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Not until I’ve gnawed my way through the bread does he open his newspaper back up. “Eat a yogurt too,” he says, flipping a page.
I reach for a yogurt despite the turmoil still roiling in my stomach.
“Aren’t you eating?” I ask, glancing down at the still half-full tray.
“I don’t eat breakfast.” He lifts his coffee mug to his lips as if saying coffee is all the sustenance he needs.
“I won’t be able to eat all this.”
“You don’t have to.”
“So why all this food?” There’s still another yogurt, two different types of bread, and fresh fruit.
“I didn’t know what you’d like.”
“Oh.” I glance back and forth between him and the food a few times, realizing this is him already taking care of me.
Gratitude rolls through me in a shuddery wave. As if sensing my reaction, Grigory opens his arm, inviting me closer. I lean into him, soaking up his calm strength that balances the imbalance within me and calms the nervous jitter of emotion.
— CHAPTER 2 —
CLARA
As with all flying, it’s the waiting and getting to and from the airport that takes time.
The flight only takes an hour, yet it’s nine o’clock when we finally arrive at my apartment a little ways outside Aarhus. I feel somewhat rejuvenated after a nap on the plane and another in the cab. But my body is still lethargic after the lack of sleep, and my hand quivers when I try to shove the key in the lock.
I grunt as I miss the lock again, and Grigory takes the key from my hand. Apparently, you only get two attempts when you’re with a growly, dominant conductor.
Click.The door unlocks, the sound audible in this blessedly quiet neighborhood. There’s no traffic din, construction, or crowds of people to pollute the air with noise. Just a yapping dog thinking it’s big enough to defend its small yard, the chirping of birds, and a car starting at the other end of the parking lot in front of the building. There’s not even the confinement of an entrance hall with several flights of stairs. We just walk straight in.
Grigory nudges me inside and follows like he owns the place. This man could walk into a presidential residence and act like he fits in perfectly well. And he surely would. I wouldn’t be surprised if a famous conductor like him has met more than one world leader, maybe even for a private dinner.
God, it’s beyond weird standing here in my small hall with this mountain of importance. There’s not enough room for him here. The air is already draining from the space as his presence fills it out.
All I have is three hundred square feet of a tiny apartment—a long room, a small hall, and a bathroom. That’s it. Every square foot is utilized in the best way possible, every shelf, nook, and corner filled to make up for the lack of space. It’s cozy and I love it, but will Grigory? He’s used to five-star hotels, grand concert halls, and large cities. He’ll feel cooped up within the hour. Even my queen-sized bed must be too small for both of us.
I realize my hands are fidgeting when Grigory shoves them aside and starts unbuttoning my jacket. Nervousness creeps along my skin as I look past him, trying to glance into themain roomto see if everything’s in order. For the life of me, I can’t remember how I left it three months ago. The place might be scattered with clothes, lingerie, and sheet music. My dildo might lie on the bedside table next to a stack of kinky books.
Grigory puts both our jackets on the hanger, kicks off his shoes, and saunters into the room. I stare after him, into the space he’s exploring with unrestrained curiosity.
No, there’s no dildo on the bedside table, no lingerie on the bed. My eyes drift to the shelves above, where my teddies are lined up. I rub my forehead. I’m twenty-five and still have my teddies on display. And not just my three favorites from childhood. The collection has been growing steadily since Markus started bringing me them as souvenirs.
The embarrassment continues when Grigory opens my nightstand drawer. Well, now he’s definitely seen my dildo—and the other sex toys I hide in there.
My cheeks heat when he turns and heads back for me, and my eyes fall to the ground as my hands fidget in front of me. For a moment, it’s too much, him being here.
This man takes and takes, bares my soul and works his way into my heart, tearing down every defense as he goes. Now he’s here in my private space too, forcing his way into this part of my life without permission or preparation.
It’s overwhelming, to say the least, and I’m more than a little nervous when he stops in front of me, looming over me with steady confidence.
He lifts a hand to my face, and the heat is almost shocking as he curves his large palm around my cheek. My eyes fall shut, and I get lost in the sensation for a moment.
“You have a very fine place,” he says.“It’s very you. Feminine and calm. Small and safe. Just the way you need it.”
Heat rushes through my body as I look up and fall captive to his deep brown gaze. It’s warm and sincere even as it reflects the larger-than-life authority always looming around him.
During the last few weeks, I’ve been so focused on his absence that I forgot how much he sees me when he’s actually there. We’ve barely known each other for two months, have spent half the time with a gaping hole between us, and barely talked at times. Yet, he knows me.
