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“Okay, so, hand holding is good.”
I smile encouragingly. “Excellent. Hand holding is allowed. What else?”
Gunnar sighs. “I’m probably going to want to kiss you again. A lot. I’d like to say I can resist the urge, but honesty requires me to admit I know I can’t. You’re too damned tempting. So kissing is okay?”
I don’t even try to hide my grin. “That is fine with me. Anything else?”
Gunnar shakes his head, looking very serious. “Let’s cut to the chase. I know my limits. Anything below the belt is off the table. Okay? If we start down that road, I’m not going to want to stop. So the rest will need to be on hold for now. Until we both agree it’s a good idea. What do you think?”
I shuffle closer. “We both need to agree to move forward physically. I think that is a good plan.” I tease my fingers through his beard and press my lips to his in a soft, tender kiss, then kiss him again, this time flicking the tip of my tongue against his closed mouth. He moans and parts his lips, stroking his tongue against mine.
When he pulls back and smiles at me, I know I’m in trouble. Because Gunnar Osouf is sweet, kind and sexy as hell, and quite honestly, he seems to be everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner. And I don’t think that’s what this is.
Gunnar strokes my cheek and places one more soft kiss on my lips. “I think it’s time for me to go.”
I sigh and pout just a little, but he’s probably right. I stand and pull him after me. “Boo. But I understand.” Scooping up his coat and tie, I hand them to him as we walk to the elevator.
Tenderly, he strokes my cheek with his thumb. “I can’t believe it’s taken this long to actually get to know you. Not that I really know you. Yet. But we’re going to work on that.”
I nod, smiling. “I’m looking forward to it. And things happen when they should.”
Gunnar takes a deep breath and stands a little taller. I know what that means and brace myself for something I might not like. “So, in the interest of credibility at Alistair’s party, Astrid suggested you come to dinner on Sunday at Bjorn’s house.”
My eyes go wide because that’s the last thing I expected him to say. “I’ve heard about the infamous Osouf family dinners. Should I be worried?” I laugh, unable to help myself. “I think I should be worried.”
Gunnar winces, probably because a lot of the drama I’ve heard about has involved him. “It’s all true, but please, don’t let that stop you.”
I reach out and squeeze his hand encouragingly. “I’m not scared. It sounds nice. So, yes, I’d love to come to dinner.”
Gunnar’s expression relaxes a bit, but his brows are still furrowed. “Good. But there are a few things you probably should know first.”
I laugh and step closer, nudging his arm with my shoulder. “Astrid and I have lunch together several times a week. I do already know quite a bit about the Osouf clan.”
He looks equal parts amused and concerned. “Like?”
I think about how to reply, fairly certain I know what he’s most worried about. “Besides a lot of unimportant little things you probably don’t care that I know, I am aware that you haven’t always gotten along with your brothers. But I believe you have been working on that, and things are better.” That gets me another nod.
Gunnar’s frown turns a bit scowly. “I know hardly anything about you, other than what you’ve told me tonight. I’m at a distinct disadvantage.” He squeezes my hand and makes an effort to relax. “Guess you’ll be doing most of the talking then.”
I smile and press a soft kiss to his lips. “We’ll see. But yes to Sunday dinner.”
He leans his forehead against mine and takes a minute, which I readily give him. “I’m really glad I ran into you tonight.”
“I am too.”
He leans back and tenderly brushes his lips against my forehead, sending shivers through me. “Why don’t I come by and pick you up at four? Dinner isn’t until six, but everyone usually gets to Bjorn’s early and we have a few drinks and snacks while we make dinner.” He frowns again. “Hey, is there anything you can’t eat? Any food allergies I need to tell Bjorn about?”
I shake my head. “No allergies.” It’s a very considerate question and not one people normally think about. “And before you ask, anything Bjorn wants to make is wonderful because I won’t have to cook it. I’m not a picky eater. Should I bring anything? Wine? Dessert?”
“Nope, just you.” He leans in and kisses me again, this time slowly and quite thoroughly.
I melt against his wonderfully broad chest and sigh when the kiss ends. “See you at four on Sunday.”
Gunnar pushes the call button, and the doors open. He backs into the elevator, still holding my hand, and I don’t particularly want to let go, but I have to when the doors start to shut.
“Oh, wait!” I step between them, forcing them open. “Phone numbers. I don’t have yours. You don’t have mine. We should probably exchange them.”
Gunnar nods, pulling his phone out of his pocket. I take it from him, enter my contact information, and hand it back. “Text me when you get home so I know you made it. That way, I’ll have your number too.”
