A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (15 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Who’s talking so early?

I turn over, exhausted mentally, emotionally, and—
ooh my back—
physically. The thought makes me giggle which makes my belly ache which makes my head hurt.

I sit up. My head isn’t throbbing too badly. I rub my eyes and survey the room.
Such a mess.
I smile and flop back on the pillows . . .
no one else.

Speaking of no one else, where is Dan?

I hear the voices again. It’s Dan and Colin in the kitchen. Like any self-respecting girl, I try to eavesdrop, but it seems the harder I listen, the harder it is to make out any coherent words. I do, however, catch a “Claire” from Colin followed by a “sod-off” from Dan followed by what sounds like laughing and wrestling.

A few quiet moments later, the bedroom door opens.

“Good morning. Been up long?” Dan asks, shutting the door. I gawk at his bare chest, which is what happens when a hot, well-built man wears only pajama pants.

“For a few minutes,” I say, smiling wide.

He sits on the edge of the bed and kisses me softly on my lips.

“You still look tired,” he says, brushing my hair away from my face.

“Yeah, well, someone kept me up half the night.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints.”

“That’s because you were too busy claiming me as your own.”

He laughs. “Who
was
that bloke?”

“I have no idea, but he was kind of sexy.”

“Oh yeah?”

I nod. “Especially when the pen took him out.”

Smiling and blushing, he shakes his head.

“What were you and Colin talking about out there?”

“Sorry. Did we wake you?”

“Only when I heard my name.” I grin.

He nods and says nothing.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Well, what were you saying?”

Dan smirks. “He was giving me a hard time about what a state it is out there.”

“Oh! The clothes!” I slap a hand to my mouth.

Dan laughs. “It’s all right. They kicked everything out of the way to get past.”

I hide under the covers. “Oh God.”

He pries down the sheet to peek at me. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s definitely not as bad out there as it is in here. You’ve got a lot to tidy up.”

“
I’ve
got to tidy up? How do you figure?”

“You made the mess.”

“Me? I think not. You, sir, were a man on a mission last night. You wouldn’t even listen to me about my top.”

“What about your top?”

“I tried telling you the strings wouldn’t loosen it.”

He snickers. “Actually, it’s not that bad out there. It’s just your top . . . and your trousers . . . and your shoes . . . and my hat and jacket on the floor.”

“Oh God. So Colin thinks I’m a slut now.”

“Well, you did one hell of a pole dance.” He waggles his eyebrows.

I swat him hard on the shoulder.

“Ouch!” Dan says, rubbing the spot. “What? It was hot!”

I roll my eyes. “Of course you think it was hot—you’re a guy. Guys are hardwired for that.”

He nods, but I can tell his mind is preoccupied. “When you straddled the pole—” Dan stops to fan himself.

The heat rushes into my cheeks. “Stop! Ugh, I’m so embarrassed.”

He laughs. “Having a good time is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

I shake my head. “Okay, moving on . . . I’d like to know, by the way, why you always hop out of bed in the morning. I’m always waking up alone.”

“I do?”

I nod.

“Fuck. I didn’t even realize it. Shove over,” he says, pulling back the sheet to slide in. He stops to take in my nakedness. “You’re right. What was I thinking?”

I shrug, scoot over, and snuggle up next to him while he wraps me up in his arms, which feel so good, so right.

“So today’s my day off. We get the whole day together. What would you like to do?”

“Hmm . . . you could skate out of bed before I wake up . . . or you could give me a tour of the set.” I laugh while he groans. “Or you can almost get into a fight at a dance club.”

“You’re never going to want to visit again, are you?” He laughs a little, sounding nervous.

Visit again . . . such a bittersweet thought. The sweetness
o
f visiting again cut with the bitterness of leaving. My natural instinct is to allow the bitter to take over, but for once in my life, I’m not going to let it. I’m going to savor every sweet moment today offers. I’ll deal with tomorrow’s bitter when I have to. “We’ll just have to see. This right here is pretty nice. Let’s stay like this today and I’ll visit again.”

He squeezes me. “Done,” he says, and soon he’s kissing me and kissing me and caressing me and kissing me.

And then my belly growls—like a possessed alien. Dan pulls back.

“What the hell was that?”

I giggle. “My belly.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little hungry.”

“Well, it looks like we’ll have to leave here sooner rather than later.” He kisses me again and makes a move to get up.

I grab onto him. “No, not yet. I can survive for a little longer. I don’t want to share you with anyone yet.”

“No?” he turns, beaming.

“No. I’ve shared you this whole time . . . with everyone—and I mean everyone.” I chuckle. “I just want to be alone with you a while longer. Okay?”

“Yeah, it’s more than okay.” He lies back down with a big ol’ grin on that gorgeous face. I settle into the nook between his shoulder and chest.

We talk about everything and nothing. Not only is our conversation effortless, but the lulls are easy, and Dan’s arms make for the warmest, safest spot I’ve ever been snuggled in.

It occurs to me that it was never like this with Mark. Talking was overrated in Mark’s book, and simple, affectionate gestures were more or less a prelude to sex. Yet with Dan, affection is just a part of being close and as natural as all the talking and laughing we do.

Eventually, my belly demands food again.

“Christ, Claire, are you sure nothing’s about to claw its way out of there? Get up, let’s go and get some breakfast.”

I giggle.

“Do you
ever
eat here?” I ask.

“Not really. I’m not much of a cook.”

“Unless it’s cereal with milk. Then you kick ass!”

He laughs and stands.

“But don’t you ever get tired of restaurant food?” The poor guy never eats home-cooked food unless he’s, well, home in London.

“I don’t think about it, really. Come on.” He holds out a hand.

Up and dressed, the five of us go to the cutest hole-in-the-wall to eat, successfully flying under the radar.

While I have a giant bite of pancakes in my mouth, Camille turns to me. “So, Claire . . . looks like you were super tired last night. You couldn’t even wait to get to the bedroom before getting undressed.”

Here we go.
I try to chew quickly, knowing I’ll have to defend myself. Dan is already laughing along with Bridget and Colin.

Camille slings her arm around Bridget and continues. “Our little Claire, ho-ing it up. This is why we love you. You are a secret slut.”

I swallow and raise an eyebrow at her. “You know what’s really weird, Camille? How early Colin arrived at Dan’s house this morning—
really early
this morning. Too early. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d think he slept over last night.”

Camille gulps, and I quickly glance at Colin, who’s drinking and drinking and drinking his coffee.

“I love you, too, secret slut,” I say with a giggle and take a victorious bite of pancakes.

Bridget chimes in with a snort. “Pfft. You two are both total sluts. I’m the only one who remained virginal last night.”

Camille and I nearly choke.

Camille clears her throat and says, “
Virginal
? You are the biggest slut of all! You’re Slut Almighty!”

“You’re the girl who cried slut!” I say.

“Mother Slut.” Camille fires back.

“Sluterella.”

“Slut White.”

“Sleeping Slut.”

Colin and Dan are laughing so hard they’re silent. The girls and I can’t stop laughing, either.

After the jokes and the food, we head outside to drizzling skies—looks like we’ll have to scrap our beach plan. We decide to head back to Dan’s house and relax on the soft leather sofas, which is a far better option, in my opinion. If I have to share Dan on my last full day, I want to share him in a small group, without the grinding fangirls.

After Colin beats all of us senseless at Wii Boxing, he further punishes the group by making us play him at Guitar Hero.

Colin points at Dan. “You first.”

Dan rolls his eyes but good-naturedly straps on the guitar.

I nearly lose it. Between his rumpled hair, the way he holds a guitar like he means it, and the strap tugging open his button-down shirt a little, it’s all I can do not to attack him in front of everyone. A whole “Rock Star Dan” fantasy rolls through my head as he plays: his dirty blonde hair glinting in the stage lights, his perfect fingers curling around the neck of the guitar, and his chest beading with sweat . . . then he sings, his lips brushing against the microphone.

Bridget nudges me. “You feeling okay there, Claire?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’re all flushed.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I clear my throat.

Dan loses and gives the guitar over to an eager Camille. He takes a seat beside me and shoots me a suspicious grin when I accidentally sigh aloud.

I quickly refocus my attention on Camille, who’s battling it out with Colin. Between Colin’s verbal taunts and Camille’s retaliating punches to Colin’s arms, it’s highly entertaining. A little while later, I lean into Dan’s ear and nudge my nose against his cheek. He smirks.

“I don’t want to share you right now,” I say in his ear, hoping he remembers what I said earlier.

“You read my mind,” he whispers back.

We escape to his room, shutting the door and the world out, and share a chunk of the afternoon only with each other. Bitter doesn’t have a chance when we’re alone and naked.

Eventually, we make our way back into the living room, where the others are watching TV.

“So, Colin, you’re playing tonight, right?” I ask, sitting down on the sofa.

“Yeah. There may be an agent there; you never know.” Colin grins, but it’s clear he’s tempering his excitement. I glance at a swoony Camille and waggle my eyebrows at her.

She rolls her eyes at me, trying to hide her smile.

“What time do you have to set up?” Dan asks as he stretches his arm along the back of the sofa behind me and begins to gently massage my neck.

“I have to be there by seven at the latest.”

“You won’t be joining us for supper, then?” Dan asks.

“No.”

The disappointment on both Colin’s and Camille’s faces makes my wheels turn.

“What if I make an early dinner here instead of going out? That way Colin can eat with us and no one has to rush or anything.”

“Yeah, that’d be great, Claire,” Colin says, a smile breaking across his face. Camille’s smiling, too.

“You know how to cook?” Dan asks, turning to me.

“She cooks all the time,” Bridget says from the recliner as she flips through a magazine.

“Really? Like what?” Dan asks me.

I shrug. “What are you in the mood for?”

“What are you good at?” he asks in a quiet, husky voice, nuzzling in close.

I quirk an eyebrow and whisper back, “What aren’t I good at?”

His smirk turns into a laugh.

A little later in the afternoon, Dan and I head to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients to make a basic Italian dinner—spaghetti, homemade meatballs, tomato sauce, salad, and garlic bread.

He bolts into the store, flipping the hood of his sweat jacket over his head.

“Nice disguise. You know, if the actor thing doesn’t work out, you can always work undercover for the CIA.”

“I blend, Claire.”

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

He nudges me with his elbow and grabs a cart, but when he calls it a trolley, I giggle and continue to say the word in my own English accent as often as possible while we’re in the store.

With bags of groceries in hand, Dan and I arrive back at the house to find Camille, Bridget, and Colin engrossed in the TV. We walk over to see what they’re watching.

“Oh my God . . .” I snicker upon seeing a younger Dan on screen.

“What did you put on?” Dan scolds Colin.

“That movie—what’s it called?” Colin asks Camille, who doesn’t turn away from the screen to answer.

“The Riot,” Camille answers quickly, curled up next to Colin on the loveseat.

Guns fire, bombs blow up all around, and Dan’s in the middle of the action, dressed in ratty clothing with mud-mucked hair and a sooty face. He carefully plants explosives around an already battered building.

“Come on, Claire,” Dan says, trying to pull me away.

“One second.” I’m already sucked in.

There’s no question it’s a slightly cheesy film—probably one of his firsts. He was younger, and the defined, stunning man-jaw of now was a work in progress then. Even though he was made up to look a mess, there is no tempering his looks. His bright green eyes pop out amongst the grunge and grime. I stare in disbelief that this is the same guy standing to my left, holding groceries.

“Come on, Claire,” Dan urges.

I look over to see his sweet face screwed up in obvious embarrassment. It’s incredibly charming.

“Do you have to watch this?” Dan asks the group, annoyed and fidgety.

“This is my favorite part,” Colin notes, ignoring Dan’s question, too interested in the film.

The part shows Dan climbing a broken wall with explosives attached to his back. He turns his head to speak awkward lines to the guy behind him. I glance at Dan, who seems to shrink behind the brown paper bag, rolling his eyes.

Back on the screen, Dan says his lines as a bomb explodes above his head and sends him flying.

“Yeah!” Colin cheers fist-pump and all.

“Claire, let’s please put the food away,” Dan begs.

“You don’t want to watch? Looks like . . . a
riot
.”

“Let’s go,” he says, shaking his head, as we head to the kitchen.

He unpacks the groceries as I search out the necessary cooking equipment, all of which I surprisingly find.

“If you don’t cook, why do you have a kitchen stocked with pots and pans?”

Dan laughs. “It all came with the house.” He opens the refrigerator, pulls out a beer, and holds it up to me.

I snort and nod. “Beer and pasta—every man’s dream.”

Dan cracks open our chilled beers and leans against the counter, watching me while I chop and add the ingredients to a hot pot. In mere moments, the sweet garlic and onions sautéing in the olive oil infuse the air with a mouth-watering aroma.

“God, that smells good. Have you been cooking a long time?”

“Yeah, my whole life. I grew up with Sunday dinners when my relatives would come over and eat.” I smile at him and continue to chop and add the tomatoes to the garlic and onions, adding yet another layer of deliciousness to the air.

As I continue to cook, his eyes remain on me. Now and then I look over and he smiles a big, awfully satisfied smile while he sips his beer.

“You don’t need a recipe or anything?”

I laugh. “Not for this.”

Dan comes up from behind and leans his chin on my shoulder as I mix the meatballs. “Can I help?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. So rarely are my hands full of a such a satisfying amount of meat.”

“Is that a challenge?” he murmurs, nipping at my neck.

I giggle. “No, no challenge. Just the facts.”

He dives into my neck again, tickling me with his chin and locking my elbows at my sides. I almost drop the ball of meat.

“Stop!” I laugh, wriggling away. “Fine! You can help! Go cut up the salad stuff.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’d better watch it.” He laughs and opens the fridge, staring inside it for several minutes while I finish up the meatballs.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. So I need lettuce and . . . is this pepper for the salad?” He holds it up.