“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He grins as he slips the car into drive, and we head out on Savannah

Parkway. He programs the GPS and presses a switch on the steering wheel and a classical

orchestral piece fills the car.

“What’s this?” I ask as the sweet, sweet sound of a hundred violin strings assails us.

“It’s from La Traviata. An opera by Verdi.”

Oh, my… it’s lovely.

“La Traviata? I’ve headr of that. I can’t think where. What does it mean?”

Christian glances at me and smirks.

“Well, literally, the woman led astray. It’s based on Alexander Dumas’s book, La

Dame aux Camelias.”

“Ah. I’ve read it.”

“I thought you might.”

“The doomed courtesan.” I squirm uncomfortably in the plush leather seat. Is he try-

ing to tell me something?“Hmm, it’s a depressing story,” I mutter.

“Too depressing? Do you want to choose some music? This is on my iPod.” Christian

has that secret smile again.

I can’t see his iPod anywhere. He taps the screen on the console between us, and be-

hold - there is a play list.

“You choose.” His lips twitch up into a smile, and I know it’s a challenge.

Christian Grey’s iPod, this should be interesting. I scroll through the touch screen,

and find the perfect song. I press play. I wouldn’t have figured him for a Britney fan. The

club-mix, techno beat assaults us both, and Christian turns the volume down. Maybe it’s

too early for this: Britney’s at her most sultry.

“Toxic, eh?” Christian grins.

“I don’t know what you mean.” I feign innocence.

He turns the music down a little more, and inside I am hugging myself. My inner

goddess is standing on the podium awaiting her gold medal. He turned the music down.

Victory!

“I didn’t put that song on my iPod,” he says casually, and puts his foot down so that I

am thrown back into my seat as the car accelerates along the freeway.

What?He knows what he’s doing, the bastard. Who did?And I have to listen to Brit-

ney going on and on. Who… who?

The song ends and the iPod shuffles to Damien Rice being mournful. Who? Who?I

stare out of the window, my stomach churning. Who?

“It was Leila,” he answers my unspoken thoughts. How does he do that?

“Leila?”

“An ex, who put the song on my iPod.”

Damien warbles away in the background as I sit stunned. An ex… ex-submissive? An

ex– “One of the fifteen?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“What happened to her?”

“We finished.”

“Why?”

Oh jeez. It’s too early for this kind of conversation. But he looks relaxed, happy even,

and what’s more, talkative.

“She wanted more.” His voice is low, introspective even, and he leaves the sentence

hanging between us, ending it with that powerful little word again.

“And you didn’t?” I ask before I can employ my brain to mouth filter. Shit, do I want

to know?

He shakes his head.

“I’ve never wanted more, until I met you.”

I gasp, reeling. Oh my.Isn’t this what I want? He wants more. He wants it, too!My

inner goddess has back flipped off the podium and is doing cartwheels around the stadium.

It’s not just me.

“What happened to the other fourteen?” I ask.

Jeez he’s talking – take advantage.

“You want a list? Divorced, beheaded, died?”

“You’re not Henry VIII.”

“Okay. In no particular order, I’ve only had long term relationships with four women,

apart from Elena.”

“Elena?”

“Mrs. Robinson to you.” He half smiles his secret private joke smile.

Elena! Holy Fuck. The evil one has a name and its all-foreign sounding. A vision of a

glorious, pale-skinned vamp with raven hair and ruby-red lips comes to mind, and I know

that she’s beautiful. I must not dwell. I must not dwell.

“What happened to the four?” I ask to distract myself.

“So inquisitive, so eager for information, Miss Steele,” he scolds playfully.

“Oh, Mr. When Is Your Period Due?”

“Anastasia – a man needs to know these things.”

“Does he?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to get pregnant.”

“Neither do I! Well, not for a few years yet.”

Christian blinks startled, then visibly relaxes. Okay. Christian doesn’t want children.

Now or never? I am reeling from his sudden, unprecedented attack of candor. Perhaps

it’s the early morning? Something in the Georgia water? The Georgia air? What else do

I want to know? Carpe Diem.

“So the other four, what happened?” I ask.

“One met someone else. The other three wanted – more. I wasn’t in the market for

more then.”

“And the others?” I press.

He glances at me briefly and just shakes his head.

“Just didn’t work out.”

Whoa, a bucket-load of information to process. I glance in the side mirror of the car,

and I notice the soft swell of pink and aquamarine in the sky behind. Dawn is following us.

“Where are we headed?” I ask, perplexed, gazing out at the I-95. We’re heading south,

that’s all I know.

“An airfield.”

“We’re not going back to Seattle are we?” I gasp, alarmed. I haven’t said goodbye to

my mom. Jeez, she’s expecting us for dinner.

He laughs.

“No, Anastasia, we’re going to indulge in my second favorite pastime.”

“Second?” I frown at him.

“Yep. I told you my favorite this morning.”

I glance at his glorious profile, frowning, racking my brain.

“Indulging in you, Miss Steele, that’s got to be top of my list. Any way I can get you.”

Oh,

“Well that’s quite high up on my list of diverting, kinky priorities too.” I mutter, blush-

ing.“I’m pleased to hear it,” he mutters dryly.

“So, airfield?”

He grins at me.

“Soaring.”

The term rings a vague bell. He’s mentioned it before.

“We’re going to chase the dawn, Anastasia.” He turns and grins at me as the GPS urges

him to turn right into what looks like an industrial complex. He pulls up outside a large

white building with a sign reading Brunswick Soaring Association.

Gliding! We’re going gliding?

He switches off the engine.

“You up for this?” he asks.

“You’re flying?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, please!” I don’t hesitate. He grins and leans forward and kisses me.

“Another first, Miss Steele,” he says as he climbs out of the car.

First? What sort of first? First time flying a glider… shit! No – he said that he’s done

it before. I relax. He walks round and opens my door. The sky has turned to a subtle opal,

shimmering and glowing softly behind the sporadic childlike clouds. Dawn is upon us.

Taking my hand, Christian leads me round the building to a large stretch of tarmac

where several planes are parked. Waiting beside them is a man with a shaved head and a

wild look in his eye, accompanied by Taylor.

Taylor!Does Christian go any where without that man? I beam at him, and he smiles

kindly back at me.

“Mr. Grey, this is your tow-pilot, Mr. Mark Benson,” says Taylor. Christian and Ben-

son shake hands and strike up a conversation, which sounds very technical about wind

speed, directions, and the like.

“Hello, Taylor,” I murmur shyly.

“Miss Steele.” He nods a greeting at me, and I frown. “Ana,” he corrects himself.

“He’s been hell on wheels the last few days. Glad we’re here,” he says conspiratorially.

Oh, this is news – Why? Surely not because of me!Revelation Thursday! Must be

something in the Savannah water that makes these men loosen up a bit.

“Anastasia,” Christian summons me. “Come.” He holds out his hand.

“See you later.” I smile at Taylor, and giving me a quick salute, he heads back to the