Chapter 2 – Genevieve #2
Something snags my finger from his jumpsuit, and I pull my hand out, noting a trickle of blood on the tip.
I pop it in my mouth and suck, using my other hand to locate what pricked me.
It’s probably another knife or something, only it’s not.
It’s a necklace with a giant green stone, a large pearl, and several diamonds that tier up like branches to the facet.
It’s stunning. Did he steal it? I can’t imagine a janitor—if he even is one—walks around with a gun and a necklace of this sort.
A pained groan stirs me from my thoughts, and I shove the necklace in my pocket, except it’s bulky and he’ll spot it the moment he opens his eyes.
Without thinking, I shoot upstairs to my tower and hide it in the box I keep under the floorboard.
The one with a sketch of my memory from the festival and the lantern ceremony and the silver locket that the woman who stole me when I was little put around my neck that I removed before my mother rescued me.
Inside is a picture of a man, whom I always liked to pretend was my father, even if there’s no way he is.
I leave his knapsack on my bed, unsure what to do with that.
Then I race back downstairs and instantly lock on a pair of pale green eyes. I gulp and step into the kitchen, keeping my spine straight and my expression fierce even as my insides are shaking like a leaf and blood is pounding so loudly through my veins I hear it in my ears.
His head tilts, and he does a long, curious sweep of my body down to my bare feet and back up to my face. My cheeks heat, and the need to look away or shift is compelling.
“Well, this is certainly unexpected,” he says in English.
His accent is… I actually don’t know what it is other than different.
It’s unfortunately sexy. Like the rest of him.
I cough out a wry laugh. Not that I have experience—or even a ton of knowledge beyond the basics—with sex or even being sexy.
The first time I got my period, I thought I was dying.
My mother gave me a book instead of talking to me about it, and after that, all I get are books instead of discussions. I digress.
He gives me a funny look. Probably because I’m smiling and laughing for no reason.
Not that it matters. If Mother finds him, she’ll kill him.
It’s likely what I should do. Isn’t that what she always taught me?
That the world is a dangerous place, filled with thieves and criminals and men out to harm me?
That if someone ever manages to breach our home, I should kill them immediately to save myself?
“Who are you?” I ask also in English, and it seems to surprise him that I’m so fluent.
But seriously, what else do I have to do with my time other than read and learn other languages?
I’m fluent in Italian, French, English, Spanish, and German, and am working on Russian.
Books and paints are the one luxury I get that I actually want.
Most everything else my mother tries to get me to do to improve myself, I want no part of.
A devilish smirk curls up the corner of his lips. “Who am I? Darlin’, who are you, and how on earth did you get the best of me?”
I squint at him. “It wasn’t exactly difficult, and my name isn’t darlin’.”
That smirk falls into a frown. “Then what is your name?”
“What’s yours?” I parry, taking the stool once more, crossing my legs and folding my arms as if I’m bored and not silently scared to death of the man tied to my kitchen table.
I could kill him. I mean, I have knives and things, but I’ve never killed anything more than an animal before, and even that made me ill for weeks after.
“Rhys Stephan.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t lie.”
He snickers. “Rhys Stephan.”
I pan a vague hand at him. “Okay. Fine. Your name is Rhys Stephan, though I think the exaggerated a is a bit much. How did you find me?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a basic question.”
He scoots back and straightens his spine against the leg of the table.
“You won’t be able to untie yourself or squirm out of the ropes. Answer me.”
He puffs out a breath, momentarily aggravated that I caught on to what he was trying to do. “I didn’t find you, as I wasn’t looking for you. You found me. I have a bump on my head to prove it.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.” His eyes scroll over me with new scrutiny. “Are you someone famous? A celebrity hiding out or something?”
I tilt my head, my hair falling along my side, and I flip it behind my back. “A what? What’s a celebrity?”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
I shake my head but move on. “I’m not hiding out. I live here.”
He studies me for a long moment before he glances around the kitchen. “That’s… something.” He returns to me, his expression open, the edges of his lips curled up. “I don’t know who you are, and I wasn’t trying to find you.”
I point in the direction of the hedge. “You broke through my perimeter, which is no easy feat, and triggered my alarm. You were also at the window of my cottage, looking in.”
“Why does a lady like yourself require such security?”
I give him a deadpan look. “So assholes carrying weapons like yourself don’t try to kill or kidnap me.”
His expression alters, making his eyes narrow ever so slightly. “That happens to you often?”
More than you’d think. I don’t answer him.
“Listen, pretty girl—”
“That’s not my name either.”
That cocky smirk is back, making his green eyes sparkle. “Nah, I beg to differ there. It’d most certainly be your name if you were mine.”
“Huh?” I scrunch my nose.
He huffs. “That one usually works.”
I shake my head, utterly bewildered. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
He sobers. “I gathered that. What’s your name?”
“Genevieve.”
“I can’t say all that. It’s a mouthful. I’m American and Irish, and we don’t say words like that. Gen. I’ll call you Gen. Why did you—oh, shit. Where’s my knapsack?”
I smile cheekily. “You mean the one with the gun and the necklace?”
“Fuck,” he hisses, alarm spreading across him. “Where is it?” He jerks, fighting against the rope, but it won’t budge.
“You can fight, but you won’t get free. I tied you up good.”
He stops struggling and hits me with a look that doesn’t make sense. He goes from upset back to charming in a nanosecond. “I can tell. It’s strangely hot for not even being my kink.”
“What on earth are you saying, and what’s with your smile thing?” I wave a finger, indicating his mouth. “It’s kind of creepy.”
He belts out an odd, humorless laugh. “No woman has ever thought this particular smile was creepy. Fine. You don’t like my attempt at being charming. I’ll ask you straight up then. What can I do to get you to let me go and be on my way with my necklace?”
I lean across the stool in his direction and level him with a no-fucking-around expression.
“How about you tell me who you are and how you found me? If I like your answers, I’ll let you live, and you can walk out of here with both.
If I don’t, I’ll kill you and bury you in the forest where no one will ever find you. ”