Chapter One

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His shoes slapped the pavement, overnight bag swinging wildly on its strap and thumping
his back with every pounding step. Behind him, somewherea block or two, maybe a
matter of meterswere the wolves. He didn't dare waste the moment it would take to
crane his neck and check. He could feel them. Hot, hungry breath caressing his neck.

He heard them bayingheard them howling his name, heard them half-begging, half-
demanding that he stop, that he talk. Or so he imagined.

He didn't speak more than ten words of Italian.

Rome was a mazenarrow alleys, sharp angles, cobblestones lumpy underfoot and
daring him to fall. Down one street, into the slim gap between two buildings, out the
other side. His footsteps echoed, breadcrumbs leading the wolves to his heels. He
scanned for cabsnone. For hotels, for hospitals, for anywhere that might be open so
early in the morning. Anywhere might hide and catch his breath.

This must be what criminals feel like.

Except he hadn't hurt anyone, hadn't stolen a thing. The only possession he had, the one
the wolves wanted so badly, was his privacy. When one led a quiet life, it was a wealth
easily taken for granted. Now that these predators were seeking to snatch it away, it felt
like the most precious prize in the world.

His privacyincalculable value, in retrospect.

His privacy, worth more than the vastest fortune. He knew that now, beyond the shadow
of a doubt. Knew it as surely as he knew the taste of his own fear in his mouth.

His heart hurt. His lungs burned. The air here was too dry, too cluttered with city smells,
and he'd trade all that money for one cool, damp gulp of the salty sea breeze, for one
second's respite lost in the relentless hush of waves lapping sand.

In reality, the only relentless rhythm was his pounding feet beating rubber against stone,
and the high, reedy wheeze of his breathing. He'd slowed to a jog, too exhausted to keep
his pace. He needed to stop, to breathe, to think.

Finally, down the next alleyhope. A row of glowing windows, and movement beyond.
A person, awake at this hour. A savior, if they proved merciful.

He skidded to a halt at the door, the silence of his stilled feet swallowed by the pounding
of his fist.
"Hej!" BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. He scoured his brain for scraps of Italian, but
nothing came. "Hej! bn dren!"

Finally, a shadow moved beyond the door's frosted window. Words came through the
wood and glass, foreign to his ears. A woman's voice. A savior's voice? He could only
hope so.

"Per favore," he shouted, the phrase shaken loose from his memory.

And when the door finally cracked open, he shoved himself bodily inside.

Chapter Two
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BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG.

Amy's head whipped around, fingers frozen above the ventaglio she was shaping on a
baking sheet. She held her breath, praying the passing drunk would move on

BANG BANG BANG BANG

"This better be a goddamned emergency." She wiped her fingers on her apron and jogged
for the door. She heard muffled, fretful words through the glass.

"Chi ?" she demanded.

A frantic "Per favore," answered her, the voice so overwrought, Amy's fear left her. Still,
she patted her back pocket to check for her phone before she cracked the door.

"Cosa" She'd gotten it all of an inch wide when a man's arm pushed through, followed
by the rest of him. In a blink, he was plastered to the door, banging it shut with the weight
of his body. A gym bag swung at his side. He was tall and striking, andfamiliar.

He spoke in a garbled, unintelligible rush.

She urged him to slow. "Io non capisc"

He kept talking, growing frustrated, and making her nervous. Was he hurt? Or mentally
ill? He was well-dressed, with incongruous black Converse sneakers on his feet. Amy
reached back for her phonehe stepped away, holding up his hands, still jabbering.

Her patience snapped. "I have no idea what you're saying!"

He blinked, muttered to himself, then burst out with, "I do not wish to rob you!" His
English was heavily accented.
She stared at him. "What?"

He nodded to her hand, poised at her back pocket. "I don't want your money."

She pulled out her phone to show him. "I didn't think you did."

He froze, eyes wide, then put a finger to his lips. Amy went silent as footsteps grew
louder on the stones outside, grew closer, paused. The man flattened himself against the
wall beside the door. The steps continued down the alley. He slumped, eyes shutting as he
took a great gulp of a breath.

She whispered, "Who's following you?" No sirens, so she prayed he wasn't a criminal.

"Fotografer." After a pause he added, "Paparazzi."

"Oh." Amy squinted. She did know that facefrom magazine and newspaper covers, and
TV headlines. An actor, to judge by his looks, but she couldn't place him. Nor his accent
Scandinavian?

He had high cheeks and a bold jawline, their shapes accentuated by thick black stubble
and strong brows. His hair and features struck her as Italian or Greek, but his complexion
was surprisingly fair, and his irises pale hazel-gray, framed by a dark ring.

She eyed the big windows that lined the workroom along one side, so passersby could
watch the bakers. Good for business, terrible for fugitives. "You need to get on the
ground."

He went where she pointed, sitting on the floor, hidden by the long metal table, probably
getting flour all over his butt. He belonged in an ad for thousand-dollar sunglasses, Amy
thought, not on the messy floor of her workplace at four a.m.

"Who are you?"

He didn't reply. Not an actor. A musician? That overgrown hair, and those eyes belonged
to some haunted, poetic soul. A foreigner hiding out in Rome, face splashed all over the
local news. Worth chasing, in the opinion of the press

And in a flash, she knew.

She knew exactly who he was.

Chapter Three
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"You're that guy."

He met the girl's eyes, face heating to realize she'd placed him. From a nobody to
approximate royalty He ached for the life he'd lived only two weeks ago.

"Jens Overgaard." He offered a hand, and the girl crouched to shake it.

"I'm Amy. Campos. You're the Danish guy, the one who"

"The 'Billionaire Bastard.'"

She looked as embarrassed to hear the name as he felt uttering it.

He forced a smile. "It's fine. Just words." Though in truth, he wasn't at home in the title,
not at all. He'd always been told his father had died bravely before Jens was born.
Discovering the truth had been a shock, to say the least. Plus how on earth could Jens be
a billionaire? Billionaires didn't spend the pre-dawn hours cowering behind prep tables in
Italian bakeries.

"Can I make you a coffee or something?" Amy asked.

He considered it, his uncertainty seeming to translate to a yes, in her view. She headed for
the kitchen's double doors and into the storefront.

Jens listened to her banging around, then the unmistakable din of beans grinding and
being run through an espresso machine. One of the doors popped open, and she peeked in
at him, dark ponytail swinging. "You want milk, or just black?"

"Milk, please."

"Latte or caf au lait?"

"Whatever is easiest."

She returned shortly with a mug, setting it above him on the table. "One more choice
amaretto or Frangelico?"

"Excuse me?"

She smiled kindly. "You look like you could use a stiff drink. I've got amaretto and
Frangelicoalmond or hazelnut."

"Oh. Almond, then. Please."

She procured a large, square bottle from a cabinet, and tipped a shot into the mug. After a
stir, she passed it down to him.
"Thank you." He took a sip. Strong in every way, it tasted essential just now. He met her
blue eyes. "This is very kind of you."

She shrugged. "As long as I get the bread baked and the pasties prepped, it's fine by me.
I'll have to kick you out at five, thoughthat's when the other baker shows up."

He checked his old watch. That gave him an hour to calm himself, and gave the wolves
an hour to run off in the wrong directions. He'd miss his flight, but no matterthere were
always more, and he didn't relish going now, knowing the press was surely waiting for
him. "I'll take what I can get. Just tell me when, and I'll go. And please, get on with your
work. I'll just be here, on the floor, drinking." He lifted the cup with a smile.

She returned it, the gesture rounding her cheeks and bringing a dimple to one. Jens felt a
flush, and wondered how much of it could be blamed on the alcohol. It went beyond the
fact that she was pretty. It was a need he'd not even realized he was aching for, amid all
the chaosthis sense that in a sea of parasites and predators, he'd found an ally. If only
for an hour. If only in the shape of stranger who

BANG BANG BANG.

They both turned to the door, and the tall outline of a man visible through the clouded
glass.

Chapter Four
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Amy told Jens, "In the pantry," and pointed to the open door. Once he disappeared inside,
she strode to the door and cracked it an inch, meeting the eyes of a weaselly man with
watery eyes and a cigarette between his lips, a camera in his hands.

"Cosa avanzi?" she demanded.

He asked about a man running past. Playing dumb only seemed to make him more
aggressive, more nosy, peering past her shoulder into the kitchen. Amy huffed as though
defeated and pointed down the street. "A l. Ma vai a quel paese."

Without so much as a word of thanks, the man dashed onward toward the square.

She shook her head and locked the door. "Asshole."

Jens poked his head out of the pantry.

"Gone," she said, then a timer's chime had her jogging to check on the bread. Once the
loaves had been transferred to the racks and the next batch was baking, she found Jens
back on the floor, sipping his coffee. She sat next to him, hugging her knees.
"So," she said. "Jens Overgaard." She'd only seen the name spelled before, and had
always imagined it with a J sound. He pronounced it with a Y, and she liked the feel of it
on her tongue. "I only know what the headlines have said about you. Your father was
some kind of celebrity?"

He nodded. "Apparently. I didn't know who my father was, or that he'd still been alive.
Let alone that he was the most notorious playboy in Europe."

"What did he do? All I know is that he was insanely wealthy. And famous."

"He did very little aside from chase womenmy mother among them. They met when
she was a housekeeper in a hotel in Copenhagen. He had a weakness for the help," Jens
said dryly. "But it seemed perhaps he also had a weakness specific to my mother."

"Ah."

"She told me that they met for a weekend every summer, for four years. She thinks
maybe he even loved her But he was a narcissist. She didn't fit into his world. Didn't
look right on his arm, posed for photos at fancy events. But after I was born, he did send
her more than enough money to care for me. She worked, but only because she chose to.
Though to be fair, he may have bought her silence, as much as she likes to think he cared
for the two of us."

"He must have felt something, to leave you everything Where did the money come
from?"

"His fathermy grandfather, I supposeowned a machine patent, for some part that's
been used in every tank built since the Second World War. He was a celebrated engineer.
My father, in turn, was an infamoususer of women?"

"Womanizer. And what about you? What are you, when you're not running from the
press?"

"I'm a crab fisherman."

She blinked. "Wait. Really?"

He nodded. "That's all I was, until two weeks ago. Until I got the call informing me I'd
inherited a billion-euro fortune. And the infamy to go with it."

Chapter Five
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Amy shook her head, expression reflecting the same disbelief Jens had been drowning in
of late.
"Jesus."

He nodded. "A fisherman is all I'd like to be, honestly. I live in Greenland half of the year
during the fishing seasonin a village of about six hundred. The news was a shock.
My mother encouraged me to claim what he'd left me. I thought, 'Well, I could use a new
boat.' And she could live wherever she liked. Travel with her sister, as they've always
talked about. And I could do a lot of good in the village where I live."

"Sure."

"Ideas began coming to me, for things I could accomplish with the money, like
improvements to my community's port and airfield. But I had no idea howhow public it
would all become. I had no idea the level of fame my father had achieved. I recognized
his name, vaguely, but I'm not one to follow the tabloids."

"It's like you won the lottery," she said. "One you didn't even buy a ticket for."

He frowned. "I suppose Though there's a steep fine to be paid in privacy."

"I'm sure. And I'm sure a zillion friends and relatives you've never met are going to come
out of the woodwork, wanting to tell you their hard-luck stories."

He nodded. "They took no time at all. To be completely honest, I would never wish this
on anyone."

"What were you doing, when they started chasing you?"

"I'd just left my hotel. I came to Rome to meet with a solicitor, to sign papers to do with
the inheritance. I'd booked the earliest flight I could, to avoid the press, but they swarmed
me before I could even get a taxi. And there were so many of themdozens. I
panicked I'm sorry to disturb you like this."

She shrugged. "Usually I just listen to the radio. This is entertaining, in its own way."

"You're American?"

She nodded. "I'm in culinary school, in New York. This is my semester abroad."

"You want to be a baker?" It made him miss his own humble vocation with a sharp grief.

"I'm not sure. But I wasn't about to pass up a chance to live in Rome for three months."

"Quite early, you have to get up."

"Yeah, three a.m. But then I'm free to be a tourist by noon."

He pictured such a life. All that freedom. "That's sounds very nice."

"I bet you wish you were back home just now, fishing for crabs." All at once, she smiled.

He couldn't help but smile back. "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, what?"

"My uncle has an apron, for cookoutsin big red letters it says, 'I've got crabs!' But I bet
that joke doesn't translate."

His smile dried to a smirk. "I've heard such jokes before. My village in Greenland is very
beautiful, popular with travelers. The tourists throw these jokes around, at the fish
market."

"Keep it classy, America."

He laughed. "Canada, too. I remember once, a girl greeted me in Kalaallisut

Greenlandicthen she told her friend in English, 'He can give me crabs anytime.'"

Amy doubled over, forehead meeting her knees, fists clutching her shins. "Oh God."

He grinned at the memory. "I told her in English, 'I can, but you'll still have to pay market
price.' And they all but ran away, red as apples."

"Stop, stop." She sat up straight, pink-faced herself.

And it was then that it truly hit him, exactly how beautiful she was.

Chapter Six
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A buzzer called Amy up to rotate the bread. When she returned, she told Jens, "Half hour
until my coworkers start to show up. Do you have a plan?"

"I suppose I can't sit on the floor for the rest of my lifetempting as it is."

"You miss your flight?"

"No, but if the press knew what time I would be leaving my hotel, I suspect they'll also be
waiting at the airport."

Amy crouched at his side. "Not to be a downer, but you might have to get used to this."
He sighed, head dropping back against a cabinet.

"I'm sure it won't be forever. But you must be the most talked-about man in Italy right
now I could call you a cab. You'd have until you got to the airport to collect yourself."

"I think I will wait until tonight," he said. "Go quietly to Fiumicino, book a flight there,
minimize the gauntlet."

"Where will you go until then?" He'd be recognized the moment he left this room.

"I'm not sure."

"I live upstairs. You could stay in my apartment, check what flights there are for later, and
call a cab when you're ready."

He pointed to the ceiling. "You live upstairs?"

She nodded. "My boss owns the building. She lets us overseas students rent rooms for
crazy-cheap."

He looked away, seeming to consider it.

She touched his shoulder. "It's fine, really. Plus if you tried to steal anything, I'd know
exactly who to send the police after."

He smiled weakly, gaze falling to her hand. She took it away.

"C'mon." She stood. "We've got eight minutes before the bread's done."

Jens dusted off his butt and grabbed his bag. Amy locked up behind them and they
hurried down the alley to the next door, and up the narrow stairs to the flats.

"I don't have a spare key," she said, unlocking her apartment, "so you're either in or you're
out."

They entered and she watched him look around. It was basically a dormsmall main
room with her bed, dresser and desk; the tiniest kitchenette. Nice view of the bustling
street through one tall window.

"The bathroom's shared," she said. "Down the hall."

He nodded. "That's fine. This looks like an absolute sanctuary."

"Feel free to use my computer, to check out flights." She pointed to her desk. "And you
must be exhausted. You can use my bed if you wantif you change out of those dirty
jeans," she teased.
He smiled, cheeks and neck staining pink, if she wasn't mistaken. "Thanks."

"I have to babysit the bread. I'll be up at noon, when I finish work. I'll bring you
something to eat. If you're still here."

He held her gaze with his arresting one. "You're very kind."

She shrugged, downplaying the pleasure his words gave her. "If you take off before
then Well, it was nice meeting you, Jens Overgaard. Good luck with everything."

He dropped his bag and took both her hands between his larger ones, stealing her breath.
"Thank you. Truly."

"My pleasure."

After a moment's hesitation, he leaned close and pressed a faint kiss to her temple,
stubble brushing her cheek and sending shivers across every inch of her skin. He
straightened again, and let her trembling hands go. "No one's been half so kind to me
since Well, thank you."

She nodded, head swimming, and forced a smile. "Goodbye, Jens."

Chapter Seven
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"Hello?" Just after noon, Amy pushed open her apartment door, spotting no Jens. Her
heart sank.

Then she heard ita soft grunt. She shut the door, finding an ill-adapted billionaire
turning over groggily atop her sheets. His hair was rumpled, eyes squinting against the
sunshine streaming through the window.

"Sorry," he mumbled, sitting up, bare feet finding the floor. "I thought for sure I'd wake
before you returned."

"I'm sure you needed the rest." She set the goodies she'd swiped from downstairs on her
desk, along with two takeaway cups. Her laptop had moved from its usual spot. "Did you
look at flights?"

He nodded. "There's a direct one tonight at eleven."

"There you go." And hey, maybe that meant she got to hang out with this accidental
celebrity for the afternoon. When else would she rub elbows with tabloid royalty? Then
her heart twisted to remember the anguish on his face when he'd first arrived. This was no
novelty to Jens.
"Coffee?" she asked, holding out a cup. "Alcohol-free, I promise."

He stood to accept it with a smile, and with his jacket gone, she couldn't help but notice
how nicely shaped he was in that fitted sweater. "Thank you. Again."

"How long have you been in Rome?"

"Barely a day. Yesterday was quietmy father's people came to the hotel, to go over the
paperwork. I thought, this is not so bad. But someone must have told the press last night
where I was staying, and when I was leaving."

"That's a short visit. You didn't want to sightsee, in Rome?"

He frowned. "Not under these circumstances. Plus I miss home terriblyDenmark and
Greenland, both. I don't travel often for pleasure, and I'm a man of routine. What do you
call it? And animal ofsomething."

"A creature of habit."

"Yes, that's me. I miss home. There is so much stone here I miss the grass under my
feet, the wood. The ocean rocking me. I miss so many things, even being away just a few
days."

She smiled sadly. "I get that. When I was still in New York, I was counting down the days
until I got here. Now it's the opposite. I like Rome, but having been here two months, I
miss the weirdest things. Like even the gross way New York smells, baking in the heat of
summer."

His own smile was broad and made her lightheaded. "We miss even our lovers' worst
habits, when we can't be with them."

Lovers. That word cut straight to her core. In an instant, she was trying to picture this
man's beautiful face, strained with exertion and excitement. Whoa. She cleared her throat.
"Do you have a girlfriend, back home?"

He shook his head. "Not for a few months."

"Bet you'll be Mr. Eligible, soon enough."

He made a silly face, mock fear. "Perhaps. What about you? Do you have someone, back
in the States?"

"Nah. No one serious. Dating in New York is an exercise in insanity."

He laughed. "I can imagine." He trained his gaze on his cup, then met her eyes boldly. "In
some other life, I'd have very much liked to ask you out."
She blinked at him. At the most handsome, complicated man she'd ever met. Her cheeks
burned. "And I'd have very much said yes."

Chapter Eight
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Before Jens could react, Amy shot to her feet, as though shyness were a snake that had bit
her. "Are you hungry? I'll make lunch."

"That would be nice."

"Is there anything you don't eat?"

"No."

She grinned, eyes on the cabinet she was rooting through. "That's what I like to hear."

In light of their growing flirtation, that smile made Jens' blood rush quick and warm.
After all the anxiety, such curiosity felt decadent, and reassuring. Instinctual.

He sipped his coffee and watched Amy through the tiny kitchen's doorless frame,
fascinated at the efficiency of her. Ten minutes later he was groaning, unsure how this
woman had managed to take bread, eggs, milk, cheese, and seasonings, and turn them
into the best meal he'd had in ages. "Dear God."

Amy laughed. She was sitting on the desk chair, Jens on the bed's edge, plates on laps.
"Thank you, I think. It's basically French toastjust swap the sweet stuff for savory."

"This is amazing." He took another big bite, and couldn't help but notice the way she
watched. He'd studied his friends' and family's reactions the same way, when he cooked
his best catch for them. It was a pride he more than understood. "Do you cook seafood
ever? I would like to see what you could do with crab."

"I'm good with a lobster. I bet I'm up to it."

"You would like snow crabsmaller than king crab, and not as popular, but four extra
legs." He brought the heels of his hands together, fanned and wiggled his fingers like a
spider.

"Wouldn't take much to make crab legs tasty. Butter, pepper, some citrus. I think I could
manage it."

"Simple is good."
"I don't like to drown things in rich sauces. I like to enhance whatever the main player
brings to the table, let it dance in your mouth."

Jens laughed, then tugged at his collar, overdoing how heated this talk had him. Though it
wasn't such an exaggeration. "You know how to seduce a fisherman."

She pursed her lips, seeming to corral a smile of her own. "Maybe I'll come up to
Greenland someday." Her lips quivered. "And you can give me crabs." At that, she lost
control and dissolved into giggles, eyes shut tight and her fork pressed to her lips.

"This joke doesn't get old to you, does it?" he teased, smiling as a tear slipped down her
pink cheek.

"No, it doesn't."

They ate in silence for a time, serenaded by the muffled radio in the next apartment. After
a minute or more, she asked, "What would you like to do, until tonight? Until your
flight?"

I would like to kiss you until the latest conceivable moment. "I'm afraid I'm trapped
hereif you're comfortable letting me stay. You can go about your business, of course. I
won't steal anything."

She laughed. "You could buy everything I own ten million times over. And have it all
gold-plated. You can stay as long as you need to. Do you want some space? I have
errands I could run."

Did she want space? He couldn't guess, so he spoke honestly. "I'd much rather spend that
time with you."

She blinked, blue eyes bright in the sunshine. "Sure."

"You're a sweet soul amid a pack of jackals," he said. "I feel like I can breathe again, for
the first time in two weeks. With you."

She smiled shyly. "Okay. You get me, then."

Chapter Nine
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"Dessert," Amy said, and handed Jens one of the two cream puffs she'd brought from the
bakeryso buttery and decadent they'd stained the bottom of the white bag translucent.

He took a sniff that spread a beguiling smile across his lips. "Did you make these?"
She nodded as she licked cream from her thumb. "One of my specialties."

"It looks sinful."

"Tastes even better." She fetched them a pair of napkins.

Amy swore she could orgasm just from watching him savor the pastryfrom the way his
eyes closed, almost as though in pain, the way he sucked the tips of his fingers clean.

He sighed. "Delicious. And I don't even like sweet things all that much."

She'd taste that sweetness on his lips, if she kissed him now. His accent was a delicacy in
itselfwarm and musical, unexpected, inviting. Those eyes were haunting and unearthly.
Everything about him was new, not reminiscent of any man she'd known before.

The five feet between them gaped as vast as the Atlantic.

Jens finished his cream puff with a happy groan and shut his eyes.

She laughed. "Good?"

"Amazing. I've barely had any appetite, lately. I forgot how comforting it could feela
good meal."

"Some eggy bread and a sugary butter-bomb do not a proper meal makebut I know
what you mean." And how undeniably aroused she felt, giving a man pleasure with what
she could do, and seeing him so satisfied. It wouldn't take much, to close the gap. Just
pick up her chair, set it before him. Lean in. She wasn't a shy girlthough typically her
boldness arrived alongside the buzz from a glass of wine, and the dim, conspiring
shadows of a bar. But what she felt for him transcended setting. She could make a move
now, no problem, in the bright daylight, caffeinated, dressed for work in flour-dusted
jeans and a tank top.

But no. Stop.

She couldn't kiss this man. She yearned for him, real as any insta-crush she'd ever come
down with. But he could never trust that, knowing what she knewthat he was filthy,
filthy, filthiest rich. He'd surely assume she wanted to date him, for his money. Or fuck
him, then extort him in exchange for not telling the press all about it. Or just fuck him for
a chance to brag about getting with a celebrity.

And no empathetic person could fault those suspicions. It was what ninety-nine percent
of women would be wanting from him, from now on.

Her heart broke for him. He had a lonely life ahead of him, as bereft of trust as it was rich
in wealth.
Though man, it didn't kill the physical urge.

She'd never wanted to kiss a man even half as much as this one.

Chapter Ten
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Jens sipped his tepid coffee, trying to ignore certain factslike how soft Amy's covers
felt against his bare feet and ankles. How smooth her skin looked in the white noontime
sunshine, how pink her lips were, and the way she'd just licked the bottom one. "So is this
what you want to do?" he asked. "Bread and pastries?"

Amy frowned, looking uncomfortable with her answer. "I thought it was."

"Past tense."

"I do like it. But I don't feel like I know for sure, yet. Not now that I've done it for a
couple months, full-time" She laughed. "It probably sounds lazy, but I don't really want
to spend my dawns in a hot workroom."

"Not to the mention the four a.m. wake-up call." Not when this girl would look so good,
tangled in her sheets, snoozing in the mid-morning sun, dark hair loose and tumbling over
her pillow.

"Plus I miss the social aspects of a busy restaurant kitchenthe energy and the chaos.
Baking can be calming, but I don't know if calming's what I want. I might switch my
focus when I graduate, in June. Try to land a job as a line chef, doing whatever. Work my
way up. Feeling like an expert must be nice, but there's something to be said for staying
challenged too, I think. Staying flexible."

He smiled. "Me, I like calming. And early mornings. If you ever change your mind, move
to Greenland, open a bakery I'll stop by for a coffee and a steaming, buttered roll
before I leave for the dock. Every morning."

"Do I get the odd snow crab tossed my way, in exchange?"

"The biggest of the day."

She paused a moment, lips quirking in a way that could have been stifling a frown or a
smile. "So where do you live? Like, what sort of a home?"

"In Greenland, a small wooden house, by the sea. They're kit houses, all exactly the same,
just different colors. Mine is red. When I'm in Denmark, in the spring and summer, I stay
with my mother in Copenhagen. Also by the sea."
"I guess now you can afford a place of your own in both countries."

His heart darkened. "That's true, though I don't live with her out of financial necessity.
Just to help out. She has terrible arthritisso bad she can't even write or type, some
days."

"Oh dear."

"So I like to be there, to help. Not very glamorous, I know. I doubt the tabloids will be
printing much about that."

"Hopefully not I grew up near the sea, too. In Maine. That's like the very northeastern
tip of the States."

He smiled. "I know of Maine. I suspect every shellfish enthusiast does."

"We'll have a cook-off, you and me," she said. "Your crab versus my lobster."

"I can safely forfeit now. All I usually do is steam, butter, salt, paprika. Although my
krabbesalat isn't too shameful, I've been told."

"I'd come by and judge for myself, except I doubt I'd get past the gate at your fancy
mansion."

He laughed. "No mansions. I wouldn't know what to do with myself with all those
rooms."

"You have to do something outlandish with some of that money."

"What would you do?"

She considered it. "Pay off my loans. Rent a nicer place. Start a restaurant, when I
graduate."

"You know what I would do?" he asked, already feeling warm and shy and reckless. "If
things were different?"

"What?"

"I would ask you out on that date. Fly you to any country, to try any meal you wanted."

She blushed, seeming to hide behind the coffee she sipped.

His boldness dissipated. "I hope that wasn't too forward."

She shook her head. "I'd hold your hand on the plane."
He held her stare. "I'd hold yours now, if you'd let me."

Chapter Eleven
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How could a proposal as innocent as hand-holding take Amy's breath away so

completely? It felt as though he'd asked her to strip naked and let him explore her body
with his mouth.

Because you want him. That was why. She wanted him so badly, just the promise of his
hand made her ache.

She stood. Feeling sillyfeeling high and exhilarated and giddyshe sat beside him,
cross-legged. She offered her hand, growing dizzy when he closed it in his warmer,
rougher, bigger one, and rested both on her knee. She laughed, and looked away.

"What?"

"I don't know. I just don't think I've wanted to hold somebody's hand this badly since I
was like, thirteen." She looked up to find him smiling again. He smiled often. She'd heard
that about Danesthat they all looked so serious and cold, until you started talking to
them, and then they were the nicest, funniest people you'd care to meet. What are Danes
like in bed? she had to wonder.

His thumb rubbed her knuckle, then he squeezed. She let the pads of her fingers stroke
the backs of his, then his wrist. The contact was so tame, yet the urge to slide those
fingers under the cuff of his sweater felt pornographic. He touched her arm in turn, the
faintest graze of two fingertips from her wrist to her elbow, blazing as though his touch
were a lit fuse leading to ignition.

His voice was soft, heavy, words trailing off into nothing. "Tell me to stop"

"I won't." She turned instead, her knee pressing his thigh.

His touch moved up her bare skin, all the way to her shoulder. Every nerve was awake,
blooming with sensation. As erotic as if those fingers were tracing her lips, between her
legs.

His gaze followed the contact, and she studied those striking eyes, imagined what she'd
taste if she kissed him. Butter, sugar, coffee. Desire. Whatever this was, it would be gone
as quickly as it had come. A chance crossing of paths, the briefest, hottest spark. Over so
quick, yet so much could happen between them, for these few and fleeting hours while
their lives overlapped.
His eyes met hers, the contact as thrilling as his grazing fingers. "I want to kiss you." And
that stare told her the same thing in other words, needier ones that didn't fit the
circumstances. I have to kiss you. An urgency that etiquette precluded.

"I want you to kiss me," she said. She wanted to feel what he felt, wanted his fingers in
her hair or his palms cupping her jaw. Wanted to feel her attraction mirrored in his kiss
heightened, deepened, doubled.

The hand on her shoulder slid to her neck, and she leaned in as he did, welcoming him.

She lived a dozen tortured lives in the moment it took for his mouth to meet hers.

Chapter Twelve
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Amy's lips were as soft as they looked, the skin of her cheek like velvet against his palm.
Desire spread through Jens' body, heat and tension and frenetic energy dropping from his
throat through his chest, down his arms, collecting between his legs. He felt his cock
grow heavy and hot, stifled. Aggression in his blood and sex, but pure affection in his
hands and lips, gratitude in this kiss.

Her own hands were on his arms, first gripping his sweater, then stroking. Those hands
were searching, echoing Jens' own curiosity. Both were wondering, what are the shapes
of this new person, beneath their clothes? The question was suffocating, yet he'd eagerly
drown in this bright flare of lustso pure after everything that had happened in recent
days, a simple flame to cast the chaos swirling around it in shadows for a time.

Her lips parted, and he took the invitation, eagerly. She tasted just as he did, of delicious
and comforting things. Of gifts made by her own hands, and offered to a stranger. And
those hands grew more restless the deeper he took the kiss, kneading his upper arms, then
his shoulders. She was more physical than most of the women he'd been this way with
more hungry. Always food, with this girl, always the sensual dance of preparation,
anticipation, the first taste, the shameless consumption, the stupor of satisfaction. He
wanted her deft touch all over his body, and to get lost in the pursuit of growing full on
this woman.

She tugged at his arm, his sweater, her aim clear. Jens laid down, making room for her to
do the same on her narrow bed. Their knees locked and their mouths met, and four hands
grew frantic, seeking skin.

She spoke against his lips. "I love how you kiss."

The compliment warmed the length of his body. "You too."

This is the appetizer, he imagined, liking to frame things the way he imagined she might.
Or perhaps this was the wine one sipped while dinner simmered, as smells ripened and
made promises to needy mouths.

Her knee slid up the outside of his leg to hug his hip, and Jens edged closer. His cock was
begging for this, for anything, just the press of her clothed body to his. Though he knew
that whatever she offered him, it would only leave him craving more. More If he asked
for more, would she offer that too? Was it wrong to want that, on top of her other
kindnesses?

Right and wrong. Such cold judgments were powerless in the face of this magnetism.

He broke their mouths apart, and spoke words he'd normally hold back from someone
he'd known so briefly. But everything about this courtship was strange and fast and
unexpected. The typical didn't apply to this collision. Against her lips he murmured the
truth.

"I want you."

Chapter Thirteen
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Mischief pulsed through her, hot and hectic. "I want you," Amy echoed. She'd barely
spoken the words and his mouth was on hers again.

After a moment's ravenous kissing, he panted, "Is this crazy?"

"Maybe." She smiled, catching her breath. "All the better if it is."

"This isn't like me."

"Does it feel bad?"

"My God, no."

She laughed. "Go with it, then." She traced a line from between his brows, down his
straight nose, over the little divot to the bow of his lips.

"Smile," she whispered. He did, and she ran her fingertips over the crinkles of skin at the
corners of his eyes, the lines beside his lips. She memorized those details, that she might
freeze them in her memory as a snapshot the paparazzi could never capture. The real Jens
Overgaard. Not an heir, not a billionaire, not the most famous so-called bastard on the
planet. Just a man, sweet and lost, and needing. Heartbreakingly handsome. Hers for half
a day, nothing more.
Rough fingers were at the hem of her tank top, gently easing it up. She helped him peel it
away, then they did the same with his sweater. She admired him through his soft tee,
excited by the firm shapes of his chest and belly and arms, dying to see his bare skin in
the sunlight. She tugged, and he stripped it away. Gorgeous. Pale skin; soft, dark hair. She
traced his collarbone as his palm glided up and down her side, stirring goose bumps.
Capturing her wrist, he led her hand across his chest, down his abdomen, and let it go so
she could explore. She loved his arms bestlean and hard, so clearly the property of a
physical, working manat such delicious odds with that model's face.

But actually, nohis arms weren't her favorite part. It was his eyes. Light and strange,
like a color she couldn't name, that didn't exist anywhere else. Clear golden-gray, framed
by the blackest lashes. She hoped he was taking even half as much delight, studying her
right back.

"Can I?" His fingers toyed with her bra clasp.

She nodded. She felt a tug, then slackness, and he eased a strap from her shoulder. Amy
sat up to the ditch the thing for good.

"Just stay like that," Jens said, expression rapt. "Just sit there a moment." He studied her
as an artist might concentrate, absorbing his muse. She left the bed, standing before him
to shed her jeans. She watched as Jens did the same. His shorts were dark blue and snug,
his excitement pressing along soft-looking cotton.

Gaze burning, he told her softly, "Come here."

Chapter Fourteen
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She joined him on the bed. Two near-naked strangers came together, so much bare skin,
so little between them now. They toured each other's bodies long enough for Amy to learn
that Jens was skilled with those callused fingers, and how the weight of his excitement
felt in her grip. She welcomed him on top of her, urging, tugging at his arms until his
knees were between hers, planted wide. She stroked her palms down his sides, loving the
hard, restless muscle of his hips. His arms looked fearsome, locked at her sides. His
expression was wild.

He lowered, erection warm against her through those taunting, thin layers. Amy palmed
his backside, letting her hands tell him that whatever his excitement was demanding he
do, she was on board. The first guttural noise of arousal fled his lipsa soft groan, the
sound of a man giving in. His eyes shut, like he was overcome. She stroked his shoulders
and neck and chest until they opened once more.

"You're beautiful," he said.

"Thank you." So was he. She wanted to watch him at work, to understand how he'd
earned these gorgeous arms. She wanted to watch him doing other thingswatch this
fascinating body labor in the pursuit of pleasure. She urged his hips with motions of her
own, tugging him close with her calves. Everything ignited in seconds flat, as though he'd
opened a gate and let his needs roam free. He felt strong above her, the length of his torso
taut as he worked his body against hers.

"This is crazy," Jens breathed, their hips rolling together.

"No, it's not." She raked her fingers through his hair, tasted the salt of his sweat when she
kissed his forehead. "This is the simplest, realest thing I've felt in ages." And tomorrow it
would seem like a fever dream. All the more reason to feel it as fully as they could, for
these short moments. It was so elemental, this need to feel his body united with hers, to
see and hear and smell and feel him edging closer and closer

He was pressing at her, cock insistent through their two pairs of underwear. Already she
was primed for him, starving.

Jens moaned, and with a seeming monumental effort, he stilled his body. His pale skin
was pink from his chest to his throat, lips and ears flushed, brow furrowed. The most
perfect mess of a man, and she'd made him wild like this. She stroked his damp hair,
memorizing him.

"I want you," he said. "To be inside you."

"I want that too."

He swallowed, looking like a man on the brink of madness, and asked, "Do you have
condoms?"

Chapter Fifteen
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Amy nodded. "Yeah, I do."

Jens' smile was sheepish and eager at once, and infectious. She hid her grin by leaving
the bed to pad to her toiletries bin by the door. Sure enoughtwo little squares. Thank
God.

When she returned, he was naked, cock thick and flushed and ready, cupped loosely by
his fanned fingers. She set the condoms on the little table at the head of the bed, then
gave him a quick show, pushing her bottoms to the floor. Climbing atop the covers with
him, it felt so odd. He felt more like a close friend than the stranger he truly was, and
nothing like a celebrity. So perfectly accessible, even vulnerable.
They kissed, and she let her hand inch down his chest, until Jen took it with his own, and
wrapped it around his erection. He moaned softly as she squeezed and stroked, then
finally pulled away. His fingers trembled as he got the condom opened and on.

"Are you ready?" he asked. "Do you need more, first?"

"No, I don't think so." She couldn't remember being so primed for a man before.

And then he was above her, between her legs, that arm looking like perfection as he
guided his crown to her folds. She cupped his neck and breathed deeply, anticipating that
twinge that sometimes came with the pressurebut nothing. He lowered to his forearms,
easing deeper. His belly met hers as he slid all the way home. She shut her eyes as he
held steady, wanting to savor this moment.

"Okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah, you feel great."

"So do you." With that, he pushed back up on straight arms, and withdrew. He kept his
thrusts slow to start, and she relished the view.

"What more do you need?" he whispered.

"I can do it. Just let me watch you a minute." She enjoyed the show a while longer, then
let her fingers slide to her clit. As she teased herself, her attention was drawn to his face
as intense as she'd ever seen him, beautiful features set, eyes on fire as he watched her
right back. Everything about the two of them was unexpected, impulsive. She felt drunk
from it without having tasted a drop of wine. This moment neither could have anticipated,
lit by the midday sun, fueled by nothing but mutual attraction. So simple. And so easily,
her arousal grew and gathered, going from a hope to a force in no time at all. Just this
man, this stolen moment. The most present she'd ever felt.

"I'm close," she whispered, like a secret. His reaction alone had her nearing the edgethe
most glorious disbelief, chased immediately by excitement as his hips pumped quicker.

"God, you feel good." She fisted his hair as the pleasure grew darker, spurred his motions
with her own. "Don't stop."

He sped instead, and as the pleasure crested, the world was this man's pained face, racing
hips, driving flesh, slapping skin. She clung to him, dragging his body down to hers when
the spasms became too intense. Inside her she felt the insistent, racing beat of his pulse.
At her neck, the heat of his exhalations. She let him go, marveling as she stared up into
those eyes.

Tracing his face with clumsy fingers, she told him, "Now, you."
Chapter Sixteen
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He was on firecrazed and needy, aching, burning. And her body was so soft, so hot,
those legs wrapped tight around him so welcoming. Those fingers gripping his arms
begging him, show me, show me. And he couldn't help but obey; he wanted her too badly
to slow down, or to do anything except succumb to his cock's orders.

As he came apart, she was everything. Her hands on his skin, her eyes on him, the hot,
animal sounds of her breathing. The boiling tension grew until he thought it would tear
him to pieces, and then the climax struck. He pushed deep, as deep as he could get,
pleasure cresting in tight, fierce waves, and over far too soon.

At once, they were just two naked bodies, two near-strangers on this small bed. Jens
stared into those blue eyes, shocked and dazed and a touch confused, but so grateful he
could cry. He slid out, hurriedly got rid of the rubber. She was smiling when he joined her
back on the bed.

"Come here," he said, and urged her to lie facing him, their knees flirting. He kissed her
temple, hoping he'd never forget the smell of her skin and hair. "Thank you."

"Thank you."

He sighed. "What a very odd day."

She laughed softly. "Agreed. Though mine has nothing on yours, I'm sure."

"I'd just come to Rome to sign papersnot to run from the press. Nor to wind up in bed
with some fascinating woman. To try to understand my father a bit better, perhaps, but
not all of this."

"Do you?" she asked. "Understand him better?"

He frowned. "No. I always fantasized about him," he said, toying with her hair. "I
imagined, if I could meet him somehow, I'd see all the things we had in common. Find
out he loved the same films I did, or the same foods, that he loved being on the water. But
the only parallel I've found is that he also had a boat. And I can't feel a kinship to a man
who owned a yacht that's worth more than the entire village where I live in Greenland."

"Sounds like the entire process has been very lonely."

He rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling, catching her hand with his. "Yes, that's
exactly right. Finally, I know something about my father. Who he even is. But I feel less
than even the weakest connection. I feel alienated. Repulsed. And I miss my old illusions
about him, and my mother's lies."
"You're in grief. For the man you imagined him to be. For your hopes about him, and
about yourself."

He turned back onto his side, pressing a long, soft kiss to her forehead. "You understand
me far too well, considering we met only hours ago."

"You have a very accessible soul."

He held her gaze for a long time, feeling shaken, and naked in the nicest way. "That's the
best compliment I've ever received."

Chapter Seventeen
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They lay there for a long, blissful, calm hour, flirting, touching, murmuring questions and
replies through the haze of sleep that invariably followed sex. They made love again,
slow and fond, nodded off, woke as the daylight fled to another part of the city, the
warmth of the day waning.

Jens opened his eyes to find Amy's gaze on his chin or mouth.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello yourself."

"It must be getting late" His heart sank, the countdown to that flight ticking loudly
now. He wanted an hour to get to the airport, another for ticketing and security, another
still in case he had to run the paparazzi gauntlet. Much to factor. Not nearly enough
minutes left in this strange and startling micro-romance.

Amy stroked his cheek, traced his lips. "Say something to me in Danish."

"Jeg tror, du er smuk."

She laughed. "What does that mean?"

Jens tucked her hair behind her ear. "Find me in Denmark or Greenland someday, and I'll
tell you." Find me. I'd give so much to see you again, to taste this fleeting meal one more
time.

"That's a long way to come, just to find out if 'smuk' is as rude as it sounds."

"I crashed into your life for a day," he said. "Next it's your turn to crash into mine."

"Loudly. At four a.m."

He smiled. "Just in time to come along on the boat. Catch yourself some crabs."

She snorted, and the limp smack she gave his chest brought a grin to his lips.

After a final lazy minute, Amy sighed. "We better call you a cab."

Jens would've been sorely tempted to put it off, to stay in hiding with this woman for
another day But he worried about his mother. Though she was staying with her sister,
he'd gleaned that her whereabouts hadn't stayed a secret. She claimed the press didn't
affect hera pack of mindless, yelping dogsbut he didn't trust her flippancy. He was
flying to Copenhagen, to stay with her while they rode out the initial surge of harassment.
Hopefully by late July, when the fishing season began, the rabble would have found their
next victims to humiliate, and he could return to Greenland without too much concern.

They left the warmth of Amy's messy sheets to dress, and she ordered Jens a taxi. He
tried to give her money for the food, but she waved his bills away.

"I could go with you to the airport," she offered. "They're probably looking for a man on
his own."

He shook his head. "I'd never expose you to that. Have you turned into a curiosity
yourself."

"Oh, true."

She packed him a sandwich, and all too soon the door buzzer sounded.

She smiled, so much sadness in those upturned lips. "Your ride's here."

"So it is."

"I'll walk you downpoke my head out first and make sure there's no press."

"Thank you."

No press, and no more time. The end. He stowed his bag in the trunk then took her hands
in the balmy spring dusk. "Thank you. For everything."

"It was the most memorable day of my life." She smiled. "Though I haven't gotten any
calls recently, informing me I'm a billionaire."

"I don't recommend it Though I'm very happy that it led me to you. If only for a day."

She squeezed his upper arms. "You take care of yourself, Jens Overgaard."

"And you." He pressed a kiss to her temple, then slid into the backseat. "Goodbye."
She shut the door and mouthed, "Bye."

And Jens felt a rending sensation, as the taxi ferried his body forward, heart left behind
with the girl still standing on the street corner.

Chapter Eighteen
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One cheerful July morning in Queens, the blare of the apartment buzzer set Amy and her
roommate, Kiana, jumping in their chairs at the little kitchen table.

"Jesus." Kiana sucked at the coffee she'd slopped on her hand. "It's not even eight." She
was wearing a tank top and boxers. Amy, in sweats and a hoodie, was the least worst
candidate for social interaction. She hurried to the door to press the intercom. "Hello?"

"Package for Amy Campos."

"Be right down."

Weird. Too early for UPS, plus she hadn't ordered anything. She slipped her feet into flip
flops and headed for the stairs and down two flights to the foyer. A young man dressed in
blacka courier, not a delivery driverheld a white envelope.

Amy signed his ledger. "Thank you." She fingered the corners of the thick envelope as
she trotted back up the steps.

"Anything good?" Kiana asked.

"It's from some company I've never heard of" She sat at the table and peeled the seal
open, and found little insideone sheet of paper, clipped to a shorter sheet. Before she
could even get it out, she recognized the shape and layout of a check. "Ooh, money. I
thought I'd gotten all my loan disburse Whoa." She stared at the check. At the zeroes
on it. At her name, at the top. At the zeroes again. "Holy fuck."

"What is it?"

"It's It's a lot of money. A lot."

Kiana's eyes grew round. "No shit? How much?"

"A hundred" She trailed off.

"Nice. New shoes for you."

Amy swallowed. "A hundredthousand dollars." The amount sounded made-up, a
gibberish number.

Kiana stared. "The fuck? From what?"

Nervous, as though the fortune might blow away in a nonexistent breeze, Amy gingerly
tugged the check and its attached stub free from the paper clip, and set them aside.

The letterhead belonged to a bank, but the body of the page read, A message from the
sender, Jens Vinther Overgaard:

Amy,

I hope this gift finds you well. I've thought of you often since we said goodbye, and the
kindness you offered me. I can't put a value on what it meant to find a brief port in the
storm my life has become, but I hope this token will help you fulfill whatever your dreams
may be. Spend it with the joy and hope you gave to me, brief as our time together was.

Wishing you a wonderful life full of delicious food,

Med krlig hilsen,

Jens

She stared.

"Amy? What is it?"

Numb, she passed the letter over. Kiana's eyes darted across the page. "Whoa."

"A token," Amy muttered. A token. A token, he called it, when a hundred thousand dollars
could easily equal four years' worth of her salary, when she landed her first line cook job.

"Jesus, girl. You must be really good in bed."

That snapped her awake. Amy snatched the letter back, read it again. Oddly, Jens' words
felt more precious that the massive check sitting at her elbow. She slid it back in the
envelope to read again later, then studied the check. It was printed on fancy paper, with a
holographic watermark thing, and raised dots. She ran her fingers over the dots, as though
they were Braille, hiding some secret message. As though they were the lips of the man
who'd sent this money, the man she'd missed with a haunting ache, these past couple
months.

"What are you going to do?" Kiana asked. "Do you have his number?"

She shook her head.

"So what's the plan?"

"I think I have to go to Greenland."

Chapter Nineteen
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It was a cool morning, not too windy, the sun promising to break through the thin clouds
before long. August in Greenlandif only the entire crabbing season could be this kind,
the sun lingering from before five until nearly ten at night. In a blink, it would be dark
and frigid, the outdoor market an impossibility, and no tourists to be found. Jens watched
as the sun breached the white mantle, the muted colors of the small houses dotting the
grassy hill lighting up, revealing themselves for what they werecheerful reds, yellows,
greenshues to rival a crayon box. Blues too, yet none so bright as those eyes he called
from his memory The thought was bittersweet, sharp with longing. He tried to set it
aside.

The morning's catch was in, much of it collected for export and processing already, a
small selection held back for local sale and now arranged before him in a shallow plastic
bin. An older Canadian couple came along. They chatted excitedly when Jens replied in
English, bought six of his best. Neighbors stopped to gossip and children to goggle; a
young Dane, passing through on his grand adventure, lingered for a long chat and made
Jens homesick; a pair of Icelandic day trippers took his photo, oblivious to how much that
might've fetched, a few months back.

A friend passed in a hurry, tossing a quick, teasing greeting Jens' way in Danish. "All
hail, great Prince Overgaard!"

Jens had acclimated to the chiding nickname his village had given him, same as he'd
acclimated to the hounding press that had awaited him in Denmark.

Being dull was the best tactic available to combat the jackals. By the time he'd left
Copenhagen two weeks earlier, his routineget up early; cycle to the shop for milk or
tea or stamps or toilet paper; smile at the shouting photographers and offer a cursory
wave; continue on his wayhad bored the swarms to tears. He'd bumped into members
of the press mob at every turn, offered a bland "excuse me," pushed through to his
destination, carried on. He didn't hide, though neither did he do anything of interest. A
bland comment had proved more effective than a hostile one, or a coy "no comment"

"Jens, what will you do with the money?"

"Buy a new boat."

"What do you think about your father?"

"It sounds like he lived a very colorful life."

"What will you do, now that you never have to work again?"

"Fish for crabs."

The same questions, the same answers, again and again and again.

And slowly, steadily, the pack had dwindled to practically nothing, drawn away by the
scent of whatever fresher blood had been spilled, Jens no longer a carcass worth picking
at. Fine by him.

He waved at a neighbor driving past on the narrow road. A gust curled inland from the
ocean and he winced, pulled his cap a little lower over his ears. Winter was on the wind
already, no matter how lazy the sun was, this time of year. He imagined his beat old
comfortable chair, a hot cup of tea, a nap. Later a walk, a stiff drink with his neighbors
and a spirited discussion of his hopes for refurbishing the village's port, perhaps. An early
bedtime with the sun still glowing, and back at it all again, the next morning. Bliss, in
some ways. Lonely too, in idle moments when thoughts of Amy found him. But after the
spring he'd had, such routines felt as reassuring as his feet finding the solid ground after a
choppy

His heart stopped, eyes locked on the last person he'd ever expected to see striding toward
him, here at the edge of nowhere.

Chapter Twenty
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He gaped. It was all he seemed able to do.

She wore jeans and a bright green windbreaker, her dark hair tied back against the breeze.
His lover. Who'd known him more briefly than any other, yet had seemed to understand
him as no girlfriend ever had, and at a time when he hadn't even understood himself. That
face he'd conjured so many times in the past months, in fond moments, lonely ones,
wistful and lustful onesright here. Right now. "Kristus. Amy."

With a clumsy, charming effort she called, "Er du overrasket over at se mig?"

"Very. Surprised and pleased."

Oh, that smile. She stopped on the other side of the table. "Oh good. Because I didn't
come all this way to not get recognized."
"I never forgot you. Not for a moment." She could have idea how true that was. Had she
forgotten him, before he sent her the gift? So many questions. "How did you even find
me?"

She frowned. "Google. For better or worse, the tabloids knew where you were."

"Ah." He pondered that, disturbed but not surprised. Then he flipped an off-switch on the
mood. "For the better, if it's brought you to see me." For a long moment, he merely stared
at her. Then he laughed. "You're here."

"I'm here. I like your hat, and your beard."

"My winter plumageit arrives with the start of the fishing season." The table between
them seemed a mile wide. "You're hereI can't seem to make my mind believe it."

"Kind of like how I couldn't wrap my mind around that check. Which I need to give back
to you, by the way. Well, minus the cost of my airfare, maybe."

He shook his head. "I don't want it. I have plenty, besides. Too much. A hundred thousand
dollarsthat's nothing to me. But it's something to you?"

She nodded. "It's four years' salary."

"Enough to take some new courses you might wish to? To travel to new places and taste
new things? To open a restaurant, in time?"

Another nod. "All of those things."

"Good. Then you should keep it. You'd do it more justice than I ever could."

"My return flight's not for a few days. We can argue about this later."

"I'll look forward to it." Jens grinned, filled from his boots to his cap with mischief. He
waved before him at the morning's offerings. "I've got crabs."

She laughed, the brightest noise. "Good. Because I already bought butter." She held up a
paper bag from the village's general store. "Though I was tempted by the seal blubber."

"Come to my house tonight," he said, suddenly earnest. "Cook for me."

"With pleasure."

It was too soon to say if this was his future, standing before him, and that was fine. The
present was too precious to rush. After Amy returned to New York, then he'd allow
himself the luxury of such thoughts, fantasies about the next time they might meet.
Where he could take her. Copenhagen, of course, then perhaps Paris or Madrid, whatever
culinary capitals she wished to visit. And wherever she might like to take himto the
seaside of her youth or the wild bustle of the city she currently called home.

For the first time, his father's fortune truly felt like a gift. No longer a curse, and more
than a tool to benefit the village and his neighbors. Yes, it was a gift of breathtaking
luxury, to be able to imagine such trips, with this woman.

But the first voyagethere was no question what that needed to be. And it wouldn't cost
a krone.

"Let me take you out on the boat tomorrow."

"I'd love to."

He planted his hands on the table and leaned in. When she did the same, he brought his
cool lips to hers. The contact was light, sweet, brief; a perfect promise. He murmured,
"Let me take you to my bed, tonight."

Amy bit her lip, cheeks round with a shy smile. "There's nothing I'd like more than that."

THE END