CLARA GLANCED AROUND the luxurious room, her body burning with need. Fur pelts covered the hardwood floor in front of the fire, which crackled and flickered, casting a warm glow. A massive carved timber bed covered with snowy white linen dominated the room.
She spun to face Andreas, reached up on tip toes and pressed her lips to his, blocking her mind to everything but the way he made her feel. She didn’t want to think about the risks she was taking by allowing him this close, or reality awaiting them beyond this room. She just wanted the promise they’d negotiated: the two of them together, just a man and a woman as equals.
‘I want you,’ she said, slipping her hands under his jumper, seeking out his warm, golden skin, tracing every dip and bulge of the muscles she remembered from the bath. Impatient, she broke free of his kiss and pushed up his sweater so she could see his magnificent body once more, confirmation that, in this moment, he was real and he was hers.
‘There’s no rush,’ he said, tugging his sweater over his head and tossing it to the chair beside the bed before dragging her into his arms, where the heat of him nearly burned her alive.
‘I can’t help myself.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve seen you naked, don’t forget—twice.’
Clara moved her stare over the breadth of his bare chest, her hands skimming warm flesh as she went. He was beautiful, so masculine the woman in her trembled with longing for the empowering connection they shared.
‘I thought I caught you checking me out last night.’ A satisfied smiled kicked up his mouth. He raised her chin, his breath whispering over her lips. ‘So it’s only fair if I now feast my eyes on every inch of this body that has tortured me night and day since we met.’
His warm hands slid under her jumper, deftly freeing the clasp of her bra with one flick of his fingers. He kissed her in a long and thorough exploration that left her shifting restlessly against him to appease the molten ache between her legs.
How had this man, unlike any other, inspired such desperate need? Was it just the way he looked at her, the way he’d always looked at her, as if to him she was...exceptional and unique? Had she spent too long shutting down this side of herself, so one look at him had sent her hormones into revolt?
They reached for the hem of her sweater in unison, Andreas removing both it and her bra in one swift move so she shivered before him, not with nerves but with delicious anticipation. Goose pimples rose on her skin, but she was burning up. Chest to chest with Andreas, naked skin to naked skin, she felt as if she might incinerate to ash.
‘Touch me,’ she begged when he only stared at her nakedness.
His eyes blazed as he raised his hands to caress her bare breasts. ‘You are breathtakingly beautiful.’ His voice was gruff with desire.
Clara gasped but it wasn’t enough. It was nowhere near enough for that reckless part of her that craved the life-affirming freedom of his touch.
‘I wanted you that first time I saw you,’ he said, his thumbs toying her nipples to taut peaks. ‘With your hair all prim and proper and your uniform fuelling some pretty raunchy nurse fantasies I never knew I had.’
Clara laughed and bit down on her lower lip to try and contain the swell of pleasure weakening her legs, but languid heat radiated out from his expert touch, infecting her entire body.
‘I wanted you too,’ she said, dropping her head back so her throat was exposed to his kisses. ‘You looked so rugged and wild; I was tempted to join you in that giant bath.’
Her hands roamed his shoulders, his back and arms, the sheer strength of him. She couldn’t seem to touch him enough.
‘I knew it would be like this between us,’ he said, pressing her erect nipples between his fingers so darts of pleasure arced to her pelvis. ‘I felt the sparks the first time you looked at me as if you wanted to roll your eyes, as if you didn’t care who I was.’
Clara moaned at his words and the pleasure he was wreaking with just his fingers and thumbs. She was already lost, whereas he seemed far too in control. Raising on tip toes to kiss him, she slid one hand down his body, his skin scalding her palm until she reached the impressive hard length of him pressing at the front of his jeans. He groaned into their kiss, gripping her tighter so she was crushed against the fiery heat of him, enclosed in his powerful arms.
But she felt powerful too, the knowledge that she could affect him as much as he affected her almost as drugging as his heated kisses.
He walked her back towards the bed. ‘Lie back,’ he ordered, as her thighs hit the edge of the bed. ‘I want to see all of you.’
Leaning over her, he pressed kisses over her neck and chest, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking until Clara’s head spun with thick, paralysing desire. Why had she never prioritised this exploration of passion before? Surely she’d been denying herself something as essential as breathing? But would it be like this with anyone else? Her one fumbling foray into sex had been underwhelmingly brief and disappointing.
Perhaps this magic was down to Andreas. Because she’d yet to render him anywhere near as helpless as he was making her, she reached for the fly of his jeans.
His hips jerked and he took her hand, pinning her wrist to the bed. ‘I believe there is a nudity imbalance to redress,’ he said, smiling wickedly as he captured the other nipple with his lips, laving it with the flat of his tongue. ‘You’ve seen me naked twice, after all.’
‘Andreas...’ Clara moaned, writhing beneath him on the bed as he continued to torture her breasts with the sensual pleasure of his mouth. She wasn’t even naked and he’d driven her so close to the edge.
‘Keep calling me that, sötnos,’ he ordered, keeping his mouth on her breast.
He undid her jeans and together they shimmied them off with increasingly frantic tugs and shoves. Clara wanted him naked again, his weight on top of her, the heat of him scalding her, the feel of him inside her.
‘Almost good enough,’ he said, leaning back to move his eyes over her body from head to toe. ‘But not quite perfect.’
Taking hold of her underwear, he peeled it off so slowly, so intently, with his stare scouring her nudity, Clara thought she might explode from longing.
‘Don’t mind me,’ she whispered, her voice hoarse with want even as she tried to lighten the moment with humour. ‘Have a good look.’
Andreas’s eyes blazed in the firelight, showing her that he recalled the reference from the first night they’d met when he’d been the naked one and she’d ogled him shamelessly.
‘Oh, I will, don’t worry. You asked me to show you what I like and it’s this—you. I intend to see and kiss and pleasure every inch of you until you sob my name. Until you never think to call me anything else but Andreas. Until to you I’m just the man who wants you so badly, he’s struggling to draw breath right now.’
Everything in Clara clenched hard. How was she supposed to stay immune when he said things like that? When he looked down at her as if she was something rare, to be valued? When he made her feel as if this connection of theirs was as important to him as it was to her?
True to his word, he kissed a path across her ribs, to her belly button and lower. Clara gasped as he covered her sex with his mouth, sending fiery darts of pleasure through her every nerve. Reflexively, her fingers speared through his hair and she held on tight, her body tossed from pleasure to ecstasy to want in a cycle that happened again and again, until she was certain there was nowhere left to climb. Until she was indeed sobbing his name, as he wanted. Until she burned in white-hot fire.
Then he stopped. ‘I want to be inside you when you come.’ He reared back to remove his jeans and underwear so his erection sprang free, prouder and impossibly bigger than the last time she’d seen him aroused.
Aware that, for all her talk of equality and control she’d yet to do one thing to turn him on, Clara sat up and reached for him, encircling his hard length with her hand, then leaning forward to kiss him in return.
‘Clara...’ Andreas groaned, his stare fierce on hers as his fingers slid through her hair, holding her to him.
‘Don’t you like it?’ she asked, stroking the silky soft and steely hardness of him with her fingers, thumb and the tip of her tongue.
‘I like it too much.’ He hissed through his teeth as she took him inside her mouth, his stare glitteringly hard while he cupped her face and watched.
She’d barely taken two or three swipes of him with her tongue when he yanked her away and pulled open the bedside drawer for a condom.
‘I was enjoying myself,’ Clara said, pouting as he tore into the condom and stretched it on.
‘So was I.’ Following her down onto the bed, Andreas removed his prosthesis and tossed it to the floor.
‘Come here,’ he said, reaching for her, his strong arms rolling her on top. ‘I love the smell of your hair,’ he said as it fell around them like two curtains. ‘Like spring meadows.’
Gripping the back of her neck, he dragged her lips down to his, groaning when she pushed her tongue into his mouth, the way she’d licked him seconds ago. He cupped her buttocks in his hands where she sat astride his hips, pressing her close so her sensitised core met his hard length and stars danced behind her eyes as she forgot to breathe.
‘Andreas,’ she pleaded, looking down at him while he commanded her hips to a torturous rhythm, up and down, over and over, sliding them together so they gasped in unison. Then, with a deft and speedy roll, he switched their positions so that he was now on top, his expression harsh with desire. Cupping her breast, he sucked the nipple to a hard peak.
‘You make me so hard,’ he said, his thumb rubbing the sensitive nipple he’d primed with his mouth as he watched her pleasured cries.
‘I want to make you feel good,’ she said, feeling him between her legs, nudging at her entrance so she spread her legs wider in invitation. ‘I want you to lose yourself.’
He brushed her lips with his in a series of slow, sensual kisses. ‘I like who I am when I’m with you. I like how you see me. How you’re not afraid to challenge me. You make me feel as if I can be myself.’
‘You can,’ Clara whispered, watching arousal and vulnerability cross his beautiful stare, certain that this moment couldn’t be any more perfect. Then he pushed inside her, inch by inch, until they were one.
Every muscle in Andreas’s body pulled taut as though he might explode and cease to exist. Clara gasped her pleasure against his lips, staring up at him as if he was the answer to prayers, she hadn’t even known she had.
Holding himself still because she felt too good, he kissed her with languid swipes of his tongue against hers, coaxing out her moans, his whispered name, her pleading expression.
But still he held them both suspended. A connection like theirs deserved savouring. If he could have kept her here indefinitely in his favourite place, he would have, slaking his uncontrollable hunger for her over and over until his world made crystal-clear sense. Until he’d garnered the strength to face everything he must.
‘Thank you for escaping with me,’ he said, entwining his fingers through hers as he slowly thrust inside her.
He wanted to pleasure her to the point of exhaustion. His selfish need for her shocked him. She gave so much of herself, met him fearlessly, even in moments when their differences outweighed their similarities. And he couldn’t seem to get enough.
‘I’m so glad I met you.’ He reared back and stared into her intensely vulnerable eyes, wondering how, when she’d claimed to being the less experienced, he’d ended up feeling so moved, humbled and entranced by her responsiveness and her honest passion.
‘Don’t stop,’ she pleaded, her hands in his hair, stroking his shoulders, his back, her nails a gentle scrape that made every nerve in his body sing. It was taking every scrap of self-control he possessed not to rush to the finish. But he’d exhaust himself to make this good for her, after she’d not only trusted him with her body and her pleasure but had also opened herself to him emotionally, telling him about her mother and had been there for him when he’d needed her most.
‘You’re amazing,’ he said, refusing to think what he’d have done if she hadn’t been snowed in at the palace. He’d known it from the start when she’d strode into his bathroom and jolted his world off its axis. Shifting his weight, he rocked his hips, watching her arousal streak across her beautiful face, the flames between them fanning higher.
‘Andreas!’ she cried, her stare clinging to his, giving him everything he could possibly need: connection; acceptance; unity. But that was Clara: fiercely loyal; inspiringly compassionate; unflinchingly brave. He moved inside her, his kisses as wild as the beat of his heart. Every part of him coalesced, mind, body and soul, to this one moment where he truly was lost in Clara.
‘Andreas... Andreas,’ she said his name, calling to that inner part of him that, for some reason, with her had always found peace. Maybe because she took him at face value. Because, as she’d said, she wanted nothing from him but this.
Because he didn’t want to think about tomorrow, or how long they’d have to enjoy each other as lovers, he drove himself harder. ‘Lose yourself with me, Clara,’ he groaned against her neck, sweat breaking out and slicking their bodies even closer together.
Temperatures soared. Hearts thudded. Stares were locked and vulnerable.
Another cry was snatched from her throat. He dived to swallow it up, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as she climaxed, her nails digging into his back, her muffled sobs sweet music to his ears.
She was his—perfection.
He followed her, the powerful spasms of his orgasm endlessly racking his body as they clung to each other, panting and sweaty and equally laid bare.
‘I didn’t know it could be like that,’ she said breathlessly a few minutes later, wonder in her voice. ‘I’ve heard the myths, read it in romance novels, but...wow.’
‘Wow indeed, sötnos,’ Andreas said, pressing kisses to her smiling lips, her flushed cheeks, her closed eyelids while his heart fought to get back inside his chest. ‘It’s not always like that, but I’d say that definitely makes us equals.’
He rolled over, scooping an arm around her shoulders to hold her close while his awareness sharpened at the periphery, the intrusion of reality returning. He clung to Clara, clung to her uncomplicated company and the relentless attraction that had helped him to escape his troubles for a while.
But he couldn’t escape with Clara for ever. He couldn’t even stay at the lodge with her indefinitely, no matter how sorely he was tempted. He’d have to return to the palace and be there for his father, plan an exit strategy for his career.
His throat tightened with grief—for his father, the man, the ruler; the only family Andreas had left. And for himself: for that part of him that was proud of what he’d achieved; for the loss of the life he’d assumed he’d have for many years to come; for the demise of his freedom.
Clara rested her head on his chest, her hand stroking his abdomen in a way that would soon make him hard again. Andreas focussed on breathing, on the feel of her body against his, of the scent of her all over his skin. Considering today had begun with the devastating news of his father’s diagnosis—and the bitter taste of failure that he’d not only missed the signs, but had also been the last person to know—that he could feel anything like the kind of pleasure and contentment that had just ripped through him was a testament to how badly he wanted this woman. Right now, she was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Except he’d also have to sacrifice even Clara.
‘Do you think your Cronstedt ancestor, the one who built this place, brought his mistress here?’ she asked sleepily, her lips pressing against his chest.
‘Prince Erno, my great-great-grandfather? Probably. He did have a mistress, a famously beautiful one.’ Had Erno Cronstedt sought solace from the demands of his position in the arms of a woman? ‘Except, you’re not my mistress.’
‘No,’ she stated simply, leaning up on her hand to peer down at him curiously, a small smile on her lips.
‘I should be so lucky,’ he said, stealing a kiss, because she was too far away and he already ached for her again.
Clara laughed, glancing at the fire in the hearth. ‘It’s dying down; I’ll throw on another couple of logs.’
Before he could stop her, she slid from the bed and crossed the room, completely naked and completely comfortable.
Andreas folded one arm behind his head, propping himself up for a better view, his mouth dry with lust and longing. How could she do that to him, turn him on and make him ravenous, within minutes of great sex? Was it some sort of power she had over him? Or was it that their connection was deeper because they worked together and because Clara also cared for his dying father? Because she saw him like no other and understood his feelings?
Every other thought in his head evaporated as she stooped and placed two more logs on the embers and then returned to the bedside, her stunning naked body cast with an orange glow from the fire.
‘If this hadn’t already been my favourite place in the whole world,’ he said, his voice gruff with thick desire, ‘It would definitely be now. I’ll never be able to look at that fire again without seeing your glorious body.’
She smiled. ‘I am your eternal servant, Your Royal Highness.’ She gave a mock curtsey and then joined him under the sheets.
‘Don’t,’ he said, clasping her chin, directing her mouth to his. ‘We made a deal: no more curtseys.’
He kissed her, pushing his tongue against hers to try and calm the wild need uncurling in him once more. But her careless reminder had broken the spell. No matter how good it had felt to flee the palace with Clara, no matter how thoroughly he’d lost himself inside the warm haven of her body, he couldn’t hide for ever from his life, his responsibilities and the difficult days ahead.
Prince Henrik needed him—the nation, too. But could he bear to lose everything in one fell swoop: his father, his career and Clara?
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, the playfulness draining from her eyes. ‘It’s too soon to joke about that, right?’
Andreas sighed, reaching for her and sliding her body under his so their rapid heartbeats aligned. ‘I would normally have a sense of humour. It’s just that this is the one place I’ve always felt I can be myself.’
He touched the glinting green gemstone in her nose, one of many facets that made Clara unique. ‘And I want to be myself with you. Always.’
She nodded, regarding him thoughtfully, her stare filled with compassion when he’d rather see it burn with desire. How could she make him feel more naked than he’d ever felt in his life? He was supposed to be the one in control of this rampant attraction, he was supposed to be the one with more experience, but instead he was close to unravelling, his need for her unstoppable.
‘I’m glad that you have somewhere you feel safe and free.’ Her stare flicked between his eyes, as if she saw him deep to the centre of his damaged soul. ‘You feel close to Oscar here too, don’t you?’
He pressed a kiss to her lips. ‘You have a gift for seeing people clearly, did you know that?’
He’d always appreciated her directness. But now that he’d faced the reality his father was terminal—now that he’d escaped with Clara to this magical and unique place; now that they’d finally surrendered to their desires—his past mistakes were the last thing he wanted to discuss.
Except Clara had been there for him this morning when he’d needed someone like he’d never needed anyone before. She understood what he was going through because of her experiences with her mother. His world was on its head, the sands of time slipping through his fingers, and no amount of holding on would slow the inevitable. Discovering his father’s prognosis had changed everything.
‘I do feel close to Oscar here,’ he said with a small sigh of surrender. ‘We had the best times growing up.’
‘You must miss him terribly,’ she whispered, her fingers stroking his back hypnotically.
Andreas watched Clara’s parted lips, craving a distraction from the shame, guilt and pain of remembering. It would be so easy to kiss her again, to refocus on their passion, to seduce her into silence and get lost once more. But his recent experience with his father had taught him that he couldn’t hide from his feelings for ever. They caught up with him one way or another, often when he was most vulnerable and least expecting it.
‘We were so close as boys,’ he said. ‘Not so much as teens, but then close again as adults before he died.’
He rolled onto his back, tucking Clara against his side so he could stare blindly at the ceiling. He didn’t want to see her reaction if he had to talk about this. He wanted her to look at him with arousal, need and desperation, not pity and blame.
‘Lots of siblings drift apart as teenagers,’ she said, resting her cheek on his chest. ‘My sister and I used to fight all the time.’
‘Now, why is that so easy to imagine?’ he teased, stealing another kiss for strength. ‘The truth is, I hero-worshipped Oscar. He was smart and funny and always won the snow-mobile races.’
Clara smiled indulgently, her eyes bright with empathy. ‘What happened to change that?’
‘Nothing he did.’ Andreas stroked his fingers up and down her back, from her nape to the top of her buttocks, her warm, silky skin comforting even as he stepped out of the shameful shadows and into the harsh light. Would she change towards him once she knew all the ugliness of his past? Could he bear that now that he’d found something real with her?
‘I was fourteen and Oscar was sixteen when our mother died,’ he said, because she’d always been easy to confide in. ‘It seemed that, overnight, we stopped doing everything together. Oscar was suddenly too busy for races. He was always squirrelled away in Pappa’s study or attending statesman classes or meeting with important dignitaries.’
‘And you felt left out,’ she whispered. ‘That’s understandable.’
Her statement jabbed at his ribs like a blow, the emotions too complex for a simple yes or no answer. He clenched his jaw, debating whether to share more. He didn’t want her to see him this way—hung up on the past, a man who’d failed and let down his loved ones, at odds with his dying father.
He craved the way she’d looked at him in the bath that first day; the way she’d looked at him as he’d twirled her around the ballroom; the way she’d looked at him when she’d asked him to show her his desires.
‘I didn’t understand it fully at the time,’ he continued, the inexplicable urge to be honest burning in his throat. ‘But of course Oscar was in training to rule. I didn’t blame him, after all; it was his birth right. But I was a kid, and a relatively sheltered one at that. There was a part of me that couldn’t help but vie for a little of our father’s attention.’
‘Of course not. You were grieving for your mother. A part of you must have felt as if you’d lost your father and brother too,’ Clara said simply, pressing her lips to his chest so he felt raw inside.
Was that true? It seemed obvious now.
Andreas stared hard into her eyes, as if he could draw on Clara’s innate strength and intuition. ‘After a while I gave up that fight. Oscar was focussed on the role he’d been born for and Prince Henrik threw himself into preparing his heir.’
‘Perhaps your father was grieving too,’ she said quietly.
‘Perhaps. For a while, I acted out, frequented wild parties, saw the sense of freedom as a green light for anything I chose to do.’
‘I’ve seen the pictures on the Internet.’ Clara smiled sadly in understanding.
He nodded. ‘Then I got wise and realised that, while I might not be as important as Oscar, I had freedom. I could choose how to fill my time and live my life. So I knuckled down, went to university, earned a medical degree and then joined the armed forces.’
‘You are just as important as the next person,’ she said, pushing up onto her elbows, her stare glittering with sincerity. ‘Even if you’d chosen to simply be that playboy version of yourself and nothing more.’
Andreas hauled her closer and kissed her again, part of him splintering apart that she understood his motivations when he’d been blind to them, perhaps until this very second. ‘And you are wise beyond your years, Nurse Lund.’
‘We both had to grow up fast,’ she said, her insight slicing through him like a blade.
He’d never thought of it that way, but of course losing his mother and effectively losing his brother and father to more important duties had left his teenage self lonely and confused. No wonder he’d acted out. No wonder he’d pushed himself into a medical career he could be proud of, as if he’d had something to prove to the father and older brother he loved.
And it had worked—right up to the moment when he’d been unable to save Oscar.
‘And now you must soon give up all of your hard work,’ she said hesitantly. ‘It must be difficult. I can’t imagine ever giving up nursing.’
Something rumbled in his chest, an unsettled gnaw of uncertainty, as if her statement was another blow to the convictions that had seen him through his adult life to date. But of course Clara fiercely valued her independence, another of her attractive qualities.
‘I’ve always known that my family must come first,’ he said, dejected because, whereas Clara could continue with her career, he would be taking another path. Their worlds, the common ground they’d shared as medical colleagues, would diverge.
He continued, refusing to think about him and Clara parting ways. ‘But naïvely I never truly thought about what it would mean for the career I love and take pride in until the accident that killed Oscar. I was there when he died. I tried to save him. That’s how I lost my leg.’
And now, with his father’s news, he had even less time left as a doctor than he’d hoped. He would have to step into Oscar’s shoes, final confirmation that his brother was gone for ever...
‘I’m so sorry.’ She pressed her lips to his neck.
‘The palace wanted me to give up medicine immediately after Oscar’s funeral,’ he said, recalling the rows that had driven the wedge deeper between he and his father. ‘I woke up in hospital to discover my brother hadn’t made it, that my leg had to be amputated; that I had to set all of that aside, put on my uniform and attend his televised state funeral. I refused to even consider giving up my career on top of everything else. And I’m glad I didn’t succumb to pressure. I needed to heal and recover. I needed a reason to strap on that prosthesis every day, to do my exercises, to learn to walk again. In a way, the drive to get back to work saved me.’
Clara stroked her fingers through his hair. ‘A strong motivation to recover helps. It must have been a horrendous time for you.’
‘Of course, now I’m going to lose my father too. None of our past issues matter.’
He swallowed, the sense of failure intensifying. ‘Not our mutual stubbornness that used to drive my mother mad, or our differences of opinion on how to rule the principality or our inability to even discuss what happened to Oscar—none of it matters.’
Defeated, he clamped his lips together, sickened by his pity party. Giving up his career, while regrettable, wasn’t the end of the world. He’d adapt; he’d adapted before, to losing a limb. He could pour all his energy into his royal role. He’d do it for Oscar and try to be as good a ruler as his brother would have been.
‘I’m so sorry, Andreas.’ Clara wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tight. ‘But I think you’re wrong. I think that stuff with your father does matter. You have an opportunity not many people get, to talk about the things that have impacted your relationship before it’s too late.’
Andreas stiffened. ‘The men of this family don’t really talk about their feelings. It’s an unspoken rule to suck it up and get on with it. Even when Prince Henrik told me his diagnosis, he showed no emotion, and when I pressed for more information he as good as told me to mind my own business.’
He didn’t need verbal confirmation from Prince Henrik that, as the second son, he wasn’t the heir his father had hoped for. He carried enough self-doubt. If he messed up as heir, he’d not only be letting down his father and the nation, he’d also be failing the brother he hadn’t been able to save in life.
‘I appreciate your opinion.’ He tried to keep his voice even. ‘But some things are best left alone. My father is a proud man who’s used to being in charge. He won’t tolerate being questioned, and I’ve no desire to upset him during whatever time he has left. And besides, every time we do speak on an emotive subject, a part of me seems to revert to being that young boy so eager for his approval.’
He was done with that.
‘We have a complex relationship, sötnos.’ He pressed a kiss to her forehead to lessen the sting of his words, part of him regretting that he’d opened himself up quite so much.
‘Don’t do that.’ She pulled away, drawing the sheet higher to cover her breasts. ‘Don’t patronise me. I know all about complex parental relationships.’
‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he said, contrite. ‘Will you tell me about it?’
Her frown deepened, pain in her eyes. ‘By the time my father left us—I was sixteen—he’d already let me down one time too many. For three years I survived without him. Yes, I worked hard to help out Mum, but we were happier somehow, just the three of us. When my mother got sick, I was so scared. One day, I swallowed my pride and called him. I begged him to come home and help care for his wife and to support Freja, who was only fifteen. Do you know what he did? He made excuses, dismissed my concerns, said he’d try, but he had a big deal on the horizon. It was so humiliating. Before I’d even hung up the phone I knew he wouldn’t come back. He didn’t care about any of us. He chose his own selfish pursuits over his wife and daughters.’
‘I’m sorry.’ How he wished he could brush away her sadness and wished he’d been more careful with his words, or simply seduced her again rather than talking.
‘I got smart—got on with my life,’ she continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. ‘I never relied on him again, never needed him. I stopped presenting myself for his rejection.’
She turned to face him. ‘But, by cutting myself off, I never had the chance to tell him how badly he’d let me down, how much he’d hurt me...and I never had the opportunity to work through forgiving him. He died two years ago. I hadn’t seen him or spoken to him since that last phone call.’
He took her hand and raised it to his lips, lingering over the kiss he placed on her knuckles to show her the depth of his regret. ‘If you could confront him today, what would you say?’
Clara raised her chin. ‘That I no longer need him for anything. That he can’t hurt or disappoint me any more. That I’m sorry he couldn’t be a better man.’
Andreas’s heart ached for this beautiful woman who gave so much of herself to others and somehow, intuitively, saw what they needed. His protective urges flared. He wanted to take care of her, to give her as much as she’d given him. To protect her from ever again feeling that degree of hurt and disappointment. But, of course, he would react that way to a wonderful woman he was not only sleeping with, but working with while she cared for his terminally ill father. Their lives were repeatedly entwined.
‘I think you’re wrong, too, sötnos,’ he said. ‘A while ago, you said we’re from different worlds, but I think we’re more similar than either of us realise.’
They’d faced similar emotional issues, dealing with them differently.
‘Maybe,’ she said, kissing him so he started to lose track of his thoughts. ‘And maybe we should be doing other things than talking before we have to go back to reality.’
Relief washed over him as they retreated to their passion. ‘I like the way you think.’ In fact, he liked everything about Clara—everything. He rolled her underneath him, pressing his lips to hers to block out the doubts and the pain, the past and the future.
But her confessions tumbled through his mind. Bringing her here, to a place he cherished, he felt closer to her than ever. Hearing how badly she’d been hurt by her father, he vowed to take special care of her until he had to give her up.
Because he never wanted to be the one to let her down.