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I clear my throat and point toward the sofa.

“Sit. I’ll find you something to wear.”

He glances at the furniture.

“Will it hold me?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“It’s from a discount furniture store, not Mount Olympus. Don’t test its limits.”

He lowers himself onto the sofa with surprising care.

The cushions sink beneath him.

His knees spread, his enormous thighs taking up an indecent amount of space, and I immediately discover that having a naked man sitting on my pink velvet couch is significantly more distracting than having one standing in a courtyard.

Especially when he’s built like someone carved him specifically to ruin my ability to think.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I mutter.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re enjoying this.”

His mouth curves.

“I am.”

“Of course you are.”

I hurry toward my bedroom before my eyes betray me again.

Five minutes later, I return carrying the largest clothes I own.

Which, unfortunately, belong to a man I would rather forget.

I stop in the doorway.

Vidar is standing beside my bookshelf, examining a framed photograph of me and my grandmother.

He sets it down the instant he notices me.

“Who is she?”

“My grandmother. She raised me after my parents died.”

“She has kind eyes.”

“She did.”

He studies my face for a moment.

“You miss her.”

“Every day.”