“I really enjoyed this evening, Anastasia. Thank you.”

“Me too, some parts more than others.” I grin.

He grins and nods, then his brow creases. “Don’t bite your lip,” he warns in a way that

makes my blood sing.

“What did you mean about a big day tomorrow?” I ask to distract myself.

“Dr. Greene is coming to sort you out. Plus, I have a surprise for you.”

“Dr. Greene!” I halt.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate condoms,” he says quietly. His eyes glint in the soft light from the

paper lanterns, gauging my reaction.

“It’s my body,” I mutter, annoyed that he hasn’t asked me.

“It’s mine, too,” he whispers.

I gaze up at him as various guests pass by, ignoring us. He looks so earnest. Yes, my

body is his . . . he knows it better than I do.

I reach up, and he flinches ever so slightly but stays still. Grasping the corner of his

bow tie, I pull so it unravels, revealing the top button of his shirt. Gently I undo it.

“You look hot like this,” I whisper. Actually he looks hot all the time, but really hot

like this.

He smirks at me. “I need to get you home. Come.”

At the car, Sawyer hands Christian an envelope. He frowns at it and glances at me as

Taylor ushers me into the car. Taylor looks relieved for some reason. Christian climbs in

and hands me the envelope, unopened, as Taylor and Sawyer take their seats in the front.

“It’s addressed to you. One of the staff gave it to Sawyer. No doubt from yet another

ensnared heart.” Christian’s mouth twists. It’s obvious this is an unpleasant concept to him.

I stare at the note. Who is this from? Ripping it open, I read it quickly in the dim light.

Holy shit, it’s from her!Why won’t she leave me alone?

Fuck, she’s signed it Mrs. Robinson! He told her. The bastard.

“You told her?”

“Told who, what?”

“That I call her Mrs. Robinson,” I snap.

“It’s from Elena?” Christian is shocked. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbles, running a

hand through his hair, and I can tell he’s irritated. “I’ll deal with her tomorrow. Or Mon-

day,” he mutters bitterly.

And though I’m ashamed to admit it, a very small part of me is pleased. My subcon-

scious nods sagely. Elena is pissing him off, and this can only be good—surely. I decide to

say nothing for now but stash her note in my bag, and in a gesture guaranteed to lighten his

mood, I hand him back the balls.

“Until next time,” I murmur.

He glances at me, and it’s hard to see his face in the dark, but I think he’s smirking. He

reaches for my hand and squeezes it.

I gaze out of the window into the darkness, reflecting on this long day. I’ve learned so

much about him, gleaned so many missing details—the salons, the road map, his child-

hood—but there’s still so much more to discover. And what about Mrs. R? Yes, she cares

for him, and deeply, it would appear. I can see that, and he cares for her—but not in the

same way. I don’t know what to think anymore. All this information is making my head

hurt.

Christian wakes me just as we pull up outside Escala. “Do I need to carry you in?” he asks

gently.

I shake my head sleepily. No way.

As we stand in the elevator, I lean against him, putting my head against his shoulder.

Sawyer stands in front of us, shifting uncomfortably.

“It’s been a long day, eh, Anastasia?”

I nod.

“Tired?”

I nod.

“You’re not very talkative.”

I nod and he grins.

“Come. I’ll put you to bed.” He takes my hand as we exit the elevator, but we stop in

the foyer when Sawyer holds up his hand. In that split second, I am instantly wide awake.

Sawyer talks into his sleeve. I had no idea that he was wearing a radio.

“Will do, T,” he says and turns to face us. “Mr. Grey, the tires on Ms. Steele’s Audi

have been slashed and paint thrown all over it.”

Holy shit. My car!Who would do that? And I know the answer as soon as the question

materializes in my mind. Leila. I glance up at Christian, and he blanches.

“Taylor is concerned that the perp may have entered the apartment and may still be

there. He wants to make sure.”

“I see,” Christian whispers. “What’s Taylor’s plan?”

“He’s coming up in the service elevator with Ryan and Reynolds. They’ll do a sweep

then give us the all clear. I’m to wait with you, sir.”

“Thank you, Sawyer.” Christian tightens his arm around me. “This day just gets better

and better,” he sighs bitterly, nuzzling my hair. “Listen, I can’t stand here and wait. Sawyer,

take care of Miss Steele. Don’t let her in until you have the all clear. I am sure Taylor is

overreacting. She can’t get into the apartment.”

What?“No, Christian—you have to stay with me,” I plead.

Christian releases me. “Do as you’re told, Anastasia. Wait here.”

No!

“Sawyer?” Christian says.

Sawyer opens the foyer door to let Christian enter the apartment then shuts the door

behind him and stands in front of it, staring impassively down at me.

Holy shit. Christian!All manner of horrific outcomes run through my mind, but all I

can do is stand and wait.

Sawyer talks into his sleeve again.

“Taylor, Mr. Grey has entered the apartment.” He flinches and grabs the earpiece, pull-

ing it out of his ear, presumably receiving some powerful invective from Taylor.

Oh no—if Taylor is worried . . .

“Please let me go in,” I plead.

“Sorry, Miss Steele. This won’t take long.” Sawyer holds both hands up in a defensive

gesture. “Taylor and the guys are just coming into the apartment now.”

Oh. I feel so impotent. Standing stock-still, I listen avidly for the slightest sound, but

all I hear is my aggravated breathing. It’s loud and shallow, my scalp prickles, my mouth is

dry, and I feel faint. Please, let Christian be okay,I pray silently.

I have no idea how much time passes, and still we hear nothing. Surely no sound is

good—there are no gunshots. I begin pacing around the table in the foyer and examine the

paintings on the walls to distract myself.

I’ve never really looked at them before: all figurative paintings, all religious—the Ma-

donna and child, all sixteen of them. How odd?

Christian isn’t religious, is he? All of the paintings in the great room are abstracts—

these are so different. They don’t distract me for long— Where is Christian?

I stare at Sawyer and he watches me impassively.

“What’s happening?”

“No news, Miss Steele.”

Abruptly, the doorknob moves. Sawyer spins like a top and draws a gun from his

shoulder holster.

I freeze. Christian appears at the door.

“All clear,” he says, frowning at Sawyer, who puts his gun away immediately and steps

back to let me in.

“Taylor is overreacting,” Christian grumbles as he holds out his hand to me. I stand

gaping at him, unable to move, drinking in every little detail: his unruly hair, the tightness

round his eyes, the tense jaw, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. I think I must have

aged ten years. Christian frowns at me in concern, his eyes dark.

“It’s alright, baby.” He moves toward me, enveloping me in his arms, and kisses my

hair. “Come on, you’re tired. Bed.”

“I was so worried,” I murmur, rejoicing in his embrace and inhaling his sweet, sweet

scent with my head against his chest.

“I know. We’re all jumpy.”

Sawyer has disappeared, presumably into the apartment.