Page 22 of Melt My Heart: Denver Warlords

"And finally, unknown obsessive fan." He tapped the pen against the paper. "Someone who may be deluded into thinking they have a relationship with you, and therefore feels unusually possessive, possibly threatened by your partnership with me."

Santana collected the list, promising to review security footage with these suspects in mind. "In the meantime, I'll assign additional security for tomorrow's event. And I strongly suggest you both use extreme caution."

Outside, twilight had descended, streetlights flickering on as we walked to Gunnar's Range Rover. Neither of us spoke until we were safely inside, doors locked.

"Please stay with me tonight?" I asked with urgency tingeing my tone. The words emerged before I could analyze them, pure instinct overriding my usual self-reliance.

His hand found mine across the console. "I was going to suggest the same thing. Besides, I have three days' worth of dirty dishes in my sink and hockey equipment drying in my bathtub."

A laugh escaped me despite the tension. "How romantic."

At my apartment, we ordered takeout from a nearby Thai restaurant, spreading containers across my usually pristine coffee table. As we ate, we discussed security measures for tomorrow, potential warning signs to watch for, contingency plans. The practical conversation helped calm my nerves, transforming abstract fear into manageable precautions.

After dinner, Gunnar insisted on checking the entire apartment—testing window locks, examining the door frame for signs of tampering, confirming the balcony access was secure. His protectiveness might have felt stifling coming from anyone else, but from him, it felt like a natural extension of the bond forming between us.

"All clear," he announced, returning to the living room where I'd cleaned up our dinner remains. "Though I should probably sleep with one eye open, just in case."

I approached him slowly, sliding my arms around his waist. "Or you could stay awake doing something more enjoyable than security patrol."

His eyebrows rose, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Ms. McKenzie, are you propositioning me?"

"Absolutely." I rose on tiptoes, brushing my lips against his. "Any objections?"

His response came in the form of strong arms lifting me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me toward the bedroom. "Only that you're still wearing too many clothes."

What followed transcended our first night together, each touch deepened by growing familiarity yet exciting in its exploration. Gunnar laid me gently on the bed, his body covering mine as his mouth traced a burning path down my neck. I arched against him, fingers threading through his hair, guiding him lower.

He took his time undressing me, treating each newly exposed inch of skin to attention. When he finally slid inside me, our bodies joined in perfect synchronicity, I felt boundaries dissolving that went beyond the physical. The control I clung to in every other aspect of my life melted away under his touch, replaced by liberating surrender that heightened every sensation.

"Let go baby," he whispered against my ear, sensing my approaching climax. "I've got you."

And I did—completely, utterly, gloriously—falling apart in his arms with an abandon I'd never allowed myself before. He followed moments later, my name on his lips, his body trembling against mine.

Afterward, we lay tangled in sheets and each other, his fingers tracing lazy patterns across my bare shoulder.The comfortable silence between us felt as intimate as our lovemaking, requiring no words to fill the space.

Eventually, however, Gunnar broke the quiet. "Starla." His voice had acquired a serious edge I rarely heard. "What's worth more…winning gold or your life?"

The question hung between us, weighted with implications. I propped myself up on one elbow, studying his troubled expression. "That's not a fair comparison."

"It is if someone's willing to hurt you to stop your performance." His hand stilled against my skin. "Maybe we should withdraw from tomorrow's exhibition. Give the cops more time to identify whoever's behind this."

Panic fluttered in my chest at the suggestion. "We can't quit now. Not when we've created something extraordinary, not when the Olympic Committee will be watching."

"The committee will have other opportunities to see you skate," he argued gently. "If you're alive and uninjured."

"And if we back out, whoever's doing this wins." I sat up, pulling the sheet around me. "They'll see it worked, that threats can make Starla McKenzie run scared."

"This isn't about fear. It's about sensible precaution." Frustration edged into his voice. "I've watched you push through injuries, exhaustion, and setbacks. I admire your determination. But this is different."

I felt trapped between impossible choices—my lifelong Olympic dream, my parents' expectations, Vivian's investment in my career, and now this unexpectedconnection with Gunnar that had become precious to me. "I don't want to let anyone down," I whispered. "Not you, not my coaches, not my parents, not myself."

"You could never let me down." He sat up beside me, cupping my face in his hands. "But you need to consider what happens after tomorrow. If we haven't identified who's doing this…"

“I know." I leaned into his touch. "Please, Gunnar. Give me tomorrow. Let me…let us…show the world what we've created together. After that, if the authorities haven't caught whoever's responsible, I'll seriously consider withdrawing from competitions until they do."

He studied me for a long moment, conflict evident in his expression. "Promise me you'll be careful. That you won't take unnecessary risks."

"I promise." Relief flooded through me. "It's not just about medals anymore. I have something else worth protecting now."

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