I stare frigidly at him. His eyes are so intense, threatening even, but sexy as hell. I

could get lost in their steely depths.

“So you’re my boss now,” I snap.

“Technically, I’m your boss’s boss’s boss.”

“And, technically, it’s gross moral turpitude—the fact that I am fucking my boss’s

boss’s boss.”

“At the moment, you’re arguing with him.” Christian scowls.

“That’s because he’s such an arse,” I hiss.

Christian steps back in stunned surprise. Oh shit.Have I gone too far?

“An arse?” he murmurs as his expression changes to one of amusement.

Goddamn it! I am mad at you, do not make me laugh!

“Yes.” I struggle to maintain my look of moral outrage.

“An arse?” Christian says again. This time his lips twitch with a repressed smile.

“Don’t make me laugh when I am mad at you!” I shout.

And he smiles, a dazzling, full-toothed, all-American-boy smile, and I can’t help it. I

am grinning and laughing, too. How could I not be affected by the joy I see in his smile?

“Just because I have a stupid damn grin on my face doesn’t mean I’m not mad as

hell at you,” I mutter breathlessly, trying to suppress my high-school-cheerleader giggling.

Though I was never cheerleader—the bitter thought crosses my mind.

He leans in, and I think he’s going to kiss me but he doesn’t. He nuzzles my hair and

inhales deeply.

“As ever, Miss Steele, you are unexpected.” He leans back and gazes at me, his eyes

dancing with humor. “So are you going to invite me in, or am I to be sent packing for exer-

cising my democratic right as an American citizen, entrepreneur, and consumer to purchase

whatever I damn well please?”

“Have you spoken to Dr. Flynn about this?”

He laughs. “Are you going to let me in or not, Anastasia?”

I try for a grudging look—biting my lip helps—but I’m smiling as I open the door.

Christian turns and waves to Taylor, and the Audi pulls away.

It’s odd having Christian Grey in the apartment. The place feels too small for him.

I am still mad at him—his stalking knows no bounds, and it dawns on me that this is

how he knew about the e-mail being monitored at SIP. He probably knows more about SIP

than I do. The thought is unsavory.

What can I do? Why does he have this need to keep me safe? I am a grown-up— sort

of—for heaven’s sake. What can I do to reassure him?

I gaze at his beautiful face as he paces the room like a caged predator, and my anger

subsides. Seeing him here in my space when I thought we were over is heartwarming.

More than heartwarming, I love him, and my heart swells with a nervous, heady elation.

He glances around, assessing his surroundings.

“Nice place,” he says.

“Kate’s parents bought it for her.”

He nods distractedly, and his bold gray eyes come to rest on mine, staring at me.

“Er . . . would you like a drink?” I mutter, flushing with nerves.

“No, thank you, Anastasia.” His eyes darken.

Oh crap. Why am I so nervous?

“What would you like to do, Anastasia?” he asks softly as he walks toward me, all feral

and hot. “I know what I want to do,” he adds in a low voice.

I back up until I bump against the concrete kitchen island.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.” He smiles a lopsided apologetic smile and I melt . . . Well, maybe not so mad.

“Would you like something to eat?” I ask.

He nods slowly. “Yes. You,” he murmurs. Everything south of my waistline clenches.

I’m seduced by his voice alone, but that look, that hungry I-want-you-now look—oh my.

He’s standing in front of me, not quite touching, staring down into my eyes and bathing

me in the heat that’s radiating off his body. I’m stiflingly hot, flustered, and my legs are like

jelly as dark desire courses through me. I want him.

“Have you eaten today?” he murmurs.

“I had a sandwich at lunch,” I whisper. I don’t want to talk food.

He narrows his eyes. “You need to eat.”

“I’m really not hungry right now . . . for food.”

“What are you hungry for, Miss Steele?”

“I think you know, Mr. Grey.”

He leans down, and again I think he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t.

“Do you want me to kiss you, Anastasia?” he whispers softly in my ear.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that. I told you I am not going to

touch you until you beg me and tell me what to do.”

My inner goddess is writhing on her chaise longue. I am lost; he’s not playing fair.

“Please,” I whisper.

“Please what?”

“Touch me.”

“Where, baby?”

He is so tantalizingly close, his scent intoxicating. I reach up, and immediately he steps

back.“No, no,” he chides, his eyes suddenly wide and alarmed.

“What?” No . . . come back.

“No.” He shakes his head.

“Not at all?” I can’t keep the longing out of my voice.

He looks at me uncertainly, and I’m emboldened by his hesitation. I step toward him,

and he steps back, holding up his hands in defense, but smiling.

“Look, Ana.” It’s a warning, and he runs his hand through his hair, exasperated.

“Sometimes you don’t mind,” I observe plaintively. “Perhaps I should find a marker

pen, and we could map out the no-go areas.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s not a bad idea. Where’s your bedroom?”

I nod in the direction. Is he deliberately changing the subject?

“Have you been taking your pill?”

Oh shit. My pill.

His face falls at my expression.

“No,” I squeak.

“I see,” he says, and his lips press into a thin line. “Come, let’s have something to eat.”

Oh no!

“I thought we were going to bed! I want to go to bed with you.”

“I know, baby.” He smiles, and suddenly darting toward me, he grabs my wrists and

pulls me into his arms so that his body is pressed against mine.

“You need to eat and so do I,” he murmurs, burning gray eyes gazing down at me.

“Besides . . . anticipation is the key to seduction, and right now, I’m really into delayed

gratification.”

Huh, since when?

“I’m seduced and I want my gratification now. I’ll beg, please.” I sound whiney. My

inner goddess is beside herself.

He smiles at me tenderly. “Eat. You’re too slender.” He kisses my forehead and re-

leases me.

This is a game, part of some evil plan. I scowl at him.

“I’m still mad that you bought SIP, and now I am mad at you because you’re making

me wait.” I pout.

“You are one angry little madam, aren’t you? You’ll feel better after a good meal.”

“I know what I’ll feel better after.”

“Anastasia Steele, I’m shocked.” His tone is gently mocking.

“Stop teasing me. You don’t fight fair.”

He stifles his grin by biting his lower lip. He looks simply adorable . . . playful Chris-

tian toying with my libido. If only my seduction skills were better, I’d know what to do, but

not being able to touch him does hamper me.

My inner goddess narrows her eyes and looks thoughtful. We need to work on this.

As Christian and I gaze at each other—me hot, bothered and yearning and him, relaxed

and amused at my expense—I realize I have no food in the apartment.

“I could cook something—except we’ll have to go shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“For groceries.”

“You have no food here?” His expression hardens.

I shake my head. Crap, he looks quite angry.

“Let’s go shopping, then,” he says sternly as he turns on his heel and heads for the door,

opening it wide for me.

“When was the last time you were in a supermarket?”

Christian looks out of place, but he follows me dutifully, holding a shopping basket.