Page 72 of Claiming Genevieve

I look at him as I step out of the car. “And what? You’ll carry me back?”

Rowan’s gaze meets mine evenly. “If you need me to.”

I swallow, looking away as I bite my lip. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him, and we start to walk.

He was right to bring the cardigan—although it’s warm right now, every time the wind picks up, there’s a sharp chill. I end up pushing the sleeves up to my elbows as we walk, enjoying the weather that’s so different from what I’m used to in New York. I can smell the sharp brine of the water on the wind as we get closer to the beach, and I let out a soft sigh of amazement as we reach the sand.

It’s beautiful, the water a gorgeous blue, crashing gray at the edges in the wind and the fog that clings to the edges of the cliffs. “It’s like a fairytale,” I say softly as we walk out onto the sands, and Rowan lets out a breath next to me, pausing as he looks out over it.

“It is,” he says quietly. “This has always been one of my favorite places. This, and the island that we’re going to.”

I look at him, a question bubbling up before I can stop it. “Have you brought anyone else here?”

Rowan looks at me, a dry chuckle escaping him. “No, lass,” he says finally, and keeps walking down the beach.

My heart thumps in my chest, tightening with the knowledge that once again, he’s sharing something with me that means a lot to him. These are firsts that should belong to someone else—the estate, and now this. Someone who he shares somethingrealwith.

Isn’t this real?That small voice in my head argues.What isn’t real about it? The vows say in sickness and in health, don’t they? You’ve gotten that part covered.

He cared for me while I was hurt, even though he didn’t have to. He could have hired someone to help, could have made me figure it out on my own. He’s protected me. And now he’s sharing things with me that he should save for someone whom it will mean something to…

Unless it means something for him to share them withme.

What if he’s fighting the same feelings I am?

I shake my head sharply as I lag behind him a little, trying to clear the cobwebs from my head. Rowan is a playboy. A charmer. He’s frustrated because he can’t get me in bed, because he’s never gotten me to give in completely… because he wants what he can’t have.

That has to be it.

Rowan slows his steps so that I can catch up, and he glances at me, his expression suddenly full of worry. “Is your ankle alright,milseán?”

I nod quickly. “It’s fine,” I promise him, keeping pace with him again so that he can see that I’m telling the truth. As I do, I feel his hand graze against mine, just for a moment—so briefly that I think it’s an accident, at first.

Then I look up, my gaze meeting his, and I know it’s not.

Rowan comes to a halt, the wind picking up a bit around us as he does, and his fingers curl around mine, tugging me closer. I balk, but he doesn’t stop, pulling me in as he reaches up with his other hand, brushing a lock of hair out of my face.

“Just let it be for a moment, lass,” he whispers. “Just—be here, with me.”

I swallow hard, looking up at him. The brush of his fingers against mine feels electric in a way that I never knew touching someone’s hand could be. His fingertips graze up the side of my hand, brushing against the sharp bone of my wrist, teasing under the edge of the sleeve there. It feels almost erotic, this simple touch, and my skin prickles with awareness, my chest suddenly tightening as my breath catches in my throat.

“Rowan—”

He’s going to kiss me. I know he is. I can see his eyes darken, see them dip to my mouth and come back up again, and panic washes over me. I take a quick step backward, pulling my hand away from his, and I see the disappointment wash over his face for the briefest moment before it clears, and his expression goes blank.

“You said there was an island?” My voice comes out faux-cheerful, strained, but he just nods, gesturing to a dock further down the beach.

“This way, lass,” Rowan says, his voice slightly strained, too. I blink as we near the dock, seeing a small boat tied to it.

“Who is…going to drive that?”

Rowan chuckles. “You don’t drive a boat,taibhseach, you row it.”

“Obviously.” I clear my throat. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

He glances at me. “I am. Like every other time I’ve gone out there.”

Nerves explode in my stomach again, and I look out at the water, which seems a bit grayer and choppier to me than it was a few minutes ago. “Are you sure?”

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