She lowered her head to the velvet couch and pressed her face into it, balling her hands into fists and shuddering out her pleasure, while he suddenly growled out his own.
“Yes,” she whispered. She wanted it all. Everything. Everything he could ever be.
Everything they could ever be.
And when it was done, he pulled away from her, and he began straightening himself, as if it hadn’t just dissolved the two of them.
“It is good that there is attraction between us,” he said, his tone sounding remote.
And she felt devastated. Because it was more than attraction. It was more than chemistry. It changed her.
“Maybe we won’t need separate rooms.”
“I imagine it will be good for you to have your space,” he said.
And what she heard, inarguably and unequivocally, was that he wanted his own space. Away from her.
And that was fine. It was. She had to accept him. And if she couldn’t do that then...
Tears filled her eyes, but she turned herself away quickly to avoid allowing him to see.
“Our things have been moved in already.”
“You really are efficient,” she said.
“There’s no point doing anything if it’s not done efficiently.”
“Even screwing your fiancée, I guess.”
He lifted a brow. “Have you a complaint?”
“I’m not complaining. It felt wonderful.”
“But?”
“Nothing.”
And she would not speak to him about the fact that he clearly didn’t want to show her any tenderness, or get to know her anymore than he already did. She would say nothing about the fact that she had experienced something transformative just now, and he looked as he ever did.
She would not say that she loved him. Because she had a feeling that it would be the most cardinal sin, and yet if he really felt nothing, why would it matter? She just knew that it did. She knew that it would. She knew that he would take that and reject it so violently it would leave it torn and bloodied, and it was too new for her to take a chance on that.
So she said nothing. So she kept it all in her own heart. Kept it all to herself.
Because what would be the point. Of any of it.
“I guess I’ll go to my room then.”
“Yes. That sounds a good idea. You are likely tired.”
She really resented him telling her what she was. What she felt.
Especially in light of everything. That he had created the feelings in her, and she knew that he would do nothing to soothe them.
She went into the bedroom, and she had to laugh. Because this looked nothing like his home in Iceland.
This was completely different. This was... Her. And yes, she knew that a designer had done it, and quickly, but she imagined that he had asked them to take their inspiration from her existing apartment. To take it and find a new way to express it so that it felt like her, but also felt fresh.
Gunnar. Oh, Gunnar.