Nine Hours

Chapter 5

For several solid minutes Gunnar stands calmly, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for my reaction. His words unnerve me in several ways. First, he is quite confident I'll be one hundred percent onboard with whatever weird thing is happening. So much so, I'll voluntarily want to stay. Whatever that means. Even more curious is his declaration I can refuse and it will be like nothing had happened. Poof! Back to normal.

"Sweetness, no decisions are to be made now. You will settle in. Rest. Dine. We have most of our nine hours still to come."

"Our nine hours?" What the hell is he talking about?

"Of course. The length of time left of the flight to Munich after we departed."

"When we departed. The plane. How...?" The man, as beautiful and self-assured as he is, makes no sense. However, he doesn't give off any threatening or dangerous vibes, either. Shouldn't something about this whole situation, about him, make me far more nervous? Where's that fight or flight instinct when you need it?

He extends a massive hand. "Come. No reason to stand in the doorway. Let us sit."

He steers me to a buttery soft, tan leather sofa situated next to the middle window. The view is breathtaking. A fine mist of rain is now clouding the vista of a deep, rich forest of trees which begin several yards from the house. The view is so enchanting I half expect to see fairies or wood elves poking their heads out to spy on me. The ground slopes down and a parade of trees roll away from the house like a rich green carpet unfurling for several miles. In the distance, water shimmers like liquid silver under a break in the thick gray clouds. It's more a fingerlike strip than a lake. A fjord, perhaps? It's large enough for several boats—tiny from this distance—to putter along the glassy surface, foaming wakes trailing behind.

I'm mesmerized by the scenery for quite a while, but gradually return my attention to the room. The aroma of a rich brew of coffee is tantalizing. Coffee has never smelled so good. I'm not one of those rabid coffee lovers who spends half their paychecks ordering lattes from baristas, however, my inexpensive coffee maker doesn't sit idle, either. The casino break room has a high-end espresso maker, which I make good use of daily—especially on double and night shifts.

Slowly sinking into the soft leather of the sofa, I watch as Gunnar moves through the kitchen collecting large brown ceramic mugs from a cabinet and pouring the piping hot beverage. He adds milk and sugar to both and stirs.

"The coffee will warm you. It was very cold and the caffeine will perk you up as well." He sits inches away on the long sofa, although there's enough room that the closeness isn't necessary. Oddly, the proximity doesn't make me nervous, considering my good sense insists Gunnar is a murderer. "Sip. It is hot."

It is magnificent—rich and flavorful. Wrapping both hands around the warm mug, they begin to thaw. Gunnar prepared the coffee as if he'd known my preference.

"You fixed it exactly as I would have." I peer over the rim of the cup.

"Of course." He pauses, choosing his words very carefully. "I know many things about Cassie Traeger."

I freeze. "You know my last name? I don't recall..." I rest the cup on my thighs. His eyes follow the movement, then return to meet mine.

"Yes. Much more than that." He smiles in his curious way, which makes my chest flutter. Just how much does Gunnar know about me? How? He places his mug on the wood and glass table and turns his large frame toward me.

"Cassandra Marie Traeger. Born in Reno, Nevada. Birthday: Sept. 5, twenty-seven years old. Moved to Las Vegas four years ago with her boyfriend, Mario de Garza. Works as a cocktail waitress at Calypso Lounge in the Silver Star Hotel-Casino. Broke up with that bastard of a boyfriend almost two years ago. Embarked on a monthlong trip to Europe reinvent herself while chasing a new adventure. Shall I continue?"

My mouth gapes. "How...?"

Gunnar removes the mug from my trembling hand and sets it next to his on the spotless table.

"You've been stalking me. How do you know all of this? Why do you want to know these things? What do you want with me?"

"Cassie, there are things you will learn about me in the next hours and days which will challenge what you think you know. Finding you was meant to be. It is my destiny. Our destiny. I will teach you everything necessary—about me, about us." He waves his hand nonchalantly. "About this." Gunnar's easy smile disappears as his expression turns serious. "At the end of our nine hours together, Cassie, you will make the ultimate decision. Our future is completely in your hands."

"Our future?"

"Yes."

"Um...oh." What can I say to a speech like that? Whatever this is, no doubt it will be interesting.

"One more thing I should tell you." Taking my hand in his, he runs both thumbs across the top, warming them while sending a series of electric tendrils through me. "Time here is not the same as on the plane. Those nine hours? You will experience them as nine days. But when...if...we return to the flight, only hours will have passed, and the plane will be preparing to land in Munich."

Super. Time warps. Jesus, I should have stayed in Vegas. Nice, normal Vegas. I never thought I'd call Vegas normal.

"No. It isn't a time warp. It's simply a different reality, Cassie."

"Stop doing that. Reading my mind is not funny. It's creepy, Gunnar."

"Sweetness, I didn't read your mind. Though to some degree, it is among my particular set of skills. However, over the centuries it has been one of the first questions asked in this situation. I anticipated your concern."

"Wait. Centuries? Centuries of what, exactly?"

Gunnar rises to his spectacular height and I stand, gazing up at him.

"You are ridiculously tall, you know that, don't you?"

He throws his head back with a hearty laugh. "Runs in the family, my dear. The Halvorsen men have always been of impressive build." He levels an intense gaze at me, paired with a daring grin, which shakes me to my toes while making certain female body parts clench. "In all ways. Come. I'll show you to the bathroom. You can take a hot shower while I prepare our meal."

I follow him down the short hallway muttering. "Impressive build. No kidding. A freakin' giant is more like it."

Gunnar halts in front of the second of two closed doors on the left. Opening it, a bright light flickers on automatically. The bathroom is completely white, from top to bottom, with the exception of several lush red rugs on the floor and a strip of red accent tile across the shower. Most of the shower is encased in clear blocks, rather than covered by a door or curtain.

"You'll find everything you need. Place your clothes here." He gestures to a small, round end table. "I will have them taken care of for you." Leaning into the shower Gunnar twists the knobs, setting the water temperature. "This will be warm enough. Of course, you may adjust to your liking. Take your time. Allow the water to relax you. Today has been taxing." He leaves me alone in the now-steamy bathroom, door ajar, as he retreats down the hall.

Slowly pulling off my tank top, I shove the door shut with an elbow. The bathroom is immaculate—really, the entire house is perfectly maintained. As I kick off my tennis shoes and slide the black yoga pants down my legs, my thoughts run scattered. Everything from whether or not this is a dream, to what is going to happen, to what, exactly, Gunnar wants with me, skate around in my overwhelmed head. I may never figure any of it out. With a heavy sigh, I step into the shower stall, the warm steam enveloping me. God, this feels so good. How many hours can I reasonably stay in here? Maybe nine? If what he says is true, my time here will have expired by then.

The water has a hint of fragrance—perhaps lavender? A small tile shelf holds bottles of high-end luxury shampoo and conditioner as well as a body gel scented with tangerine and mint. After washing my hair, I squirt the gel into a pink puff and scrub my body, definitely taking my time with the task. It is the best shower I've ever taken.

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