Page 88 of Married to My Grumpy Minotaur Boss

I should tell her what an angel she is to put up with my bullshit. I don’t, though. I don’t want to push my luck. Like theselfish bastard I am, I lay there and bask in having her in my arms.

Maybe if I think hard enough about it, I’ll find a compromise. A way for me to give her enough she’ll agree to keep seeing me, even if I can’t promise kids and marriage. Hell, most couples don’t have these kinds of conversations until well into the relationship. It’s unnatural we’ve had them all forced on us too soon. Who’s to say things won’t change for her as she gets a little older. Things look very different in your twenties to the way they do in your thirties. When you settle into a comfortable lifestyle and your priorities change.

After a little while, I get up and carry her to the shower despite her protests. Then I make her come on my fingers until she’s too exhausted to ask me again about all the things I said. I take her back to bed, order an expensive dinner delivered to our room, then feed it to her morsel by morsel.

By that stage, her eyelids are drifting closed and I figure I’ve bought myself another day. Another twenty four hours, at least. Relieved, I tuck myself behind her and fall asleep myself to the most peaceful night I’ve spent in weeks.

THIRTY SIX

Justine

Ronan spends the entire day Sunday treating me like a princess. We go shopping at expensive boutiques where I expect to feel completely out of place, but instead I’m pampered and fussed over almost as much by the staff as by Ronan.

We walk along the Seine after lunch. Then he takes me back to the hotel and literally makes me come until I pass out.

It’s amazing, but something is on my mind.

Actually something feels like it’s clawing its way out of my throat to leap out of my mouth and by the time we walk hand in hand down to a chic little bar for a final drink before our flight home, it bursts out. “What happens tomorrow?”

My palms are so sweaty I wipe them on my new white jeans beneath the table. I think he’s about to tell me tomorrow we go back to pretending not to know each other. That it’s been nice, wonderful even, and he’ll cherish the memory, but he doesn’t want to be tied down.

Ronan leans back, folding his arms across his chest. “We go back to work. It’s Monday, is it not?”

I look down into my cocktail to avoid letting the tight feeling in my throat turn into actual tears. “Yeah. It’s Monday.”

“Then after work, I want you to bring that delectable pussy to my apartment so I can eat you for dessert before I fall asleep with you in my arms.”

I fumble with the straw and a large slosh of liquid tips onto the table. I look around to see if anyone heard.

Ronan chuckles. “Still so pretty when I make you blush. Gets me every time.”

“Did you mean it?” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and dart a look up at him. My heart is racing. Where did this Ronan come from? He has me so off balance.

“When do I say anything I don’t mean?”

He has a point. Though, I still don’t know how to feel about what he said last night.

“Then are we... are we dating? Are we public?”

The smirk drops from his face and my heart, which had started dancing around inside my chest to an excited beat, stumbles to a cautious plod. “I’m not ashamed of you. I’m not going to sneak around and hide the fact that I want to see you. Often.”

My heart wiggles her hips a little.

“And other people will want to put names on it. They’ll want to ask annoying questions and speculate about our future. I’m not interested in what they say. What’s important is that you and I are clear about what we are and what we’renot.”

Oh.

When I don’t say anything, Ronan continues, reaching across the table for my hands. “I care about you, Justine, and I don’t want to see you get hurt. This only works if you can be OK with what I can offer.”

I look into his eyes and see the truth of what he’s saying there. His expression is more earnest and open than I can remember seeing except if you count when he was actually inside me. I truly believe he does care about me. “Then, what are we?”

“Firstly, friends. That’s important. I want you to know that no matter what you decide, I’ll always look out for you.”

I cringe. He’s about to tell me he cares for me, so he’s letting me go live my life. “I know you care.” I can’t bear to look at him.

“Lovers.”

My gaze snaps back to his and my mouth drops open. He wants to be lovers? To have a relationship?

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