Page 39 of Claiming Genevieve

“I want to get to know you now. And you, me…if you want.” Rowan accepts his glass of wine as the waiter comes back and pours it. “Can I ask about the ballet? Or is that too sore of a subject just now?”

I bite my lip, pausing as we put in our order for an appetizer of French onion soup and a cheese plate. “It’s fine,” I say when the waiter has left. “I’m going to have to talk about it at some point, right? Might as well be now.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” Rowan pauses, taking a sip of wine. “Did you always want to be a ballerina?”

I nod. It’s an easy question for me to answer, even if it does make a pang shoot through my chest. “Ever since I was little. I asked for a pair of ballet shoes as soon as I could talk. I begged my mother for lessons as soon as I was old enough. I lived and breathed and dreamed ballet.” My throat tightens. “All through junior and high school, my lessons were the center of my world. I had friends, but I didn’t date. While all the other teenagers were sneaking off to drink and make out and lose their virginities, I was practicing. Every day, for hours after school. It was all I cared about.”

Rowan presses his lips together. “I might not know much about it, but it was clear when I saw you dance that it was something special.” He lets out a slow breath. “I’m sorry for what happened to you, lass. And if I played some part in it?—”

I swallow hard, unable to answer. A part of me still feels like he bears some responsibility, and that part of me is angry at him for it. “You should have left me alone,” I say quietly. “If you had, maybe I wouldn’t have fallen.”

Rowan’s expression dims. A part of him, I think, was hoping I’d absolve him of any fault. “But,” I continue a moment later, “I don’t know. I honestly can’t say. Chris and I were fighting even before you and I met. Maybe we still would have argued. Maybe it would have all turned out the same. I really don’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” Rowan says quietly. “I’d like to say that I hope I can make it up to you, but I don’t think anything can.”

I shake my head, as the waiter comes back with our appetizers. “There’s nothing that can make it better.”

There’s a long moment of silence as we glance at the menus, and then give the waiter our orders for the entrees. With no reason not to, I order the duck breast with blueberry sauce that I wanted the last time I was here, with garlic mashed potatoes and roasted honey carrots. Rowan puts in his order for spicy mussels with fries, and I glance back at him as the waiter walks away.

“What about you?” I take a sip of my wine, enjoying the bright citrusy flavor on my tongue. I’m not looking forward to giving it up soon, once I might be pregnant. “What have you wanted to do your whole life?”

Rowan chuckles. “I’m afraid my answer is a disappointing one. I’ve never had a purpose. I left the States when I was eighteen, wanting to put all this mafia business behind me. Of course, I couldn’t—not entirely. In exchange for enough money to keep me in fine style, my father had me overseeing our estates in Ireland, and a bit of the business there. Nothing compared to what I’ve come back to now. It was easy enough.” He shrugs. “I spent most of my time carousing. Parties, drinking, fights…” He trails off, and I raise an eyebrow.

“Women?”

He frowns. “Now, what would make you go and say a thing like that?”

“I’ve been told you’re quite the playboy.” I take another sip of my wine, looking at him over the edge of the glass. “From what I hear, your bedpost’s so full of notches it can hardly hold up the furniture.”

Rowan smirks. “I’d like to say it’s all lies, but there’s a good bit of truth to it. But there’s another truth too,taibhseach.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s that?”

His green gaze holds mine for a moment before he speaks again. “There’s never been a single one of those women that I wanted as much as I want you.”

My traitorous heart stutters a little in my chest. I swallow, taking another sip of wine, and set my glass down. “Is that how you got them all in bed? That silver tongue?”

Rowan chuckles. “You’ll find out all about my tongue soon, lass.”

My stomach tightens.No, I won’t. I have every intention of keeping our time together as brief and to the point as possible. Letting the smirking, charismatic devil across from me get his tongue between my thighs is not part of the plan.

All the same, a shiver runs down my spine at the thought of it. From the hungry look in his eyes, he’d devour me in ways that I’ve never even imagined before.

Which is exactly why I’m not going there.

Rowan’s expression turns serious, and he looks at me for a moment, as if contemplating what he’s about to say next. “Has Chris bothered you at all, since I took you away from there?” His voice has the weight of concern in it, and I bite my lip, wondering how much to tell him.

“He sent me a lot of texts,” I admit, swirling my wine in my glass, looking at it instead of Rowan. “He’s…angry.”

Rowan’s brow creases. “Did he threaten you, lass?” His voice darkens, and my teeth dig deeper into my lower lip. I can feel the conversation on the verge of dropping over the edge into something more dangerous—something that might send Rowan after Chris, and I swallow hard.It’s not that serious,I think desperately.It can’t be. I can’t have misjudged Chris so thoroughly that it could be true that he means the things he said.

“Nothing serious,” I say quickly. “He’s just angry, that’s all. He came by Dahlia’s house, and he…he saw the ring.” I tilt my hand with the large engagement ring toward Rowan. “He was angry about that, too. He thinks I was cheating on him, and I tried to tell him that’s not what happened, that this is an arrangement. He didn’t really believe me.”

Rowan blows out a sharp, quick breath. “I could take care of him if you’d let me, Genevieve,” he says quietly. “He’d never bother you again. I can promise you that.”

“I know.” I shake my head. “I don’t want that. That’s not necessary. Alek threatened the same thing, if a bit more colorfully—but I don’t want this to turn violent.”

“You might not have a choice, lass. What if he turns violent first?”

---