I don’t have too long of a wait before Gunnar comes into the kitchen. If I didn’t have extra senses, I never would have heard him coming down the stairs. He’s still shirtless, but I don’t mind the view.
He stops mid-step when he sees me and the buffet of goodness I laid out for him. “That’s a lot of sugar.” He winces a little.
Offended by his tone, I hop down from the counter and narrow my eyes at him. “None of it is for you,” I sneer up at him.
He blinks at me, almost owlishly. “Oh, okay.” I push past him, bumping my shoulder into his arm as I do. Gunnar clears his throat. “Sorry I assumed.” I turn to look at him over my shoulder. He sounds contrite.
I roll my eyes. “It is for you—it’s all I have.” I shrug my shoulders. I guess it’s safe to assume his diet is different from my monsters’. I’m not even sure why I was so bothered by his comment. I suppose it has to do with the fact that I wanted to impress him.
“Forgive me for sticking my foot in my mouth?” Gunnar looks a little sheepish as he gazes at me.
I flatten my lips, realizing I’m being silly. “It’s fine. You’re welcome to have anything else you would like, but…uh, it’s all pretty much the same,” I warn him. I’ll need to make sure Dare is either gone or hidden if he goes into the pantry.
“This is perfect, more than enough,” he assures me.
* * *
“So,”I drawl, while Gunnar shovels the last bite of ice cream into his mouth.
He pauses, then pushes the empty bowl away. “That was delicious.” He sounds almost surprised.
“You act like you’ve never had ice cream.” I beam, happy that he really did seem to enjoy the treats.
“It’s been a long time.” He wipes his mouth with the napkin he held in his hand the entire time he was eating.
“I have more,” I offer, already standing.
“No, no I couldn’t.” He waves his hand and grabs the bowl before I can. He stands and takes it over to the sink, rinsing it before opening the dishwasher and loading it into a slot. I tilt my head, considering him. He knew right where the dishwasher was—he didn’t even have to look when he reached down to open the door.
I need to know more about this man. “So, Gunnar, we’re old friends now, right? You’ve bled all over my bedroom, slept on my floor, showered in my bathroom, and eaten my food.” I tick the items off on my fingers. “How about you tell me how you ended up on my floor with your guts falling out, and how you seem to be doing just fine now?”
Gunnar settles his ass against my sink, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t have a guess?” He raises one brow, studying me.
“Oh, I have loads of ideas. You don’t even want to know what’s going on up here.” I point to the side of my head.
He bites the corner of his bottom lip, but it doesn’t hide the smile forming on his scarred mouth. “I’m dying to know exactly what you’re thinking.”
I shrug my shoulders, “You asked for it,” I caution. I inspect him again. “A vampire…no.” I shake my head knowing that’s not right. “Werewolf.” My eyes bug out. “I’ve never met a werewolf.” I shimmy a bit, excited by the thought.
His eyes crinkle. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no. I’m not a werewolf.”
“Darn…are you a demon?” I inquire skeptically. “A succubus, maybe?”
Gunnar stands up straight, his eyes going wide in the process. “No.” He stresses the word. “That’s a new one,” he adds under his breath.
“What, why? You’ve got this allure thing going on for you.” I wave my hands in his direction. “You’re like a big ole bear. You look like you could rip someone’s head off, but you also seem kind of sweet, too.” I tilt my head and study him, finding my assessment a very appropriate description of him.
“A bear, huh?”
“You’re a shifter, aren’t you?” I don’t give him a chance to respond. “I knew they were real,” I mutter to myself.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m not a shifter,” he declares.
“Really?” I deflate, and Gunnar chuckles. “Well, I know you’re some kind of soldier or something.” I tap my finger on my lip. “Are you a government experiment gone wrong? Just escaped their mind control and gained your freedom?”
He throws his head back to let out a belly laugh, and it’s deep and hardy. He’s wheezing by the time he gets himself under control. “I don’t know where you’re coming up with this stuff,” his eyes are dancing as he gazes at me with his hand over his abdomen, “but you’ve got to stop. I don’t think my body can handle another round of that.”
His hand over his stomach takes on a whole new meaning. He’s taped on a new bandage. I’d already forgotten he was hurt. “Do you need to sit down?” I offer, pulling out a stool from the island.
