Me neither – oh he’s laughing at me, the bastard. I didn’t ask him to come and get me.

Somehow I’ve been made to feel like the villain of the piece.

“You didn’t have to track me down with whatever James Bond stuff you’re developing

for the highest bidder,” I snap at him. He stares at me, surprised, and if I’m not mistaken,

a little wounded.

“Firstly, the technology to track cell phones is available over the Internet. Secondly,

my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices, and thirdly,

if I hadn’t come to get you, you’d probably be waking up in the photographer’s bed, and

from what I can remember, you weren’t overly enthused about him pressing his suit,” he

says acidly.

Pressing his suit!I glance up at Christian, he’s glaring at me, his gray eyes blazing,

aggrieved. I try to bite my lip, but I fail to repress my laughter.

“Which medieval chronicle did you escape from?” I giggle. “You sound like a courtly

knight.”

His mood visibly shifts. His eyes soften and his expression warms, and I see a trace of

a smile on his beautifully chiseled lips.

“Anastasia, I don’t think so. Dark knight maybe.” His smile is sardonic, and he shakes

his head. “Did you eat last night?” His tone is accusatory. I shake my head. What major

transgression have I committed now? His jaw clenches, but his face remains impassive.

“You need to eat. That’s why you were so ill. Honestly Anastasia, it’s drinking rule

number one.” He runs this hand through his hair, and I know it’s because he’s exasperated.

“Are you going to continue to scold me?”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“I think so.”

“You’re lucky I’m just scolding you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week after the stunt

you pulled yesterday. You didn’t eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk.” He closes his

eyes, dread etched on his lovely face, and he shudders slightly. When he opens his eyes,

he glares at me. “I hate to think what could have happened to you.”

I scowl back at him. What is his problem? What’s it to him? If I was his… well I’m

not.Though maybe, part of me would like to be. The thought pierces through the irritation

I feel at his high-handed words. I flush at the waywardness of my subconscious - she’s do-

ing her happy dance in a bright red hula skirt at the thought of being his.

“I would have been fine. I was with Kate.”

“And the photographer?” he snaps at me.

Hmm… young José.I’ll need to face him at some point.

“José just got out of line.” I shrug.

“Well the next time he gets out of line, maybe someone should teach him some man-

ners.”

“You are quite the disciplinarian,” I hiss at him.

“Oh, Anastasia, you have no idea.” His eyes narrow, and then he grins wickedly. It’s

disarming. One minute, I’m confused and angry, the next I’m gazing at his gorgeous smile.

Wow… I am entranced, and it’s because his smile is so rare. I quite forget what he’s talk-

ing about.

“I’m going to have a shower. Unless you’d like to shower first?” He cocks his head

to one side, still grinning. My heartbeat has picked up, and my medulla oblongata has ne-

glected to fire any synapses to make me breathe. His grin widens, and he reaches over and

runs his thumb down my cheek and across my lower lip.

“Breathe, Anastasia,” he whispers and rises. “Breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes.

You must be famished.” He heads into the bathroom and closes the door.

I let out the breath that I’ve been holding. Why is he so damned attractive? Right

now I want to go and join him in the shower. I have never felt this way about anyone. My

hormones are racing. My skin tingles where his thumb traced over my face and lower lip.

I feel like squirming with a needy, achy… discomfort. I don’t understand this reaction.

Hmm… Desire.This is desire. This is what it feels like.

I lie back on the soft feather filled pillows. ‘If you were mine.’Oh my – what would I

do to be his? He’s the only man who has ever set my blood racing around my body. Yet,

he’s so antagonizing too; he’s difficult, complicated, and confusing. One minute he rebuffs

me, the next he sends me fourteen-thousand-dollar books, then he tracks me like a stalker.

And for all that, I have spent the night in his hotel suite, and I feel safe. Protected. He cares

enough to come and rescue me from some mistakenly perceived danger. He’s not a dark

knight at all, but a white knight in shining, dazzling armor – a classic romantic hero – Sir

Gawain or Lancelot.

I scramble out of his bed frantically searching for my jeans. He emerges from the bath-

room wet and glistening from the shower, still unshaven, with just a towel around his waist,

and there am I – all bare legs and awkward gawkiness. He’s surprised to see me out of bed.

“If you’re looking for your jeans, I’ve sent them to the laundry.” His gaze is a dark

obsidian. “They were spattered with your vomit.”

“Oh.” I flush scarlet. Why oh why does he always catch me on the back foot?

“I sent Taylor out for another pair and some shoes. They’re in the bag on the chair.”

Clean clothes.What an unexpected bonus.

“Um… I’ll have a shower,” I mutter. “Thanks.” What else can I say? I grab the bag

and dart into the bathroom away from the unnerving proximity of naked Christian. Michel-

angelo’s David has nothing on him.

In the bathroom, it’s all hot and steamy from where he’s been showering. I strip off

my clothes and quickly clamber into the shower anxious to be under the cleansing stream

of water. It cascades over me, and I hold up my face into the welcoming torrent. I want

Christian Grey. I want him badly. Simple fact. For the first time in my life, I want to go

to bed with a man. I want to feel his hands and his mouth on me.

He said he likes his women sentient. He’s probably not celibate then.But he’s not

made a pass at me, unlike Paul or José. I don’t understand. Does he want me? He

wouldn’t kiss me last week. Am I repellent to him? And yet, I’m here and he brought me

here. I just don’t know what his game is? What he’s thinking? You’ve slept in his bed all

night, and he’s not touched you Ana. You do the math.My subconscious has reared her

ugly, snide head. I ignore her.

The water is warm and soothing. Hmm… I could stay under this shower, in his bath-

room, forever. I reach for the body-wash and it smells of him. It’s a delicious smell. I rub

it all over myself, fantasizing that it’s him - him rubbing this heavenly scented soap into

my body, across my breasts, over my stomach, between my thighs with his long fingered

hands. Oh my.My heartbeat picks up again, this feels so… so good.

“Breakfast is here.” He knocks on the door, startling me.

“Okay,” I stutter as I’m yanked cruelly out of my erotic daydream.

I climb out of the shower and grab two towels. I put my hair in one and wrap it Carmen

Miranda style on my head. Hastily, I dry myself, ignoring the pleasurable feel of the towel

rubbing against my over-sensitized skin.

I inspect the bag of jeans. Not only has Taylor brought me jeans and new Converse,

but a pale blue shirt, socks, and underwear. Oh my. A clean bra and panties – actually to

describe them in such a mundane, utilitarian way does not do them justice. They are an

exquisite design of some fancy European lingerie. All pale blue lace and finery. Wow. I

am in awe and slightly daunted by this underwear. . What’s more, they fit perfectly. But of