TWENTY THREE

Justine

"So how do we handle this at work?" I sway a little as the yacht is bumped by a wave and I have to grip the back of Ronan's seat.

"Ah, why don't you work from home this week? Better yet, take a few days off. Relax. Compensation for all the uh... overtime you've done this week."

I have to sit then. Mostly because of the choppy water on the harbor, but also because my knees suddenly feel a hell of a lot weaker than normal. "Really?"

"I insist." Ronan folds his arms over his massive chest.

Who am I to argue with that?

I hand him his phone, which Amy just gave to me when I collected mine. Now we're returning to real life, or pretending to, we get our phones back. I know Ronan will be glad.

I switch mine on to find twelve messages and three missed calls from Courtney. I'm alarmed at first, thinking something must be wrong. Did we have a rental inspection I forgot about?

Then I open the most recent message and promptly flip my screen over after reading only a few words.

Courtney: have you and the hot minotaur daddy...

I glance sideways to find Ronan giving me that sardonic, panty-melting smirk.

Shit.

He totally saw it.

His brow quirks higher the longer I say nothing. With a resolve of steel, I hold my silence.

He'll get distracted soon when he checks his phone.

He goes an awful long time without doing anything but watching me.

I break. "I might have given you a nickname, but in my defense, it was way before we... got married." I swallow.

I've given too much away.

The look he's giving me is so different from the cool looks of disapproval I'm used to him fixing me with, and three hundred percent more dangerous.

Everything he does is more dangerous now I know how hard he can make me come.

His long ear flicks, but finally he looks away. Under his breath, he mutters, "Officially, the answer has to be no. You know that, right?"

I nod. I'm still grappling with the fact that he used the word officially. What does that mean?

"I don't hate that nickname, though."

I blink at him. That can't be right.

I sink down lower in my seat so the crew won't see my cheeks flaming with heat. Did he—?

Did Ronan Kernos just give me permission to call him Daddy? Is that something I want? Also, did he just imply I can tell my friend about what we did? Unofficially, of course.

I'm too excited to concentrate on anything else for the whole trip back across the harbor. I don't reply to Courtney. I have to decide what to say. I also don't want to do it where Ronan can read my answer over my shoulder or I'll combust.

When we arrive at the rental apartment, I remember we're not actually staying at his home. It's the apartment he had me rent to stage as his home.

That dampens a little of my excitement until we open the door.

Even the entryway is fancy. It's the fanciest place I've ever stayed by a mile.

"Carry your bride over the threshold!" someone on the crew calls out.

Of course, they're filming.

Ronan scoops me up and lowers his head to step over the doorstep with me in his arms. My belly lurches in a way that has nothing to do with being plucked off my feet and everything to do with the strong hold and the firm muscles of his huge arms. When he sets me down in the open plan living area, my heart is definitely beating faster.

"Let's get you settled in," he says without stepping back or releasing me.

"Um... OK." Ugh, why do I sound like a timid little mouse every time he looks at me?

He leads me through the corridor, stops and opens a door dramatically. It's a cupboard.

I know he's trying to pretend this place is his for the cameras and I can't help smothering a laugh. "Nice towels."

"Hmm. You'll need them when you take a spa."

Yeah, I'm not laughing anymore. I'm dreaming about long sessions in the spa while I'm on vacation not working.

Ronan lowers his voice. "Pretty sure there's a bathroom around here somewhere."

I walk to the next door and reach for the handle. "What's in here?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Ronan mutters under his breath.

I open it and gasp out loud when it reveals the sumptious bedroom with enormous windows looking out over the city. The room is bright, with huge windows letting in all the natural light. In real life, the bed is huge! It's bigger than a king size. So much bigger than it looked in the photos. This room is what made me rent this place.

"No need for a chair here." Ronan gives me a little nudge and awareness sizzles all through my core.

My heart really skips a beat when I walk into the massive ensuite and remember the shower, complete with two showerheads and the enormous spa bath. A girl could get lost in this bathroom.

"I trust everything is to your satisfaction?"

I nod, dumbly, taking it all in. "It's amazing. Thank you."

Ronan grunts. "Good. Time to get all dressed up. We have a dinner reservation."

"Oh! Where are they sending us?" I can't remember Amy saying anything about it, but perhaps she spoke to Ronan this morning.

Ronan smiles. "I am taking us to The Waterfront."

He moves away to unpack his luggage before I can properly thank him. I'm stunned by how thoughtful it was for him to book such a fancy place to take me out to dinner. At least that's what he implied. Maybe it was Amy after all and it's all part of the program. I'm starting to have trouble telling what's real and what's fake and it's throwing me.

I never thought I'd be in this position with Ronan Kernos.

Not in a million years. I want to relax and enjoy it, but a small part of me is still waiting for him to get angry with something I say or do, waiting for the moment I annoy him too much. Even if I don't, I can't let myself sink into this. It's only temporary. If I let myself enjoy it too much, it's going to be hard to give it up when the week ends and we go back to the way things were.

How on earth am I supposed to go back to the way things were after this?

The restaurant Ronan chose is right on the water. I mean, of course, it is. It's called Waterfront.

We're greeted at the door by a tall water nymph with the most beautiful blue skin and eyes like deep pools stirred by a cool breeze. She leads us to our table.

We round a corner and step down to a lower level. The glass windows here go all the way to the floor and the restaurant appears to float. In the reflections in the glass against the dark of the night sky and water, it's hard to tell which lights are the candles inside the restaurant and which are street lamps or boat lights or stars. They all seem to blend into one dreamy effect and I'm swimming in it.

We sit opposite each other. There's silence for a moment while the waitress lights a candle. Across the table, Ronan gives me a slow, seductive smile with a subtle tilt of his brow just like this is exactly what he's been waiting for all day.

Oh, God.

Me and my panties are in trouble. My heart is already dancing circles in my chest and my own smile stretches across my face in answer before I can do anything to stop it.

I know we're on camera and he's probably doing this for ratings but, oh, it's hard to remember when all I can think about is the fact that he seems different today. Less grumpy. Way more tender. It's enough to make me wonder if perhaps there was more to his ‘yes' than ratings.

I snatch the menu and open it with trembling hands for an excuse to look away.

I scan the items, unable to choose. Everything sounds so delicious. After a while, Ronan clears his throat. "Shall I order us some wine? If you're stuck, I can recommend the oysters. They source the finest Wellfleet oysters here."

I nod, numbly. "Sounds good."

Honestly, I'm not even really listening.

Ronan calls over the waitress and makes an order. I smile and nod when he checks if that's OK, but I'm too busy dreaming about the way he tucked his jacket around me when we were filming above the beach, or the way he made me come on his fingers after.

"It's been a while since I went out anywhere for pleasure rather than business. I usually eat at home if I'm not in a meeting."

"Really? You cook?"

He laughs. "No. My personal chef cooks. It always seems like less hassle than going out, but it's pretty here. Perhaps it's worth the hassle."

He's not looking at the view. He's still looking directly at me. I flush and glance out the window. The waitress returns with the oysters and it hits me that now I've actually got to eat them.

I look down at my plate and gulp. Why did I let him order the oysters?

I poke at one tentatively with my fork. Then at a disapproving noise from Ronan, I look up.

"Don't be a heathen. These are the best oysters outside the southern hemisphere. You don't prod them with a fork."

He lifts one by the shell, tips his head back and swallows it whole. I can't stop staring. That was surprisingly sexy. But they look so slimy.

Ronan sets the shell back on his plate and picks up another. He pauses, watching me. "You going to eat, or just watch me?"

I tentatively take an oyster from my plate and hold it up.

I swallow. "Um... is it silly to admit now I'm not sure I actually like oysters?"

It drips a little drop of brine onto my chest. Ronan's gaze follows it and I blush, snatching my napkin to wipe at my breasts.

Ronan snorts and sets down his oyster. "When's the last time you tried one?"

I hesitate. "Well... never—"

"Never! Come here." He reaches out and tugs on my chair until it scoots halfway around the table. I gasp. He takes the discarded oyster from my plate and leans in close. "Open up."

I open my mouth because what else am I supposed to do?

He's gone and blown my fantasy date completely out of the water. He's hand-feeding me now? Holy shit. I just wish it wasn't oysters.

I resist the urge to tremble as he gently holds the shell to my lip.

He tips the oyster, and I tip my head back reflexively. The viscous meat slides past my lips and over my tongue. It's salty. It's rich. I don't chew, just swallow without thinking.

I lick my lips.

"You see?" The way he's looking at me brings back all the memories of the night on Rottager when he somehow knew I can squirt even though I didn't know it myself. He has the same self-satisfied expression on his face.

I nod. That was pretty good, actually. Maybe I want another.

"Now eat up. You're supposed to be enjoying yourself."

Under the table, I squeeze my legs together, savoring the press of my thighs and the slight pressure against my clit. I'm right back to wondering if I'll ever be able to think straight again while the memory of his raw sexual power wipes my mind clean of everything else.

I forget all about the camera crew and the filming and the show until Amy approaches the table while the waitress is removing our dessert plates. "That was amazing, you guys! The crew is going to head home for the day, but I'm going to leave you with these"—She sets two top end phones on the table—"so you can do a little video diary each after you get back to the apartment. I emailed some notes. I think that will feel more intimate than a full on interview, and things should start to feel intimate now."

I flush and try not to think about exactly how intimate everything is feeling at the moment. My stomach is a wrestling pit full of butterflies as we travel in the back of Ronan's town car to his rented apartment.