ELEVEN

Justine

"We need to talk again about boundaries." Ronan leans close and speaks in a hushed voice into my ear. It sends a shiver down my spine I try to disguise.

We're heading back from lunch in the golf carts to get ready for the next activity.

Ever since the golf date, I've been feeling distinctly aware of his presence every time I get even a hint of a smile from him.

OK, whenever he speaks to me.

I wonder how mad I'm making him, though. His mood seems to be getting blacker and blacker.

Only, he really did genuinely seem happy for a moment when he helped me hit the ball onto the green. For a moment there, it felt like—well, like a date instead of work.

Every now and again, I catch a glimpse of this tender, caring side of him. Like when he stopped to pick up a coffee for me the morning of the meeting, or in his face when we said the fake vows.

Then the grumpy minotaur returns with a vengeance, and I'm left second-guessing every breath to avoid upsetting him.

"OK."

We're on our way to the second official activity for the day. The producer says the golf date went really well, and she's happy with the footage. She took me aside afterward and told me to keep doing whatever I'm doing. Only, I don't know if that's a good idea. Especially now he seems to be freaking out about—

"Boundaries, Justine." Ronan snaps me back to the present.

"Um. Yes. Boundaries. Like what exactly?"

"Let's try to keep physical touch to a minimum. Obviously, some hand holding may be necessary, but I can't imagine it needs to go further than that. Agreed?"

My mind returns to last night and his big head snuggled into my lap. I think my pussy was so wet by the end of the night I was in danger of ruining my panties. It would be completely inappropriate. He's my boss! Plus, he doesn't see me like that, at all. Clearly.

He didn't even know what he was doing.

I turn my face away to cover my blush. "Right. No touching. Got it."

At that moment, the producer cuts into our conversation. "Get changed into your swimsuits and we'll head down to the spa. I'll have hair and makeup do a touch up before we shoot and then we're good to go."

My stomach flutters as if a hundred butterflies are trying to break free.

I didn't really think about the fact I'd have to get into a swimsuit in front of Ronan.

Oh, God. It's not even my swimsuit. It's whatever hair and makeup packed for Natasha, the fitness instructor with completely flat, toned abs.

I really, really hope it's not a bikini.

It's a bikini.

The kind woman who fixed the hem of my wedding dress holds up two different options for me to choose from. Both of them are two piece. Both of them are hardly even there.

I cringe.

"There isn't anything a bit... bigger?" I know the answer before I even ask.

The kind woman scoffs. "No. Of course not, dear. You'll look amazing. Don't worry. Mr. Kernos won't be able to take his eyes off you."

I cover my hands with my face. "That's kinda what I'm afraid of."

"You have nothing to worry about. Look at you." I avoid looking at myself in the floor to ceiling mirror in front of us.

Keeping my eyes closed I point in her general direction. "That one."

"Good choice."

I open my eyes to find I've pointed at the blue floral bikini. She holds it out to me and I take the hanger with a shaking hand.

It's only when I am struggling to untangle them and put them on in the bathroom that I discover the pants are so high cut they slip up into my ass crack and cover less than half of my ass cheeks. I tug uselessly at them, to pull them over more of my butt, but then my belly hangs over the waistband and that's worse.

I guess Ronan is copping an eyeful of my ass whether he likes it or not.

Somehow, I already know that he won't.

Nothing for it.

Sure enough, the look on his face when I walk into the spa is icy. His nostrils flare and he looks across at the producer and the camerawoman on the other side of the room. "Is this really necessary?"

He's sitting on a bench at the side of the decadent room. A huge, deep tub fills the middle of the space. The tiles are large sandstone squares. There are even real potted plants in the corners of the room and a tray of food and drink by the pool.

The spa itself is big enough to fit at least six people! That's probably a good thing if Ronan is getting in. He's large enough for at least two or three.

"Oh, yes," Amy cheerfully assures him. "This is the most interactive part of the show so far. I guarantee this next bit is genius."

I hurry across to the edge of the water and slide in before anyone can look twice at me in the awful swimsuit.

Ronan sighs, standing to remove the robe he's been wearing up until now. I can't help gawking at the beautiful ripple of his muscled chest as he disrobes and discards it.

I know, I know. I saw him without a shirt on last night. Only, I'm still not over it. I don't think I'll ever be over it. If I thought I could stand the cringe of watching myself on TV, I'd be watching this show on repeat for years to come.

As it is, I'm hoping it somehow gets lost in the Bullseye Media archive.

Ronan strides over to the tub and steps down into the water. The level immediately rises to cover my chest and I'm immensely grateful for his size.

"Just explain what you want us to do and we'll get this over with hmm?"

Amy nods. "Right. Well we're going to get you to play a little game of truth or dare. You'll pick a card from the pile"—she indicates a pile of laminated cards by the side of the pool—"and pick a side: truth or dare. Then you'll either answer a question or perform whatever task is assigned. We'll ask viewers to take a poll about which cards they want to watch most and we'll put the ones with the highest votes behind a paywall on our streaming service. We'll air one of the juiciest ones and the rest of the lower voted ones so that encourages people to sign up to watch."

"And we have to go through all the cards?" Ronan says in disbelief.

"That's right." The producer just nods again.

My pulse pounds in my throat and my stomach is full of knots, but no one is looking at me, and I'm not willing to do anything to draw any attention.

He lets out another heavy sigh and holds out his hand. "Give them to me. Let's get this done."

My cheeks are flaming. I knew this would be bad. I just didn't know he'd make it quite so obvious how desperately annoying and unappealing he finds me.

The producer steps back and I stare down at the bubbles popping in front of me rather than over at Ronan.

"Move closer together," someone says.

With a grunt, Ronan moves toward me and a slosh of water splashes over the edge of the spa.

I still can't look at him.

He clears his throat. "I'll start then."

Someone hands me a glass of sparkling wine and I down half the glass in one swallow. God, I need this to be over.

"So according to the rules of this game," Ronan begins, "We either both answer the question on this side of the card, or I flip it over and we do the action."

"OK." I take another long swallow of wine for good measure. My head buzzes faintly and I can't tell if it's from the alcohol or being so near Ronan while he's wearing little more than briefs.

My god, he's gorgeous. I sneak a glance at his broad shoulders and upper chest. Just a hint of flat gray nipple causes a little squeak to escape.

Under the water, I press my legs together, wishing my pussy wasn't tingling with awareness.

He hasn't noticed. He's still looking at the card. "At least this one's an easy one. Do you want kids? Ha! No."

My gaze snaps up to his and my mouth drops open. "You don't even have to think about it a little?"

"Nope. What about you?"

"I—I mean, I'm not sure. I don't know. You mean that's it? You've just decided?"

He chuckles. "Yeah. Believe me. Everyone's better off if I don't."

He tosses the card behind him and reaches for the pile, offering it to me. "Your turn, I think."

I'm still stunned as I pick up the card from the top of the pile. Why would he think everyone was better off? Does he think he'd be a bad father? I'm not sure he's right. I mean he doesn't even like me, yet he can be kind. I imagine he'd be very kind to a son or daughter he actually loved.

I look down at the card in my hand and nearly jump out of the pool. What is a sexual fantasy you've always wanted to try?

I can't answer that! Not with Ronan sitting opposite me looking—like he looks. Not while we're being filmed!

I swallow and flip the card over and my stomach dives. The wife sits in her husband's lap.

Oh, God, oh, God. Sit in his lap? But that's still infinitely better than talking about my sexual fantasies.

I fake a smile I do not feel. "Dare." Before I can second guess myself, I stand.

Ronan is watching me warily as I step toward him. "Justine," he mutters under his breath. "What are you doing?"

"I'm choosing dare." I know he said no touching and I know I shouldn't be doing this, but there's no way I'm answering that question, even if secretly, deep down I'd really, really like to hear his answer.

"No, you're not. What could possibly be so bad?" He reaches for the card.

I pull it away.

Unfortunately, I trip and I nearly slip and crack my head against the side of the spa, but Ronan catches me. Low and behold, I end up in his lap.

For a long moment, we just look at each other.

Scowling, Ronan snatches the card from my hand. He lifts a brow as he reads the truth side. Then he flips the card. "Sit in my lap, huh? Looks like we've done this one. Shall we move on?"

I squirm because now I'm not sure if I'm allowed to move. And I really, really don't want to.

"Fuck me," Ronan curses. His hand descends onto my waist and I think he's about to push me off. Instead his fingers curl and he draws me a tiny bit closer. He lets out a shaky breath. "This is such a fucking bad idea."

I'm still trying to interpret when the producer shoves a card at Ronan. "This is good. Very good. TV gold! Keep going." She quickly backs out of the scene, leaving me wondering exactly what this looks like from behind the camera.