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I pinched his white robe, which hung on a hook, and headed downstairs. Stefan was sitting at the dining table, clothed, and surrounded by sheets of music manuscript paper. On one sheet, he scribbled with a pencil. With his head bowed low, he drummed his fingers on the glass surface like piano keys. His concentration looked intense. His fingers didn’t stop moving.
I stayed back, watching, entranced by the composer at work. A man at peace with himself. I felt a little envious—not a worthy sentiment. He glanced up and caught my eye. He bundled the papers into a pile and by the time I reached the table, he had stuffed them in an opaque folder—out of sight.
“What was that?”
“Just…stuff. Breakfast,” he added rapidly. “You must be hungry, especially after last night.”
If he was referring to our sexual escapades, he was right. All that energy burn had made me ravenous.
I didn’t fancy toast. “Do you have cornflakes?”
He laughed. “Sure.”
He pottered in the kitchen, and I munched on my cereal, slurping up spoonfuls of milk.
His telephone rang, a traditional ringtone. He picked up the handset and cursed at the caller display. “Schizer.”
I shrank in my seat, feeling out of place—an intruder.
“Excuse me.” He walked to the other side of the room and spoke to the caller in German. The heated conversation from the previous day was replayed. The same gestures of clenched fist, pacing steps, grimacing expression and exasperated tone.
He slammed the phone down. “Sorry.”
I waited for him to fill me in. He said nothing. Leaning on the back of the sofa, he stared blankly at the wall of glass and beyond, into the garden. My patience wore thin quickly. The sense of being a fifth wheel, trailing behind him, unneeded until the moment he wanted me. It annoyed me, so like—no, I had to stop comparing. My spoon clattered in the empty bowl. He jerked, turning.
“I should go.” I pushed the bowl away. “I’ve stuff to do.”
“No, sorry.” He came across to the dining table. “Please stay. I was going to suggest a pub lunch.”
I had made up my mind. Things had become too intense between us—all the sex and little substantial conversation. He’d fucked me on and off for most of the night, leaving me achy and a little sore. I’d be surprised if he didn’t want a break. A breather would do us both good. “That’s really sweet of you, but I’ve washing, ironing, food to buy and it’s my turn to clean the house. I work full-time, remember?” I wasn’t lying. I’d all those things to do. What I didn’t want to tell him was that the wall he’d just erected between us had created distance and I was happily building on it. “I’ll get dressed.”
He caught my sleeve as I walked by him. “Stay, Callie.”
I hesitated. The temptation was strong, but all I saw was a man who needed space. His head probably lost in composition or maybe family issues. Either way, if he didn’t want to tell me, I couldn’t help him.
Somewhere a mobile bleeped. Stefan screwed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, but he ignored the message. He traced a finger up my arm, under my chin and tilted it up. “Let me sort a few things. A couple of emails…and…” He kissed my lips, nipping me gently. I sighed into his mouth, closing my eyes. I knew what he desired and it would be so easy to succumb and surrender my body to him.
Another loud bleep. Stefan broke off.
I stepped back, taking the initiative. “I’ll go get dressed.”
His shoulders slumped and I hurried to the bottom of the stairs. By the time I’d returned with my packed bag, he’d fired up his laptop and was busy typing. He snapped the lid down. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’ve had a lovely weekend. Good food. Great sex.”
His rather pained expression left and his face lit up. “The sex was fantastic. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“It’s the best part…of you.” I fumbled for words.
He grinned. “I’m sure you like other parts of me too.”
A rush of warmth flushed about my cheeks. “Yes, of course.”
“I’ll drive you home.” He collected his keys from next to the cookie jar. “Don’t forget Nettie.”
He must have put my clarinet in the case. Part of me didn’t like the idea of him touching her. I grasped the handle and gave a small smile. “Thanks.”
We said little during the journey home in the rain—always, it seemed, in the rain. I thanked him again as he pulled up outside my house and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
