Read A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) Online
Authors: Q. T. Ruby
Acknowledgements
It’s easy to let life pass
Without lifting a finger
To let the hours wash over you
To let yourself linger
But when a passion ignites
And your family and friends stoke the fire
You realize life could be so much more
And their encouragement can take you higher
To my husband who’s helped erase years of self-doubt
To my kids who remind me what life’s really about
To my early betas and friends who said I just needed to be me
To The Bunker ladies who’ve cheered me on with a squee
To those who’ve helped me polish this rough stone
To those whose company has never left me alone
To my author friends who’ve lit the way
To my family, friends, readers, and bloggers
I say . . .
Your kindness and support I can never repay
Thank you for taking a chance on me every day
I love you all, and I’m very grateful, too
Big hugs and kisses from me to you.
A Moment of Truth
Q. T. Ruby
Copyright
A Moment of Truth
Copyright © 2016 by Q. T. Ruby
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Art by Jada D’Lee at Jada D’Lee Designs
Editing by Jennifer Matera and Lauren Schmelz at Write Divas
Proofing by Marla Esposito
British Consulting and Editing by Catherine Waring at The Book Betas
Formatting by Mari Carlopoli at E & F Indie Services
Dedication
To my family—I’m blessed to have you. You are my lucky charms.
Chapter One
A
hh
. . . it’s been three weeks of sheer bliss.
Three official get-dressed-and-be-in-public dates.
And three million rounds of mind-numbing, leg-shaking sex.
Wait, why am I leaving?
Oh, yeah, because reality bites, er, calls. His work, my new career, and, well, real life marches on.
Dan woke me in the middle of the night, which he hilariously called “dawn,” dragged me out of bed and drove us to our ledge to watch the sun rise on our last day together. He fluffed out a soft blanket and situated us, cocooned together side by side, inside another warm blanket. We’ve been sitting here for a bit now, simply being quiet together. There’s a peaceful rush of waves and the still of the morning, and I smile, relishing in this very moment.
And then . . . “Dan?”
“Yeah?”
“I love that you brought us here, but . . . we’re never going to see the sun rise.”
He turns to look at me. “What? Of course we will.”
I smile. “No. This ledge faces west, and the sun rises in the east.”
He stares at me a moment, and we break into laughter.
“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s all your fault. You’ve screwed my head up. You and your needy sex are distracting me!”
“‘Needy sex’? What? Please. The best I’ve gotten from you is fifteen minutes—twenty tops. Needy sex. Pfft. Maybe once you fully mature it’ll get better.”
His mouth hangs agape. “Fully mature? How’s this for fully mature?” He takes my hand and presses it against his . . .
“Needy sex? You’re maturing fast,” I say.
He kisses me, pushes me down and straddles me, and as the sky quickly lightens—without the fanfare of a sunrise—we solve the problem of the needy sex.
We’re quiet on the ride back to his house and spend the remaining few hours inside, away from the world. It’s been a luxury to have him all to myself. But the seconds quickly turn to hours, and in these last moments before my ride comes, I’m leaning against him, he’s leaning against his black BMW in his driveway, and we’re wrapped around each other, sharing tiny kisses in the hot, mid-afternoon sun. Between the sunlight highlighting his sculpted face and his green eyes glinting, he’s most definitely living up to the title of Mr. Beautiful.
Dan tightens his hold on my waist. “So . . . two weeks, then?”
“Yeah, two weeks.” Also known as an eternity.
He nods. I sigh.
“So, I’m leaving now and you’re leaving for Mexico at four a.m., right?” We’ve been over the facts a million times, and yet asking him again somehow reassures me that all of this—our reunion, the “my love,” and the impending distance—are real. Very real, and there’s way too much distance for my liking.
“Yeah,” Dan says. He leans in and kisses my neck. “Stay tonight?” he whispers against my skin.
I shiver and try not to succumb to his heady soap-and-shaving cream scent. “It’s so tempting . . .” I rub the nape of his neck, soaking in his warmth and affection.
He pulls back. “But what?”
“I didn’t say ‘but.’”
He purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “You didn’t say it, but it’s there. The ‘but’ is there. Just like this one.” He smacks and squeezes my ass.
“Hey!” I yelp and jump a little.
He squeezes it harder. “But . . .” He draws out the word while holding me tight enough that I can’t move away. I wiggle my ass to try to shake off the hand that’s squeezing my ass.
“Don’t you mean,
arse
?”
“No, I mean
ass
. And keep wriggling. I like that.” He laughs.
I swat at his hand as best as I can, but he continues to squeeze hard. “Stay tonight. I’ve gotten used to you hogging the bed.” He snorts, tipping his head back in laughter.
“Such a smart
arse
!” I finally get a hold of his wrists to stop the squeezing. “I do not hog the bed.”
“Yes, you do.” He chuckles, rips his hands away from me, and hugs me against his chest.
Giggling, I rest my hands on his chest and play with the buttons on his shirt. “Well, now you can sprawl.”
“Sprawling’s overrated.” He rubs his stubbly face into my neck.
With a squirm and a laugh, I push him away. “Stop that!”
He laughs, but soon silence falls.
I don’t want to go!
I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, and he embraces me just as hard. “I’m going to miss you,” I say.
“I’ll miss you, too.” He kisses his way from my cheek to my mouth, before he whispers, “Stay tonight.”
“I want to, you know that, but I’m about to go and you’re leaving before dawn, plus Camille and Bridget have already planned to pick me up and—”
“I know, I know. And you have to write some stuff for David before you come and stay with me.”
With a burst of excitement, I grab his shoulders and give them a little shake. “Yeah! I have a job again! Ahh! I still can’t believe it. I’m actually starting a career that I’ve only ever dreamed about. It’s so surreal.”
“I’m so proud of you.” He brushes my long, dark hair over my shoulder and kisses me again.
I try to kiss him, but I’ve got a smiling mouth that refuses to pucker.
He pulls back. “What kind of fucking kiss is that? I’m snogging teeth!”
His mock outrage makes me laugh. I wrap my arms around his neck again and kiss him hard this time, but too soon the sound of gravel crunching officially ends our three glorious weeks together.
We break apart. Smiles fade. My eyes tear up, and he hugs me.
“Two weeks will fly by,” he says, pulling back to gaze in my eyes. He strokes my cheek.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course they will.” I’m trying to be strong, but I have to shake my head to cut off the welling emotions.
“I’ll be counting the days, of course.” He smiles—that brilliant smile that never fails to make my heart drop into my toes.
“I love that you countdown.”
“And I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
A Town Car rounds the bend and stops. The driver gets out and unlatches the trunk. “All set, miss?”
I turn to Dan. “I thought you called a cab.”
He gives me a sly grin. “Well, since I can’t drive you to the airport without potentially causing a scene, I called you your own transport.”
The driver takes my suitcase and places it in the trunk. “Whenever you’re ready, miss,” he says before he gets back in the car.
I shake my head, overwhelmed by his sweetness. “Another surprise. Wow. Thank you. I didn’t expect that.”
“I like surprising you. It’s become one of my new favorite things.”
“Well, this time I have a surprise for you.” From my back pocket, I pull a small, folded piece of paper and hand it to him.
“What’s this?” he asks as he unfolds it. “A paper heart?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of goofy, but I cut it out this morning. You were in the shower, and I was thinking that even though we’ll be far apart for a couple of weeks, I wanted to remind you that . . . you have my heart, you know?” My hands are suddenly sweaty, and my heart’s beating harder, knowing I’m taking some kind of leap.
Saying nothing, he only stares at the paper heart in his hand, which got a little crumpled from his ass-grabbing.
“Um . . . Is that okay? I hope I’m not freaking you out or anything.”
He looks at me with his brows furrowed. He seems a little speechless. “Freak me out? No, this is . . . the sweetest.” He grins. “Thank you. And you colored it in pink. Where’d you find a pink pen?”
“Well, a pink highlighter. I found it in the drawer with all the menus because you’re so organized.”
He laughs. “Yes, I’m nothing if not organized.”
I grin, and I want to crack a joke, but leaving him is tugging at me too hard. “Just don’t lose my heart, okay?”
“Never.”
We share one last, long kiss. I get in the car and lower the window.
“Fourteen days, my love.”
“Fourteen days.”
As the car drives away from his house, I watch the distance multiply exponentially. This is the start of my first long-distance relationship, and God, I hope it lasts.
Chapter Two
My eyes are probably still red from the tears I let loose in the car, but I’ve managed to mop up my face. Now I’m staring out the window on the plane, reminiscing. The last three weeks have been more than I could’ve hoped for. Between our unexpected reunion, our declaration of love, the laughs, and the bed, wall, bed, sofa, bed, kitchen counter sex . . . it was incredible. But now what? Now I’m going to try a long distance relationship with the most desirable man on the planet? Riiiight. This should work out well. What if he changes his mind? Decides this isn’t for him? What if his new co-star—wait, who is his co-star? How do I not know this? What if she’s gorgeous and hot and wants him? Will he be able to say no? Will he
want
to say no?
Stop it, Claire!
God, what’s wrong with me? I have got to stop this—now!
I order a drink and watch a movie, which thankfully shuts off my annoying brain. But by the time the plane lands, I can’t get off fast enough. My best friends are waiting for me! Somewhere . . .
After I collect my bag from baggage claim, I head out into the terminal, scanning for my Fairy Slutmothers—whom I haven’t seen since my life took a turn for the worse, then for the better, and then for the best.
Camille . . . Bridget . . . I don’t see them.
I start wandering a little, craning my neck for a glimpse of them.
There! Bridget!
In her pink cigarette pants, heels, tight tank top, and long blond hair . . . And there’s Camille, all put together and pretty in her jeans and T-shirt. Wow, her hair got long! They spot me at about the same time. We all squeal and bolt toward one another. In one big group hug we sway and giggle. Finally, we pull back and examine each other.
“I’ve missed you two so much!” I say, hugging them again.
“You have not!” Bridget says, smiling. “You’ve been busy playing house with Dan. Admit it—you haven’t thought about us once!”
“Okay, fine.” I pretend she’s right and then smack her arm. “Are you kidding? I thought about you a ton—every time I had to get dressed!”
“Pfft. As if you wore any clothes while you were there.” She waggles her eyebrows. “You didn’t pack the sweatpants, did you?”
I say nothing.
“I knew it! You totally have the sweatpants! You and those freakin’ pants.”
“My poor sweatpants get no love. Sheesh.”
“You need therapy. Mostly fashion therapy, and thank God you’re back to get it,” Bridget says.
“Come on, let’s get you home,” Camille says slipping an arm through mine.
I sigh. “Yes—home!”
On the way back to our apartment, I fill them in on the specifics of my new job and all that’s happened with Dan.
“Wow. You’re a professional songwriter and composer! Amazing. What kind of songs will you write?” Camille asks.
“It’ll vary. My current assignment is to put together a demo, which is a sampling of songs and styles for David to shop around. He’s supposed to be very good, so I’m crossing my fingers!”
“Not to burst any bubbles or anything, but don’t you need a piano for that?” Bridget asks.
“Well, yeah, that’s the tricky part. Our apartment’s way too small for one. I could use a keyboard, but it’s not the same. So David had this great idea—he said sometimes NYU lets musicians use their space and instruments if they donate to the university. He’s checking into it for me.”
“Donate to the university? How much? Because I’m thinking ten bucks isn’t going to be enough,” Bridget says.
I laugh. “Nope, definitely not enough. David said it can be pricey, so it’ll be a stretch, but I’m used to that. Plus, it’s an investment in my new career. I guess I’ll just have to wait to see what David finds out. One step at a time, right?”
Bridget and Camille share a look. “Who are you and what have you done with our Claire?” Camille asks.
We all laugh.
***
Outside the apartment, I’m bouncing while Camille digs the key out of her bag.
“I can’t believe I’m back!”
“It wasn’t the same without you,” Bridget says. “No one to dress up, no one to sit on . . .”
Camille opens the door, and everything is just as it had been. All the furniture’s in the same place, it smells the same, too, and a rush of happiness hits me. My eyes well up with tears.
“What’s wrong?” Bridget asks.
“Nothing. I’m just so happy to be back here with you guys. I really didn’t think I’d be back.” I wander into my old bedroom, where I’d left my bed and bare mattress since neither would fit into the moving truck. “You guys made up the bed for me? With your furry comforter and pink satin sheets?” I look at Bridget.
“I didn’t make up the bed for you,” Bridget says. “When I opened the windows to sing my morning song, the animals scampered in and took care of it with their forest magic.”
I giggle. “Well, thank you—and the animals.” I plop down on the bed, the softness enveloping me. Camille and Bridget flop on either side of me.
“This is awesome,” I say, sighing happily as we lie back, our feet dangling off the edge.
“So, you’re flying to Mexico in two weeks, and you have to make a demo before you go . . . and we’re getting your stuff from your parents’ tomorrow, a.k.a. Mission Impossible, right?” Camille asks, smiling.
“Yeah. I’ve been avoiding calling my mom to let her know we’re coming.”
“I think we should just surprise attack,” Bridget says. “She surprise attacks all the time. It’s only fair. Plus, I could put together some killer ninja outfits.”
The idea of it makes me giggle. “It’s tempting to sneak attack, but . . . someone once told me to expect nothing, but hope for the best, so I don’t know. Maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe enough time has passed.”
“Seriously, who are you?” Camille laughs. “All this hope and optimism. It’s unnerving.”
I smile, laughing at how different I feel.
“Well, until the onslaught . . . let’s get some dinner,” Bridget says. “Chow’s Chinese? Your favorite to celebrate you being back here?”
“Yes!”
We order in, and I get all kinds of caught up with their lives, but soon enough I’m yawning—I’m too tired from the long day and need to sleep.
“See you bright and early to get your stuff, Cinderella!” Camille blows me a kiss, as I head to my room.
I unpack what little I have with me and climb into my old bed, leaving my shades and windows wide open so the city lights and sounds I’ve missed so much can filter in. But what I miss most is Dan. Hopefully I can reach him, since neither of us was sure exactly where he’d be or if he’d be busy working when I got in. I slink down into the slippery satin sheets, cross my fingers, and dial him.
“Hello? Who’s this?” The Englishman answers slyly, as if he doesn’t know it’s me.
“Well, it’s definitely not your girlfriend,” I say, with a heavy dose of breathlessness.
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he teases.
“Maybe you need a girlfriend.”
“Nah.”
“Really? You mean you wouldn’t want a girlfriend who’s lying in bed, thinking of you, and wearing only a tight, sheer tank top that barely covers her nipples and super tiny short shorts that double as underwear since all her other clothes are dirty?”
The other end is dead silent. I wait.
“Holy shit, Claire. Say that again?” he blurts out in one quick breath.
“Who’s Claire?”
“Claire’s my girlfriend,” he says quickly and factually. “Seriously, say that again?”
I giggle. “Say what?”
He laughs. “What are you trying to do to me? You’re not even remotely nearby, and after weeks of near-constant sex, I’m going through withdrawal now. It’s painful.”
“Aww, poor baby. Then I guess I shouldn’t tell you how I’m lying here in my bed, all alone in the dark, wearing just these itty-bitty pajamas that can be slipped off my body so easily.”
“No.” A heavy exhale and a long pause later he says, “Oh fuck. Yeah, tell me.”
“Are you sure?” My voice is husky, and I’m trying not to giggle at his excitement.
“Oh, yeah. I am.” His voice, deep and rough, has turned serious.
We are good to go.
“You sure you want me to tell you how it’s so hot here, and how I might need to slip off my top to cool down?”
“Fuck. Mmhmm.”
I hear movement through the phone, a rustling or something. “What’s that noise?”
He snickers. “Me. Getting into bed. If I don’t, I might trip up and get hurt. Now continue.”
All righty
. “So, you’re alone in the dark like I am?”
“Yes.” There’s his husky English voice again, stirring me up as always.
“Hang on a sec. I need to slide off my tank.” I hear him exhale. “Ooh, it just slipped against my tight, hard nipples. Let me toss this to the floor. Ahh, that’s better. Huh. Look at that,” I say, listening to the shift in his breathing. “My nipples are so hard . . . and if I twist and pull at them like this, the way you do . . . they just get longer and harder. Mmmm.”
“Holy fuck . . .” He’s panting. “Don’t stop . . .”
“Okay, baby.”
“Did you just call me baby?”
“Is that okay?”
“Very okay.”
“So let’s see . . . where was I?”
“Your nipples. They’re hard, and you’re touching them like I do,” he says quickly, which makes me laugh to myself, because it’s like
hurry the fuck up!
“That’s right. Do you remember touching them yesterday?”
“Mmm.”
“And you remember their taste?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Me, too. I’m thinking of just that right now . . .” I pause, but there’s no response, only breathing. Heavy breathing. “But you know? I’m still sort of hot.”
“You are?”
“I think I should slide off my shorts, but . . . then . . . then I’ll be naked. I don’t know. What should I do?”
“Slide them off! All the way. Off, off, off!” His breathing’s shallow now, and, my God, I love it.
“Right. Hang on a second.” I shift around, purposely making the bed squeak. “Ooh. It feels so good to have them off. I’m a little cooler now, except . . . right between my legs. It’s just so warm there, and let me feel . . . oh . . .
slick
.”
“Oh fuck . . .”
I gasp for effect. “So wet. You remember how wet you get me?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . I do.” He pants in and out, like he’s catching his breath after a run.
“And your strong fingers gliding across, spreading the wetness . . . mmm . . . all over?”
He responds with a quick grunt.
“Circling and circling, my back arching from your sweet touch . . .” I moan a little because, to be honest, I’m getting pretty hot, too—my boyfriend’s moans and grunts are caused by me, by my words, by our memories. “And your fingers dipped inside, exploring . . . do you remember? It’s just like how I’m doing it now . . .”
He growls low and deep.
“It felt so good, baby. Remember?”
He releases a louder groan.
“It was so, so good. I couldn’t help the way you made my hips come off the bed. And I’m thinking about what you did to me . . . over me . . . under me . . . inside me. Remember?”
“Fuck.”
“Then I got on top of you . . . and slipped you right inside this slick spot . . . it’s aching for you now. I’m aching for you, only you . . . mmm.” He’s all hard breaths and groans, and it’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever experienced—over the phone anyway.
“Keep going . . .” he says quickly, mumbling almost, as if speaking is a struggle.
“And then I rode you faster and faster and faster—remember?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He’s insistent now, and I can tell he’s so very close to the edge.
“And you looked up at me, my breasts bouncing in time as we thrust together, my mouth opening as I moaned loudly?”
“Fuuuuuck.”
I’m thinking that maybe this long-distance thing won’t be so bad after all.