SEVENTEEN

Ronan

"What do you mean you'll come back later?" I bellow. I stare incredulously at Amy where she clings to the railing of the small boat as it rocks on the choppy waves. Her black hair is plastered to her face in stringy clumps by the salt water.

The boat isn't close enough to jump to, or I'd be trying.

"The captain says it's too dangerous to come any closer," she shouts. "We'll try again in a few hours, and return tomorrow if that's no good." As she says this, the ominous rumble of thunder in the distance underpins why she warned me today wasn't a good day for this activity.

I should have listened, of course, but it's useless trying to talk a bull out of anything once we've decided.

I rub at the base of my horns. "Throw a rope. I can make it." It's unlikely, but I'd try. God dammit, I want to be back in my comfortable bed in my apartment by myself where thoughts of Justine's little human lips don't haunt me. Where the whole situation doesn't fool me into making slips of judgment. Even so, I'll take the hotel bed. Or the chair.

"We're throwing over some supplies!" Amy shouts.

A hulky troll crew member comes out of the cabin, holding another satchel. He swings it around his rocky head and flings it toward me. I grab it, stepping back a step with the force of the throw. Trust a troll.

"That's it? We're throwing you some supplies and see you later?" I'm not impressed.

The troll shrugs. "We'll be back again as soon as we can to get you off the island."

They don't waste time hanging around either.

The crew retreat to hunker down in the cabin. The captain revs the engine and the boat turns in the choppy waves, speeding back toward Northpoint Island.

I look around at Justine. Her usually flushed face has gone very white. Swallowing my anger, I soften my tone. "Are you OK?"

She nods. Then her lip wobbles, giving her away.

I sigh. "It's annoying, but we'll be fine. We can head back to lover's cabin back there and we'll have a roof over our heads and there was a bed. I won't even fight you for this one." Damn thing's probably moldy, but at least that gets a smile from Justine.

She lets out a little whimper when she tries to turn and walk on her injured ankle. Quickly, I hoist the extra satchel onto my back and stoop to pick her up again. Hardly a sacrifice. "Come on, Traffic Lights. Let's get that foot up. Hopefully, there's a first aid pack and we can bind it. I should have done that before. I'm sorry."

At this she blinks up at me. "You're not mad?"

I step over a large rock in our path. "I am mad, but I'm not mad at you."

"Even though I probably slowed us down and we might have made the pickup if I'd been quicker?"

I shake my head. "They should never have dropped us off. I should have learned by now that people are always intimidated into doing things when I demand them and sometimes that doesn't lead to good outcomes."

She flushes and looks away.

She doesn't say it. She wouldn't. That's the whole point. She's not wrong that I intimidated her into doing this with me. It's a realization that's been creeping up on me for some time. One I feel a hell of a lot more guilty about right now that we're in this predicament.

Bull headed. Stubborn. I'm all the cliches. Every bad quality you ever heard about minotaurs—I've got it.

By the time I've carried Justine back to the cabin, dusk has set in and it's growing dark. I sure hope their supplies include a torch and some warm blankets. I stoop low under the doorway and set Justine on the bed, carefully arranging her leg so her foot is elevated.

We set aside the packs and switch off the cameras. They don't have enough battery power to last until morning, even if I wanted to keep filming this fiasco. Which I don't. Though having cameras around will at least reduce my level of temptation to do something I shouldn't.

"Stay here. I'm going to go check and see if there's any firewood and anything to light a fire," I tell Justine.

She nods.

I head out into the dim light and hunt around, finally finding a few measly sticks. At least they're dry. I walk once more around the perimeter of the house and on my way back inside, I finally have some luck. I come across an old wood pile and an ax.

Making short work of the chopping, I cut us some smaller pieces and heft two large logs into my arms as well. Then I carry it all back inside.

Justine has unpacked the contents of the satchel and laid them out on the bed in front of her. I'm pleased to see she still has her leg up, though. She's switched on a torch, leaving it lying on its side, illuminating the room and casting strangely slanted shadows.

"Anything useful?" I ask her.

"There are some matches." She hands them to me. "And a couple of protein bars and apples. So I guess we won't go hungry."

"Speak for yourself," I scoff. "Takes more than a protein bar and a piece of fruit to satisfy me." Takes a lot more, but I'll live.

I was only joking, but she holds out both protein bars. "Take them. I'm fine."

I take one, refusing the other. "You eat yours."

I set the fire going with some effort. I use the map and some leaves to get it started, and add several smaller, lighter chips of wood until it catches.

When I'm confident it's not going to fizzle out on us, I turn back to Justine. "Let's have a look at this ankle, hmm?"

I sit carefully on the mattress beside her. She doesn't wince when I lift the foot to place it in my lap, which is a good sign. She sucks in a breath when I gently twist the foot from side to side, though. "Still sore?"

"Yeah. A little. Not as bad as it was."

I reach for the first aid pack and locate a bandage to bind her foot. Human feet are long and smooth and supple in ways a hoof isn't. Almost like a hand. Justine has these long slender toes that are so delicate. I find myself touching her foot more than I need to. Eventually I cut off the bandage and secure it. "I don't think you've done anything serious. Keep it elevated and it should be better in a few days."

She nods. "Thank you."

In the silence, a flurry of rain hits the corrugated iron roof of the cottage, making a patter. I'm just glad there aren't more gaps for it to get in through.

Then I realize her foot is still in my lap.

I should move but oddly, I don't want to stop touching her. I leave it a moment longer. "You sure you're OK?"

She sighs. "This is less horrible than I thought. I was worried we'd be crawling into a cave or something!"

"Ha! I'm a minotaur, not an ogre, even though I guess you wouldn't know it sometimes. I don't do caves."

She laughs.

I relax a little more.

"So you don't go hiking with your dad anymore?" she asks.

"He died." It's blunt, but there's no point beating about the bush.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Justine lays a hand on my arm.

Something about the quiet gesture is powerful and I swallow around a lump in my throat. "Yeah. He had a heart condition. It was sudden. One day he was fine, the next..."

I sink back against the wall. It's been a while since I let myself think about this. I can feel my mind slipping back along that well worn track, though.

"I probably have it, too." I don't know where that comes from. I don't think I've said that out loud to anyone. Not even Mom. I need to change the subject. "So what about you? Are you close to your family?"

Justine visibly takes a moment to process this shift of topic, but she doesn't press me about what I said. Of course, she doesn't. If I've learned anything about her over the last few days, it's that she finds me intimidating and she'll do whatever it takes to avoid upsetting me, including trying to walk on an injured foot.

"Not like I used to be," she says. "I moved away from home two years ago. Turns out it wasn't the greatest decision I ever made."

I huff a laugh. "Moved for a guy?"

She squirms. "How did you know?"

"You seem the type."

When I open my eyes, she's watching me, but I can't tell if she's offended or embarrassed. The light from the fire makes her face hard to read. "Yeah. Anyway that didn't work out."

"What happened?" God knows, I've no need to pry, but we have to pass the time somehow.

"We argued," she says. "I found a roommate and left. Feels pretty silly now. I'm not sure we were ever that compatible."

"Why?" Something about this makes me curious. Then I remember the question she didn't want to answer in the spa, how important to you is sex in a long term relationship. I take a stab. "The sex?"

"I—" She opens her mouth and shuts it again. Finally, she sighs. "He said I had a crazy high sex drive." Justine covers her face with her hands, but I don't need to see it to know it's flaming red. Adorable. "That I had unreasonable expectations."

"Why? You wanted him to go down on you, but you didn't want to do the same in return?" She seems like the prudish type.

I realize my mistake when she doesn't answer. I twist and look at her more closely. "What? Something kinky?" I chuckle to myself. I should stop. She looks distinctly uncomfortable. Only, I'm incredibly curious.

She slowly lowers her hands from her face. "It wasn't me who didn't want to do things."

I lift a brow. "Oh, really?" The curiosity becomes a burning need. "What then?"

"He just used to do the same thing every time. Kissing, a bit of fingering, then in and out, in and out, and he always came too quickly." She blurts this out, voice shaky. "He said only people in porn did other stuff."

I shake my head. "The guy sounds like a loser."

She relaxes a little. Her shoulders come down from around her ears. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Tell me, did he ever make you come?"

She shrugs. "I mean, maybe?"

"Maybe? What sort of answer is that?" I hold up my hand. "I'll tell you what sort of answer that is. A terrible one. If you're not sure, then he damn well didn't do a good enough job. Fuck!" I swipe a hand over my face, already letting my mind wander to places it shouldn't go.

"He—he said the things I wanted weren't real. That people don't really have sex like that."

Now, this is interesting. "And what did you want?"

She makes a small nervous sound. "Don't laugh?"

I make an exaggerated cross over my heart. "Promise."

She still hesitates.

"Come on, Traffic Lights. We're both adults here. We're married for fuck's sake!" I laugh at my own terrible joke. It does seem to loosen her up, though.

"I wanted him to do some of the stuff I read about. You know, in romance books? Dirty talk and pinning me down and pulling my hair and—"

"And?" She can't leave it there!

"—and spanking me and telling me what to do and... Anything really. Passion. Just passion."

She's hiding her face again. I hate that. Hate that she's embarrassed of her own desires. She can't hide them from me, though. My nose picks up the scent of her pussy growing ripe with need. She's still fully dressed, but the flavor of her cunt permeates the air between us.

Despite my best intentions, hot lust courses through my veins and stiffens my cock.

God, the way she says it sounds like he genuinely had her doubting herself. I'd like to wipe those memories from her mind, and replace them with a far, far better one.

If I'm honest, I've wanted her for days, only not with everyone watching. Not an employee. That fact should stop me now, but once I've decided I want something...

"He's a fucking idiot," I say, before I can stop myself. "People do those things. They definitely do those things. People who know what they're talking about do, anyway. Monsters do."

"They do?" She leans closer to me and I can almost feel the impossible desire radiating off her. Her gaze drops to my crotch where my cock is misbehaving again.

"You better believe they fucking do. Do you want me to prove it?"

She swallows. She licks a pretty tongue over those small, soft human lips. "Would that be bad?"

"That's not an answer, Justine. Do you want me to prove it?"

"Y-yes. Please?"

The fucking please does me in. Against my better judgment. Against everything I promised myself and all the boundaries I insisted on, I pat my knee. "Then come here and let me show you."

Without another word, Justine climbs into my lap and I throw away all my good intentions, except one: I won't actually fuck her. Yeah, I know that's a fucking arbitrary line to draw, but I need one and dammit, I can't stand not doing anything.