CHAPTER TWO
OLIVEWATCHED GUNNAR’Sexpression closely, trying to gauge a response. She had a simple black bra beneath her turtleneck, but honestly, she hadn’t planned this, even though now she could see...
There had never been another end point.
Not for her. She had to have this, or try to have it, anyway.
She had given and given to this life, to this dream of her father’s—she wanted to give to it. Out of loyalty and love.
But this was something she wanted to take for herself.
Needed to take for herself.
But she couldn’t see if it was the same for him. She had no idea what he was thinking. So she stared.
Would he reject her again?
She didn’t know what she had expected. For him to laugh. For him to suddenly transform into a charmer of some kind?
Gunnar had quite the reputation as a lover. He was not a playboy, in fact, he did not flaunt his physical relationships at all. But there were whispers. Of his prowess. Of his particular...assets. And of the intensity.
Not that she had looked in online forums for rumors about what it was like to have sex with him.
No. Couldn’t be her. At least, she hadn’t done it in a while.
He did not smile. He did not put her at ease. But he most certainly didn’t laugh. Instead, he reached up and began loosening his tie, stalking toward her, his blue eyes intense, like a predator.
And all the breath in her body whooshed out.
“Oh,” she said.
It was the last thing she said before he gathered her up in his arms, and brought his mouth down on to hers in a raging torrent of pent-up passion that threatened to destroy them both.
Finally. Finally. He was kissing her. And it had been worth the wait. Because it was everything. Beyond. It was the pages of every romance novel. The kind where tension and lust burned from the pages and left her weak with wanting. He was a conqueror.
And he plundered her mouth.
It was hot and slick, and even though she hadn’t done this before, she had read enough to have an idea. She parted her lips, met each thrust of his tongue with her own. She was ready.
Physically, she might be innocent, but she had a treasure trove of fantasies, and they were not tentative. And they all centered on him.
She wrenched his tie the rest of the way free, pulling it off and throwing it down onto the floor.
“Thank you for being such a gracious loser,” she said, wrenching at his shirt, pulling it open and letting buttons fly everywhere.
His chest.
Dear God. That chest.
She ran her hands over it, hungry. Excitement building between her thighs.
Rough golden hair covered tawny skin, the muscles there thick and well defined.
He was everything she had ever fantasized about.
He was more.
He was...