Page 21 of Claiming Genevieve

“What the fuck am I doing here?” He grins. “It’s becoming our standard greeting, at this point.”

“ Andleave me the fuck aloneis our standard goodbye,” I snap back before I can think better of it. “Which, now that I’ve said it—” I start to close the door, but he puts a hand against it, stopping it halfway. I flinch without meaning to, and I see his eyes widen.

“Holy shite, Genevieve, I’m not going to hurt you. I knew your boyfriend was an asshole, but?—”

“And you’re an idiot for showing up here,” I hiss, choosing to evade the implications of his comment. “If Chris was home—” Once again, the words come out without thinking—what I didn’t want to admit to myself a few minutes ago as I stood there staring at the stairs.

Chris isn’t home. He didn’t even bother checking on me before he left. And it’s a Saturday, so I have no fucking idea where he is, but it isn’t work. He’s out with his friends—or worse yet, maybe another woman—while I’m here trying to piece together the ruins of my life and wondering how to climb stairs that, yesterday morning, I would have gone up effortlessly.

“He’s not?” Rowan’s expression turns dark, and I stare at him.

“You seriously showed up here thinking Chris might be home?”

“I—” He pauses, as if realizing that it was a stupid idea. “I needed to see you.”’

“Why?”I shake my head. “You don’t even know me. And since I’ve known you?—”

“I know.” He holds up his hands. “I know. I’ve seemingly fucked it all up. I swear, Genevieve, there was no collusion between me and your manager, or whatever it was that you thought was going on. I genuinely just wanted to get to know you better, lass. Since I met you, I—” He shakes his head, running one hand through his copper hair. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my bloody mind, is what it is.”

He looks at me, and I’m startled to see what I could swear is desire in his dark green eyes.Desire, when I’m standing here in yesterday’s rumpled clothes, desperately in need of a shower, hanging onto my crutches for dear life. It doesn’t make sense to me—at best, we’re two people with a shocking amount of chemistry between us, but chemistry like that thrives on perfection, on lust. There’s nothing perfect or seductive about me right now, and yet Rowan is still looking at me like a man in a desert staring at a mirage.

“Please, just go,” I whisper. “I can’t—I can’t deal with this right now. You’re right, I’m pretty sure Chris isn’t home, and I need to get upstairs and shower, and?—”

Rowan steps into the apartment before I can stop him, with the kind of single-minded determination that I saw yesterday, as if by me giving him something he can fix, I’ve suddenly solved whatever it was he was trying to work out in his head. The door closes behind him, and he bends suddenly, sweeping me up into his arms before I can stop him as my crutches clatter to the floor.

“What on earth are you doing?” I squeak as he lifts me against his chest. “Rowan?—”

“Ah, now you’re finally saying my name.” I canfeelthe smirk on his face as he carries me toward the stairs, and every way I can think of to resist flies out of my head as the feeling of being held in his arms sinks in. He’s warm and strong, his chest broad, that woodsy scent of his cologne and the warmer, slightly salty scent of his skin underlying that. My head spins, and I breathe him in deeply without meaning to. “I’m taking you upstairs,” he continues. “So you don’t fall and make things worse, aye? And then I’ll bring you back down when you’re done. And if your asshole of a boyfriend comes home, I’ll deal with him too.”

“You’re trespassing?—”

“Isn’t this your apartment too, lass?” He looks at me, and I feel my cheeks flush. It’s not—not really. I’m not on the lease. I just live here because Chris moved me in a few months into our relationship. It never bothered me before, but suddenly I feel ashamed of it, as if I failed to make sure of some fundamental part of my own independence. And I suppose I have. I let myself get caught up in what I wanted the relationship to be and failed to see it for what it really was.

“If he finds you here, he’ll call the cops?—”

“I’m Padraigh Gallagher’s only son,” Rowan says with a smile as he nudges open the door to the bedroom, carrying me inside. My cheeks flush deeper at being in here with him, and my face heats even more as he carries me to the bathroom, and I remember what I imagined lying in that tub, not all that long ago. “The police won’t do a thing to me, lass.”

The confidence in his voice is sexier than it should be.This is what a man withrealpower looks like,I think, as Rowan gently sets me down, next to the sink counter so that I can lean against it. “I’ll just get the water started, and then I’ll leave you be,” he says. “I’ll be right outside.”

When he steps out, I slowly get undressed, frustrated with how difficult even that is. Rowan got the water started in the tub for me, since I can’t get my cast wet in a shower, and I slowly limp towards it, sinking into the hot water awkwardly. I try not to think about how Rowan is just outside as I bathe as quickly as I can, or how I thought of him while lying in this same bath and sipping wine, coming harder than I have in years at the thought of him.

Drying off is even more laborious. I wrap a towel around myself, hobbling out of the bathroom, and Rowan jumps up the moment he sees me, as if to come help. And then he freezes for a split second, his gaze sweeping over me. I have a sudden, visceral awareness of what I must look like, in just a towel, my hair wet and clinging to my shoulders. He swallows hard, his throat moving, and I see pure lust darken his gaze as his hands flex at his sides.

“Lass—” he breathes, and I go very still. I feel as if I’m being watched by some great cat, or a wolf, something that might pounce on me, devour me, and eat me whole if I move too quickly. My heart thumps in my chest, my breathing suddenly shallow, and I lick my lips nervously. I see Rowan’s gaze drop to my mouth, and I see him shudder.

“I just need to get dressed,” I whisper.

“I—oh. Of course.” He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic that I’m starting to recognize. “I’ll—I’ll just step out. Call when you want to go back downstairs. If you want—” The heat and confidence of a moment ago is gone, and I can see that he’s remembered where he is and what he’s doing. I realize, with a sudden wave of insight into this man that I barely know, that caring for someone is something he’s not used to. This is a man who is charming, gorgeous, confident, powerful—one who has probably had his pick of women all his life and has enjoyed them all, but what he’s doing right now is uncharted territory for him.

Which makes me wonder… why is he doing it at all?

Rowan steps out, while I hobble to the closet and pull out a soft black polo dress that I can slip over my head. I grab a hair clip from the nightstand, putting my wet hair on top of my head, and then clear my throat, calling out.

“Rowan?”

The door opens and he peeks his head in, his composure returned and that familiar smirk on his face. “Call out my name like that again, lass.”

I frown at him. “On second thought, I might just stay up here.”

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