7. Genevieve

7

GENEVIEVE

G enevieve stared at the script pages spread across her desk, the letters blurring together into meaningless shapes. Her mind, usually laser-focused on the task at hand, kept drifting back to the events of the previous evening. The softness of Eden's lips, the warmth of her body, and the sweet scent of her floral perfume. It all swirled in Genevieve's memory, refusing to cede space to anything she furiously tried to concentrate on.

She shook her head, hopelessly attempting to dispel the distracting thoughts. This was ridiculous. She was Genevieve Howard, for God's sake. Award-winning director and respected professional, not some lovesick teenager unable to control her hormones. And yet, here she sat, replaying that kiss over and over in her mind like her favourite record.

A war raged within her. On one side was her ironclad professionalism and the rules she'd lived by for decades. On the other was a desire so powerful it clawed at her focus again and again. Genevieve had never felt anything like this before, not even during the early days with Amy. This was something else entirely. Raw, primal, and utterly beguiling.

Genevieve reached for her coffee, grimacing as she took a sip of the now-cold beverage. How long had she been sitting there, lost in thought? The clock on the wall informed her it had been nearly an hour since she'd arrived at the theatre. A completely wasted hour of daydreaming.

Unacceptable.

She forced her attention back to the script, determined to make at least some progress before the day's rehearsals began. But no matter how hard she tried to unravel the words before her, her traitorous mind kept conjuring images of Eden. The way her blue eyes had widened in surprise just before their lips met. The soft gasp she'd let out when Genevieve had pulled her closer. The feeling of her fingers tangled in Genevieve's hair.

"Damn it," Genevieve muttered to herself, pushing away from her desk in frustration. She was getting nowhere. She stood, pacing the length of her office, trying to walk off some of the restless energy that had taken hold of her. She needed to get herself under control. She couldn't afford to be distracted by a beyond-inappropriate infatuation with her lead actress, no matter how enthralling said actress might be.

A knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts. Genevieve froze, her heart rate instantly accelerating. She had to get a handle on herself before anyone noticed a crack in her usually untouchable demeanour.

"Come in," she called, reassured by how steady her voice sounded.

The door opened, and there she was. Eden Rowley, looking like she'd stepped out of a pre-Raphaelite painting, all golden hair and wide, expressive eyes. Genevieve's breath caught in her throat at the sight of her.

"Good morning, Ms. Howard," Eden said quietly, hovering timidly in the doorway. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Genevieve swallowed hard, fighting to maintain her steely composure. "Not at all, Miss Rowley. Please, come in." She gestured to the chair across from her desk, grateful for the barrier it would provide between them.

Eden stepped into the office, closing the door and rendering them alone again. She moved to stand by the chair Genevieve had indicated, but didn't sit, wringing her hands in front of her.

"What can I do for you?" Genevieve asked, determined to maintain an air of professionalism. She could do this. She could treat Eden like any other actor, could pretend that nothing had happened between them.

Eden bit her lip, a gesture that Genevieve found entirely too enticing. "I . . . I had some questions about today’s scene, if you have a moment."

Genevieve arched an eyebrow. "Oh? And what might those be?"

"Well, I . . ." Eden trailed off, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. She seemed to be struggling to find the words, her eloquence on the stage deserting her whenever she fell back into being herself.

Genevieve waited, her suspicion growing with each passing second. She'd seen Eden talk about this script for hours, diving deep into character motivations and thematic elements. The idea that she suddenly had questions she couldn't articulate was . . . unlikely, to say the least.

As the silence stretched between them, Genevieve could feel her resolve weakening. It was worse the longer she sat drinking in the sight of this achingly stunning creature. Genevieve wanted nothing more than to cross the room, take Eden in her arms, and pick up where they'd stopped the night before. But she knew she couldn't cross that line again.

"Miss Rowley," she said finally, her tone curt enough to make Eden flinch. "If you have actual questions about the script, I'll be happy to answer them. But if you're here for . . . other reasons, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Eden's eyes widened, a flash of hurt crossing her features before she schooled them into a neutral expression. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I shouldn't have come. I'll go."

She turned to leave, her delicate hand already reaching for the doorknob. Genevieve felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of panic rise in her chest. She couldn't let her go, not like this. Before she could stop herself, she was speaking.

"Eden, wait."

The actress froze. Slowly, she turned, something akin to hope, perhaps, dawning in her eyes.

Genevieve took a deep breath, barely believing she was going to broach this subject. "Why are you really here?"

Eden's shoulders slumped, the pretence falling away. "I . . . I just wanted to see you," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't stop thinking about . . . about last night."

And there it was, out in the open. The spotlit elephant in the room, finally acknowledged. Genevieve felt a curious mix of relief and terror wash over her. There was no going back now.

"Eden," she began, not entirely sure what she was going to say next. But before she could continue, Eden was speaking again, the words tumbling out of her in a rush.

"I know it's unprofessional. I would never have planned it in a million years. But now . . . now I can’t seem to think about anything else."

Genevieve didn’t answer immediately, unable to brush off Eden's words, but equally unable to assure the gorgeous actress that she’d also been affected by their unexpected tryst. Genevieve watched as Eden took a tentative step toward her, then another, closing the distance between them.

"Please," Eden said coyly, now close enough that Genevieve could see the flecks of darker blue in her eyes. "Say something. I’m kinda dying over here."

Genevieve fought hard not to crumble as she gazed into Eden's expectant eyes. The young woman’s words hung in the air between them, a challenge and an invitation all at once. Genevieve's mind raced, searching for the right response. Something that would maintain her stoic authority while being honest about the undeniable pull she felt toward Eden.

Genevieve found she couldn’t bring herself to lie to that angelic face. "Eden," she began, her voice low and measured. "What happened last night . . . I know I was the one who crossed the line, but it can't happen again. You must understand that."

Even as the words left her mouth, Genevieve took an unconscious step back, as if physical distance could somehow quell the desire that threatened to overwhelm her. She watched as a flicker of disappointment crossed Eden's face, quickly replaced by a fierce gleam in those mesmerizing blue eyes. If Genevieve wasn’t mistaken, the actress seemed to be channelling a little more of Beatrice’s fire in her own demeanour with each passing day.

"But why not?" Eden pressed, closing the gap Genevieve had created. "I know you want this. I can see it in the way you look at me. No one’s ever looked at me like that."

The closeness of Eden's body sent a jolt through Genevieve. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to reach out and touch her. Instead, Genevieve forced herself to focus on the practical concerns that had been plaguing her since their unexpected kiss. "This production is too important," she said, her tone firmer now. "We can't risk compromising it because of . . . of a momentary lapse in judgment."

Eden's eyebrows rose at that, a hint of disbelief mixing with the determination. "Is that all it was? A lapse in judgment?"

Genevieve sighed, running a hand through her hair. "That's not what I meant. But you have to see how complicated this could make things. The success of this play has to come first. It's too important for both of our careers."

She turned away then, needing a moment to collect herself. She busied her hands with the papers on her desk, shuffling them aimlessly as she tried to regain her composure. "We need to forget it happened," Genevieve said, her back still to Eden. "For the sake of the production and for the sake of our working relationship. It's for the best."

The silence that followed her words was deafening. For a moment, Genevieve thought perhaps Eden had accepted her decision and was quietly backing out of the office. But then she felt a gentle touch on her arm, and her body responded before her mind could catch up, turning toward Eden as if drawn by an invisible force.

"What if . . . what if exploring this could actually help my performance?"

Genevieve fought back a smirk at that, intrigued to see where Eden would go with the thought. "I'm not sure I follow."

Eden's hand remained on the director’s arm, her thumb tracing small circles that sent tingles across her skin. It felt like every nerve in her body had woken up, just from the simplest contact.

"Beatrice has all these hidden desires, this inner conflict she's struggling with. Maybe . . . maybe by exploring my own hidden desires, I could tap into that part of her more authentically."

The suggestion hung between them, laden with possibility. Genevieve couldn't help but laugh then, a surprised chuckle bursting from her chest at Eden’s boldness. "That's quite a creative argument, Miss Rowley," she said, meeting Eden's gaze directly again and trying not to let it hypnotise her into doing something she might regret.

Eden's lips quirked into a small smile. "I learned from the best. You always say we should use our personal experiences to inform our performances."

Genevieve shook her head, marvelling at the young actress's audacity. She moved to perch on the edge of her desk, attempting to appear relaxed even as her mind raced with all that Eden was suggesting.

"Let me be clear," she said, her voice taking on the no-room-for-debate tone she usually reserved for the rehearsal room. "My first priority - my only priority - is moulding you into the best actress you can be. Into the Beatrice that will make this production a success."

Eden nodded eagerly, still hovering entirely too close for it to be professional. "I understand. That's what I want, too."

Genevieve held up a hand, stopping Eden's advance. "And I can't give you a relationship, Eden. I don’t have the space in my life to commit to someone. Do you understand?"

The younger woman's eyes seemed to spark at the challenge in Genevieve's words. She moved forward again, this time not stopping until she stood directly in front of Genevieve, close enough that she was practically nestled between her thighs.

"I’m not looking for a relationship or love. That stuff never works out for me anyway," Eden said, barely above a whisper. "I just want to explore this side of myself. The side I've been at war with for so many years. And I think you can bring it out of me better than anyone else could."

Genevieve felt her breath catch in her throat. The vulnerability in Eden's voice, the openness of her expression, it was almost too much to bear. She found herself leaning in slightly, her eyes darting repeatedly down to those temptingly full lips.

"You don't know what you're asking," Genevieve murmured, even as her hands itched to reach out and pull Eden closer.

Eden's gaze dropped to Genevieve's own lips for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "Maybe not," she admitted. "But I want to find out. Don’t you want to show me everything I’m missing out on?"

Genevieve knew right then that she stood at a crossroads. The rational part of her mind screamed at her to put a stop to this now, before it went any further. But another part, a part she'd thought long dormant, urged her to take the leap. It pooled in a steadily growing ache between her thighs, which were spread slightly by the unexpectedly bold woman who’d positioned herself between them.

As Genevieve looked at Eden, seeing the mixture of desire and uncertainty in those impossibly blue eyes, she felt herself losing the battle with reason. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and it had been so long since she’d been unable to ignore such physical magnetism. And if Eden was right, if exploring this could truly enhance her performance . . .

"This is a terrible idea," Genevieve said, her voice husky with want. But even as she tried one last time to claw back control, her hands were moving of their own accord, trailing up Eden’s thighs and coming to rest lightly on her waist.

Eden's breaths started coming shorter and sharper in response to Genevieve's touch. "It’s unorthodox," she agreed. "But I’ve spent too long holding myself back. I’ll never be half the actress I could be if I don’t allow myself to live a little more."

Genevieve couldn't help but chuckle at that somewhat-cliché philosophy. "Is that so? And where did you learn such wisdom?"

"From you," Eden replied, her eyes never leaving Genevieve's. "You're always pushing us to take risks, and to go beyond what's comfortable. Isn't this just another way of doing that?"

The logic was flawed, and Genevieve knew it. But in that moment, with Eden so close, her body sinfully inviting, it was hard to remember why this was such a bad idea. "If we do this - and I'm not saying we will - but if we do, you have to understand that our work comes first. Always. No exceptions."

Eden nodded eagerly. "Of course. I wouldn't want it any other way."

"And this stays between us," Genevieve continued, her grip on Eden's waist tightening slightly. "No one can know. Not the cast, not the crew, not any of your friends. It would compromise everything we're working toward."

"I understand," Eden said, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the collar of Genevieve's crisp shirt. "It'll be our secret."

Genevieve swallowed hard, trying to ignore the effect Eden's casual touch was having on her.

"We shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be doing this," Genevieve murmured, even as she leaned in closer.

Eden's hands slid up to cup Genevieve's face. "Then tell me to stop," she whispered, her breath warm against Genevieve's skin as she closed the last bit of distance between them.

This kiss was different from their first. Where that had been a surprise to them both, a sudden explosion of pent-up desire, this was slower, more languid. Two people exploring each other like they had all the time in the world.

Genevieve's hands slid around to Eden's back, pressing their bodies flush against each other and reaching down further to cup her perky ass beneath the soft wool of her sweater dress. A soft moan escaped Eden's throat, and Genevieve couldn’t help but smile against her lips at her shameless responsiveness.

For the first time in longer than she cared to admit, Genevieve let go of her iron control. She surrendered to the moment, to the overwhelming desire that had been building between them for weeks.

And as Eden's hands began to wander, exploring with a boldness that both surprised and delighted Genevieve, she knew that there would be no going back. Whatever happened next, whatever consequences they might face, this thing between them had become inevitable.

She would worry about the fallout later.