Page 61 of Claiming Genevieve

My chest clenches at that, but I do my best to not let it show. “This isn’t our only estate in Ireland,” I tell her, focusing on family history as a way to distract myself from how her comment made me feel. “We have an estate outside Dublin and Belfast.”

“Do you have apartments in those cities as well?” Genevieve asks, and I can’t help but think I hear the smallest bit of acid in her tone.

“Why, lass?” I pause at the landing of the second floor. “Jealous?”

The smallest flush appears on her cheeks, and she narrows her eyes at me. “No. Just curious.”

“Sounds a bit jealous to me.” I grin at her. “Don’t worry,taibhseach. I won’t be entertaining any other lasses but you, while we’re here.”

“You have a week before you’ll be ‘entertaining’ me,” she returns sharply.

“Aye.” I swallow hard. “I don’t need the reminder, lass.”

She shrugs, looking down the hall. “I assume there are enough bedrooms here that we don’t need to share one?”

Another jab to the chest, that fist tightening. I knew in the back of my head that she’d likely ask that, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. “Yes,” I manage finally, my voice tighter than I’d like it to be. I can see the look she shoots me—I know she heard it, that she knows how much I want her.

Well, it’s not as if I’ve been bloody trying to hide it.

“Good.” Genevieve bites her lip. “Which one is mine, then? I’d like to get a shower.”

My entire body tightens at the thought of her naked and wet in the shower, soap sliding down all the lines of her body that I’m aching to trace with my lips and tongue. Like I’m a fucking teenager again, getting hard just at the thought of a woman.

“I—” I clear my throat. “I’ll have to ask the housekeeper. Likely she just made up one room for us, the master, on account of—us being married, and all. But I’ll ask her to make up a separate one for you.” I gesture down the hall. “In the meantime, use the master if you want to shower and change, lass. I won’t bother you.”

Genevieve hesitates for just a moment before nodding. “Alright. Just show me where to go. Someone will bring my things up?”

I nod. “There’s a full staff here, including a girl who will help you with whatever you need.” A grin tilts the corners of my lips. “Banphrionsa.”

Genevieve narrows her eyes at me. “What does that mean?”

I chuckle, starting down the hall that leads to the master bedroom. “Princess.”

Genevieve snorts from behind me, but says nothing. She’s silent, right up until I push open the heavy wooden double doors that lead to the master bedroom, and we step inside.

“Oh,” she says softly, as we step into the expansive room.

It’s done in the same dark woods and deep greens that much of the rest of the manor is, with a large walk-in closet to the right of the room next to a huge antique wardrobe, and French doors that lead out to a balcony on the left. There’s an ensuite bathroom that I know will wow Genevieve as much as the rest of the room itself, but I can see what she’s fixated on—the huge stone fireplace at the foot of the four-poster, king-sized bed.

It was a mistake to come in here with her; I know that the moment I look from her to the bed and back again, my entire body tightening with pure, unfiltered lust as all of the things I’d like to do to her in that bed flash through my mind in an instant. And, just behind those thoughts, the near-painful knowledge that Iwilldo one of those things to her in that bed, most likely, unless we end up back in New York within the week. Which is highly unlikely.

Almost everything else that I’m fantasizing about, though…

All of that is off-limits.

My jaw tightens as I do my best to ward off yet another uncomfortable erection, and wave in the general direction of the bathroom. “It’ll be all set up for you, lass. Most of what you need should be in there already, and the maid taking care of you will bring up the rest here shortly.” I pause, rubbing a hand against the back of my neck. “I’ll just—I’ll see you in a bit.”

There’s a moment of lingering awkwardness as I step away from her and out of the room, closing the door behind me. There’s no part of me that wants to walk away, but I know there’s no other choice right now.

Instead, I head downstairs to reluctantly talk to the housekeeper, Mrs. Brady, about making up a guest room for Genevieve. My chest aches just thinking about it. Before our marriage, I would’ve said I preferred sleeping alone.

But now, the thought of going to sleep without the sound of Genevieve’s soft breathing next to me, without the warm weight of her body filling the space in the bed next to mine, makes me feel achingly lonely. And the thought of waking up alone, without her there…

Mrs. Brady is, understandably, confused by the request. I mutter something about snoring and how my new wife needs her sleep, before asking a bit more firmly that she take care of it. The housekeeper gives me a suspicious look—she’s known me for far too long to give me the proper respect—but nods and goes off to find one of the staff to help her make up a guest bedroom.

I sink onto the mahogany leather couch in the living room, pouring myself a glass of whiskey and letting my head fall against the back of the seat. I have no idea how long we’ll be here. If it were up to me—forever. I’d never leave Ireland again, and Genevieve would stay here with me. But for all the power that comes with being the heir to the Irish mafia, I don’t have the power to give myself either of the things I really want.

I’ve spent my whole life up until now taking whatever I wanted.Havingwhatever I wanted. But my desires have changed, and unfortunately, now, getting what I want is no longer as easy as it once was.

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