12. Rowan
12
ROWAN
G enevieve’s gaze rests on me expectantly, waiting for an answer. I can see a hint of accusation entering her eyes, but my own thoughts are spinning.
“I read the contract,” she says coolly, her eyes never leaving mine. “There was nothing in it about children.”
“Of course not.” I run a hand through my hair.
“Of course not.” She echoes the sentiment. “I should have thought about this. You need an heir, right? You came home to inherit so that the Gallagher name wouldn’t die off—surely you wouldn’t let that all go to waste?” The suspicion in her voice is clear now, the same suspicion I heard when she accused me of conspiring with Vincent to run into her ‘accidentally’ at the coffee shop. “So our marriage is ‘temporary’, but it comes with a child? What the fuck, Rowan?—”
“Just—slow down.” I raise my hands up slightly, keeping my voice low and my expression as smooth as possible, so that my father doesn’t pick up on any friction between us if he’s still watching. “I don’t know what all that was about.”
“So you aren’t planning on having a child to inherit after you?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know—not with you .” I shake my head as she looks slightly taken aback. “Oh bloody Christ, Genevieve, don’t take offense to that when you don’t want it either. All I mean is that yes, maybe someday I’d come around to the idea. Hell, maybe one day I’d come around to the idea of marrying some boring socialite that I can see occasionally, have a frigid fuck with, and then have her give me an heir. But I sure as hell don’t want that right now, and so I needed a different solution to pacify my father for the time being, aye? You were that solution. We’ve been over this. But nowhere did children come into that.”
Genevieve eyes me, and I’m not sure she’s buying it. I let out a sharp breath and push my chair back, standing up. “Come with me.”
She frowns. “Why?”
“Just come with me. We’re going to go look at the contract. Neither of us recalls anything about children in it, aye? So let’s settle this. Maybe it’s just my father joking around. Wishful thinking.” I hold out my arm so that she can use it to steady herself as she gets up.
Genevieve looks at me for a moment longer, and then takes my arm, rising slowly from her seat. I get her crutch and hand it to her, helping support her as we start to make our way to a side door that will lead out into the rest of the house.
“Where are we going?” she asks as we step out into the hall, the door shutting behind us. The noise of the party fades behind it, and I’m suddenly aware of how close she is to me in this silent, empty hall.
“The office.” I walk slowly, so she can keep up, and with every step I’m more aware of the warmth of her skin against mine, her scent, the steady cadence of her breathing. I swallow hard, fighting back the rush of desire that threatens to distract me, and focus on our destination and our task.
I unlock the office door when we reach it and step inside, flicking on the light. I see Genevieve looking around, taking in the dark, masculine decor—all dark wood and leather, from the bookshelves to the desk to the chairs. She hobbles to one of the leather chairs in front of the desk and sinks down into it as I go straight to the filing cabinet, unlocking it to look for the contract.
When I find it, I sit down next to her, setting the file down onto the desk as I open it. We both lean in at the same time to read it, and I catch a whiff of her vanilla-scented shampoo, sending a jolt of heat straight down to my cock. All it takes is that one breath, one glance at the silky dark curl that falls in front of her face, and I can all but feel that same soft hair dragging over my thighs as her lips wrap around my?—
I run a hand down my face, forcing myself to refocus as my cock throbs to life at the thought of Genevieve’s mouth on me. I blink at the paper in front of me, rereading the contract as she does. At first it all looks the same, what she and I went over and agreed on—but then?—
She catches the addition a moment before I do, a small gasp slipping from her lips as she sees it. I read it a second later, my stomach tightening with apprehension.
The aforementioned bride and groom agree to both consummate the marriage upon their wedding night for the purpose of legality, and to take all possible steps toward the conception of a child. If the bride is not found to be with child before the date of Padraigh Gallagher’s passing, Rowan Gallagher’s claim to his inheritance, title, properties, and all else willed to him by Padraigh Gallagher will be considered null, and those shall pass to an individual named within Padraigh Gallagher’s sealed and witnessed will.
“That wasn’t in there when we signed it.” Genevieve’s voice sounds hollow. “Surely we didn’t miss that ?—”
I swallow hard. “Did you read it before we signed it? At the church?”
She blinks at me. “Not at the church, no. But we read it just before. Remember? Your father handed us the file, and then?—”
“And then he took it back.” My stomach sinks, and I sit back in my chair. “He knew I’d fight him on this. It was hard enough to stomach coming back home at all, taking over all this, and then marriage—” I glance at Genevieve. “No offense to you, lass.”
“None taken,” she says tightly, her lips pressed thinly together. “So he had a second copy.”
“He must have known that asking me to produce a child so soon would be a step too far. He was betting that we wouldn’t ask to see it again, once we’d read it when we got to the church. And it fuckin’ worked.” I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots. “Fucking hell.”
“So if I’m not pregnant before he passes away, you lose everything.” Genevieve stares at me. “I didn’t agree to this. I mean, I suppose technically I did —” She looks back at her signature on the paper. “But not intentionally. I don’t suppose there’s any way to fight this?”
“Get him to change it?” I shake my head. “He’ll die on the hill that it always said that, and we’re just breaking our obligation. Cold feet, he’ll call it, and he’ll disinherit me, same as if I hadn’t come home. He’s dying anyway, aye? Might as well dig in his heels to get what he wants.”
Genevieve looks at me sharply. “There’s no love lost between you and your father, is there?” She asks it bluntly, but I can hardly be upset with her. We’re past beating around the bush, I think.
I shake my head. “It’s a longer story than I want to get into here and now, lass. But suffice it to say, no. There’s not. It’s complicated.”
She nods. “So what now? We break it off?” She presses her lips together, and she doesn’t look pleased at the thought. The moment she says it, I feel as if my heart drops out of my chest.
Every part of me protests the thought that I might lose her now, when we’re so close. My entire body tenses, aching, my cock throbbing madly as I resist the urge to lean in and kiss her here and now, wrap my hand in her hair and prove to her why she should give in regardless. I don’t want children—not now, and perhaps not ever—but some primal part of me seems to have forgotten that. I was hard a moment ago, but now at the thought of her backing out of our arrangement, I’m desperately aching, a part of my mind growling that she’s mine . The end result might not be what I want, but the thought of filling her with my cum, of driving it so deeply into her that it can’t help but take root, of fucking her with the intent to make her pregnant…some deeply primal part of me has latched onto it, and my cock feels hard enough to snap.
“Have you ever wanted children?” I ask, unable to think of a way to soften the question. My mind is a fog of lust, and I feel as if I’m on the verge of losing it.
Genevieve shakes her head sharply. “No,” she says simply.
“And what will you do, milseán , if we break this off?” I look at her as I ask the question, meeting her dark gaze with mine, and I see the hesitation in her eyes.
“I—” She lets out a breath. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. If we didn’t break it off. For us both?—”
Genevieve’s eyes widen the moment the words come out of my mouth. “You’re joking,” she breathes, and I shift in my seat, feeling my cock strain uncomfortably against the front of my suit trousers. There’s nothing humorous about what I’m feeling right now, about the need that feels as if it’s going to tear me apart at the seams.
I lean closer, one elbow propped on the desk, breathing in her scent. I can feel how tense she is, poised like a deer about to spring away, and I want to reach out and capture her, grab her wrists and pin them to the arms of the chair, hold her captive as I devour her mouth. It feels hard to think through the fog of lust enveloping me, and I blink, trying to focus my thoughts before they come out of my mouth.
“I’m not joking, taibhseach ,” I murmur. “You’re going to walk away from this marriage with an obscene amount of money. Enough to start your whole life over, however you please. A child doesn’t make our marriage permanent, Genevieve.”
“It doesn’t?” Her voice is tight now, breathier. The proximity, the tension, is getting to her too. I see her hands shift in her lap, her fingers knotting together, and I know I can convince her. I’ve seduced many a woman with nothing but convincing words, and there’s never been one I’ve wanted to seduce more.
“You can still walk away,” I promise her. “Think of it like surrogacy. I get an heir, and you get your freedom. You provide this for me, and I’ll provide you with everything you need to fly free as a bird.”
“Our marriage will be longer,” Genevieve points out, swallowing hard. Her voice still sounds tight, as if she’s struggling to think, too. “Nine months after I get pregnant. Considering your father’s condition, that’s longer than?—”
I can’t take it a second longer. In one swift movement, I lean in, cupping her face in the palm of one hand as I kiss her.
I feel her gasp as my lips crush against hers. I rise up halfway out of my seat, sliding my hand around her waist and pulling her out of her chair and into my lap sideways, her body against my chest as I deepen the kiss. I’m hit with a rush of sensation all at once—her plush, warm mouth against mine, the bite of champagne on her tongue, the scent of her so close, the weight of her in my lap, against my cock, feathers from her dress tickling my throat as her lips part under mine in shock.
I take full advantage. I reach up, winding one hand in her hair as I slant my mouth over hers, our tongues tangling together as I devour her the way I’ve been imagining since the night we met. It’s everything I’ve fantasized about—from the softness of her mouth to the taste of her on my tongue, and I want more. I want everything.
I want her .
Genevieve squirms deliciously against my cock, her ass pressing down against the hard ridge, and I hear her gasp again as she pulls back. I let her break the kiss, my hand still in her hair as I look at her.
She looks beautiful. Her eyes are glossy, her lips reddened, her chest rising quickly with sharp, panting breaths that tell me she’s more aroused than she wants to let on. She stares at me, and I don’t wait for the moment to pass.
“I think I can make the extra time worth your while, taibhseach ,” I murmur huskily.
Genevieve licks her lips, and I feel the tremor that runs through her. “Let me up,” she whispers, and when I don’t let go of her immediately, she narrows her eyes at me. “Let me up . I can’t think with your?—”
“While you’re sitting on my massive cock?” I suggest, raising my hips slightly so that she can feel it pressing into her, and her cheeks flush pink.
“You’re overestimating yourself,” she says primly, pulling back again, and I chuckle, a smirk curving my lips.
“I assure you, lass, I’m not. I’ll show you if you like. You can examine the goods before you agree not to back out. Up close, if you like?—”
“ Rowan .” Genevieve hisses my name, and I finally let her go, allowing her to push herself off my lap and back into her seat. My cock strains against my zipper, protesting the loss of her weight against my aching erection.
She presses her fingers to her eyes, letting out a breath before reopening them and looking at me. “I’ve always been careful with my birth control,” she says slowly. “And I always thought that if I did have an accident, if it failed—I knew I wouldn’t go through with the pregnancy. As a ballerina—that’s a career-ender. I had a plan in place, no matter what. So I suppose—” She breathes in and out again, slowly. “I never planned to keep a baby. So this isn’t all that different in the end, right? No different than giving up a child for adoption.”
She sounds almost as if she’s convincing herself. If I were thinking straight—if I were a better man—I’d tell her that we should break things off. That it’s clear that she’s not prepared for this. That I’ll be fine, even without my inheritance.
But I’m not that good of a man. And the truth is, I’m not thinking about my inheritance at all right now.
All I’m thinking about is how much I want her .
“These are my terms,” she says finally, looking up at me. “We’ll go through with the marriage. If I’m able to get pregnant, I will. But ,” she adds, before I can reach for her and kiss her again—with the full intent to start trying now, “We will only have sex on the days when it has a chance to get me pregnant.”
I blink at her. “Isn’t that any day that it’s not your time of the month, lass?”
She chuckles drily. “A man would say that. No. I’ll schedule a doctor’s appointment before our wedding and start tracking my cycle. On my fertile days, I’ll come to your bed. If it’s not one of those days, we don’t touch each other.” She pauses. “And we do what it takes to make a baby. Nothing else. Am I clear?”
A throb of protest ripples through me, my mouth dry at the thought of never dipping my tongue between her thighs, never feeling her lips around my cock. But the alternative she’s proposing is to end this altogether—to never have her at all. It’s a choice I wasn’t prepared to make, and I struggle to think clearly as I look at the stubborn expression on her face.
“That’s a bit severe, don’t you think?” I manage. “It doesn’t all have to be clinical?—”
“ That changed things.” She points at the contract. “I was prepared to give you a week, Rowan, maybe two. Anything you wanted. But that obliges me to fuck you until I get pregnant with your child. To carry and give birth to that child. That is a job. An obligation. So I will treat it the same way I’ve treated every other goal in my life.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ll give you what you need—but on my terms. And those are my terms.”
I stare at her. I’ve never had a woman speak so coldly to me about sex. I’d have thought it would have turned me off completely, but I’m as hard as ever—my cock clearly only focused on the part where I’ll get to be inside of her, get to come inside of her, and not on all the things we’ll be missing out on.
But to miss out on her entirely …
And to lose my inheritance too, in the bargain. Everything at once, in one fell swoop.
At least this way, I get something.
“What will you do after I leave?” Genevieve asks curiously. “If we do this? About the child? Are you going to marry again, or?—”
I search her words for a hint of jealousy, but if it’s there, she’s hiding it well. “I’ll hire a nanny,” I manage thickly, clearing my throat. “I was practically raised by one, and I turned out well enough.”
Genevieve raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t refute it. “So?” she asks, and that one word has so much weight that I struggle to reconcile it.
But I can’t let her walk away. Not now. Not when I can still taste her on my lips from the kiss a moment ago.
She’s driving me insane with desire. And some nights with her, I reason, are better than none. Better than her walking away entirely.
I could abandon it all, I think. I could relinquish the responsibility of the inheritance, this family, this heir that I’m being forced to produce so much more quickly than I ever intended to. I never really wanted any of this. I wanted the life I had before, a life of relative ease and freedom, attending to business when necessary while living as I pleased in a place that felt more like home than my family’s estate, than New York ever has.
But there’s no one else to inherit. I have no idea who is named in my father’s will to take it all if I don’t, but it won’t be a Gallagher. That duty, drilled into me since I was small, seemingly took root despite my best efforts, because I don’t feel that I can walk away. Not without a guilt that would suck the joy out of all else I do afterwards.
“Yes,” I say finally, taking a deep breath as I look at her—this woman who has made me lose all sense.
“I agree to your terms.”