it’s childish – and if he’s in a strange mood, maybe not. I am both eager to return and

apprehensive of what awaits me at my journey’s end. As I mentally flick through all the

scenarios that could be ‘the situation’, I become aware that once again the only empty seat

is beside me. I shake my head as the thought crosses my mind that Christian might have

purchased the adjacent seat so that I couldn’t talk to anyone. I dismiss the idea as ridicu-

lous – no one could be that controlling, that jealous, surely. I close my eyes as the plane

taxis towards the runway.

I emerge into the Sea-Tac arrivals terminal eight hours later to find Taylor waiting and

holding up a board that reads Miss A Steele. Honestly!But it’s good to see him.

“Hello, Taylor.”

“Miss Steele,” he greets me formally, but I see a hint of smile in his sharp brown eyes.

He looks his usual immaculate self – smart charcoal suit, white shirt, and charcoal tie.

“I do know what you look like Taylor, you don’t need a board, and I do wish you’d call

me, Ana.”

“Ana. Can I take your bags, please?”

“No, I can manage. Thank you.”

His lips tighten perceptibly.

“But, if you’d be more comfortable taking them,” I stammer.

“Thank you.” He grabs my backpack and my newly acquired wheelie case for the

clothes my mother has bought me. “This way, ma’am.”

I sigh. He’s so polite. I remember, though I would like to erase it from my memory,

that this man has bought me underwear. In fact – and the thought unsettles me – he’s the

only man who’s ever bought me underwear. Even Ray’s never had to endure that hardship.

We walk in silence to the black Audi SUV outside in the airport parking lot, and he holds

the door open for me. I clamber in, wondering if wearing such a short skirt for the return to

Seattle was a good idea. It was cool and welcome in Georgia. Here I feel exposed. Once

Taylor has stowed my bags in the trunk, we set off for Escala.

The journey is slow, caught up in rush hour traffic. Taylor keeps his eyes on the road

ahead. Taciturn does not begin to describe him.

I can bear the silence no longer.

“How’s Christian, Taylor?”

“Mr. Grey is preoccupied, Miss Steele.”

Oh, this must be ‘the situation.’ I am mining a seam of gold.

“Preoccupied?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I frown at Taylor, and he glances at me in the rear-view mirror, our eyes meet. He’s

saying no more. Jeez, he can be as tightlipped as the control freak himself.

“Is he okay?”

“I believe so, ma’am.”

“Are you more comfortable calling me, Miss Steele?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, okay.”

Well, that curtails our conversation, and we continue in silence. I begin to think that

Taylor’s recent slip, when he told me that Christian had been hell on wheels, was an anom-

aly. Perhaps he’s embarrassed about it, worried that he’s been disloyal. The silence is suf-

focating.

“Could you put some music on please?”

“Certainly, ma’am. What would you like to hear?”

“Something soothing.”

I see a smile play on Taylor’s lips as our eyes meet briefly again in the mirror.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He pushes a few buttons on the steering wheel, and the gentle strains of Pachelbel’s

canon fills the space between us. Oh yes… this is what I need.

“Thank you.” I sit back as we drive slowly but steadily along the I-5 into Seattle.

Twenty-five minutes, later he drops me outside the impressive façade that is the entrance

to Escala.

“In you go, ma’am,” he says, holding the door open for me. “I’ll bring up your luggage

is.”H expression is soft, warm, avuncular even.

Jeez…Uncle Taylor, what a thought.

“Thank you for meeting me.”

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Steele.” He smiles, and I head into the building. The doorman

nods and waves.

As I ride up to the thirtieth floor, a thousand butterflies stretch their wings and flutter

erratically in my stomach. Why am I so nervous?And I know it’s because I have no idea

what kind of mood Christian’s going to be in when I arrive. My inner goddess is hopeful

for one type of mood, my subconscious, like me, is fraught with nerves.

The elevator doors open, and I’m in the foyer. It is so strange not to be met by Taylor.

Of course, he’s parking the car. In the great room, Christian is on his BlackBerry talking

quietly as he stares out of the glass doors at the early evening Seattle skyline. He’s wearing

a gray suit with the jacket undone, and he’s running his hand through his hair, he’s. H agi-

tated, tense even. Oh no – what’s wrong?Agitated or not, he’s still beyond beautiful. How

can he look so… arresting? It’s such a pleasure to stand and drink in the sheer sight of him.

“No trace… Okay… Yes.” He turns and sees me, and his whole demeanor changes.

From tension to relief to something else: a look that calls directly to my inner goddess, a

look of sensual carnality, gray eyes blazing.

My mouth goes dry and desire blooms in my body… whoa.

“Keep me informed,” he snaps and shuts off his phone as he strides purposefully to-

ward me. I stand paralyzed as he closes the distance between us, devouring me with his

eyes. Holy shit… something’s amiss – the strain in his jaw, the anxiety around his eyes.

He shrugs out of his jacket, undoes his dark tie, and slings them both on to the couch en

route to me. Then his arms are wrapped around me, and he’s pulling me to him, hard, fast,

gripping my ponytail to tilt my head up, kissing me like his life depends on it. What the

hell?He drags the hair tie painfully out of my hair, but I don’t care. There’s a desperate,

primal quality to his kiss. He needs me, for whatever reason, at this point in time, and I

have never felt so desired and coveted. It’s dark and sensual and alarming all at the same

time. I kiss him back with equal fervor, my fingers twisting and fisting in his hair. Our

tongues entwined, our passion and ardor erupting between us. He tastes divine, hot, sexy,

and his scent – all body wash and Christian is so arousing. He drags his mouth away from

mine, and he’s staring down at me, gripped by some unnamed emotion.

“What’s wrong?” I breathe.

“I’m so glad you’re back. Shower with me – now.”

I can’t decide if it’s a request or a command.

“Yes,” I whisper, and he grabs my hand, leading me out of the big room into his bed-

room to his bathroom.

Once there, he releases me and sets the water running in the far too spacious shower.

Turning slowly, he gazes at me, eyes hooded.

“I like your skirt. It’s very short,” he says, his voice low. “You have great legs.”

He steps out of his shoes and reaches down to take each of his socks off, never taking

his eyes off me. I am rendered speechless by the look of hunger in his eyes. Wow… to be

this wanted by this Greek god. I mirror his actions and step out of my black flats. Sud-

denly, he reaches for me, backing me up against the wall. Kissing me, my face, my throat,

my lips… running his hands into my hair. I feel the cool, smooth tiled wall at my back

as he pushes himself against me so that I’m flattened between his heat and the chill of the

ceramic. Tentatively, I place my arms on his upper arms, and he groans as I squeeze tightly.

“I want you now. Here… fast, hard,” he breathes, and his hands are on my thighs,

pushing up my skirt. “Are you still bleeding?”

“No.” I flush.

“Good.”

His thumbs hook over my white cotton panties, and abruptly he drops to his knees as

he tugs them off. My skirt is now rucked up so that I’m naked from the waist down and