course they do. I flush to think of the Buzz-Cut man in some lingerie store buying this for

me. I wonder what else is in his job description.

I dress quickly. The rest of the clothing is a perfect fit. I brusquely towel-dry my hair

and try desperately to bring it under control. But, as usual, it refuses to cooperate, and my

only option is to restrain it with a hair tie. I shall search in my purse, when I find it. I take

a deep breath. Time to face Mr. Confusing.

I’m relieved to find the bedroom empty. I hunt quickly for my purse – but it’s not in

here. Taking another deep breath, I enter the living area of the suite. It’s huge. There’s an

opulent, plush seating area, all overstuffed couches and soft cushions, an elaborate coffee

table with a stack of large glossy books, a study area with a top-of-the-range Mac, an enor-

mous plasma screen TV on the wall, and Christian is sitting at a dining table on the other

side of the room reading a newspaper. It’s the size of a tennis court or something, not that

I play tennis, though I have watched Kate a few times. Kate!

“Crap, Kate,” I croak. Christian peers up at me.

“She knows you’re here and still alive. I texted Elliot,” he says with just a trace of

humor.

Oh no.I remember her fervent dancing of the night before. All her patented moves

used with maximum effect to seduce Christian’s brother no less! What’s she going to think

about me being here? I’ve never stayed out before. She’s still with Elliot. She’s only done

this twice before, and both times I’ve had to endure the hideous pink PJs for a week from

the fallout. She’s going to think I’ve had a one-night stand too.

Christian stares at me imperiously. He’s wearing a white linen shirt, collar and cuffs

undone.

“Sit,” he commands, pointing to a place at the table. I make my way across the room

and sit down opposite him as I’ve been directed. The table is laden with food.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered a selection from the breakfast menu.” He

gives me a crooked, apologetic smile.

“That’s very profligate of you,” I murmur, bewildered by the choice, though I am hun-

gry. “Yes, it is.” He sounds guilty.

I opt for pancakes, maple syrup, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Christian tries to hide a

smile as he returns to his egg white omelet. The food is delicious.

“Tea?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

He passes me a small teapot of hot water and on the saucer is a Twining’s English

Breakfast teabag. Jeez, he remembers how I like my tea.

“Your hair’s very damp,” he scolds.

“I couldn’t find the hairdryer,” I mutter, embarrassed. Not that I looked.

Christian’s mouth presses into a hard line, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Thank you for organizing the clothes.”

“It’s a pleasure, Anastasia. That color suits you.”

I blush and stare down at my fingers.

“You know, you really should learn to take a compliment.” His tone is castigating.

“I should give you some money for these clothes.”

He glares at me as if I have offended him on some level. I hurry on.

“You’ve already given me the books, which, of course, I can’t accept. But these

clothes, please let me pay you back.” I smile tentatively at him.

“Anastasia, trust me, I can afford it.”

“That’s not the point. Why should you buy these for me?”

“Because I can,” his eyes flash with a wicked gleam.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean that you should,” I reply quietly as he arches an

eyebrow at me, his eyes twinkling, and suddenly I feel that we’re talking about something

else, but I don’t know what it is. Which reminds me…

“Why did you send me the books, Christian?” My voice is soft. He puts down his

cutlery and regards me intently, his gray eyes burning with some unfathomable emotion.

Holy crap – my mouth dries.

“Well, when you were nearly run over by the cyclist – and I was holding you and you

were looking up at me – all kiss me, kiss me, Christian,” he pauses and shrugs slightly, “I

felt I owed you an apology and a warning.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Anastasia,

I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don’t do romance. My tastes are very singular.

You should steer clear from me.” He closes his eyes as if in defeat. “There’s something

about you, though, and I’m finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you’ve figured

that out already.”

My appetite vanishes. He can’t stay away!

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He gasps, his eyes wide.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

We sit gazing at each other, neither of us touching our food.

“You’re not celibate then?” I breathe.

Amusement lights up his gray eyes.

“No, Anastasia, I’m not celibate.” He pauses for this information to sink in, and I flush

scarlet. The mouth-to-brain filter is broken again. I can’t believe I’ve just said that out

loud.“What are your plans for the next few days?” he asks, his voice low.

“I’m working today, from midday. What is the time?” I panic suddenly.

“It’s just after ten, you’ve plenty of time. What about tomorrow?” He has his elbows

on the table, and his chin is resting on his long steepled fingers.

“Kate and I are going to start packing. We’re moving to Seattle next weekend, and I’m

working at Clayton’s all this week.”

“You have a place in Seattle already?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“I can’t remember the address. It’s in the Pike Market District.”

“Not far from me,” his lips twitch up in a half smile. “So what are you going to do for

work in Seattle?”

Where is he going with all these questions? The Christian Grey Inquisition is almost

as irritating as the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition.

“I’ve applied for some internships. I’m waiting to hear.”

“Have you applied to my company as I suggested?”

I flush… of course not.

“Um… no.”

“And what’s wrong with my company?”

“Your company or your Company?” I smirk.

He smiles slightly.

“Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?” He cocks his head to one side, and I think he

looks amused, but it’s hard to tell. I flush and glance down at my unfinished breakfast. I

can’t look him in the eye when he uses that tone of voice.

“I’d like to bite that lip,” he whispers darkly.

Oh my.I am completely unaware that I am chewing my bottom lip. My mouth pops

open as I gasp and swallow at the same time. That has to be the sexiest thing anybody has

ever said to me. My heart beat spikes, and I think I’m panting. Jeez, I’m a quivering, moist

mess, and he hasn’t even touched me. I squirm in my seat and meet his dark glare.

“Why don’t you?” I challenge quietly.

“Because I’m not going to touch you Anastasia - not until I have your written consent

to do so.” His lips hint at a smile.

What?

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I say.” He sighs and shakes his head at me, amused, but exasperated too.

“I need to show you, Anastasia. What time do you finish work this evening?”

“About eight.”

“Well, we could go to Seattle this evening or next Saturday for dinner at my place, and

I’ll acquaint you with the facts then. The choice is yours.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?” I sound petulant.

“Because I’m enjoying my breakfast and your company. Once you’re enlightened, you

probably won’t want to see me again.”

Holy shit.What does that mean? Does he white-slave small children to some God-

forsaken part of the planet? Is he part of some underworld crime syndicate? It would ex-

plain why he’s so rich. Is he deeply religious? Is he impotent? Surely not, he could prove