27. Genevieve
27
GENEVIEVE
I ’m nervous about Rowan’s idea. Going out to an island off the coast sounds a bit dangerous, but I can tell he’s starting to go stir-crazy cooped up in the mansion. I expect that in the past, when he lived here, he was busy with parties and women and handling his father’s business deals here in Ireland. Now all of his focus is on me, and I’ve been avoiding him.
If I’m being honest, I’m starting to feel a little fidgety, too. The peace and quiet were lovely at first, and I’m still enjoying it, but I’m used to a faster pace of life, too. Getting out of the mansion sounds like a good idea, and I’m curious to see what Irish beaches look like. I’m just unsure about the part of it that involves going out to a different island.
Rowan warned me that it might get chilly despite it being early summer, so I go upstairs to change, opting for a pair of comfortable black jeans, a soft, loose white T-shirt, and the gray wool cardigan that I purchased the first night we went into town in Galway. I pull my hair back into a low ponytail and slip on a pair of Docs, and head down to meet Rowan.
He’s similarly casually dressed, in a pair of dark gray chinos, a dark red long-sleeved Henley that looks oddly nice with his copper hair, and similar leather boots. When he hears me coming down the stairs and turns, I see his gaze sweep over me, and a smile lights his face. It’s not until I see it that I realize that he hasn’t smiled in days.
I realize that I missed it—his smiles, his teasing smirks, even his arrogance. He’s been flat since I told him about the pregnancy, but it doesn’t just feel like disappointment that he’s been forced back into celibacy. It feels like something more, something I can’t bring myself to think about too deeply. The idea of it frightens me.
“You look like you belong here, lass.” His voice is oddly gruff, and he runs a hand through his hair, taking one final look at me before heading toward the door. “I gave Rory the day off, told him I’d drive us today. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Are you going to scare me half to death?” I tease as we reach the car, and Rowan glances back at me, a glint of surprise in his eyes before his lips tilt in that familiar smirk.
“Only if you ask me nicely, lass.”
And just like that, I can feel that spark catch fire between us again, just like it has since the beginning. I feel the thread between us snap taut, tugging me toward him, and I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I stopped resisting it. If I just…let go.
My heart would end up in a thousand pieces again, I tell myself as I slide into the car. First, because of the loss of my career… and then because of the loss of my husband. It’s not worth it. It’s not.
I push the thought away, focusing on the drive to the beach instead. It’s utterly beautiful, the verdant green landscape taking my breath away. I let out a high-pitched squeak that makes Rowan burst into laughter when I see a flock of sheep grazing in a field surrounded by low stone walls, with several small lambs darting around.
“Have you never seen sheep before, lass?” he asks, glancing over at me, and I roll my eyes at him.
“I’m a city girl, Rowan. I grew up in the suburbs and then came straight to Manhattan. No, I’ve never seen a sheep.”
“You’ll see your fill of them here,” he says, chuckling as we continue to drive.
He parks the car a street away from the entrance to the beach, coming around to open my door. “If your ankle gets sore, just let me know and we’ll head back, lass.”
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 something real with.
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 with me .
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?”
He smirks, some of that confidence returning to his gaze. “I’m sure, lass. Are you coming?”
There’s a bit of a challenge there, and I’ve never been one to back down. I stiffen my shoulders, tilting my chin up as I shrug. “Of course.”
As soon as I step foot into the boat, I regret everything. It tilts and wobbles, and I let out an undignified yelp as Rowan reaches out to steady me. He looks completely at ease, which does nothing but irritate me, and I glare at him as I try to settle into my spot across from him.
“You’ve never been in a boat before?” he asks, and my glare sharpens.
“No, I’ve never been in a boat ,” I bite out, mostly to cover how nervous I am. The water seems darker now that we’re out on it, and the island seems uncomfortably far away. But Rowan doesn’t seem the least bit anxious as we start out, his copper hair ruffled in the wind that feels as if it’s rapidly picking up. I glance up at the sky, but it’s still mostly blue, except for a few gray clouds scattered here and there. The sun isn’t doing as much to warm me now, though, and I’m glad I brought the cardigan once again.
Halfway to the island, the waves grow choppier, and Rowan glances over at me. “Are you alright, lass?” he asks with genuine concern, and I give him a tight nod.
“I’m fine,” I bite out, although I’m not sure that’s true. The boat feels a little unsteady, and while I haven’t been nauseous thus far since I found out I was pregnant, this little excursion feels as if it might change all of that, though.
I have no intention of throwing up in front of Rowan, though. My humiliation would feel complete, then.
Rowan’s arms flex under his shirt, distracting me, and I focus on that instead, ignoring my own rule about not checking out my husband in the interest of not losing my composure on this little boat trip. He looks remarkably handsome, as if he belongs here, and I can’t help but think that he’s looked more at home in every single situation we’ve been in here than he ever has in New York.
He shouldn’t be there. He should be here. It’s clear that this is his home, and I find myself hoping that when this is all over, he’ll find some way to make it so that he can be here more often.
He deserves that, after everything. He deserves to be happy.
The thought startles me. Have I forgiven him completely? But the truth is, it’s been a while since I’ve thought with any sincerity that the accident, or anything surrounding it—was really his fault. I needed someone to blame, and it was easy to divide that blame between him and Chris, to say that I was distracted and that was the cause of all of it.
But the truth is—I let myself get distracted. I made mistakes. I was careless.
Maybe it would have happened anyway. There’s no way to really know. And I can’t keep blaming Rowan for something that he played only the smallest part in—if at all.
The boat bumps up against the shore, and Rowan hops out, tugging it in before holding out a hand to me. “I’ll help you, lass,” he says calmly, and for a moment, something about how he says it freezes me in place.
I reach out, taking his hand, and I feel that jolt of awareness again as his warm, long-fingered hand closes around mine, and he helps me out of the boat.
I feel wobbly for a moment as I step onto the beach, and Rowan waits for me to get my bearings. “It’s a bit of a hike up to the hill,” he says, looking up the grassy expanse that leads away from the beach. “If you’re up for it.”
“I’m fine,” I assure him, and we set off.
The island itself is gorgeous. There’s nothing but nature all around us that I can see—greenery, rocky outcroppings, and a site of old ruins that I catch sight of as we head up the hill. It feels as if the temperature is dropping a few degrees, and when I glance up, it seems as if the sky has gotten a bit cloudier. But Rowan doesn’t seem concerned, so I don’t worry either.
When we reach the top of the hill, Rowan pulls a backpack that he brought along earlier off his shoulder and sets it down. “I had Mrs. Brady pack a picnic for us,” he says, and I stare at him.
“That sounds like a date, Rowan,” I say as calmly as I can manage, my heart suddenly beating rabbit-fast against my ribs. I feel almost trapped, panicked, as if the day is spiraling out of control. This is too romantic, too perfect for what we are to each other. The gorgeous day, the beach, this place, a picnic…
“It sounds like lunch, lass,” Rowan says calmly, spreading out a blanket and sitting down. “I don’t know about you, taibhseach , but I’m starving.”
I drop onto the blanket next to him, trying to calm my racing pulse. “Alright. I mean—I’m hungry too.” I bite my lip, looking at the sandwiches and fruit that he unpacks, along with bottles of sparkling water. My stomach rumbles, and Rowan looks over at me with a smirk.
I snatch a sandwich out of his hand, and as I take a bite—turkey with ground mustard, pickled onion, and tomato—I have to admit that it’s somehow more delicious like this…eaten outside after a hike in this wide-open, beautiful place. Rowan passes me a handful of grapes, and we sit and eat in companionable silence, looking out over the most beautiful view that I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
“Maybe the second most beautiful,” Rowan murmurs, and I realize that I must have spoken that last part out loud. I look at him, feeling my cheeks heat, and his expression is utterly serious for a moment before his lips quirk upward, as if he couldn’t hold the smirk in much longer.
I throw a grape at him, and he catches it, laughing as he pops it into his mouth. “I’ve had plenty of meals out here, sitting on this hill,” he says, looking back at me as his expression turns serious again. “But the view has never been as beautiful as it is today.”
My chest tightens. “Rowan?—”
I’m interrupted by a sudden deep rumble of thunder that seems to echo all around us. Rowan looks up in alarm, his brow creasing, and he stands up suddenly.
“Shit,” he swears under his breath, reaching for the food to start packing up. “I checked the weather just before we left.”
The thunder rumbles again, and I get up, dusting my hands off on my jeans. The clouds seem to be darkening rapidly, and I feel a small spark of alarm as I look out to the water and see the distance we have to cross to get back. “Are we going to be alright?”
“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.”
“With lightning ?” 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.”