Chapter 24
Rick
Sitting at the little desk next to the bed she slept in, I stared at my open laptop wondering how in the hell I’d ended up entangled with a woman twenty years my junior. But one look at her told me the answer, its truth as obvious as the sunrise.
A muted snort heralded Geneva turning over, twisted up in the covers, the off-white sheets wrapped about her like a second skin. Then she stilled again, her breathing taking on a languid cadence once more.
The girl snored.
ThatI hadn’t expected. Though what was I supposed to expect from someone I barely knew… but who, with stunning swiftness, was getting under my skin, evading my most valiant attempts at keeping her at arm’s length.
Stop that shit. Right now. It’s stupid, and you know it.
I clicked over to the other window, the spreadsheet filling the screen. Tapping away on the laptop’s keyboard in the quiet of the bedroom was probably not the smartest idea, but for a man like me, someone who usually found the possibility of sleep to be a fleeting, cruel joke, at least it enabled me to get a little bit done during my long bouts of insomnia.
When she’d fallen asleep, I’d been taken a bit by surprise. I’d convinced myself she’d avail herself of her last chance and finally do the right thing. The smart thing.
And run far, far away from a man like me.
Picking her up and taking her over to the bed, I’d let her slumber away the previous hour and a half while I worked.
She moaned softly, but it only further reminded me that the moment, the emotions I struggled with, all of it was fleeting, transient. I got up and walked over to her, admiring her beauty and peacefulness even as I dreaded the thought that it would likely be gone the instant she came to her senses about me, when the cold, hard truth became impossible to deny.
She seemed so peaceful while she dreamt, her mouth moving silently. Perhaps it was a confessing of her most twisted needs.
Or maybe she’s just reciting her grocery list.
I reached out to her, tracing the lines of her hands with my fingertips. I would never tire of touching her. She had a pull, something drawing me to her, that I’d never experienced before. And there was another element to it, something else entirely new to me, a hopelessly confused jumble of second-guessing, of wondering what the future might hold. And layered over that, deep need, desire, and possessiveness. Whatever one decided to call it, it took hold of me as I looked upon her.
And it was one of the few things in this world that had ever sparked real, genuine fear in me.
Because I knew I had so little control over it.
For a long while I stayed like that, watching her, touching her. I ran a finger along the line of her upper arm, palmed the sweep of her hip. I wanted to touch her everywhere. But she needed sleep.
She was so still in her slumber. I wanted time to slow though, to let me savor the moment just a little longer.
We’d have to face the ugly reality of the truth when she woke.
Not yet.
My thoughts grew dark then, at what might be. And what could never be.
I watched her from the desk now and then, my mind turning to her charming naivete. For someone with so clever a mind, she was still so na?ve, however charming that might be. Life hadn’t yet had its chance to grind her down, the cynicism I struggled with more each day something that would be utterly alien to her.
Lucky girl.
As night follows day, jadedness, even bitterness, all too often came with life experience. But not with Genie. At least not yet.
There was, even then, still time for her to save herself from it too. The world I inhabited was one that could consume her if she wasn’t prepared for it. It might even destroy her.
Or maybe she dodges that bullet—and she merely hates you.
Despite all of that though, there was that hope—no matter how faint it might be—that maybe, just maybe we could navigate what was to come.
And come out the other side.
Together.
You’re kidding yourself. Chasing her away would be a mercy, Rick.
Shaking my head at the dour theme of my thoughts, I left her to sleep, heading back out to the sitting area of our little suite. Maybe I’d fall asleep on the couch. Eventually.
But knowing she was in the bed, safe, warm, utterly trusting in me, that she slumbered in comfort, under my watch… somehow that relaxed me too. What did that mean?
I set aside my unexpected protectiveness, even possessiveness of the girl. Watching over her, giving her shelter was one thing.
Letting her in, really letting her in was another matter entirely.
Especially given who she was. The Nantes name was going to be a major problem. Sooner or later, there was going to be conflict—with Chester Nantes.
I didn’t know how, or why. But I knew what—or more to the point, who—it might be. And it was the who rolling around on my bed, twisted up hopelessly in my sheets.
No matter what illusion she might conjure for herself to justify pursuing things, I knew the truth. My relationship with Geneva would most definitely not be welcomed by her family. Chester implied I had broad leeway with her, but we both knew that had limits. Strict ones. I had to help her understand that, so that she might still at this late hour make the right choice.
Or you could make it for her.
But I couldn’t, not really; my desire for her was fathomless. I was increasingly driven to dive deep into its waters, and take her with me, whether she was willing or not.
So, it would have to be her choice. The best I could muster was to keep my animal needs at bay.
For now.
I had to hope she had the courage where mine had failed. To save herself… from me.
Just then she came padding out to the sitting area, clutching the sheets to her body. Sleep had her eyes still heavily lidded, but she gave me a wan smile regardless. “Hi.”
I looked at my watch. It was almost six, the dark outside already beginning to fade, dawn imminent. “Want some coffee?”
“Please,” she said, plopping down on the suite’s couch.
“Good. I’ll make you some.”
She rubbed her eyes, yawning.
I headed over to the coffeemaker, my thoughts wandering a bit as I’d waited for the coffee to finish. I’d gotten the impression, rightly or wrongly, that she’d viewed Chester as more or less a kindly father figure. Mostly harmless.
Such a description was one literally nobody who’d ever dealt with the man would ascribe to Chester Nantes.
When you get her woken up, Rick… maybe it’s time you tell her what kind of man her uncle really is.