She’s again delightfully pink. Is she a prude? She didn’t seem like one until now. Either way, I need her to answer. For Gram, not for myself.
“What do you like?” I repeat. “In bed.”
“I guess…” She flushes brighter. “Kissing. Yeah, I like kissing.”
I wave my hand. “You and every other woman. What else?”
“Umm… massages.”
“Any specific types? Swedish, Shiatsu, Thai?”
“Foot,” she squeaks. Even the tips of her ears are delectably red now.
“Foot?” My own blood rushes to my face, then takes a swift southern turn. I’m pretty sure she did say ‘foot,’ and now I’m hard.
She holds her wine glass as if it were Captain America’s shield. “What’s wrong with foot massages?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “At all.”
“You’re not acting like it’s nothing.” She takes a careful sip of her wine.
Just in case, I hide my raging erection with a napkin. “It’s just a coincidence, that’s all.”
Oops. She spit-takes the wine. “You also like getting foot massages?”
The fucking napkin is tenting, so I banish the look of her glorious feet from my brain and keep my face dispassionate as I say, “Not getting… giving.”
Now her face turns even pinker, like a very girly flamingo.
This was clearly a bad idea. “I think we’ve covered this topic sufficiently. We—”
I spot what’s-her-name with a tray and stop talking.
“Matcha panna cotta,” she announces and plops a tiny plate in front of each of us.
Juno is either happy about getting dessert, or—more likely—glad the get-to-know-what-you-like conversation is over.
When we’re alone again, I finish my earlier thought. “We have enough to satisfy my grandmother.”
Juno grabs a dessert spoon. “Yeah. Learning her grandson’s interest in feet is the kind of TMI that’s going to make any grandmother regret asking.”
Not my grandmother, but I don’t tell Juno that.
She attacks the panna cotta and fucking moans, again—which doesn’t help my cock stand down in the slightest.
“Do you think people will believe us?” she asks when she’s done chewing.
I arch an eyebrow. “Believe the fartlek?”
She nods.
“Why wouldn’t they?”
She doesn’t meet my gaze. “You’re you. I’m me. Why would they?”
I dip my spoon into the green dessert. “Could you be more vague?”
She sighs. “For starters, I’m a moneyless nobody.”
“I have so much money most people are moneyless nobodies in comparison.” I taste the dessert. It’s not exactly moan-worthy but very good.
“So modest,” Juno says with another eyeroll. “What I mean is, you should be with someone of the upper class. The kind of people that—”
“I hate,” I say. “Snobs, all of them. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth.”
She looks at her spoon, frowning. “Now that you mention it… Are these little spoons made of gold?”
I nod. “The chef insisted. Makes a big difference to the taste, especially for ice cream. Other options allegedly add a metallic aftertaste.”
She stares at me, then slowly shakes her head. “If only I could have your problems for one day.”
I scoff. “I’m not sure you’d cope.”
She gives me a withering look. “How about we get back to business?”
“And what’s that?”
“Something that will help sell the fartlek.”
Makes sense. “Like what?”
She jabs the dessert with her spoon. “I don’t know. This was your idea.”
I eat another spoonful, but nothing comes to mind. “What do people talk about when they date?”
She shrugs. “Previous relationships?”
“That’s easy,” I say. “I haven’t had any.”
Juno’s jaw hinges open. “None? Ever? Not even in high school or college?”
Women weren’t interested in me before I made my first few million, but I’m not about to tell her that. Instead, I snap, “Why would I need a relationship? If it’s for sex, I can get that whenever I want.”
All that requires these days is some jewelry, but those one- or two-night flings are hardly “relationships.”
At my sharp tone, she draws back. “Okay, whatever. But during our charade, you’re going to abstain from sex with others, right?”
Interesting. “Jealous?” I ask, cocking my head.
“Yeah, right. I just don’t want the gossip mags making me look like a fool.”
“I’ll abstain if you do.” As the words leave my lips, I realize I like this idea a lot. So much so I’ll have to berate my lawyer for not suggesting it.
“Deal,” she says. “Want to write that into the contract?”
I get my pen out and write an addendum by hand. Juno doesn’t realize this, but I loathe such manual labor. Typing is way more efficient. However, this is important enough to lock it down here and now.
I wait until she initials the page, and then I surprise myself by genuinely wanting to know something I never thought I would.
“What about your relationships?”