Page 74 of Claiming Genevieve

“We’re fine, lass, it’ll just be a bit of rain?—”

Lightning cracks across the sky just as Rowan slings the backpack over his shoulder, and he winces. “Come on, lass. Let’s get back to the boat.”

“Withlightning?” I yelp, but he’s already starting to walk. I hurry after him, feeling cold drops of rain start to hit my face as I catch up.

“Storms come up fast here,” he says through gritted teeth. “But this was especially fast. We’ll get back, though, Genevieve, I?—”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than the rain starts to come down in a torrent, in sheets so thick that it nearly blocks my view of the boat on the shore. Rowan curses aloud as lightning splits the sky again, thunder booming all around us as he changes course.

“Where are we going?” I shout, and he shakes his head, grabbing my hand as he tugs me along.

“Just follow me!”

I do, almost blindly, ducking my head as panic threatens to overtake me. I wasn’t kidding when I told Rowan I was a city girl. I’ve never been out in anything like this, and I’m fucking terrified.

I cling to Rowan’s hand, following him as he pulls us through the torrential rain, his jaw tight as he focuses on the path ahead. I see what looks like a structure taking shape ahead of us in the rain, and Rowan picks up his pace, just as lightning cracks again and I smell ozone.

“Hurry!” he calls out, tugging me along faster, until we’re both nearly running through the rain toward what I see now is a small cabin.

He flings the door open as we reach it, pushing me inside as he follows, slamming the door behind us and locking it. Lightning cracks again, lighting up the darkening sky, and Rowan gasps, running a hand over his drenched hair. He looks at me, our gazes meeting, and I stare at him in shock.

I’m drenched through, as wet as if I’d taken a dip in the same water we just crossed over. My hair is plastered to my head and neck, my wool cardigan sodden and weighing me down, and when I see Rowan’s gaze drop to my drenched white shirt, his eyes suddenly darkening, I know it must be entirely see-through.

He tears his gaze away, looking around the cabin. I follow the direction he’s looking and see that it’s a comfortable, if small, one-room space. There’s a large stone fireplace in the center of the cabin, with a small kitchenette and dining area behind it, and a living area situated just in front, a bed nudged in the opposite corner. The furnishings are sparse but look sturdy, and the bed is made up with what looks like heavy bedding and pillows.

“I’ll get a fire started—” Rowan strips off his shirt, tossing it aside, and my mouth goes dry as I see him shirtless and dripping, water running down the crevices of his abdomen and down into those cuts of muscle that dip into his jeans—which are also soaked, and clinging to his legs, and ass, and bulge in a way that borders on obscene.

He looks at me. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes, lass.” His jaw tightens, the muscle at the side of it jumping. “Strip out of them and grab a blanket. I’ll get the place warmed up.”

I stare at him, and his eyes narrow, frustration clear on his face. “I’ve seen it all, lass,” he says, as gently as I think he can manage. “But I can’t have you getting sick, aye?” His gaze drops to my stomach, and then slides back up to my face. “I need to take care of you, Genevieve.”

He takes a deep breath. “So let me take care of you.”

28

ROWAN

Ican’t believe how quickly things spiraled out of control.

I did all I could to make sure that nothing went awry for this trip. I checked the weather over and over again before we left. I made sure to pack the picnic. I wanted this to be one last chance to show Genevieve that there could be something between us—that what there already is means more to me than just a contract.

That I don’t know how I’m going to walk away at the end of this.

And of course, it’s all gone to bloody hell.

The storm rages outside, wind whipping against the windows, rattling the shutters as lightning lights up the sky again. It’s an impressively terrible storm, and while I feel confident we can ride it out here in the cabin, I can see that Genevieve is terrified. I don’t blame her—she’s not used to this. And the storm is objectively frightening.

“I won’t look, lass,” I say with as much patience as I can muster, seeing that she’s still hesitating to strip out of her clothes. “But you can’t stay in what you’re wearing. Get out of it, and I’ll get our things laid out by the fire to dry.”

She blinks, and her face flushes red as it finally occurs to her that I’ll be stripping bare, too. She turns away, stripping off her soaked cardigan, and as she reaches for the hem of her shirt, it takes everything in me to keep my promise and look away.

We’re alone out here, in the midst of this wild storm, with no one else for miles. The temptation to cross the room to her and haul her into my arms, to kiss her until she stops thinking, is so strong that it’s almost painful. But instead, I turn away as I promised, going to the fireplace to start a fire to warm the cabin.

It doesn’t take long. I haven’t done this in some time, but some things just come back to a person. Before long, a merry fire is beginning to crackle, building to something that will both keep us warm and dry out our clothes. I turn and see Genevieve sitting on the edge of the bed, a quilt wrapped around her, her wet clothes strewn on the floor.

She’s naked under the quilt. Just that thought is enough to make me hard, and I swallow, pressing my lips together.

“I’m about to strip too, lass, if?—”

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