THIRTEEN

Ronan

What the fuck am I doing?

I somehow manage to get through the whole picnic dinner without accidentally brushing my hand up her thigh or sneaking a glance down the low cut semi-sheer white top they have her in.

It shouldn't be hard, given we're surrounded by cameras and crew. It is, though.

I'm thinking about it the whole damn time. That and the answers she dodged during the spa date. The further we get from the date, the less certain I am of her answer to the question about how important sex is in a relationship.

Which is stupid. I'm not looking for a relationship with her or anyone else.

I don't date.

I'd still really like to know what she would have said had there been no cameras.

"I think that's a wrap."

I look up in surprise when Amy speaks. I should be focusing on filming the show and putting my best hoof forward to appease the board. I should also be more responsible instead of having dirty thoughts about my junior assistant.

I'm the one who insisted she come on the show. I'm the one who only days before threatened her job and told her she had to impress me.

I wish again I'd stopped to think before I demanded she be my fake wife. Only, I never thought I'd be tempted to take the liberties I've taken with her. It never even crossed my mind.

It's almost as if I had been sleeping and being this close to her threw a bucket of cold water in my face, waking me up. I'd somehow managed to turn off that part of me for years. Suppressing the need until it didn't even bother me anymore.

Well, it's fucking bothering me now.

"Right. Great." Justine gets up off the rug we're sitting on by the cliff overlooking the ocean. The wind blows her long red hair into her eyes and she stumbles a little. I have the urge to reach out and pull her into my lap but, of course, I don't.

"We should talk about tomorrow," Amy says.

"Oh?" I don't like the ominous sound of that. I get to my hooves and step off the blanket so someone can pick it up and pack up our picnic. I hardly touched my dinner. I find I'm not hungry tonight. Not for food.

I drank too much of the wine they kept pouring into our glasses, though, and now my head swims as I stand. The lightheaded feeling is unfamiliar after months of sobriety.

"Tomorrow we're due to head out to Rotagger Island for an orienteering course, but the forecast isn't great."

I shrug. "A little rain never hurt anyone. We'll just take jackets. It's not like we're going to be trekking through the wilderness or anything."

The producer frowns. "The problem is getting on and off the island with the equipment."

I just stare back. Why is that my problem?

"We might be better off postponing a day to see if the weather improves."

"Is there not some other tedious activity you can have us do?" I feel a headache coming on. I rub absently at the base of my horns.

"Frankly, Mr. Kernos, I'm looking for things that will loosen you both up a bit. You're still fairly... stiff."

I glare at her, trying to work out if she's making a really inappropriate innuendo, or if she is just that stupid.

"If we need to go to Rotagger Island, then let's just go tomorrow and get this over with. Clearing my schedule was challenging. I don't have extra days to waste. Now am I still the CEO of this network or what?"

"Yes, sir." The producer swallows whatever she wants to say next. Instead, she moves off to talk to the crew.

Justine gives me a smile that looks forced. "Don't worry. A little rain never hurt. You're right."

Great. Now I've upset all the people around me with my foul mood. I need to get off this program and back home where I can jerk off in the privacy of my own apartment. I don't think I've felt this desperate since I was a teenager.

I need to rein it in.

Shaking my head, I follow Justine back to the golf cart and we head back to our room.

I'm quiet as I brush my teeth, and I hate that I catch her watching me from the corner of her eyes when she thinks I'm not looking. She's acting like a frightened animal. She even jumps when I set down my toothbrush too forcefully and it clatters on the sink.

I sigh. "Why don't we share the bed tonight?"

Justine freezes. Her cheeks go bright red, which only makes the adorable freckles on her nose stand out. "Uh... that's OK. I don't mind the chair."

I shake my head. I'm starting to see just how reluctant she is to stand up for herself. "No. I felt how tight your shoulders were this afternoon. Don't be silly. Here"—I take some of the extra pillows and place them in a line down the center of the mattress—"now it's two beds. Nothing to worry about. You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine."

I remind myself of that statement several times as we get ready and get into bed. We both move tentatively, lying on our backs, and staring up at the ceiling. Justine has the covers tucked firmly over her chest. "Mr. K—Ronan?"

"Yes?"

"I really am sorry. About before."

Of course, I feel like an ogre at the waver in her voice. I flick off the bedside light and send the room into darkness. Somehow, it feels safer that way. Despite the fact that the cameras will have a setting for night. "It's fine. We only need to get through a few more days. Let's just forget about it."

She says nothing, but I can hear her trying to keep still and breathe softly.

I might have told her to forget about it, but as I close my eyes I can't take my own advice. Memories of the way she felt in my lap haunt me. Her smooth leg brushing against mine under the water, the dip of her waist, the flesh of her ass.

Of course, that makes me feel like even more of an asshole when they blend with memories of her crying when I shouted at her. Not to mention, all the times I broke my own rules and irrationally blamed her for doing the same.

Finally, after what feels like ages, I fall asleep.

There's still no escape for me there, though.

My dreams are full of warm, wet, inviting places, and the moans she made as I massaged her shoulders. Her damn shoulders made her moan like that! In my dreams, my mind conjures up images of how I'd like to work her into a messy puddle on the bed. How I'd thrust my fingers deep into her pussy and work her tiny human body like my plaything until she came over and over for me.

Only my arm is getting sore.

I'm angry. I don't want to stop. Under me, Justine writhes in ecstasy and my cock throbs with an insistent need I'm not ready to satisfy yet.

The pain in my arm becomes a pain in my chest. My breath is short. My throat burns.

I thrash, throwing pillows and blankets, and anything clinging to me, out of my way. Then my nostrils pick up a lush, unmistakable scent. My hand finds something warm and soft and inviting. I pull it toward me and sigh when a pliant, feminine body curves against my side and the ache in my chest and arm disappears.

This time my sleep is restful and I don't dream.