Matter of Truth, A (29 page)

I wait until he’s gone to say, ever-so-eloquently, “Hi!”

He laughs and runs a hand through his wonderfully messy
hair; the silver ring on his thumb glints in the early morning light. I missed
that ring. I’ve missed his laugh. I’ve missed that dimple. “Hi,” he says in
return.

It’s the perfect come-on line, because I can’t help myself.
I take three steps forward; he meets me with the same. And then my hand goes to
the back of his head, my fingers curling in his lovely black hair, and I’m
tugging his mouth down to mine. His arms go around me, which is a good thing,
because once his tongue touches mine, my knees give out.

I think I could kiss this man all day long and never get
tired of it.

We’ve obviously got a lot of work to do. Just because we’re
here kissing, doesn’t mean everything that’s happened in the past two years is
swept under the rug. I don’t want it to be ignored. I want us to deal with it
once and for all. There are discussions still to be had, decisions to be made,
more apologies to be spoken. But those can wait until after breakfast. For now,
it’s heaven just to be able to kiss Jonah once more.

Minutes later, Will calls us in for breakfast. Smart boy for
not coming in and interrupting. I don’t bother blushing, because there is no
part of me right now embarrassed to be with Jonah.

Today is a good day. Today is all about new beginnings.

In the small dining room off the kitchen, Cameron motions to
the table. “Come have a seat, you two.”

“Will’s a great cook,” I tell Jonah as we sit down. My voice
is shaking again. The hummingbirds are back, clamoring in a panicked frenzy
against my ribs. My mouth goes dry. He’s here. He’s really here with me, having
breakfast. “His pancakes are the best. You’ll love them.”

Will sets a casserole dish down in the middle of the table.
“Baked French toast, remember?”

Okay. Now I blush.

“Do you like to cook?” Will asks as he sits down on the
other side of Jonah. “Because we all know how rubbish Chloe is at it. Five
months at a diner, and she’s ace with coffee but can’t cook a meal to save her
life.”

I worry that all this instant familiarity with Will and
Cameron will rub Jonah the wrong way, that he’ll look at them and our shared
history as yet another representation of my mistakes and choices. But he’s all
ease when he says, “Astrid’s been teaching me recently.”

I cut a wedge of French toast out; it smells divine.
“Really?”

He nods, his grin so adorable I melt into a blissful puddle
once more. Before I completely become a useless lump of contentment, he turns
back to Will. “I wouldn’t say I’m any good at it yet, though.”

“Unlike surfing.” Will leans back in his chair and chuckles.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite as inept at something as I did surfing next
to you and your brother.”

“Were you awful?” I ask Will.

“Actually,” Jonah says, “he’s a natural. Surprised both me
and Kel quite a bit.”

Will grins lazily at me.

“I went surfing a few times when I was a lad.” Cameron sets
his coffee cup down. “Nothing exciting, just small waves, and I was shite at
it, but I can definitely see its allure.”

Will’s intrigued. “When was this?”

“Oh, let’s see. I went on holiday to Cornwall with some
schoolmates shortly before I enlisted in the RAF. Borrowed some boards and
tried to impress some of the local lasses.” He chuckles, dark eyes sparkling.
“Tried being the operative word. Crashed more than I stood, that’s the truth.”

Will laughs heartily. “Did it work?”

Cameron matches his laughter. Father and son sound so much
alike. “I didn’t try too hard, son. You mum was waiting for me back home, and
she would’ve skinned me alive had I done anything other than look.”

“Was this before or after Astrid?” I ask slyly.

As Cameron studies me, I school my face to radiate
innocence. He eventually chuckles. “Obviously after.”

Will passes his father the syrup. “And look at you now,
coming full circle.”

Cameron groans and throws his hands up.

“You and Astrid have lunch an awful lot lately, don’t you,
Dad?” Will winks at me. “And send the kids out to get ice cream when you do.
Chloe? Don’t you get the feeling
ice cream
is code for something?”

I smother my laughter and look over at Jonah. He’s focused on
Cameron. I wonder what he feels in him. Cameron always comes across as so
strong, so together, despite the blows he’s been dealt.

Cameron tugs at his collar. “William, I love you, but you
are an arsehole.”

Will and I laugh and laugh. It’s easy to laugh now, with
Jonah sitting here next to me. My laughter feels free.

Just as Cameron is about to take his first bit of French
toast, Jonah says, “You should ask Astrid on a date.”

A good three seconds of stunned silence fills the room.
Cameron doesn’t even put the fork in his mouth. Then Will and I crack up all
over again.

“Or even,” Will says, “ask her out for
ice cream
.”

I’ve got tears now. Cameron sighs heavily, even though it’s
obvious he’s amused with us.

Will points his knife at his father. “I’m just saying, if
her own son—an Emotional, no less—says it’s a good idea, maybe you ought to
just do it already.”

Cameron pours himself another cup of coffee. “I believe we
were talking about surfing, not my love life.” He realizes his slip of a word
with a massive groan, and Will and I are relentless with our teasing.

Once we’ve calmed down, I say to Will, “I have to admit that
I’m surprised that you’re okay with all of this.”

He angles his eye roll toward Jonah, as if to say,
can
you believe her?
“I’m not a total boor. Besides, won’t it be fun to see how
Callie reacts to it?”

At Callie’s name, Jonah’s eyebrows lift. I try not to
giggle. “Maybe you two ought to go get some
ice cream
, too.”

A true miracle happens: Will Dane turns bright red. Now I
have to resist the urge to cackle outright.

“What’s this?” Cameron asks gleefully, no doubt thrilled at
the idea of his son taking an interest in anybody who is not Becca.

“Yes, Will,” I say innocently, “what
is
this?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re talking about,”
he tells me coolly. But he’s attacking his French toast like there’s no
tomorrow, so I know he’s all riled up. “That girl is insufferable. She’s
practically a princess.”

Amazingly, Jonah’s eyebrows lift even higher as he turns to
me. There’s a question in his eyes—apparently, Kellan never shared this
information with him.

I pop a piece of syrup-soaked toast in my mouth and mumble,
“Yep.”

He turns back toward Will, the corners of his lips tugging
upward.

Will glares at me. I smile serenely in return. It’s
Cameron’s turn to laugh. But then Will’s phone rings, and the moment is broken.

He chooses to silence it rather than answer.

I chew on my lip, deciding how best to approach what I’m
about to suggest. It’s something I’ve been considering a lot lately, especially
now that Cora’s back in town. I eventually just say it. “I can fix this, you
know.”

“Fix what, hen?” Cameron asks quietly.

“I can call in a favor.” My voice is steady and sure when I
address Will, but I reach under the table for Jonah’s hand. Gods, I hope this
doesn’t backfire on me. “I can send a Shaman to Glasgow and I can fix this for
you.”

Will simply stares at me.

“Technically, we’re not supposed to meddle in these sorts of
circumstances,” I continue, “but I will do it for you.” I take a deep breath.
“Cora will do it for me. She’ll go to Glasgow and heal Becca. She’ll—all the
damage from the accident will be healed. Or at least most it. A lot of time has
passed, so. . .” I swallow. “I mean, she can’t bring back the baby or Grant,
but Becca shouldn’t be a problem.”

I love that Jonah squeezes my hand. He doesn’t have the
slightest clue what’s going on right now, but he’s showing me he’ll support me
in this.

“Meaning . . .?” Will’s voice is so low I barely heart it.

But mine is steady. Confident. Loving. “Meaning you can
finally have the closure you so desperately deserve.”

Cameron puts a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Is this true,
hen?”

“I haven’t talked to Cora about it yet, but I’m fairly
confident she’ll do this for me.”

Will leans back in his chair, rocking it back on two legs,
eyes on the ceiling for a long moment. Just when I think he’s going to tell me
to go to hell, the chair drops to the ground.

“Okay,” he tells me.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says.

Today is, without a doubt, one of the best days I’ve had in
a long time, and the funny thing is, I have nothing of real significance to
show for it. I haven’t gone anywhere exciting, didn’t experience anything new,
didn’t even do something as sublimely romantic as watch the sun go down. I
simply spend it with Jonah, talking. After breakfast, Cameron and Will give us
some space, so we sit in the living room and talk. We’re completely honest with
one another, finally opening up about things that should’ve been conveyed a
long time ago. Granted, neither of us reopens the can of worms that was my
affair with his brother, but everything else is fair game. I lay myself bare
about work, family, and the strain of two Connections. And then, to my
surprise, he admits he’d also been breaking apart due to work and the
Connections, yet held back from telling me because he knew I was struggling
under the strain of my own nightmares.

“The day I came back,” I say, taking his hand in mine, “you
mentioned something about how none of us were dealing well with our situation—me
getting sick and running away,”—I swallow—“Kellan and his adrenaline highs . .
.” I press a kiss against the back of his hand. “Jonah, how were you
self-destructing?”

He takes me in his arms and leans us back into the couch;
the strain—or is it fear?—of times past bunches the muscles under my cheek,
but, as he gently strokes my hair, he says, “It’s embarrassing to admit, but
when I wasn’t with you and worrying about getting you to eat, I’d forgot to do
the same because too many other things were on my mind. Slept too little, out
of fear of seeing whatever my brother was dreaming about or the atrocities that
my actions set into motion during missions. Ran too much, in hopes of finding
that groove where I didn’t have to think about anything, only to . . .” His
chest rises and falls slowly in the silence that surrounds us.

I blink back my tears and whisper, “Tell me.”

“You know that lame excuse celebrities always give when
they’re hospitalized? Dehydration and exhaustion?” His scoff smacks strongly of
self-reproach. “That was me way too many times during the last year, sitting in
Kate Blackthorn’s office, being lectured about how I once more pushed my body
to the brink of dehydration and exhaustion, and how one day I was going to
collapse where others saw me instead of her office and then I’d really have to
explain to everyone what was going on.”

And I had no idea, because around me, Jonah only ever
presented himself as someone completely in control of himself. Kellan and I, we
wore our agony on our sleeves, yet Jonah hid his behind long sleeves of
responsibility. Still, that’s no excuse—none at all for somebody who lived with
him, slept in the same bed as him. I should have known.

I tell him this, tell him how sorry I am for failing him so
completely. I’m being ridiculous, he counters—how was I supposed to see what he
didn’t want me to? But it doesn’t matter. I hate that blind, oblivious, selfish
girl. “Did Kellan know?”

Pieces of my hair curl around his fingers. “Yes.”

“Did Astrid? Or Callie?”

His head drops down to meet mine; our hair skims across each
other as he silently tells me they didn’t.

So. Just Kellan, because they’re Magical twins and have a
hard time hiding things from one another, and Kate, who’s his Shaman. I don’t
bother asking about his dad; Ewan Whitecomb has been ignorant of his sons’
lives for years.

My fingers twist in his t-shirt. “No more hiding things from
one another. From this day out, no matter what happens, we need to trust each
other enough to be completely honest, to be ourselves, warts and all. To know
that we’re not alone. That, no matter what happens with the Council or missions
or whatever the rest of the worlds throw at us, we’ll always have each other to
lean on.” I disentangle myself so I can face him. “If that’s what you want, I
mean. I realize that maybe I’m jumping the gun here . . .” I take his face in
my hands. “But I want to be this person for you. I want to be more than just
your Connection or your lover—I want to be your
partner
, if that makes
sense.”

He tugs me closer so he can brush his lips across mine.
Tremors of bliss shudder throughout my body—how can he do this to me with such
a light touch?

“I love you, Chloe.” His words are soft and hot against my
mouth, the last said for a good amount of time.

“Exciting, isn’t it?”

Jonah bends down and peers at a photo stuck in the corner of
my vanity mirror. It’s the Moose gang at our bowling alley back in Anchorage
and everyone is smiling wide, our arms around each other. Well, I’m fake
smiling, because I couldn’t really smile then, but it was a good night and an
even better memory.

I really miss those people.

He taps at the bottom of the photo. “Those shoes are
hideous.”

I laugh and pull a box out of my closet. “Voila! The world’s
tackiest yet most awesome pair of bowling shoes.” I dangle one purple and
turquoise shoe on the end of my index finger.

He takes it from me and eyes the Z on the back. “For
Zoe
?”

“Shut up.” I snatch the shoe back and try my best to look
stern, but I really want to break down in giggles. “I fully realize I suck at
aliases.”

“You really do.” His dimple deepens, and I go all melty
inside. “It’s amazing you managed to elude the Guard as long as you did.”

“Yes, well. It wasn’t like I was thinking clearly when I
made all my paperwork.” I box the shoes back up. “Also, I have another
confession I’ve just realized I haven’t made yet.”

He sits on the edge of my bed, alarmed, which I get,
considering how much we’ve shared already today. “Should I be worried?”

“Weelll . . .” My cheeks heat up. “Technically, you funded
my trip.”

All these cute, scrunchy lines form on his forehead.

I sit down next to him, lacing our fingers together. “Kellan
told me once that you guys hide money in all your houses. When I left, I went
to one and found the secret box you had there. I didn’t take everything in it,
but . . . I took a lot. Okay, most of it. Obviously you haven’t discovered
that, right?” I twist my head to study him, looking up through my eyelashes.

He’s shocked. “Which house?”

I take a deep breath. “Rome.”

I worry when he’s quiet for a long time, because Rome is a
sacred place for us, but then he laughs. Really laughs. I’m bewildered, because
I thought for sure he’d be pissed. I had to tell him, though. There can’t be
any more secrets.

“You aren’t mad?”

“Maybe if I’d learned that four months ago I would be.” His
dimple taunts me. “Today, it’s just . . . wow. It just figures that that’s how
it was.” And then, more serious, “I have one last confession, too.”

I brace myself. This could be the moment he decides to tell
me that, when I was gone, he met somebody. Did things that—no. I refuse to
think about it. And if he tells me this is what happened, I’m just going to
have to deal.

“Maybe you running away was the best thing to ever happened
to us.”

Ohhh. I’d only thought I was melty before. Now I know I am.
“Yeah?”

His hand curves around the back of my head, and he leans in,
the smell of him, all spice and mint, flooding my senses until I go
lightheaded. This is love. This is true love. This isn’t Connection love, or
Fate love, or anything other than an old fashioned case of being hopeless,
deliriously in love. I know the difference now. “You know what you want,
right?”

Gods, yes. Him. Preferably naked right now, and in me, on
me, and around me, but I’ll take a kiss, too.

I nod slowly.

“I used to think I did, too,” he says, his breath warm
against my mouth. “I was wrong. I only thought I knew what I wanted.”

“Do you now?”

“Yeah, I think I finally do.”

It’s becoming increasingly hard to breathe, but not because
I’m crying or upset. He’s stealing my breath away. “What do you want, Jonah?”

His lips are so, so gentle against mine, yet every last
nerve in my body flares to life. “Everything you mentioned earlier. I want to
be able to come home and lean on you. Know that you’ve got my back. I want to
be the same for you. I want us to be lovers. Best friends. Partners. Because,
it’s
you
I want. Not my Connection, not a Creator, but just Chloe
Lilywhite.”

You have me, I want to say. You’ll always have me. But I
don’t think I could get a word out right now if I tried. I’m pretty sure it’d
just sound like a moan.

“This you,” he continues, lips flutter soft against the
corner of my mouth. A finger traces down my neck, down my chest until it’s over
my overworking heart. “The one who finally knows what
she
wants.”

What I want is for him to kiss me. So, I grab his face in
both hands and crash my lips into his, and all of those nerves that just lit up
with a tiny kiss burn white-hot when his tongue enters my mouth.

I have never, in my entire life, been so turned on and in so
much need as I am in this moment. I want him. I want him so much that it’s hard
to think of anything else. I get up, my lips still on his, my tongue still
swirling around his, and rotate so I’m straddling him on the bed. Gods, he tastes
so good.

If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to seduce this man.
We no longer are bound by any stupid proclamation from my father insisting we
wait until marriage to have sex. That said, I am painfully aware of what Kellan
told me once, of how when they lose control physically during love making that
they can feel one another. Kellan knows that I’ve chosen Jonah, but I refuse to
pour salt into the wound we share. So I decide to build a shield around us, one
much like the one I used to use to mask my emotions from the twins, one that
hopefully will keep the link he has with his brother out.

He breaks away, trailing his tongue and mouth down my neck.
I arch into him, heat spreading through all of my limbs until I’m trembling.
When he gets to where my shoulder and neck curve together, his teeth graze my
hot skin, sending shivers skittering down my spine. My fingers dig into his
shoulders, curving around until there’s no way I’ll let go of him again.

Our mouths meet once more, not gently, and I marvel at the
intensity of what his kiss alone can do to me. I’m on fire, soaring, diving,
exploding, suffocating, and it’s beautiful.
He’s
beautiful. I suck his
bottom lip in my mouth, and he gasps. It’s possibly one of the best sounds I’ve
ever heard. I swallow this sound, wanting to keep it in me forever.

It’s my turn to gasp as his fingers dance down my sides
until reaching the bottom of my t-shirt. I let go of his shoulders and raise my
arms high so he can slide my shirt, oh so slowly, off me. I shiver when the cotton
grazes my fingertips on its way to the floor.

“Cold?” he whispers into my ear before gently biting the
lobe, which prompts another shiver.

All I do is laugh quietly, because cold is the last thing I
am right now. Besides, turnabout is only fair. I slide my own fingers down his
hard chest to grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it off.

Here’s the thing. I’ve seen Jonah Whitecomb in various
stages of undress countless times before. It’s not like I haven’t ever seen him
naked or ogled him prior to this moment. But tonight, marveling at how handsome
he is, how perfect his chest looks, I can’t help but think I never truly
saw
him before. I want to tell him, but again, no words come. I simply stare in his
eyes, my heart thumping painfully against my ribs.

Memories flash brightly through my mind, of the first time I
saw him in my dreams. Of our first kiss. The first time I cried and he wiped
away my tears. Finding both of our Connection rings. The first time we merged.
Skinny-dipping in Tahiti. Out of order, all important, big or small, and I’m
trembling because I was a fool to ever think that this person here wasn’t the
one for me.

His hands curve around my waist and slide upwards, twisting
until they cup my breasts. Even through the thin fabric of my bra, his fingers
scorch deliciously into my sensitive skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs.

What I am is yours, I want to say. Instead, I kiss him
again, putting everything I’m feeling into this tango between our mouths. When
he unclasps my bra, it’s my turn to sigh into his mouth. He swallows my sound
just like I did his; I like how we are keeping these pieces of each other.
Making them part of us.

My bra joins my shirt on the floor, and I shiver again
because his eyes have darkened as they travel slowly from my face to chest. I
arch closer, needing him to touch me. And the moment his mouth finds one of my
breasts, and his teeth graze my nipple, I very nearly collapse. Every part of
me burns blue like a newborn star.

Suddenly, he’s flipping us around on the bed so I’m lying
down and he’s over me. My hands go to the buttons on his shorts. If somebody
knocks on my door or calls, I will kill them. Literally kill them with my bare
hands. But I’m so shaky that he needs to take over, the dimple teasing me even
though his smile is gentle. I prop myself up on my elbows and watch him remove
his shorts and then his boxers, and I swear to everything good and holy in all
the worlds, it’s the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen.