Slowly, Christian eases The Grace out of her berth and toward the marina entrance. Behind us, a small crowd has gathered on the dockside to watch our departure. Small children are wa一ving, and I wa一ve back. Christian glances over his shoulder, then pulls me between his legs and points out various dials and gadgets in the cockpit. “Grab the wheel,” he orders, bossy as ever, but I do as I’m told. “Aye, aye, captain!” I giggle. Placing his hands snugly over mine, he continues to steer our course out of the marina, and within a few minutes, we are out on the open sea, slap into the cold minutes, we are out on the open sea, slap into the cold blue waters of Puget Sound. Away from the shelter of the marina’s protective wall, the wind is stronger, and the sea pitches and rolls beneath us. I can’t help but grin, feeling Christian’s excitement— this is such fun. We make a large curve until we are heading west toward the Olympic Peninsula, the wind behind us. “Sail time,” Christian says, excited. “Here—you take her. Keep her on this course.” What? He grins, reacting to the horror in my face. “Baby, it’s really easy. Hold the wheel and keep your eye on the horizon over the bow. You’ll do great; you always do. When the sails go up, you’ll feel the drag. Just hold her steady. I’ll signal like this”—he makes a slashing motion across his throat—“and you can cut the engines. This button here.” He points to a large black button. “Understand?” “Yes.” I nod frantically, feeling panicky. Jeez—I hadn’t expected to do anything! He kisses me quickly, then he steps off his captain’s chair and bounds up to the front of the boat to join Mac where he starts unfurling sails, untying ropes, and operating winches and pulleys. They work well together in a team, shouting various nautical terms to each other, and it’s warming to see Fifty interacting with someone else in such a carefree manner. Perhaps Mac is Fifty’s friend. He doesn’t seem to ha一ve many, as far as I can tell, but then, I don’t ha一ve many either. Well, not here in Seattle. The only friend I ha一ve is on vacation sunning herself in St. James on the west coast of Barbados. I ha一ve a sudden pang for Kate. I miss my roommate more than I thought I would when she left. I hope she changes her mind and comes home with her brother Ethan, rather than prolong her stay with Christian’s brother Elliot. Christian and Mac hoist the mainsail. It fills and billows out as the wind seizes it hungrily, and the boat lurches suddenly, zipping forward. I feel it through the wheel. Whoa! Whoa! They get to work on the headsail, and I watch fascinated as it flies up the mast. The wind catches it, stretching it taut. “Hold her steady, baby, and cut the engines!” Christian cries out to me over the wind, motioning me to switch off the engines. I can only just hear his voice, but I nod enthusiastically, gazing at the man I love, all windswept, exhilarated, and bracing himself against the pitch and yaw of the boat. I press the button, the roar of the engines ceases, and The Grace soars toward the Olympic Peninsula, skimming across the water as if she’s flying. I want to yell and scream and cheer—this has to be one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life—except perhaps the glider, and maybe the Red Room of Pain. Holy cow, this boat can move! I stand firm, grasping the wheel, fighting the rudder, and Christian is behind me once more, his hands on mine. “What do you think?” he shouts above the sound of “What do you think?” he shouts above the sound of the wind and the sea. “Christian! This is fantastic.” He beams, grinning from ear to ear. “You wait until the spinney’s up.” He points with his chin toward Mac, who is unfurling the spinnaker—a sail that’s a dark, rich red. It reminds me of the walls in the playroom. “Interesting color,” I shout. He gives me a wolfish grin and winks. Oh, it’s deliberate. The spinney balloons out—a large, odd elliptical shape —putting The Grace in overdrive. Finding her head, she speeds over the Sound. “Asymmetrical sail. For speed.” Christian answers my unasked question. “It’s amazing.” I can think of nothing better to say. I ha一ve the most ridiculous grin on my face as we whip through the water, heading for the majesty of the Olympic Mountains and Bainbridge Island. Glancing back, I see Seattle shrinking behind us, Mount Rainier in the far distance. I had not really appreciated how beautiful and rugged Seattle’s surrounding landscape is—verdant, lush, and temperate, tall evergreens and cliff faces jutting out here and there. It has a wild but serene beauty on this glorious sunny afternoon that takes my breath away. The stillness is stunning compared to our speed as we whip across the water. “How fast are we going?” “She’s doing 15 knots.” “I ha一ve no idea what that means.” “It’s about 17 miles an hour.” “Is that all? It feels much faster.” He squeezes my hands, smiling. “You look lovely, Anastasia. It’s good to see some color in your cheeks . . . and not from blushing. You look like you do in José’s photos.” I turn and kiss him. “You know how to show a girl a good time, Mr. Grey.” Grey.” “We aim to please, Miss Steele.” He scoops my hair out of the way and kisses the back of my neck, sending delicious tingles down my spine. “I like seeing you happy,” he murmurs and tightens his arms around me. I gaze out over the wide blue water, wondering what I could possibly ha一ve done in the past to ha一ve fortune smile and deliver this beautiful man to me. Yes, you’re a lucky bitch, my subconscious snaps. But you ha一ve your work cut out with him. He’s not going to want this vanilla crap forever . . . you’re going to ha一ve to compromise. I glare mentally at her snarky, insolent face and rest my head against Christian’s chest. But deep down I know my subconscious is right, but I banish the thoughts. I don’t want to spoil my day. An hour later, we are anchored in a small, secluded cove off Bainbridge Island. Mac has gone ashore in the inflatable—for what, I don’t know—but I ha一ve my inflatable—for what, I don’t know—but I ha一ve my suspicions because as soon as Mac starts the outboard engine, Christian grabs my hand and practically drags me into his cabin, a man with a mission. Now he stands before me, exuding his intoxicating sensuality as his deft fingers make quick work of the straps on my lifejacket. He tosses it to one side and gazes intently down at me, eyes dark, dilated. I’m already lost and he’s barely touched me. He raises his hand to my face, and his fingers move down my chin, the column of my throat, my sternum, searing me with his touch, to the first button of my blue blouse. “I want to see you,” he breathes and dexterously undoes the button. Bending, he plants a soft kiss on my parted lips. I am panting and eager, aroused by the potent combination of his captivating beauty, his raw sexuality in the confines of this cabin, and the gentle sway of the boat. He stands back. “Strip for me,” he whispers, eyes burning. Oh my. I’m only too happy to comply. Not taking my Oh my. I’m only too happy to comply. Not taking my eyes off his, I slowly undo each button, sa一voring his scorching gaze. Oh, this is heady stuff. I can see his desire —it’s evident on his face . . . and elsewhere. I let my shirt fall to the floor and reach for the button on my jeans. “Stop,” he orders. “Sit.” I sit down on the edge of the bed, and in one fluid movement he’s on his knees in front of me, undoing the laces of first one and then the other sneaker, pulling each off, followed by my socks. He picks up my left foot and raising it, plants a soft kiss on the pad of my big toe, then grazes his teeth against it. “Ah!” I moan as I feel the effect in my groin. He stands in one smooth move, holds his hand out to me, and pulls me up off the bed. “Continue,” he says and stands back to watch me. I ease the zipper of my jeans down and hook my thumbs in the waistband as I sashay then slide the denim down my legs. A soft smile plays on his lips, but his eyes remain dark. And I don’t know if it’s because he made love to me this morning, and I mean really made love to me, gently, sweetly, or if it was his impassioned declaration—yes . . . I do—but I don’t feel embarrassed at all. I want to be sexy for this man. He deserves sexy—he makes me feel sexy. Okay, it’s new to me, but I’m learning under his expert tutelage. And then again, so much is new to him, too. It balances the seesaw between us, a little, I think. I am wearing some of my new underwear—a white lacy thong and matching bra—a designer brand with a price tag to match. I step out of my jeans and stand there for him in the lingerie he’s paid for, but I no longer feel cheap. I feel his. Reaching behind I unhook my bra, sliding the straps down my arms, and drop it on top of my blouse. Slowly, I slip my panties off, letting them fall to my ankles, and step out of them, surprised by my grace. Standing before him, I am naked and unashamed, and I know it’s because he loves me. I no longer ha一ve to hide. I know it’s because he loves me. I no longer ha一ve to hide. He says nothing, just gazes at me. All I see is his desire, his adoration even, and something else, the depth of his need —the depth of his love for me. He reaches down, lifts the hem of his cream-colored sweater, and pulls it over his head, followed by his T-shirt, revealing his chest, never taking his bold gray eyes off mine. His shoes and socks follow before he grasps the button of his jeans. Reaching over, I whisper, “Let me.” His lips purse briefly into an ooh shape, and he smiles. “Be my guest.” I step toward him, slip my fearless fingers inside the waistband of his jeans, and tug so he’s forced to take a step closer to me. He gasps involuntarily at my unexpected audacity then smiles down at me. I undo the button, but before I unzip him I let my fingers wander, tracing his erection through the soft denim. He flexes his hips into my palm and closes his eyes briefly, relishing my touch. “You’re getting so bold, Ana, so bra一ve,” he whispers “You’re getting so bold, Ana, so bra一ve,” he whispers and clasps my face with both hands, bending to kiss me deeply. I put my hands on his hips—half on his cool skin and half on the low-slung waistband of his jeans. “So are you,” I murmur against his lips as my thumbs rub slow circles on his skin, and he smiles. “Getting there.” I move my hands to the front of his jeans and pull down the zipper. My intrepid fingers move through his pubic hair to his erection, and I grasp him tightly. He makes a low sound in his throat, his sweet breath washing over me, and he kisses me again, lovingly. As my hand moves over him, around him, stroking him, squeezing him tightly, he puts his arms around me, his right hand flat against the middle of my back and his fingers spread. His left hand is in my hair, holding me to his mouth. “Oh, I want you so much, baby,” he breathes, and steps back suddenly to remove his jeans and boxers in one swift, agile move. He is a fine, fine sight in or out of clothes, every single inch of him. He is perfect. His beauty desecrated only by his scars, I think sadly. And they run so much deeper than his skin. “What’s wrong, Ana?” he murmurs and gently strokes my cheek with his knuckles. “Nothing. Love me, now.” He pulls me into his arms, kissing me, twisting his hands into my hair. Our tongues entwined, he walks me backward to the bed and gently lowers me onto it, following me down so that he’s lying by my side. He runs his nose along my jawline as my hands move to his hair. “Do you ha一ve any idea how exquisite your scent is, Ana? It’s irresistible.” His words do what they always do—flame my blood, quicken my pulse—and he trails his nose down my throat, across my breasts, kissing me reverentially as he does. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, as he takes one of my nipples in his mouth and softly suckles. I moan as my body bows off the bed. I moan as my body bows off the bed. “Let me hear you, baby.” His hand trails down to my waist, and I glory in the feel of his touch, skin to skin—his hungry mouth at my breasts and his skilled long fingers caressing and stroking me, cherishing me. Moving over my hips, over my behind, and down my leg to my knee, and all this time he’s kissing and sucking my breasts—oh my. Grasping my knee, he suddenly hitches my leg up, curling it over his hips, making me gasp, and I feel rather than see his responding grin against my skin. He rolls over so that I am astride him and hands me a foil packet. I shift back, taking him in my hands, and I just can’t resist him in all his glory. I bend and kiss him, taking him in my mouth, swirling my tongue around him, then sucking hard. He groans and flexes his hips so that he’s deeper in my mouth. Mmm . . . he tastes good. I want him inside me. I sit up and gaze at him; he’s breathless, mouth open, watching me intently. me intently. Hurriedly I tear open the condom and unroll it over him. He holds out his hands for me. I take one and with my other hand, position myself over him, then slowly claim him as mine. He groans low in his throat, closing his eyes. The feel of him in me . . . stretching . . . filling me— I moan softly—it’s divine. He places his hands on my hips and moves me up, down, and pushes into me. Oh . . . it’s so good. “Oh, baby,” he whispers, and suddenly he sits up so we’re nose to nose, and the sensation is extraordinary—so full. I gasp, grabbing his upper arms as he clasps my head in his hands and gazes into my eyes—his intense and gray, burning with desire. “Oh, Ana. What you make me feel,” he murmurs and kisses me passionately with fervent ardor. I kiss him back, dizzy with the delicious feeling of him buried deep inside me. “Oh, I love you,” I murmur. He groans as if pained to hear my whispered words and rolls over, taking me with him without breaking our precious contact, so that I’m lying beneath him. I wrap my legs around his waist. He stares down at me with adoring wonder, and I am sure I mirror his expression as I reach up to caress his beautiful face. Very slowly, he starts to move, closing his eyes as he does and moaning softly. The gentle sway of the boat and the peace and quiet tranquility of the cabin are broken only by our mingled breaths as he moves slowly in and out of me, so controlled and so good—it’s hea一venly. He puts his arm over my head, his hand on my hair, and he caresses my face with the other as he bends to kiss me. I’m cocooned by him, as he loves me, slowly moving in and out, sa一voring me. I touch him—sticking to the boundaries—his arms, his hair, his lower back, his beautiful behind—and my breathing accelerates as his steady rhythm pushes me higher and higher. He’s kissing my mouth, my chin, my jaw, then nibbling my ear. I can hear his staccato breaths with each gentle thrust of his hear his staccato breaths with each gentle thrust of his body. My body starts to quiver. Oh . . . This feeling that I now know so well . . . I am close . . . Oh . . . “That’s right, baby . . . give it up for me . . . Please . . . Ana,” he murmurs and his words are my undoing. “Christian,” I call out, and he groans as we both come together. “Mac will be back soon,” he murmurs. “Hmm.” My eyes flicker open to meet his soft gray gaze. Lord, his eyes are an amazing color—especially here, out on the sea—reflecting the light bouncing off the water through the small portholes into the cabin. “As much as I’d like to lie here with you all afternoon, he’ll need a hand with the dinghy.” Leaning over, Christian kisses me tenderly. “Ana, you look so beautiful right now, all mussed up and sexy. Makes me want you more.” He smiles and rises from the bed. I lay on my front admiring smiles and rises from the bed. I lay on my front admiring the view. “You ain’t so bad yourself, captain.” I smack my lips in admiration and he grins. I watch him move gracefully about the cabin as he dresses. He really is divinely beautiful, and what’s more, he’s just made such sweet love to me again. I can hardly believe my good fortune. I can’t quite believe that this man is mine. He sits down beside me to put on his shoes. “Captain, eh?” he says dryly. “Well, I am master of this vessel.” I cock my head to one side. “You are master of my heart, Mr. Grey.” And my body . . . and my soul. He shakes his head incredulously and bends to kiss me. “I’ll be on deck. There’s a shower in the bathroom if you want one. Do you need anything? A drink?” he asks solicitously, and all I can do is grin at him. Is this the same man? Is this the same Fifty? “What?” he says, reacting to my stupid grin. “You.” “You.” “What about me?” “Who are you and what ha一ve you done with Christian?” He lips twitch with a sad smile. “He’s not very far away, baby,” he says softly, and there’s a touch of melancholy in his voice that makes me instantly regret asking the question. But he shakes it off. “You’ll see him soon enough”—he smirks at me —“especially if you don’t get up.” Reaching over, he smacks me hard on my behind so I yelp and laugh at the same time. “You had me worried.” “Did I, now?” Christian’s brow creases. “You do give off some mixed signals, Anastasia. How’s a man supposed to keep up?” He leans down and kisses me again. “Laters, baby,” he adds, and with a dazzling smile, he gets up and lea一ves me to my scattered thoughts. When I surface on deck, Mac is back on board, but he disappears onto the upper deck as I open the saloon doors. Christian is on his Blackberry. Talking to whom? I wonder. He wanders over and pulls me close, kissing my hair. “Great news . . . good. Yeah . . . Really? The fire escape stairwell? . . . I see . . . Yes, tonight.” He hits the end button, and the sound of the engines firing up startles me. Mac must be in the cockpit above. “Time to head back,” Christian says, kissing me once more as he straps me into my lifejacket. The sun is low in the sky behind us as we make our way back to the marina, and I reflect on a wonderful afternoon. Under Christian’s careful, patient tuition, I ha一ve now stowed a mainsail, a headsail, and a spinnaker and learned to tie a reef knot, clove hitch, and sheepshank. His lips were twitching throughout the lesson. “I may tie you up one day,” I mutter crabbily. His mouth twists with humor. “You’ll ha一ve to catch me first, Miss Steele.” His words bring to mind him chasing me round the apartment, the thrill, then the hideous aftermath. I frown and shudder. After that, I left him. Would I lea一ve him again now that he’s admitted he loves me? I gaze up into his clear gray eyes. Could I ever lea一ve him again—no matter what he did to me? Could I betray him like that? No. I don’t think I could. He’s given me a more thorough tour of this beautiful boat, explaining all the innovative designs and techniques, and the high-quality materials used to build it. I remember the interview when I first met him. I picked up then on his passion for ships. I thought his love was only for the ocean-going freighters his company builds—not for supersexy, sleek catamarans, too. And, of course, he’s made sweet, unhurried love to me. I shake my head, remembering my body bowed and wanting beneath his expert hands. He is an exceptional wanting beneath his expert hands. He is an exceptional lover, I’m sure—though, of course, I ha一ve no comparison. But Kate would ha一ve ra一ved more if it was always like this; it’s not like her to hold back on details. But how long will this be enough for him? I just don’t know, and the thought is unnerving. Now he sits, and I stand in the safe circle of his arms for hours, it seems, in comfortable, companionable silence as The Grace glides closer and closer to Seattle. I ha一ve the wheel, Christian advising on adjustments every so often. “There is poetry in sailing as old as the world,” he murmurs in my ear. “That sounds like a quote.” I sense his grin. “It is. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.” “Oh . . . I adore The Little Prince.” “Me, too.” It is early evening as Christian, his hands still on mine, It is early evening as Christian, his hands still on mine, steers us into the marina. There are lights winking from the boats, reflecting off the dark water, but it is still light—a balmy, bright evening, an overture for what is sure to be a spectacular sunset. A crowd gathers on the dockside as Christian slowly turns the boat around in a relatively small space. He does it with ease and reverses smoothly into the same berth we left earlier. Mac jumps on to the dock and ties The Grace securely to a bollard. “Back again,” Christian murmurs. “Thank you,” I murmur shyly. “That was a perfect afternoon.” Christian grins. “I thought so, too. Perhaps we can enroll you in sailing school, so we can go out for a few days, just the two of us.” “I’d love that. We can christen the bedroom again and again.” He leans forward and kisses me under my ear. “Hmm . . . I look forward to it, Anastasia,” he whispers, making every single hair follicle on my body stand to attention. How does he do that? “Come, the apartment is clean. We can go back.” “What about our things at the hotel?” “Taylor has collected them already.” Oh! When? “Earlier today, after he did a sweep of The Grace with his team.” Christian answers my unspoken question. “Does that poor man ever sleep?” “He sleeps.” Christian quirks an eyebrow at me, puzzled. “He’s just doing his job, Anastasia, which he’s very good at. Jason is a real find.” “Jason?” “Jason Taylor.” I remember when I thought Taylor was his first name. Jason. It suits him—solid, reliable. For some reason it makes me smile. “You’re fond of Taylor,” Christian says, eyeing me with speculation. with speculation. “I suppose I am.” His question derails me. He frowns. “I’m not attracted to him, if that’s why you’re frowning. Stop.” Christian is almost pouting—sulky. Jeez, he’s such a child sometimes. “I think Taylor looks after you very well. That’s why I like him. He seems kind, reliable and loyal. He has an a一vuncular appeal to me.” “Avuncular?” “Yes.” “Okay, a一vuncular.” Christian is testing the word and meaning. I laugh. “Oh, Christian, grow up, for hea一ven’s sake.” His mouth drops open, surprised by my outburst, but then he frowns as if considering my statement. “I’m trying,” he says eventually. “That you are. Very.” I answer softly but then roll my eyes at him. “What memories you evoke when you roll your eyes at “What memories you evoke when you roll your eyes at me, Anastasia.” He grins. I smirk at him. “Well, if you beha一ve yourself, maybe we can relive some of those memories.” His mouth twists with humor. “Beha一ve myself?” He raises his eyebrows. “Really, Miss Steele—what makes you think I want to relive them?” “Probably the way your eyes lit up like Christmas when I said that.” “You know me so well already,” he says dryly. “I’d like to know you better.” He smiles softly. “And I you, Anastasia.” “Thanks, Mac.” Christian shakes McConnell’s hand and steps on the dock. “Always a pleasure, Mr. Grey, and good-bye. Ana, great to meet you.” I shake his hand shyly. He must know what Christian and I were up to on the boat while he went ashore. “Good day, Mac, and thank you.” He grins at me and winks, making me flush. Christian takes my hand, and we walk up the dock to the marina’s promenade. “Where’s Mac from?” I ask, curious about his accent. “Ireland . . . Northern Ireland,” Christian corrects himself. “Is he your friend?” “Mac? He works for me. Helped build The Grace.” “Do you ha一ve many friends?” He frowns. “Not really. Doing what I do . . . I don’t cultivate friendships. There’s only—” He stops, his frown deepening, and I know he was going to mention Mrs. Robinson. “Hungry?” he asks, trying to change the subject. I nod. Actually, I’m famished. “We’ll eat where I left the car. Come.” Next to SP’s is a small Italian bistro called Bee’s. It reminds me of the place in Portland—a few tables and booths, the décor very crisp and modern with a large black and white photograph of a turn-of-the-century fiesta serving as a mural. Christian and I are seated in a booth, poring over the menu and sipping a delicious light Frascati. When I glance up from the menu, ha一ving made my choice, Christian is gazing at me speculatively. “What?” I ask. “You look lovely, Anastasia. The outdoors agrees with you.” I flush. “I feel rather wind-burned to tell the truth. But I had a lovely afternoon. A perfect afternoon. Thank you.” He smiles, his eyes warm. “My pleasure,” he murmurs. “Can I ask you something?” I decide on a fact-finding mission. “Anything, Anastasia. You know that.” He cocks his head to one side, looking delicious. “You don’t seem to ha一ve many friends. Why is that?” “You don’t seem to ha一ve many friends. Why is that?” He shrugs and frowns. “I told you, I don’t really ha一ve time. I ha一ve business associates—though that’s very different from friendships, I suppose. I ha一ve my family and that’s it. Apart from Elena.” I ignore the mention of the bitch-troll. “No male friends your own age that you can go out with and let off steam?” “You know how I like to let off steam, Anastasia.” Christian’s mouth twists. “And I’ve been working, building up the business.” He looks puzzled. “That’s all I do— except sail and fly occasionally.” “Not even in college?” “Not really.” “Just Elena, then?” He nods, his expression wary. “Must be lonely.” His lips curl in a small wistful smile. “What would you like to eat?” he asks, changing the subject again. “I’m going for the risotto.” “Good choice.” Christian summons the waiter, putting “Good choice.” Christian summons the waiter, putting an end to that conversation. After we’ve placed our order, I shift uncomfortably in my seat, staring at my knotted fingers. If he’s in a talking mood, I need to take advantage. I ha一ve to talk to him about his expectations, about his, um . . . needs. “Anastasia, what’s wrong? Tell me.” I glance up into his concerned face. “Tell me,” he says more forcefully, and his concern evolves into what? Fear? Anger? I take a deep breath. “I’m just worried that this isn’t enough for you. You know, to let off steam.” His jaw tenses and his eyes harden. “Ha一ve I given you any indication that this isn’t enough?” “No.” “Then why do you think that?” “I know what you’re like. What you . . . um . . . need,” I stutter. He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead with long fingers. “What do I ha一ve to do?” His voice is ominously soft as if he’s angry, and my heart sinks. “No, you misunderstand—you ha一ve been amazing, and I know it’s just been a few days, but I hope I’m not forcing you to be someone you’re not.” “I’m still me, Anastasia—in all my fifty shades of fuckedupness. Yes, I ha一ve to fight the urge to be controlling . . . but that’s my nature, how I’ve dealt with my life. Yes, I expect you to beha一ve a certain way, and when you don’t it’s both challenging and refreshing. We still do what I like to do. You let me spank you after your outrageous bid yesterday.” He smiles fondly at the memory. “I enjoy punishing you. I don’t think the urge will ever go . . . but I’m trying, and it’s not as hard as I thought it would be.” I squirm and flush, remembering our illicit tryst in his childhood bedroom. “I didn’t mind that,” I whisper, smiling shyly. “I know.” His lips curl in a reluctant smile. “Neither did “I know.” His lips curl in a reluctant smile. “Neither did I. But let me tell you, Anastasia, this is all new to me and these last few days ha一ve been the best in my life. I don’t want to change anything.” Oh! “They’ve been the best in my life, too, without exception,” I murmur and his smile broadens. My inner goddess nods frantically in agreement—and nudges me hard. Okay, okay. “So you don’t want to take me into your playroom?” He swallows and pales, all trace of humor gone. “No, I don’t.” “Why not?” I whisper. This is not the answer I expected. And yes, there it is, that little pinch of disappointment. My inner goddess stomps off pouting, her arms crossed like an angry toddler. “The last time we were in there you left me,” he says quietly. “I will shy away from anything that could make you lea一ve me again. I was devastated when you left. I lea一ve me again. I was devastated when you left. I explained that. I never want to feel like that again. I’ve told you how I feel about you.” His gray eyes are wide and intense with his sincerity. “But it hardly seems fair. It can’t be very relaxing for you—to be constantly concerned about how I feel. You’ve made all these changes for me, and I . . . I think I should reciprocate in some way. I don’t know— maybe . . . try . . . some role-playing games,” I stutter, my face as crimson as the walls of the playroom. Why is this so hard to talk about? I ha一ve done all manner of kinky fuckery with this man, things I hadn’t even heard of a few weeks ago, things that I would never ha一ve thought possible, yet the hardest of all is talking to him. “Ana, you do reciprocate, more than you know. Please, please don’t feel like this.” Gone is carefree Christian. His eyes are wider now with alarm, and it’s gut-wrenching. “Baby, it’s only been one weekend,” he continues. “Give us some time. I thought a great deal about us last week when you left. We need time. You need to trust me, and I you. Maybe in time we can indulge, but I like how you are now. I like seeing you this happy, this relaxed and carefree, knowing that I had something to do with it. I ha一ve never—” He stops and runs his hand through his hair. “We ha一ve to walk before we can run.” Suddenly he smirks. “What’s so funny?” “Flynn. He says that all the time. I never thought I’d be quoting him.” “A Flynnism.” Christian laughs. “Exactly.” The waiter arrives with our starters and bruschetta, and our conversation changes tack as Christian relaxes. But when the unfeasibly large plates are placed before us, I can’t help think how I ha一ve thought of Christian today —relaxed, happy and carefree. At least he’s laughing now, at ease again. I breathe an inward sigh of relief as he starts quizzing me about places I’ve been. This is a short discussion, since I ha一ve never been anywhere except the continental US. I ha一ve never been anywhere except the continental US. Christian, on the other hand, has tra一veled the world. We slip into an easier, happier conversation, talking about all the places he’s visited. After our tasty and filling meal, Christian drives back to Escala, Eva Cassidy’s gentle sweet voice singing over the speakers. It allows me a peaceful interlude in which to think. I ha一ve had a mind-blowing day. Dr. Greene, our shower, Christian’s admission, making love at the hotel and on the boat, buying the car. Even Christian himself has been so different. It’s as if he’s letting go of something or rediscovering something—I don’t know. Who knew he could be so sweet? Did he? When I glance at him, he, too, looks lost in thought. It strikes me then that he never really had an adolescence—a normal one anyway. I shake my head. My mind drifts back to the ball and dancing with Dr. Flynn and Christian’s fear that Flynn had told me all about Flynn and Christian’s fear that Flynn had told me all about him. Christian is still hiding something from me. How can we move on if he feels that way? He thinks I might lea一ve if I know him. He thinks that I might lea一ve if he’s himself. Oh, this man is so complicated. As we get closer to his home, he starts radiating tension until it becomes palpable. As we drive, he scans the sidewalks and side alleys, his eyes darting everywhere, and I know he’s looking for Leila. I start looking, too. Every young brunette is a suspect, but we don’t see her. When he pulls into the garage, his mouth is set in a tense, grim line. I wonder why we’ve come back here if he’s going to be so wary and uptight. Sawyer is in the garage, patrolling. The defiled Audi is gone. He comes to open my door as Christian pulls in beside the SUV. “Hello, Sawyer,” I murmur my greeting. “Miss Steele.” He nods. “Mr. Grey.” “No sign?” Christian asks. “No, sir.” Christian nods, grasps my hand, and heads for the elevator. I know his brain is working overtime—he’s distracted. Once we’re inside he turns to me. “You are not allowed out of here alone. You understand?” he snaps. “Okay.” Jeez—keep your hair on. But his attitude makes me smile. I want to hug myself—now this man, all domineering and short with me I know. I marvel that I would ha一ve found it so threatening only a week or so ago when he spoke to me this way. But now, I understand him so much better. This is his coping mechanism. He’s stressed about Leila, he loves me, and he wants to protect me. “What’s so funny?” he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his expression. “You are.” “Me? Miss Steele? Why am I funny?” he pouts. Christian pouting is . . . hot. “Don’t pout.” “Why?” He’s even more amused. “Why?” He’s even more amused. “Because it has the same effect on me as I ha一ve on you when I do this.” I bite my lip deliberately. He raises his eyebrows, surprised and pleased at the same time. “Really?” He pouts again and leans down to give me a swift chaste kiss. I raise my lips to meet his, and in the nanosecond when our lips touch, the nature of the kiss changes—wildfire spreading through my veins from this intimate point of contact, driving me to him. Suddenly, my fingers are curling in his hair as he grabs me and pushes me against the elevator wall, his hands framing my face, holding me to his lips as our tongues thrash against each other. And I don’t know if it’s the confines of the elevator making everything much more real, but I feel his need, his anxiety, his passion. Holy shit. I want him, here, now. The elevator pings to a halt, the doors slide open, and Christian drags his face from mine, his hips still pinning me to the wall, his erection digging into me. to the wall, his erection digging into me. “Whoa,” he murmurs panting. “Whoa,” I mirror him, dragging a welcome breath into my lungs. He gazes at me, eyes blazing. “What you do to me, Ana.” He traces my lower lip with his thumb. Out of the corner of my eye, Taylor steps backward so he’s no longer in my line of sight. I reach up and kiss Christian at the corner of his beautifully sculptured mouth. “What you do to me, Christian.” He steps back and takes my hand, his eyes darker now, hooded. “Come,” he orders. Taylor is still in the foyer, waiting discreetly for us. “Good evening, Taylor,” Christian says cordially. “Mr. Grey, Miss Steele.” “I was Mrs. Taylor yesterday.” I grin at Taylor, who flushes. “That has a nice ring to it, Miss Steele,” Taylor says matter-of-factly. “I thought so, too.” Christian tightens his hold on my hand, scowling. “If you two ha一ve quite finished, I’d like a debrief.” He glares at Taylor, who now looks uncomfortable, and I cringe inwardly. I ha一ve overstepped the mark. “Sorry,” I mouth at Taylor, who shrugs and smiles kindly before I turn to follow Christian. “I’ll be with you shortly. I just want a word with Miss Steele,” Christian says to Taylor, and I know I’m in trouble. Christian leads me into his bedroom and closes the door. “Don’t flirt with the staff, Anastasia,” he scolds. I open my mouth to defend myself—then close it again, then open it. “I wasn’t flirting. I was being friendly—there is a difference.” “Don’t be friendly with the staff or flirt with them. I don’t like it.” Oh. Good-bye, carefree Christian. “I’m sorry,” I mutter and stare down at my fingers. He hasn’t made me feel like a child all day. Reaching down he cups my chin, feel like a child all day. Reaching down he cups my chin, pulling my head up to meet his eyes. “You know how jealous I am,” he whispers. “You ha一ve no reason to be jealous, Christian. You own me body and soul.” He blinks as if he’s finding this fact hard to process. He leans down and kisses me quickly, but with none of the passion we experienced a moment ago in the elevator. “I won’t be long. Make yourself at home,” he says sulkily and turns, lea一ving me standing in his bedroom, dazed and confused. Why on earth would he be jealous of Taylor? I shake my head in disbelief. Glancing at the alarm clock, I notice it’s just after eight. I decide to get my clothes ready for work tomorrow. I head upstairs to my room and open the walk-in closet. It’s empty. All the clothes ha一ve gone. Oh no! Christian has taken me at my word and disposed of the clothes. Shit. My subconscious glares at me. Well, that will be you and your big mouth. and your big mouth. Why did he take me at my word? My mother’s advice comes back to haunt me, “Men are so literal, darling.” I pout, staring at the empty space. There were some lovely clothes, too, like the silver dress I wore to the ball. I wander disconsolately into the bedroom, Wait a moment—what is going on? The iPad is gone. Where’s my Mac? Oh no. My first uncharitable thought is that Leila may ha一ve stolen them. I fly back downstairs and back into Christian’s bedroom. On the bedside table are my Mac, my iPad, and my satchel. It’s all here. I open the walk-in closet door. My clothes are here— all of them—sharing space with Christian’s clothes. When did this happen? Why does he never warn me before he does things like this? I turn, and he’s standing in the doorway. “Oh, they managed the move,” he mutters, distracted. “What’s wrong?” I ask. His face is grim. “Taylor thinks Leila was getting in through the emergency stairwell. She must ha一ve had a key. All the locks ha一ve been changed now. Taylor’s team has done a sweep of every room in the apartment. She’s not here.” He stops and runs a hand through his hair. “I wish I knew where she was. She’s evading all our attempts to find her when she needs help.” He frowns, and my earlier pique vanishes. I put my arms around him. Folding me into his embrace, he kisses my hair. “What will you do when you find her?” I ask. “Dr. Flynn has a place.” “What about her husband?” “He’s washed his hands of her.” Christian’s tone is bitter. “Her family is in Connecticut. I think she’s very much on her own out there.” “That’s sad.” “Are you okay with all your stuff being here? I want you to share my room,” he murmurs. Whoa, quick change of direction. “Yes.” “I want you sleeping with me. I don’t ha一ve nightmares “I want you sleeping with me. I don’t ha一ve nightmares when you’re with me.” “You ha一ve nightmares?” “Yes.” I tighten my hold around him. Holy cow. More baggage. My heart contracts for this man. “I was just getting my clothes ready for work tomorrow,” I mutter. “Work!” Christian exclaims as if it’s a dirty word, and he releases me, glaring. “Yes, work,” I reply, confused by his reaction. He stares at me with complete incomprehension. “But Leila—she’s out there,” he pauses. “I don’t want you to go to work.” What? “That’s ridiculous, Christian. I ha一ve to go to work.” “No, you don’t.” “I ha一ve a new job, which I enjoy. Of course I ha一ve to go to work.” What does he mean? “No, you don’t,” he repeats, emphatically. “No, you don’t,” he repeats, emphatically. “Do you think I am going to stay here twiddling my thumbs while you’re off being Master of the Universe?” “Frankly . . . yes.” Oh, Fifty, Fifty, Fifty . . . give me strength. “Christian, I need to go to work.” “No, you don’t.” “Yes. I. Do.” I say it slowly as if he’s a child. He scowls at me. “It’s not safe.” “Christian . . . I need to work for a living, and I’ll be fine.” “No, you don’t need to work for a living—and how do you know you’ll be fine?” He’s almost shouting. What does he mean? He’s going to support me? Oh, this is beyond ridiculous—I’ve known him for what—five weeks? He’s angry now, his gray eyes stormy and flashing, but I don’t give a shit. “For hea一ven’s sake, Christian, Leila was standing at the end of your bed, and she didn’t harm me, and yes, I do need to work. I don’t want to be beholden to you. I ha一ve my student loans to pay.” His mouth presses into a grim line, as I place my hands on my hips. I am not budging on this. Who the fuck does he think he is? “I don’t want you going to work.” “It’s not up to you, Christian. This is not your decision to make.” He runs his hand through his hair as he stares at me. Seconds, minutes tick by as we glare at each other. “Sawyer will come with you.” “Christian, that’s not necessary. You’re being irrational.” “Irrational?” he growls. “Either he comes with you, or I will be really irrational and keep you here.” He wouldn’t, would he? “How, exactly?” “Oh, I’d find a way, Anastasia. Don’t push me.” “Okay!” I concede, holding up both my hands, placating him. Holy fuck—Fifty is back with a vengeance. vengeance. We stand, scowling at each other. “Okay—Sawyer can come with me if it makes you feel better.” I concede rolling my eyes. Christian narrows his and takes a menacing step in my direction. I immediately step back. He stops and takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and runs both his hands through his hair. Oh no. Fifty is well and truly wound up. “Shall I give you a tour?” A tour? Are you kidding me? “Okay,” I mutter warily. Another change of tack—Mr. Mercurial is back in town. He holds out his hand and when I take it, he squeezes mine softly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” “You didn’t. I was just getting ready to run,” I quip. “Run?” Christian eyes widen. “I’m joking!” Oh jeez. He leads me out of the closet, and I take a moment to calm down. Adrenaline is still coursing through my body. A fight with Fifty is not to be undertaken lightly. A fight with Fifty is not to be undertaken lightly. He gives me a tour of the apartment, showing me the various rooms. Along with the playroom and three spare bedrooms upstairs, I’m intrigued to find that Taylor and Mrs. Jones ha一ve a wing to themselves—a kitchen, spacious living area, and a bedroom each. Mrs. Jones has not yet returned from visiting her sister who lives in Portland. Downstairs, the room that catches my eye is opposite his study—a TV room with a too-large plasma screen and assorted games consoles. It’s cozy. “So you do ha一ve an Xbox?” I smirk. “Yes, but I’m crap at it. Elliot always beats me. That was funny, when you thought I meant this room was my playroom.” He grins down at me his snit-fit forgotten. Thank hea一vens he’s recovered his good mood. “I’m glad you find me amusing, Mr. Grey,” I respond haughtily. “That you are, Miss Steele—when you’re not being exasperating, of course.” “I’m usually exasperating when you’re being unreasonable.” “Me? Unreasonable?” “Yes, Mr. Grey. Unreasonable could be your middle name.” “I don’t ha一ve a middle name.” “Unreasonable would suit then.” “I think that’s a matter of opinion, Miss Steele.” “I would be interested in Dr. Flynn’s professional opinion.” Christian smirks. “I thought Trevelyan was your middle name.” “No. Surname.” “But you don’t use it.” “It’s too long. Come,” he commands. I follow him out of the TV room through the great room to the main corridor past the utility room and an impressive wine cellar and into Taylor’s own large, well-equipped office. Taylor stands when we enter. There’s room in here for a meeting table that seats six. Above one desk is a bank of monitors. table that seats six. Above one desk is a bank of monitors. I had no idea the apartment had CCTV. It appears to monitor the balcony, stairwell, service elevator, and foyer. “Hi, Taylor. I’m just giving Anastasia a tour.” Taylor nods but doesn’t smile. I wonder if he’s been told off, too, and why is he still working? When I smile at him, he nods politely. Christian grabs my hand once more and leads me to the library. “And, of course, you’ve been in here.” Christian opens the door. I spy the green baize of the billiard table. “Shall we play?” I ask. Christian smiles, surprised. “Okay. Ha一ve you played before?” “A few times,” I lie, and he narrows his eyes, cocking his head to one side. “You’re a hopeless liar, Anastasia. Either you’ve never played before or—” I lick my lips. “Frightened of a little competition?” “Frightened of a little girl like you?” Christian scoffs good-naturedly. “A wager, Mr. Grey.” “A wager, Mr. Grey.” “You’re that confident, Miss Steele?” He smirks, amused and incredulous at once. “What would you like to wager?” “If I win, you’ll take me back into the playroom.” He gazes at me as if he can’t quite comprehend what I’ve said. “And if I win?” he asks after several shellshocked beats. “Then it’s your choice.” His mouth twists as he contemplates his answer. “Okay, deal.” He smirks. “Do you want to play pool, English snooker or carom billiards?” “Pool, please. I don’t know the others.” From a cupboard beneath one of the bookshelves, Christian takes out a large leather case. Inside the pool balls are nested in velvet. Quickly and efficiently, he racks the balls on the baize. I don’t think I’ve ever played pool on such a large table before. Christian hands me a cue and some chalk. “Would you like to break?” He feigns politeness. He’s enjoying himself—he thinks he’s going to win. “Okay.” I chalk the end of my cue, and blow the excess chalk off—staring up at Christian through my lashes. His eyes darken as I do.