, I mean, no—”

“Whatever. Women dry hump you in public. I get it.” I laugh.

“Stop it. They do not . . . not really anyway.”

I roll my eyes. “We both know you get dry humped; the question is . . . what never happened before?”

He grins but is serious, nonetheless. “I never almost got into a fight in a bar. I just never got so angry, so . . . what’s the word?” He looks off, searching.

“Possessive?”

“Yeah, possessive. I’ve never felt so compelled to protect what’s—um . . .” He exhales. “What I hope is mine.” His expectant green eyes wait.

My smile is a mile wide. “I’ve never had anyone fight over me before. It was kind of nice. Except for the part where you accused me of being a floozy and going off with a stranger.”

He grimaces. “I’m sorry about that. I saw the guy following you and thought you were leaving with him because you were pissed off about those fans—”

“Actually, I wasn’t pissed off about the fans.”

“You weren’t?”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.” He smirks.

“This may be a little shocking because, honestly, I’m kind of surprised myself, but I realize the fan thing is a part of your life and your job, and even though I don’t like it, it’s there. It’s part of your ‘package,’ if you will. I mean, I definitely like your other package better, though, you know?”

He laughs. “Yes, yes I do.”

He tucks my hair behind my ear as I continue. “So after your unprovoked attack upon my neck this morning, I figured if I’m going to be . . .
yours
, which . . . I would very much like to be, then I’m going to have to start trusting you.” I look down. Saying it out loud makes this real and far scarier, but it feels surprisingly good.

He smiles. He curves his hand around the back of my head and pulls my face to his. His kiss is soft, but my yawn interrupts us.

“Time for sleep, Claire,” he says gently.

I snuggle into his chest, his arms holding me a little tighter than before. I yawn again, and before I fall to sleep, I whisper, “No one else, Dan.”

His chest vibrates with a soft chuckle. “No one else, Claire.”