The Dare

"This is it." He let go of my hand.

The stupid bus stopped.

And now I had the infamous children's song, "The Wheels on the Bus," playing in my head like a broken record.

"I think we just go in." I clenched my hands together and moved to knock when the door was pulled wide open.

"No. Way." Jace swore and then kicked the doorframe.

Grandma pointed at the ground. "I think you killed an ant."

His nostrils flared. But he said nothing.

Grandma clapped. "Oh good. It's still alive, look." She pointed down.

Jace looked and stomped at least five times before regaining control of his body again.

"Oh dear. Well," Grandma touched her hand to her cheek, "I guess he's dead as a doornail now."

Jace stomped again.

Pretty sure Grandma was driving him over the edge. I grabbed his hand and squeezed. At least he stopped stomping.

"Come in, come in!"

Grandma opened the door wide and led us into a small office with a trickling waterfall and two black leather couches. The wall facing the door was a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto the ocean. All in all, if this had been my office, my life would be complete.

"Sit," Grandma said sweetly.

Jace released my hand and sat on the leather couch. I waited for him to start rocking back and forth.

He didn't.

I exhaled.

"So," Grandma took a seat opposite us, "tell me about yourselves. Why have you chosen Ocean Breezes Couples' Retreat?"

My mouth dropped open. She was kidding, right?

"You. Put. Us. Here," Jace said in slow curt language.

"Poppycock." Grandma lifted a cup of tea to her lips and chuckled. "I do love that word." With a sigh she took another sip. "Tea?"

I took the tea just so I'd have something to do.

Jace took a long sip and closed his eyes. He was probably trying to find his center, or whatever people called it.

"Is it bedroom trouble?"

Jace spit out his tea all over the table.

"Oh," Grandma's face fell, "how difficult that must be for you, Beth, to have a man who can't…" She cleared her throat then mouthed, perform.

"That's it."

Jace lunged for Grandma, but I mom-armed him and handed him his tea again, much like a mom would hand a kid a ball to keep him distracted.

"Listen, Grandma…" I used my calm voice, which sounded a lot like my pissed-off voice, only not as loud. "You drugged us, brought us here under false pretenses, forced us into a couples' retreat where we have to go to therapy as if we're a real couple, and now this? You, as our therapist? Excuse us if we aren't exactly in a great mood."

Grandma set her tea down and sighed. "Grandma Nadine isn't here at the moment. Hold one second." She reached for her purse and pulled out a leopard scarf then proceeded to wrap it around her neck, put on another application of lipstick, and then popped a ci

"Fine. Grandma," I clenched my teeth together, "you said you put your meddling behind you, and you're worse than ever!"

"I see that you're confused." Grandma shook her head. "I apologized for drugging you, brought you here to protect you from the media and give you a vacation, Beth, and used my own money to give you a free stay at one of the US's top ten honeymooning locations. Now, did I leave anything out?"

My mouth snapped shut.

Jace's eyes narrowed.

"Nobody said you had to participate in therapy." Grandma shrugged. "I just thought it would be beneficial. Take it or leave it."

"We'll leave it," Jace answered, standing up.

"Alright, I'll let Dr. Z know that you've refused treatment." Grandma smiled into her tea.

"Wait." I held up my hand. "What happens if we refuse treatment?"

"Oh nothing, dear, don't be such a worrywart." She licked her lips and hid her smile behind her tea cup.

"Jace," I tugged his shirt, "sit."

"No, I'm not—"

"Sit, or so help me God, I'm going to revive that goliath spider and put it on your pillow."

Swearing, Jace sat back down.

"What does therapy entail?"

"Communication," Grandma said smoothly. "Knowing your partner."

"But we aren't partners."

"Six days," Grandma whispered.

"What?" Jace asked. "What did you say?"

"Nothing." Grandma clapped twice, the lights dimmed and classical music began playing in the background. "Now close your eyes."

Jace swore again.

"Stop swearing, son, it makes you sound simple-minded."

"Did she just call me stupid?" Jace whispered next to me, his lips grazing my cheek.

"Pfft." Grandma chuckled. "If I wanted to call you stupid, I would just say it to your face."

"Right."

"Jace?"

"Yes, Grandma?"

"You're being stupid."

Jace cursed again.

"See?" Grandma gri

"Fine," I said, teeth still clenched.

Jace nodded.

"Good." Grandma clapped once more, causing the shades to pull down the large window, blanketing us in utter darkness.

Great, just what we needed, to be vulnerable in the dark with Grandma.

"I want you to feel," Grandma instructed. "Beth, put your hands on Jace's legs."

Slowly, I stretched out my hands and placed them on Jace's thighs.

"Jace, turn toward Beth so it feels more comfortable."

His body shifted so we were facing one another on the couch. My hands were placed awkwardly against his thighs, and I could feel the heat of his body through the linen pants. I could almost feel his heartbeat as blood hummed through his system.

"Now, Jace," Grandma said softly. "I want you to touch Beth's face with your hands. I want you to be gentle, and I want you to memorize the way she feels."

I felt the heat of Jace's hands just before his fingertips grazed my chin then my cheekbones. His hands roamed across my face; his touch was so gentle it almost hurt. I leaned toward him as he moved his hands down my neck and to my shoulders.

"Feel how her body responds to you," Grandma coached. "Feel her skin, every sensation, every touch. I want you to memorize her face so well that if asked to draw a picture of her likeness you could do so blindfolded."

My fingers dug into his thighs as he continued rubbing my face, dipping his hands into my hair. With a gasp, I bit down on my lip as he brought his head closer and closer to me.

"Now," Grandma whispered. "Beth, I want you to do what Jace was doing but start on his legs, move up his torso until your hands are placed firmly on his chest."

And so my torture in hell began. I say torture, because every movement my hands made across his thighs caused my hormones to spike to deadly levels. Muscles I didn't even know existed were now a permanent fixture in my memory. My body cheered with delight when my hands made their way to his abs. They were tight. And I was ready to maul him for no other reason than touching him felt so good.