not to ask him for them and not give him that satisfaction, I shall go meet his parents sans

culottes. Anastasia Steele!My subconscious chides me, but I don’t want to listen to her – I

almost hug myself with glee because I know this will drive him crazy.

Back in the bedroom, I put on my bra, slip into my dress, and climb into my shoes. I

remove the braid and hastily brush out my hair, I then glance down at the drink he’s left.

It’s pale pink. What’s this? Cranberry and sparkling water. Hmm… it tastes delicious and

quenches my thirst.

Dashing back into the bathroom, I check myself in the mirror: eyes bright, cheeks

slightly flushed, slightly smug look because of my panty plan, and I head downstairs. Fif-

teen minutes. Not bad, Ana.

Christian is standing by the panoramic window, wearing the grey flannel pants that I

love, the ones that hang in that unbelievably sexy way off his hips, and of course, a white

linen shirt. Doesn’t he have any other colors? Frank Sinatra sings softly over the surround

sound speakers.

Christian turns and smiles as I enter. He looks at me expectantly.

“Hi,” I say softly, and my sphinx-like smile meets his.

“Hi,” he says. “How are you feeling?” His eyes are alight with amusement.

“Good, thanks. You?”

“I feel mighty fine, Miss Steele.”

He is so waiting for me to say something.

“Frank. I never figured you for a Sinatra fan.”

He raises his eyebrows at me, his look speculative.

“Eclectic taste, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, and he paces toward me like a panther until

he’s standing in front of me, his gaze so intense it takes my breath away.

Frank starts crooning… an old song, one of Ray’s favorites. ‘Witchcraft.’ Christian

leisurely traces his fingertips down my cheek, and I feel it all the way down there.

“Dance with me,” he murmurs, his voice husky.

Taking the remote out of his pocket, he turns up the volume and holds his hand out

to me, his gray gaze full of promise and longing and humor. He is totally beguiling, and

I’m bewitched. I place my hand in his. He grins lazily down at me and pulls me into his

embrace, his arm curling around my waist, and he starts to sway.

I put my free hand on his shoulder and grin up at him, caught in his infectious, playful

mood. And he starts to move. Boy can he dance. We cover the floor, from the window to

the kitchen and back again, whirling and turning in time to the music. And he makes it so

effortless for me to follow.

We glide around the dining table, over to the piano, and backwards and forwards in

front of the glass wall, Seattle twinkling outside, a dark and magical mural to our dance,

and I can’t help my carefree laugh. He grins down at me as the song comes to a close.

“There’s no nicer witch than you,” he murmurs, then kisses me sweetly. “Well, that’s

bought some color to your cheeks, Miss Steele. Thank you for the dance. Shall we go and

meet my parents?”

“You’re welcome, and yes, I can’t wait to meet them,” I answer breathlessly.

“Do you have everything you need?”

“Oh, yes,” I respond sweetly.

“Are you sure?”

I nod as nonchalantly as I can manage under his intense, amused scrutiny. His face

splits into a huge grin, and he shakes his head.

“Okay. If that’s the way you want to play it, Miss Steele.”

He grabs my hand, collects his jacket which is hanging on one of the barstools, and

leads me through the foyer to the elevator. Oh, the many faces of Christian Grey. Will I

ever be able to understand this mercurial man?

I peek up at him in the elevator. He’s enjoying a private joke, a trace of a smile flirting

with his beautiful mouth. I fear that it may be at my expense. What was I thinking?I’m

going to see his parents, and I’m not wearing any underwear. My subconscious gives me

an unhelpful I told you soexpression. In the relative safety of his apartment, it seemed like

a fun, teasing idea. Now, I’m almost outside with No Panties!He peers down at me, and

it’s there, the charge building between us. The amused look disappears from his face and

his expression clouds, his eyes dark… oh my.

The elevator doors open on the ground floor. Christian shakes his head slightly as if

to clear his thoughts and gestures for me to exit before him in a most gentlemanly manner.

Who’s he kidding?He’s no gentleman. He has my panties.

Taylor draws up in the large Audi. Christian opens the rear door for me, and I climb in-

side as elegantly as I can, considering my state of wanton undress. I’m grateful that Kate’s

plum dress is so clingy and hangs to the top of my knees.

We speed up the I-5, both of us quiet, no doubt inhibited by Taylor’s steady presence

in the front. Christian’s mood is almost tangible and seems to shift, the humor dissipating

slowly as we head north. He’s brooding, staring out of the window, and I can feel him

slipping away from me. What is he thinking? I can’t ask him. What can I say in front of

Taylor?

“Where did you learn to dance?” I ask tentatively. He turns to gaze at me, his eyes

unreadable beneath the intermittent light of the passing street lamps.

“Do you really want to know?” he replies softly.

My heart sinks, and now I don’t because I can guess.

“Yes,” I murmur, reluctantly.

“Mrs. Robinson was fond of dancing.”

Oh, my worst suspicions confirmed. She has taught him well, and the thought de-

presses me – there’s nothing I can teach him. I have no special skills.

“She must have been a good teacher.”

“She was,” he says softly.

My scalp prickles. Did she have the best of him? Before he became so closed? Or

did she bring him out of himself? He has such a fun, playful side. I smile involuntarily as

I recall being in his arms as he spun me around his living room, so unexpected, and he has

my panties, somewhere.

And then there’s the Red Room of Pain. I rub my wrists reflexively – thin strips of

plastic will do that to a girl. She taught him all that too or ruined him, depending on one’s

point of view. Or perhaps he would have found his way there anyway in spite of Mrs. R.

I realize, in that moment, that I hate her. I hope that I never meet her because I will not be

responsible for my actions if I do. I can’t remember ever feeling this passionately about

anyone, especially someone I’ve never met. Gazing unseeing out of the window, I nurse

my irrational anger and jealousy.

My mind drifts back to the afternoon. Given what I understand of his preferences, I

think he’s been easy on me. Would I do it again?I can’t even pretend to put up an argu-

ment against that. Of course I would, if he asked me – as long as he didn’t hurt me and if

it’s the only way to be with him.

That’s the bottom line. I want to be with him. My inner goddess sighs with relief. I

reach the conclusion that she rarely uses her brain to think but another vital part of her

anatomy, and at the moment, it’s a rather exposed part.

“Don’t,” he murmurs.

I frown and turn to look at him.

“Don’t what?” I haven’t touched him.

“Over-think things, Anastasia.” Reaching out, he grasps my hand, draws it up to his

lips, and kisses my knuckles gently. “I had a wonderful afternoon. Thank you.”

And he’s back with me again. I blink up at him and smile shyly. He’s so confusing. I

ask a question that’s been bugging me.

“Why did you use a cable tie?”

He grins at me.

“It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s something different for you to feel and experience. I know