Page 22 of Claiming Genevieve

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that really what you want?”

The banter between us feels so easy, so natural, that for just a moment I almost forget where we are—in a penthouse that I really have no claim over, where my boyfriend could come home at any moment. There’s nothing untoward going on here, but even I can admit that if Chris walked in on this, I’d need to explain that. Itlooksbad, and with the way things have been lately between Chris and me, that will be enough to spark a fight.

“No, I do want to go back down,” I admit. “I need to get something to eat.”

“As you wish.” Rowan grins, giving a mock bow, and then steps forward, sweeping me up into his arms again. I bite my lip, wishing it didn’t feel like it could be so easy to get used to this—that it didn’t feel sogood.

He carries me back downstairs and to the kitchen, where I lean on my crutches as I look for something to eat. Rowan hesitates, and I look up at him, feeling a flicker of guilt as my resolve returns.

“I’m not saying I don’t… appreciate this,” I manage, taking a muffin out of a bowl on the counter and looking at Rowan. “But you need to go. This is only going to cause more problems with Chris if he finds out you’re here and… I can’t deal with this right now. I just?—”

“My offer still stands, lass.” Rowan looks at me, his eyes full of something that I can’t entirely place. It’s more than desire, I think, but I don’t know why. My life is chaos right now, in pieces all around me, and I can’t begin to parse out why this man is still interested in me.

A short, broken laugh spills from my lips.

“Why?” I blurt out. “This makes no sense, Rowan. Why would you have any interest in me now, especially?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“That…that alone tells me you were never really interested in the ballet!” I splutter. “You just took an interest inmeand used it as a way to get closer to me. Because if it was theballetyou were interested in patronizing, if it was the idea of being with theprimathat attracted you, you wouldn’t want me now! My career isruined, Rowan.”

“Lass—” He starts to speak, but I cut him off.

“It’s over. At least, I’ll never get back to where I was. I might dance again, but never at the level I was. I havenoidea what happens next. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that my relationship is falling apart—you can see that for yourself, sinceyou’rethe one here helping me and my boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. And who knows what happens now? The thing that made Chris want me, the reason he was attracted to me in the first place, is gone, and…”

I break off, horrified as my throat tightens and I realize that I’m about to burst into tears. That’s the last thing I want right now, in front of Rowan, but I’m afraid that if this conversation goes on much longer, I’m not going to be able to stop.

“The only thing that I had to offer, the only thing special or interesting about me—is damaged. Destroyed forever, maybe,” I choke out. “And if I hadn’t been distracted, if I?—”

“If I played some role in that,taibhseach, I’m sorry for it,” Rowan says gently. “I never meant to cause you any grief. But your dancing isn’t the only thing you have to offer, Genevieve. I imagine it’s far from it.”

The way he says it wrenches something in my chest, and I feel my eyes burn with tears. “I don’t know if that’s true,” I whisper. “But I need you to go, Rowan. I can’t do this right now?—”

My heart drops into my stomach when I hear the sound of the door opening before Rowan can respond. I know it’s Chris before he even walks in—no one else has the keys to the penthouse.

“What the fuck, Genevieve?” Chris’s voice echoes through the entryway, loud and angry, and I feel every muscle in my body tense. I drop the muffin I was holding onto the counter, turning as quickly as I can to refute whatever he’s making up in his head about what’s happening right now—forgetting for a moment that I’m injured. I’m not used to not being able to move the way I want to, yet, and I stumble, grabbing onto the edge of the counter as I nearly fall.

I feel a strong, broad hand at my waist, and I know it’s Rowan. I can smell his woodsy scent, and I hear his low, accented voice behind me as his fingers curl against me, ever so briefly.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and for a moment—one fleeting moment—I want to lean into the possibility that could be true.

“Get your fucking hands off her,” Chris snarls, striding forward into the kitchen. He closes the distance between us, looking angrier than I’ve ever seen him. His face is already slightly reddened from the sun—he’s wearing a pair of slim khaki shorts and a polo, the kind of thing he wears when he goes out drinking with his friends—and it flushes even deeper as he grabs Rowan’s shoulder and shoves him back, away from me.

I slump against the counter, turning to look at both men. Rowan’s face is flushed now too, his eyes sparking with anger, and I see his hands clench into fists.

“Rowan, justgo,” I hiss, desperate for this not to turn into a fight. “I told you, I don’t want you here,” I add, more for Chris’s benefit than anything else. I don’t know if it’s true any longer, but right now, all I want is for this not to escalate further.

“Lass—Genevieve—” Rowan looks at me, and I see worry clear as day in his eyes. Worry forme.

“Just fucking leave!” I stare at him, silently begging him to listen to me, and he takes a slow step back.

“You heard the lady,” Chris growls. “I’m telling you too. Get the fuck out.”

“Go,” I hiss, as Rowan hesitates for a moment longer. “I don’t want you here.”

I can tell he doesn’t believe me. But he backs up, looking once more between Chris and me before he shakes his head as if to clear it and starts toward the door.

I hear it open, hear him step out into the hall. I glance toward the door, and before I can say anything at all to Chris, the stinging blow of a broad hand striking my cheek knocks every thought out of my head.

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