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GENEVIEVE
The shower is exactly what I need. As the warm water rushes over me, washing the mud and fear away, everything inside of me loosens and relaxes. I know there’s still progress to be made. I know they won’t be able to just accept me after what I did. I know Eric and I will have to talk soon, but for now, I can rest easy knowing they are not going to kill me. If the keys had been a test, I passed. For Archer, that’s probably exactly what it was. For the others, they really expected me to leave and truly wanted to let me go.
And that, the freedom they offered me despite all I know, I won’t forget.
They’d been willing to let me leave, despite my knowing everything about them. It would have been easy to point to the farmhouse and reveal everything about Gage. I know enough information about all of them to send them to jail, but they’d been ready to let me walk out that door and go back to my life.
The trust catches in my throat and has me standing in the shower until the water starts to grow cold. Only then do I wash myself and quickly step out, shivering from the ice-cold water. I look down at the dirty clothing I’d been wearing and sigh. I’ll have to ask them for another shirt, but for now, I wash the clothing I’d been wearing in the sink and hang them over the shower rod, letting them air dry. With the towel wrapped around me and my hair wet around my shoulders, I open the door and head to my room.
My room.
It somehow feels more like my room now than it did before. Everything is different now. This is what I wanted before, but I had to come to the realisation that Chaz was a fucking twat and that there was nothing back home for me.
I go to move past my door, preparing to go downstairs to ask for more clothing, but a voice from my room stops me.
“Genevieve.”
I pause and turn towards my open doorway to find Booker in my room. Brows raised, I step inside. “Yes?”
There’s clothing in his hands. When he sees me looking at them, he holds them out towards me. “I thought you might like some clean clothes.”
My heart melts at the nervousness on his face. “You brought me new clothes?”
“Yours were dirty,” he replies. His eyes dip to the tops of my breasts, where the towel rests, and then dances back up to my eyes. His attempt at being respectful makes me smile.
Moving across the room, I gingerly take the clothing from him. Booker’s scent wafts from them, wrapping around me and making everything inside of me tighten. “Are these your clothes?”
He nods, his movements jerky.
“Thank you, Booker.”
His eyes close for a moment when I say his name and then open. Clearing his throat, he goes to move around me, as if giving me space to get dressed. He pauses again beside me and meets my eyes.
“Why?”
I frown, confused at the sudden question. “Why what?”
“Why did you come back?”
It’s my turn to blink. Carefully, I move over to the door and close it, shutting us both in here, because it’s a conversation I’d like to have without an audience. For some reason, with Booker, I want to be honest. I could never do that with Archer or Gage, never admit it all, though they both probably know anyways.
Booker shifts on his feet and then stands stock-still while I move across to the bed and sit. I pat the spot beside me, and he comes over and takes a seat. The bed creaks with his weight, his larger size straining the frame. He leaves only a small gap between us, the heat of his body warming mine in the cool room as I clutch his clothes to me.
“I’m sure Archer has mentioned my past,” I murmur. When he nods, I continue. “There’s nothing I’ve wanted more than to belong somewhere. I thought I was getting that with Chaz, but that was foolish of me.” Biting my lip, I meet his eyes. “As I sat in the car, prepared to leave, I realised I belong here more than I ever did back in my penthouse.”
Booker studies my face. “So you chose to stay.”
Shrugging, I look up at the ceiling instead of meeting his penetrating eyes. “The four of you kidnapped me,” I say, and a chuckle lacking any actual amusement slips out. “I should be halfway to London by now, but instead, as I sat there, all I could think about were your faces. All I could think about were the four of you.”
Strong fingers cup my chin and pull until my eyes meet his again. “The strength it must have taken to admit you care is incredible,” Booker murmurs. “Especially after everything we put you through.”
His fingers are rough against my skin, and when one caresses my jawline, everything in me liquifies.
“I have nothing,” I murmur. “Nothing that matters.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Booker counters, watching me carefully.
We sit there, me wrapped in nothing but a towel with his clothing clutched in my fingers, staring into each other’s eyes for a few long seconds. His fingers don’t move from my face, caressing in a way that makes me lean forward and…
