Page 50 of Claiming Genevieve

He comes home late, like he said, but there’s no whiff of perfume on his clothes. No hint that he’s being anything but truthful with me. We go to bed, and as Rowan slides in next to me, I feel a throb of desire ripple through me.

I want to reach out and touch him. I want to run my fingers through his copper hair and pull him in for a kiss. I want to feel his body against mine—hot and hard and muscular—wrap my legs around him even though we’re past the time when he could get me pregnant, and feel him fill me up again. My body clenches at the thought, feeling hollow, aching for him.

I roll over on my side and go to sleep.

Days pass, and we find a rhythm. The days turn into weeks, and I see them tick by on my calendar, pushing closer and closer to when I’m meant to get my period. I go to my doctor’s appointments. I do whatever workouts I can with my leg in a cast, stretching and trying to maintain my flexibility. I get better than I ever wanted to be at walking on crutches.

I try not to think about dancing. I try not to think about Rowan’s bare chest, rippling with muscle. I try not to think about the things I can’t have and shouldn’t want—the things that will hurt me when I have to accept that they’re gone forever if I let myself want them now.

The date on my calendar when I should start my period ticks by. One day. Two. I’m officially late, and I tell myself that the next morning, I’ll get Dahlia to bring me a pregnancy test. And then I wake up the next morning, go to the bathroom, and see blood.

Before I can fully internalize what that means, a jolt of excitement ripples through me.We get to try again, I think, before I realize that what I should be thinking iswe have to try again.

“Can Rory take me to the store?” I ask Rowan when he comes up to help me downstairs. As good as I’ve gotten on the crutches, neither of us likes for me to navigate the twisting stairs in the apartment by myself. It would be too easy to slip, get a crutch caught between them, and break something else.

“Sure.” Rowan shrugs. “Or I can have him just run out for you?—”

I shake my head quickly. “I’d rather get it myself.”

He looks at me, and I see the split second of confusion before it dawns on him. And I see that momentary flash of anticipatory excitement in his eyes, the same thing I felt in that split second before I remembered that I’m supposed towantto be pregnant, not the other way around.

“Ah.” He nods. “Well then. I suppose we’ll have to try again soon, won’t we?” His green eyes meet mine, and I can see the heat in them. Theneed.

How is it that he still wants me so badly, when I’ve given him so little?

I swallow hard. “I guess so.”

“A shame, isn’t it,taibhseach?” Rowan’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. I lick my lips, and I see his eyes drop to my mouth.

“What is?” My voice comes out higher than I’d like it to, and a smirk twitches at the corners of his mouth. He leans in, his mouth close to my ear.

“That you’ll have to spend another week pretending that I don’t make you come every time my cock’s inside of you.”

I nearly slap him. He pulls back, his eyes dancing with laughter, and I glare at him. “You?—”

“Mull over all the insults you want to yell at me, lass,” Rowan says with a laugh. “I’ll tell Rory you need to go to the store. He’ll take you right after he comes back from dropping me off.”

I press my lips together and say nothing. A part of me wants to try to insist that hedoesn’tmake me come, that I haven’t come a single time with him… but it would be a lie. Just like it would be a lie to say that my heart isn’t already beating faster at the thought of another week doing just that.

As promised, Rory takes me to the store when he gets back from dropping Rowan off at the estate. I spend a little time hobbling through the aisles, the movement on my crutches much easier now. I get tampons and chocolate and a bottle of wine, since I know I’m not pregnant for now, and linger at the book aisles for a few minutes. I waffle between a romance that I’ve been wanting to read and a thriller, and end up picking the thriller. The last thing I want right now, I reason, is to read about someone else’s scintillating love life. I don’t need anything to get me more hot and bothered than Rowan already does, whether I want him to or not.

And I don’t,I remind myself as I check out, swiping the credit card he left me.I really don’t.

My phone buzzes as I get back to the penthouse, and I ignore it, focusing on not tripping as Rory and I head inside. He carries my purchases in for me, setting them down on the counter, and I thank him before fishing my phone out of my pocket as it buzzes again. I expect it to be a text from Rowan, or maybe something from Evelyn or Dahlia.

Instead, my heart stutters in my chest as I see Chris’s name flash on the screen. And then it flashes again, and again, a series of texts that come in one right after the other.

Chris:Did you think I forgot about what happened, bitch?

Chris:I haven’t.

Chris:I heard the wedding went off without a hitch. Enjoy married life while you can.

Chris:I’m not going to forget.

I swallow hard,staring down at the phone. I had hoped he’d forgotten. That his threats were as empty as I believed them to be—as I still, deep down, really think they are.

Chris:You think you’re happy with that Irish asshole? You’ll regret leaving me for him. I swear to fucking God, bitch, you’re going to regret it. No one humiliates me like that and gets away with it.

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